Kornwolf (32 page)

First, unsurprisingly, came juvenile defender Jarret Yoder, an old acquaintance and personal friend of Judge Percy's. Yoder himself had grown up Mennonite—even though he hadn't been long for the church. His peripatetic yearnings in youth had borne him
away to the city for years, during which time he had earned his master's in psych, then gone into juvenile counseling. Having returned to Stepford in Gipper Time, he was now versed in, and dealt with, the trials and tribulations of urban street youth as much as the Plain Folk of Eastern Stepford.

His colleague, Public Attorney Davin W. Stutz, was the next to arrive. But with less than a minute's exchange between the two men, it was clear that they wouldn't be representing common interests today. On the contrary, as per norm, they would end up on opposite sides of the courtroom, tearing into one another. In fact, by the time Gerald Metzger, assistant D.A., showed up, they were already at it—back and forth in a flurry of hissing. Metzger, sure to appear on the victims' behalf, would only complicate matters.

While that was happening, the crowd that had started to form in the courtroom continued to grow. First there appeared a mob of angry suburban parents, now gathered to the rear of the room in a tense, murmuring huddle. Then came a group from the Beaver Street League who had witnessed the confrontation first-hand. Followed by one, then two, then six, then eight Amish persons—most of them young. And finally, a drove of random spectators. All for what, in theory,
should
have been a brief, routine arraignment. Percy was already overwhelmed by the time he broke down and called for order.

Jarret Yoder's opening statement had done very little to clarify matters. Amid a constant barrage of objections from Stutz, Yoder had opened proceedings by first paraphrasing that afternoon's altercation according to eyewitness testimony—all of which maintained that Mr. Bontrager
hadn't
started the fight, and had only fought back after being assaulted.

At which point, Percy hit the brakes.

“Mr. Yoder, first things first: how
old
is Mr. Bontrager?”

“Eighteen, Your Honor.”

The judge's expression was stern, unamused. “Then what was he doing in juvenile counseling?”

Jarret's nod rolled into a shrug. “It appears there's been a mistake, Your Honor. This young man was referred to counseling by the Lamepeter Police Department. One can only imagine
how
, as this should be a routine matter. But it
is
interesting to note that, according to several by-standing witnesses, the arresting officer, Rudolf Beaumont, had beaten Mr. Bontrager so severely that any resulting prosecution would have been voided at or before first hearing. Meaning: the authorities would have jinxed their case by dint of excessive force. If true, then admitting him for juvenile rehab here in town would appear to have been the sheriff department's manner of trying to sweep this incident under the rug. Already, the sheriff has denied the charge. But his denial is shaken by the fact that Officer Beaumont has since been charged with
another
beating of a juvenile “offender,” this time in a case of mistaken identity, for which the department is set to face a costly and public brutality suit.”

Percy shook his head in confusion. “What are we dealing with here, Mr. Yoder?”

Jarret hesitated. “On the whole, sir?”

Percy nodded. “If it answers my question.”

Yoder drew in a steady breath.

Then, in so many words, he proceeded:

The defendant's mother had died giving birth to him after extended (“
nineteen hours of horrifying homebound
”) labor complications—something for which his father had always blamed him in full, and with an active vengeance. Several witnesses, herein assembled, would testify to as much under oath, citing occasions on which the elder had struck, pummeled or beaten the boy. One needed only regard his battered condition at present to bear out their claims. The young man's entire body was marked with the signs of severe and continual abuse. He was also a mute. He'd been terrified into a state of speechless, glassy-eyed shock. This, Yoder intended to prove, had contributed to the events of that afternoon.

To which Stutz, of course, raised a howling objection. The judge agreed to hear him out.

