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Authors: Gary D. Schmidt

Tags: #Ages 12 and up

Trouble (8 page)

BOOK: Trouble
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Then the Chouans came in, walking behind their lawyer.

They sat down on the opposite side of the courtroom. Mrs. Chouan was a tiny woman, and she walked like a wary bird, a short bit at a time, looking down at the floor as if she could pretend that nothing else was around. Mr. Chouan was small, too, but with forearms like posts—which anyone could see because they stuck far out of a jacket that didn't fit him. He walked behind Mrs. Chouan; as he came in, the sight of the policeman made him take his wife's arm.

The Chouans did not look at the Smiths. Henry could not take his eyes away from them.

The Chouans sat—still warily—and then one of the doors at the front of the courtroom opened, and Mrs. Chouan gave a short cry that she stifled into her husband's shoulder. Chay Chouan came into the room with the bailiff and a policeman behind him. He was dressed in an awful orange jumpsuit that was too big for him. His head was down. His hands were manacled.

Henry looked at Louisa, who was about to start bawling out loud. Mr. Churchill will be so pleased, he thought.

Chay Chouan's lawyer left his parents and went to Chay. He walked with him to the defendant's table and they sat down together. Chay held out his hands, and the policeman unlocked the manacles and then went back to the door and stood at attention, one hand on a hefty revolver at his side, ready, Henry figured, for anything desperate. The prosecutor came in, nodded to the Smiths, and spoke briefly with Mr. Churchill. Then he sat and arranged papers around his table.

Chay Chouan rubbed at his wrists.

It looked, Henry thought, like the "Prologue"! People introducing themselves around the court, like Chaucer announcing that he's going to tell the condition of each one of the pilgrims "er that I ferther in this tale pace"—and not giving away that he's going to take a few hundred lines to do it. Except here, Henry was himself one of the pilgrims.

And everything mattered.

When the prosecutor finished arranging his papers, everyone was still. For the next five minutes—a little longer than it once would have taken Franklin to run a mile—no one moved. No one seemed to breathe. Even Louisa was still. It was as if they were in a cruel lock, Henry thought.

So when the judge finally came in—"All rise," called the bailiff—Henry was relieved. The Prologue was over. He could be the Grieving Brother pilgrim—and then get out of there.

"This is the pretrial hearing for the People versus Chay Chouan, on the charges of aggravated assault and leaving the scene of an accident," announced the judge. "Mr. Quincy, please call your first witness."

And he did. The Blythbury-by-the-Sea policeman walked to the witness stand, raised his hand, took his oath, sat, and told what everyone in the courtroom already knew. How he had come upon Chay Chouan running down the road and waving his arms to get his attention. How Chay Chouan appeared very excited. How he had said that there had been an accident, that he had fallen asleep at the wheel of his pickup, that he had hit someone running on the side of the road. How he had taken Chay Chouan into his patrol car and how they had driven back to the scene of the accident and found Franklin Smith alone and unconscious. How he had called an ambulance and, while they were waiting, worked with the defendant to put pressure on the bleeding. How the ambulance arrived within six minutes, and following its departure, how he had read Chay Chouan his rights and then placed him under arrest based upon his admission that he had struck the victim. How he had taken the defendant to the Blythbury-by-the-Sea police station, where he had called his family. How the next morning, in the presence of his lawyer, Chay Chouan had made a formal statement, acknowledging the fact that he had struck the victim when he fell asleep while driving alone, back to his family's home in Merton.

"Do you have a transcript of the statement made by Mr. Chouan?" asked the judge.

The policeman took the transcript out of a manila folder.

"Give it to the bailiff, please. Mr. Chouan, I'd like you to look at this transcript to be sure that it is faithful to the statements that you gave that morning. If it is, then I would ask that both you and Mr. Giaconda sign and date it."

The bailiff handed the statement to Chay, who set it down on the table. He and his lawyer read it over slowly. Chay nodded. He took the pen that Mr. Giaconda handed him and signed the transcript. Mr. Giaconda signed as well. The bailiff took the statement and handed it to the judge.

