Indigo (10 page)

He had spoken as if he were reciting something memorized, but Jerry got stuck on the word “deportation.” It hadn't occurred to him that they would make him leave the country, but why should it have? Why would any prosecutor settle for deportation when the charges were so serious? This was arson and murder and none of what was going on made any sense. “Aren't you interested in finding the ones who really set the fire?” Jerry asked. Phelps-Neuman, however, only stared at him, then turned and went back out of the room.

Jerry didn't know what to think or do. He had expected Lawrence, and he was irritated with the way Phelps-Neuman had treated him, irritated with himself for not knowing more. He knew he had to start doing better, to make some kind of plan, but in the end all he did was wait in the room until nine o'clock, when three guards came in, placing him in actual shackles and escorting him down the hall.

Jerry's big surprise was that Justice Felix Ogunde was a man he had met before. Though the judge was wearing robes and a white wig, Jerry was sure that he had spoken with him, at a party, perhaps, or even on the school grounds.

The judge had Jerry stand in the dock and wrote in his ledger while Lawrence presented himself for the defense and an oddly thin woman introduced herself as representing the prosecution. The courtroom was a shabby, poorly painted affair, and though it was not large, the loudness of the air conditioners made hearing difficult, and since Justice Ogunde did not seem inclined to shout he had to repeat himself many times.

“Madame for the prosecution, what case do you have? What strength is there in it? Tell me truly now.”

“We have a strong case, sir,” said the thin woman. “We have evidence and we have cause.”

“Mr. Biko,” said the judge, “your client is free of a criminal record, is he not? I mean in his own country as well as in Nigeria.”

“Yes,” said Lawrence, “as he will be throughout his life.”

Jerry thought he saw the judge frown, but he merely looked back at the prosecutor and asked, “Is it the prosecutor's intention to carry this thing to trial?”

“It is,” said the woman. “I am sure the court is aware that there was loss of life. The penalties here are statutory.”

The judge looked back at Lawrence. “Mr. Biko, what is your plea?” he asked.

“We are innocent,” said Lawrence. “And we plead so using the acceptable terminology of the court, that is, not guilty. Also, the defense would like to state for the record that to accept deportation would mean that our innocence could not be proved and we therefore decline, in advance, any such offer.”

What the hell? Lawrence had not discussed any of this with him and Jerry was glaring at his attorney when the judge glanced over at him and smiled. “Mr. Neal, can you understand all of this? I know it's noisy in here; can you hear what is being said?”

Jerry felt the shackles dig into his ankles as he stood in the dock and the judge leaned forward in his chair. “My Lord, Mr. Neal, are you bound?” he asked. He looked at the prosecutor and then at the nearest guard. “Who ordered this man shackled and who's got the key? Could anyone possibly have thought that this man would run away?”

The judge was staring at the guards, so everyone was surprised when Phelps-Neuman spoke from the side of the room. “We did not order him bound because of the nature of the man, but because of the nature of the crime,” he said.

But the judge ignored Phelps-Neuman and slumped back in his chair. “You there,” he said to the nearby guard, “unbind this man. Go find the key and unbind him now.”

The guard left quickly and while everyone waited Justice Ogunde looked at Jerry and spoke in a kindly way. “I hope that you will accept my apologies on behalf of the court,” he said. “We have procedures, but we sometimes do not have the common sense to make judicious decisions as to when not to follow them.” He had started out speaking softly but had ended on a sharp note, and Jerry, though still angry with Lawrence over the deportation thing, knew enough to keep a serious face. “I'm fine, sir,” he said. “The guards were only doing their jobs.”

As a matter of fact, Jerry thought it was great. The judge was mad and when the guard came back and unlocked the shackles Jerry sighed and rubbed his wrists, happy to have the shackles gone but wonderfully glad, now, that they'd been put on him in the first place.

“All right,” said the justice, “Mr. Biko, you are entering a plea of not guilty, isn't that what you said?”

“Yes, sir,” said Lawrence.

“Very well. For the record of the court, Mr. Jerry Neal, resident of Lagos state, citizen of the U.S. of A., you are charged with the crime of arson in the first degree and with the wrongful death of a certain Mrs. Purity Ono and you have entered a plea of not guilty on both counts.”