First
, he responded, the young man in question was widely known to be mentally defective. His status as a mute was accepted as having resulted from an accident in early childhood—a blow to the back of his skull sustained in a fall down the stairs, a common blunder. Likewise, his “present condition,” the bruising and such, was the product of a childhood bout with a genetic disorder inherent to the Amish—a disorder from which he had suffered violent recurring flashbacks ever since. This added to his inability to speak—and, moreover, his general “feeble-mindedness.” It also accounted for his lack of motor skills, which had resulted in numerous mishaps—many resulting in physical injuries … All of these matters had been addressed by the young man's district council already. Less widely acknowledged, though certainly known, was the fact that, since early adulthood, he'd been in trouble with the law on a regular basis. At eighteen, his record already included one arrest for under-aged drinking, four charges of violating curfew, one count of hedging a truck off the road, and now, the brutal, unwarranted assault of three “unsuspecting” individuals … His father, the Minister Bontrager, on the other hand, was a respected, upstanding member of the community—a minister appointed by his own congregation—whose curse in life it had been to attempt to control this boy—with little success.

Scoffs went up from the group of Orderlies seated directly behind the defendant. Somebody blurted, “
The old man's a drunk!
” It managed to catch the judge's attention.

Percy thumped his gavel and called the group to order. They settled down …

Turning back to Davin Stutz, the judge asked, “So where is this father now? This—” Squinting, he leafed through his papers. “What was his name?”

“Benedictus Bontrager, Your Honor,” said Stutz. “We haven't been able to locate him.”

Barely able to keep his seat, Yoder signaled. “Your Honor?”

“Yes, Counsel?”

Jarret stood up. “Your Honor, as of forty-five minutes ago, Minister Bontrager has been in police custody on charges of attempted arson.”

A wave of gasping swept the room. Percy straightened up in his seat.

Yoder lifted a yellow paper and read from it. “Yes, sir: ‘Attempted Arson.' ‘Destruction of Property.' And ‘Breaking and Entering.' He was arrested with five other men here in town for attempting to burn down an athletic center.”

The silence to follow was thick with confusion. The judge leaned forward: “You'll have to do better than that, Mr. Yoder. What's this about?”

Shrugging, Yoder held up his hands. “We just received the call, Your Honor. We don't have any specifics, as yet. We can only present the arrest report. Permission to approach the bench for that purpose?”

The judge nodded, beckoning stiffly. Yoder moved forward to deliver the report. Percy took it and started to read, looking even more perplexed than before. He muttered under his breath discreetly, “Do you know what you're doing, Jarret?”

Yoder whispered back, “Just ask me about his job.”

While a stern-faced Percy continued to try and make sense of the hastily filed report, Yoder counted his stars for the last-minute gifts that had just fallen out of the sky. Even though Jack hadn't been available (some day the bastard would carry a cell phone), even though now was the worst of all possible times for the kid to have gotten in trouble, and even though Yoder had not been fully prepared to appear in court, just yet, he
had
been graced in being arraigned before Percy, not only a personal friend, but a judge who had garnered a reputation as hell on domestic-abuse offenders. Along with that distinction he had a well-known aversion to Davin Stutz.

What's more, the Bontrager kid, through his actions, had laid the foundation for a plea of insanity—which, most likely, would
be upheld, at present, by his ghoulish, unholy appearance. He looked as bad as his uncle ever had. He looked like fucking Linda Blair …

To continue, his father, with several accomplices, had been arrested an hour earlier—something so perfectly timed, it defied explanation, and couldn't have served them better.

Then, out of nowhere, Franklin Pendle had wandered up, wearing a Beaver Street jacket. Apparently, he and “his boys” had seen the whole thing and would testify gladly, if needed.

Which was reassuring, although it was still too-little-too-late for Franklin …

And last, from beyond, a pair of middle-aged Plain Folk had shown up to aid in the case—the first, Johann Schnaeder, a bishop in Minister Bontrager's own congregation, and the second, a woman claiming to be the boy's aunt and former guardian.

Yoder remembered her vaguely from childhood. She was Maria Speicher's friend. Jarret himself had never known her.

Whatever the case, he admired her courage. Testifying in an English court against a member of her family, not to mention the church, would be no laughing matter within The Order. Surely, there would be hell to pay—possibly excommunication.

Whatever the penalty may have been, Yoder wasn't about to talk her out of it. She was probably the only thing left between Ephraim and Cell Block Five for the evening. She was the strongest card in their deck, by far—with the bishop in shining second. Between them, Yoder had only been able to wrangle ten minutes of preparation. But in that time, with the notes he had taken, their case had been fortified many times over.