"Is there anything else from this witness?" asked the judge.

"No, your honor."

"Then, Mr. Giaconda, your witness."

Mr. Giaconda rose—a little. He was short, but he walked as though he dared anyone to tell him so. He stood next to the policeman on the witness stand, facing Chay.

"Are you aware of any other police record for Chay Chouan?"

"No."

"Any tickets?"

"No."

"Speeding tickets? Parking tickets?"

"No."

"Tickets for broken taillights?"

"No."

"So, before this accident, Chay Chouan had no encounters with any law enforcement officers of the Commonwealth."

"None that I am aware of."

"In your police report, you wrote that when you arrived on the accident scene, there was a bandage on Franklin Smith's arm. What was that bandage made from?"

"It was a shirt."

"Was Chay Chouan wearing a shirt on the night he found you?"

"No."

"May we assume that Chay Chouan tried to bandage the wound at the scene?"

"That is what I stated in my report."

"Yes, you did. So Chay Chouan bandaged the wound and then went to find help, finally flagging you down and driving back to the scene with you. Officer, would you say that the charge of fleeing the scene of an accident is an appropriate charge for these actions?"

"Objection," said Mr. Quincy. "Calls for legal opinion."

"I'll restate. In general, is it the case that a person charged with fleeing the scene of an accident is trying to avoid complicity in that accident?"

"Yes, in general."

"Were the actions of Mr. Chouan on that night consistent with the actions of someone trying to avoid complicity in an accident?"

"Not to my mind, no."

"You testified that Chay Chouan was arrested after he admitted that he had struck the victim. Let us be clear on this point: Did that admission come before or after you had read him his Miranda rights?"

"He blurted it out when he first came up."

"So the answer to my question is,
Before
you read him his Miranda rights."

"Objection," said Mr. Quincy. "The witness is capable of answering the questions without Mr. Gianconda's helpful editing."

"I'll repeat the question without editing.
Before
or
after
?"

"Before."

"Thank you." Mr. Gianconda sat down.

The prosecutor called Dr. Giles next, but Henry could tell by looking at the judge that things had already been decided. All he needed was enough to go to trial, and the policeman had already given enough. But it seemed as if the court wanted to "ferther in this tale pace."

Dr. Giles spoke about the amputation of the mangled left arm below the shoulder, the damage to the rib cage, the collapse of one lung, and the trauma to Franklin Smith's brain, its indeterminate activity. When Mr. Quincy asked if the brain had been permanently impaired, the doctor said that it was his medical opinion that it might be irreversibly impaired, but he reminded the court that, as yet, the scans were still indeterminate. When the prosecutor asked if Franklin Smith's life was in danger, the doctor nodded.

"Can you give the court a percentage, Doctor, on his chances for a full recovery?"

Henry felt the Grieving Mother pilgrim stiffen beside him.

"Typically, patients who have experienced the kind of trauma that Franklin Smith has experienced do not survive twenty-four hours. That already makes this case remarkable. And I understand that Mr. Smith was an exceptional athlete. That, too, works in his favor. I would say that the chances for a full recovery are very guarded."

"Thank you," said the prosecutor.

"Are there any questions for the defense?" asked the judge.

Mr. Giaconda rose again.

"Doctor, you said that the chances for a full recovery are very guarded. What does 'very guarded' mean?"

"It means that we cannot be sure that a full recovery is likely."

"Is 'possible' a word you could use?"

Dr. Giles considered this. "Under certain circumstances, it might be a word I could use. I have seen the unlikely happen."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Mr. Giaconda.

Dr. Giles walked back to his seat.

Unlikely, thought Henry. Seen the unlikely happen. He doesn't think that Franklin is going to make it. He thinks Franklin is going to die but he doesn't want to say so.

And for the first time—for the first time
really
—Henry wondered if it might be so.

It was as sweet as he had imagined. Just riding together. Just talking. Laughing, even. It was so easy, with the sky dark. No moon. No stars. Just talking.

