Cry Me A River. Ernest Hill

      “Jake, you gone let him talk to you like that?” the woman asked.

      “Maude, why don’t you go on back over yonder and sat down,” the man said. He raised his voice for the first time, and Tyrone could tell that the situation was beginning to get next to him.

      “Not long as he in here, I won’t,” she said angrily.

      “He got a right to be here,” the man told her.

      “What you defending him for?” she wanted to know.

      “I ain’t defending nobody,” Jake snapped. “I’m just stating the fact. This is a public place, and long as he ain’t breaking no law, or causing no trouble, he got as much right to be here as you or anybody else.”

      “You act like you scared of him.”

      “I ain’t scared of nobody.”

      “Jake “

      “Maude, please!”

      She looked at Jake, then at Tyrone. But before either of them uttered another word, a second man approached the table.

      “Need a hand, Jake?” he asked. He was a big, burly fellow, well over six feet. He wore a large cowboy hat, a pair of faded blue jeans, a work shirt, and a pair of worn cowboy boots.

      “What I need,” Jake said, “is for y’all to sat down and relax.”

      “Not long as he in here,” Maude said for the second time.

      “Well, Maude,” Jake said, his voice filled with impatience, “suit yourself.”

      “I’m disappointed in you, Jake,” she said. “Real disappointed.”

      “Sorry you feel that way,” Jake said. “But you still gone need to sat down.”

      “Jake, I won’t be sitting in here, today or any other day,” she said. “From now on, me and my family will do our business elsewhere.”

      She walked out, and Jake turned to the man.

      “Sat down, Bobby Joe,” he said. “Please. This ain’t helping nothing.”

      Bobby Joe looked at Jake, then at Tyrone, and like Maude, walked from the deli. Jake sighed, then slowly turned to Tyrone.

      “I’d thank you not to come in here no more.”

      Tyrone looked at him but did not speak. He slowly lifted a piece of chicken from his plate, took a bite, then looked out the window. Outside, a few dark gray clouds were moving in from the east. It looked like rain.

       Chapter 11

      Janell was with a client when Tyrone made it back to the office. She was not up front, as before, but was holding conference in Captain Jack’s office. The door was ajar, and Tyrone could see that Janell was sitting behind Captain Jack’s desk, and the white man was sitting in the same chair that Tyrone had occupied the day before. Janell and the man talked for a while; then the man left, and Janell entered the room, carrying a small cardboard box.

      “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said politely, then set the box on her desk.

      “That’s all right,” Tyrone said, rising from the couch. “I know you busy.”

      “Try swamped.” She smiled.

      Tyrone returned her smile. He watched her move behind the desk and open the lid of the box.

      “This is everything we have on your son’s case,” she said. “The D.A. keeps the real evidence. All we have are odds and ends.”

      She reached into the box and removed a thick document, and Tyrone moved closer to the desk.

      “These are the trial transcripts.” She held the documents up, and when she was satisfied that Tyrone had seen them, she put them back into the box and removed a second item.

      “These are sworn depositions.”

      Tyrone nodded, and she put them back, then lowered her head and continued thumbing through the box; only now she did not remove anything, but simply verbalized what she saw.

      “We also have witness lists, interviews, photographs, etcetera.”

      “Seems like a lot to me,” Tyrone said.

      “Not really,” she said. “Besides, most of it is pretty incriminating. We just couldn’t find, or offer, much in the form of exculpatory evidence.”

      “You think he’s guilty, don’t you?”

      “I didn’t say that,” she said quickly. But he could tell that his question had made her uncomfortable.

      “Well, what are you saying?”

      She sat down and folded her arms on the desk before her.

      “The prosecution put on a very strong case. They didn’t make any mistakes. And we weren’t able to find any cracks. It’s as simple as that.”

      “Did you look?” Tyrone asked.

      “Of course,” she said, insulted.

      “Where?” he wanted to know.

      “Everywhere,” she said adamantly.

      “Like,” he pressed.

      “Mr. Stokes, why are you attacking me?”

      “Why are you trying to make me believe that this is hopeless?”

      “I’m not,” she said. “I welcome your help. I really do. I just want you to understand what you are up against.”

      “I know what I’m up against,” he snapped. “I’m not stupid.”

      “Sir, I didn’t say that you were.”

      He gaped at her with a long, angry stare.

      “Listen,” she said. “There are a lot of documents here. But most of them are worthless. The most damaging piece of evidence against your son was the testimony of the two eye witnesses. They both swore that they saw the victim get into your son’s truck.”

      “They lied,” Tyrone said.

      “Maybe,” she replied. “But they were extremely credible.”

      “So, you believe them?”

      “Sir, what I believe doesn’t matter,” she said. “The jury believed them, and there is nothing in that box, or anywhere else that we’ve searched, that can challenge their testimony.”

      “They still live here?”

      “Yes, sir, but they won’t talk to you,” she said. “We’ve tried on any number of occasions. They’re very hostile.”

      “I’ll get them to talk.” Tyrone was emphatic. “You can bet on that.”

      “Mr. Stokes, even if you did, it probably wouldn’t matter.”

      “Why not?”

      “They testified under oath.”

      “What difference does that make?”

      “All the difference in the world.”

      “I don’t understand,” he said.

      “The courts take testimony given under oath very seriously,” she explained. “So, unless we could offer proof that the witnesses lied or proof that they were coerced into making a false statement, their recantation would most likely be rejected. The prosecution would simply argue that they were having difficulty coping with the reality that their testimony had resulted in a person being sentenced to die. Their saying that they lied simply would not be enough.”

      “Their word can kill