The judge looked away from Jerry and spoke out into the room. “The defendant has entered a plea of not guilty to the charge of arson in the first degree and wrongful death under the heading of murder. Under the guarantees of a speedy trial, and due to the unusual publicity in this case, I hereby set the trial date for January, 1984, the first working day after the New Year. Madam Prosecutor, Mr. Biko, are your calendars clear on that day?”

Lawrence and the thin woman nodded, and then Lawrence spoke again. “Your honor, the defense requests that the defendant be granted freedom, within the confines of Lagos state, on his own recognizance, up to and including the final day of his trial.” He had spoken softly but Jerry stiffened. This was the point about which he was desperate.

Justice Ogunde looked at the prosecutor and then at the guard who still stood nearby with the shackles, and then, briefly, at Tunde Phelps-Neuman over on the other side. “Does the prosecution object?” asked the judge.

“We do,” said the thin woman. “What purpose, other than that of personal comfort, would be served by granting such a request?”

“Why, the easy preparation of our defense,” said Lawrence. “And we will, of course, relinquish the defendant's passport as a guarantee.”

The justice then spoke to the prosecutor. “The court is aware of the bailability of the charge, and I know that the prosecution is aware of the discretion of the court.” He then allowed bail, on Jerry's own recognizance again, and pounded his gavel recessing the court for the day.

Jerry watched as Lawrence and the prosecutor shook hands, talking with each other as they walked out the door. He knew, now that he'd had time to think about it, what Lawrence would say about refusing deportation. He would say that the charges were too easy to beat, that they had logic and the evidence of the school's records on their side, a paper trail concerning the visas that went all the way back to San Francisco. He would say that it was impossible to lose. But Jerry had wanted the confounded man to consult him
before
making such fateful decisions, and the confounded man hadn't.

Still, now that he was free it was hard to maintain his anger, so while the two lawyers talked Jerry looked around the courtroom for friendly faces, someone with whom he could share the moment. It was late in the day and no one appeared to have come. As he walked toward the back of the room, however, he met a group of teachers coming through the outside door. Jerry smiled at them all, but as he walked toward them Lawrence quickly joined him again, pulling him off to the side of the room, under the noisiest air conditioner.

Jerry was about to thank Lawrence, to say, at least, that he was terribly glad not to be going back to jail, but Lawrence shushed him. “There is something rotten in Denmark,” Lawrence said.

Jerry knew that well enough. What was rotten in Denmark was the trumped-up charge and the prolonged inability of Lawrence to get him out of jail. But now that he
was
out he was of a mind to forget all that, to get back to his office and see what was going on with the school. He was sure there was a great deal of work to be done and there was nothing he looked forward to more than doing it.

“I don't know,” said Jerry, “the judge certainly seems to be on our side.”

“That's what I don't understand,” said Lawrence. “You have just been freed on your own recognizance for the second time. I am proud to have pulled that off, but now that I've done it, I don't trust it at all.”

“What do you think?” said Jerry. “Now that I'm free should I fool them all and get the hell out of town?”

He had meant his comment to sound light and he was ready to laugh when Lawrence did, but Lawrence's demeanor was serious and no laugh came. “This is not the place to talk about it,” he said.

Jerry Neal was not guilty of any crime but now that it appeared that he would not be deported for what he had not done, was his attorney telling him that something else was up and that he ought to run away? Jerry wanted to say something further, but the teachers were standing nearby and Lawrence, when he saw them, stepped away a little.

Jerry looked at his watch, which had just been returned to him along with his other belongings from the jail. It was December 13, 1983. If he stayed in Nigeria, he would be standing trial for murder in just about four weeks' time. What he wanted to do now was get together with Lawrence, to talk about the difference between deportation and flight, to discover what it was that Lawrence seemed to think had gone so terribly wrong.