He had never believed this would happen. She was from Blythbury. It couldn't happen.

But it had. And he was telling her things about himself he had
never told anyone. That he loved Keats. That he wrote poetry himself. He told her that he wrote poetry.

And when he had told her, she touched his arm, and he knew that she was smiling.

Maybe this is what she had hoped for, too. Hope rose in him like a singing, fluting bird.

And then, the runner on the side of the road. Eyes locking and eyes turning and eyes coming back again. Hard.

A scream, another, and blood. How could there be so much blood? And the arm! Where had it gone? The arm!

Go home! Go home now! Go! Now!

Don't see this.

And then, alone, the smell of the blood.

The smell brought it all back. How had he forgotten that smell? How it rose up to him from the sunlit fields—from what was lying in the fields. His tiny mother trying to hide his eyes. But she could do nothing about the smell, or the heated buzzing of the gathering flies.

Desperately wrapping the stump, and then, and then, the other sound he remembered—or was it the sound he was hearing now? Moans.

6

D
R.
S
HERINGHAM TOOK THE STAND.
He sat like a principal, crossing his legs and perching his folded hands on his upper knee. He reached down to adjust his pant cuffs over his black socks. He reached up to adjust his yellow-and-blue tie. Then he waited for Mr. Quincy.

"Dr. Sheringham, you are the principal of the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Preparatory High School in Blythbury-by-the-Sea."

"Yes, I am," said Dr. Sheringham.

"You are familiar with both Franklin Smith and Chay Chouan?"

"The administration and faculty of Longfellow Preparatory make it a point to be familiar with all of our students."

"Dr. Sheringham, please tell the court the circumstances of Chay Chouan's enrollment."

"Chay Chouan and his parents met with me. They explained that they were hoping for an education superior to what they were finding in their local public school. I described our curriculum to them, as well as the many college and university connections that Longfellow could offer. They seemed very pleased. Chay Chouan matriculated the following fall term as a sophomore."

"Were there any difficulties when he came to your school?"

"At that time of his matriculation, he was two years older than most sophomore students, due to his background. There were the expected academic difficulties coming out of a public school education. We anticipated some language issues, but none of his teachers felt that these were significant enough to warrant special help."

"How about social difficulties, Dr. Sheringham? Chay Chouan is from a very different background than most of your students."

"He is, and we anticipated some problems there as well. There were some reports of incidents"—Mrs. Chouan leaned over the railing to Chay's lawyer—"but nothing more than the high spirits of boys welcoming a new student into their school. They quickly quieted down, and Chay became part of the Longfellow community."

"There was a more serious problem last January, however."

Dr. Sheringham nodded. "There was. Last January there was an altercation in the North Gym locker room in which Chay Chouan and another boy had to be separated."

"The other boy was Franklin Smith."

"Yes."

"What was that altercation about?"

"Students at Longfellow do not tattle on each other."

"Did you investigate further?"

"There was no need. The boys shook hands in my office. I considered the affair closed."

"Do you consider the affair closed now?"

"Objection," said Chay Chouan's lawyer. "Calls for opinion."

"Sustained," said the judge.

"Do you believe that the two boys parted as friends?"

"It would be naive to think that," said Dr. Sheringham. "But they certainly understood what was expected of them in terms of their behavior at Longfellow."

"Thank you," said the prosecutor to Dr. Sheringham. "Your witness."

Mr. Giaconda walked across to Dr. Sheringham.

"Dr. Sheringham, you are very proud of your school and its students."

"I am."

"Do you not find it remarkable that Chay Chouan, after spending most of his childhood in a refugee camp in a war-torn country and after traveling for thousands of miles to escape such camps, was able to enter a school as prestigious as yours and do well in his classes?"

"I find all the students at Longfellow to be remarkable."

"But don't you find it even more remarkable when one who has had none of the advantages of the others still succeeds there?"

"Not particularly, no. Many of our students overcome handicaps to improve themselves and to succeed at Longfellow."

"So, many of your students have had their sisters shot in front of them?"

BOOK: Trouble
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