“You may return to the floor, Mr. Yoder,” Percy announced at a normal level.

As Jarret walked back to his table, the judge continued, addressing Stutz. “Do you mean to tell me then, Mr. Stutz, that on entering this courtroom you knew nothing about this incident?”

“Your Honor?”

Percy held up the report. “This, Counsel. You know what I'm saying.”

Stutz hesitated, then swiveled his head. “Your Honor, yes … in a manner, I did. But we really should hold off judgment until the men in question have been arraigned.”

The judge frowned. “It says here they tried to burn down the building with gasoline.”

Stutz, flinching, could only repeat, “We should hold off judgment till the facts are in.”

As Percy exhaled and removed his glasses, assistant D.A. Gerald Metzger, who, until then, had held his tongue quietly, at last stepped forward to announce at full volume:

“Your honor, may I point out that while my colleagues are so earnestly discussing the defendant's home life, three young men lie injured in the hospital, one of them critically, due to his actions. With or without a pattern of abuse,
some
one must be held to account here.”

A roar of agreement went up from the crowd of angered parents to the rear of the room. Judge Percy waved them to order, yet somewhere above the diminishing sizzle, the voice of a Beaver Street kid went out:

“
Sounds like a load of BULLshit, yo!
”

Percy pounded his gavel. “Quiet!” he yelled. His voice boomed over the courtroom. “This isn't a peanut gallery, people. One more disturbance and everyone goes.” He glared at the crowd to drive home his point. Then he returned his attention to Stutz.

“Now, Counsel. The man you're defending. This …”

“Benedictus Bontrager, Your Honor.”

Blinking, Percy shook his head. “Right. You say this man's an ordained minister?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Bontrager's been an Old Order minister for seventeen years. Dozens of fellow community members would readily stand to vouch for his character. The same cannot be said for the defendant.”

Again, Yoder raised his hand. Percy waved him off. “One moment.” The judge wasn't finished with Stutz, apparently. “What is this minister's line of work?”

Stutz hesitated, shifting uneasily. Then: “He works in livestock, Your Honor.”

Another collective scoff went up from the group that was seated behind the defendant. Percy flinched. He looked ready to hold the whole crowd in contempt.

Jarret cut in. “Your Honor?”

“
What
, Mr. Yoder?”

“Permission to offer remarks at this time?”

Frowning, Percy looked away from the crowd. He nodded. “Let's get somewhere.”

Jarret dropped his pen on the table. He picked up a folder … He hadn't had time to prepare, much less rehearse … At this point, he was just hoping to get all the names right … He couldn't afford to slip up. If anything—even one detail—was off, Davin Stutz would call him out, as Stutz had defended the mill for years.

“Your Honor, please excuse the defendant's friends and family for their verbal outbursts, but as each of them is well-aware, Minister Bontrager works in, and co-owns, the most intensely scrutinized puppy mill operation in the greater Stepford area.”

“OBJECTION!” yelled Stutz,

“Overruled!” snapped Percy.

Stutz, wide-eyed, regarded Yoder in baffled amazement as much as rage. Jarret was turning the tables on him, beating Stutz at his own game.

“Thank you, Judge.” Yoder proceeded, crossing his fortune to get this right. “Since 1970, Benedictus Bontrager and four associates have been operating the Blue Ball Canine Emporium. In 1980, a court-ordered search of the premises revealed deplorable sanitary conditions—massive overcrowding of cages, sometimes four or five dogs to a unit—malnutrition, disease, neglect and broad indications of physical abuse. Studies have shown that dogs being raised in the mill—and later sold to distributors—have significantly higher rates of, among other ailments, heart disease, bone marrow cancer and blindness than dogs being bred and bought elsewhere. For many years, this facility has been under
watch by numerous organizations. Mr. Bontrager has personally driven off members of the media with a baseball bat. A petition signed by six hundred persons against the Emporium was filed last year. A national coalition of pet owners has cited the mill as the ‘epitome of evil.'”