In the world of criminal justice, the axiom is: “The faster the verdict, the better the chance of conviction.” I had heard a number of theories about it. I’m not sure I even believed it. I couldn’t at the moment. Not with my son’s life hanging in the balance. It clearly meant that there had not been much dissent in the jury room.
I slid onto the hard bench. Brian looked over at me for almost the first time. The terror in his eyes made me sick to my stomach. Mainly because I felt the same thing.
Mary Catherine ushered Seamus in between us, and he reached over to grip my hand.
I saw Brian’s attorney reach over and hold his forearm. This was it. Whatever was going to happen would happen in the next minute.
The foreman of the jury, a relatively old, dignified African American man, stood and faced the judge.
Judge Weicholz said, “Has the jury reached a verdict, Mr. Foreman?”
The man’s voice was deep and resonant. “Yes, Your Honor.”
The foreman read the prepared preamble, but all I heard was “Blah, blah, blah.”
There was only one phrase I waited to hear. And when the foreman was done with the preamble, all I heard was one word: guilty.
That was it. No lesser charge. Nothing to mitigate it. My little boy had been found guilty of a major felony.
Then I heard Brian sob. And Mary Catherine let out a strangled cry.
The world tilted to the left, then started to spin.
Seamus dropped his face into his hands.
Someone had to stay calm. I couldn’t let Brian see me like this. I was his father. I had to toughen up. He needed me right now.
I took a deep breath. Wiped the tears from my eyes. Sat up straight as the judge thanked the jury. I even kept my cool as the bailiff and a corrections officer stepped close to Brian and handcuffed him again through the waist chain.
He was going away.
I moved through the low, swinging gate to enter the courtroom, but the bailiff held up a hand. He knew who I was. He didn’t like doing it this way. But he couldn’t let me near Brian right now.
Brian looked up at me, and I nodded. He had stopped crying, but I could see the fear in his face. My heart broke when I saw him disappear behind the door at the back of the room. I stood there in silence.
The ADA started to leave.
I turned and said to him, “You feel like a big man now?”
“I feel like a successful man. I did my job.”
“You know that boy doesn’t deserve prison.”
“That’s up to Judge Weicholz now.”
I looked over at Mary Catherine and my grandfather, both sobbing. I felt the same searing pain. We were putting too many kids away on drug charges. Now it hit home. That’s usually not a subject a cop should consider. There had to be a way to fix things. Had to be a way to make the courts stop hammering young men who made a mistake.
I gave the ADA a hard look as he left the courtroom. His young co-counsel followed him like a pack mule, loaded down with files.
I turned to Mary Catherine and Seamus. “Let’s go, guys. We still have a family to take care of. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
I left a chunk of my heart in that courtroom.
Chapter 18
That night was one of the worst of my life. Including the night I lost my wife, Maeve. I tried to focus and pay attention to the other nine children, who needed me, but all I could think about was Brian.
My degree in philosophy and my life as a Catholic made it possible to know how I felt, but they didn’t do shit to make me feel better.