Jerry slept fitfully that night but spent the next day back in his office, trying to catch up on his work and meeting with various groups of teachers, most of whom would be leaving town for the three-week period of Christmas break. Since he was under house arrest he could not, of course, leave himself, but it didn't matter. The idea of being alone on the campus appealed to him, giving him the feeling that he was breaking back into ordinary life in stages. That evening, however, he did attend a party, given in his honor at the home of Leonard Holtz, the school board president. He had become a kind of celebrity in the international community, and it was only by the strictest enforcement of his will that he avoided agreeing to a reception line.

All of the school board members were at the party, as were many of the teachers and most of the people from the embassy who had children in the school. Leonard Holtz lived in an elegant house, one that overlooked the harbor. As he stood at one of the picture windows, Jerry could see ships leaving, and he imagined himself on one of them, creeping away.

Jules's food notwithstanding, Jerry had lost weight during his eleven days in jail. Now his best suit fit loosely, allowing him to twist his trousers half a turn around. He had his hands in his pockets and was thus experimenting when Leonard came over to him, accompanied by Lee Logar, a black American diplomat, new to town. Jerry had met Lee once before, but Leonard introduced them anyway. “Lee has been working on your case from the embassy side,” he said. “He had someone at the jail every day but nothing went according to plan. We did try, I hope you realize that, Jerry. If we weren't in bloody Nigeria we'd have had you out on that first day.”

Though Jerry was irritated with Leonard's tone he and Lee shook hands, and then Jerry suggested that they step outside. The moon was over the water and he wanted to be under it when he talked about how he was going to get away.

The three men walked across the lawn and sat at a picnic table on the edge of a bluff, far away from the house. Lawrence Biko was at the party but Jerry wanted to leave Lawrence out of this. Though he'd thought constantly about Lawrence during his time in jail, and though the idea of leaving had come from Lawrence too, Lawrence's version of things was too cryptic. And with the hard involvement of the U.S. Embassy, whatever was going on in his attorney's mind seemed beside the point. It was as if he were being asked to choose between the two countries, and the choice was instantly in favor of the United States. Jerry had, however, seen Sunday walking around, and he knew that if he was going to trust any Nigerian to help with his plan, his administrative assistant would be the one. When a steward came by he asked him to call Sunday over, and to bring fresh drinks as well. After that he simply said, “I've decided to think, again, about finding a way to get out. I mean now, of course, before my trial. Let Lawrence Biko prove my innocence after I'm gone.”

Leonard Holtz said, “All this is completely off the record,” but Lee Logar nodded, saying, “We think so too. It would be easiest to go by way of Accra. Overland through Benin and Togo and then by air back to the States.”

Leonard Holtz stood, saying he didn't want to hear any discussion that would leave the school without a head, so Jerry asked him to keep Sunday away for another five minutes. And when Leonard left Lee spoke up. “This really is the strangest damned thing,” he said. “It's much more complicated than it seems. You've probably guessed that the whole visa thing was a setup, but I've got to tell you, we haven't got a clear idea as to why.”

“No shit,” said Jerry Neal.

Jerry Neal rarely spoke like that, but he was suddenly too impatient for other words. Why was he sitting here with this young man? He should be talking to the ambassador or to the D.C.M. He had expected that his government would know by now whatever they needed to know to extract him from this mess. Who had done the setting up, for example, and why? And was Lawrence really right in believing that it was only the coincidence of the visa problem that made him the hapless dupe that they'd used? Jerry wanted answers and he wanted a plan, a way to get out of the country without mistakes.

Lee Logar stared out across the lawn. He could feel Jerry's disregard for him but he nevertheless continued. “All right, listen,” he said. “The majority opinion is that this has nothing to do with the ministry's books. If you were to stay, and if your attorney went into court ready to take that line, arguing that it was all a cover-up for a financial scam, it might be a big mistake. The prosecution would likely pull out sets of unscorched records and the ministry would be cleared. You might then find out that what was really burned were records having to do with the permanent residencies of foreign nationals, in other words nothing more than the files containing visa information about the school, and that would put a strain on Nigerian-American relations. We think, as a matter of fact, that that's the point of this whole thing. They want you to think exactly what you are thinking, don't you see? If you believe the case is ridiculous you won't be afraid to stay and stand trial. So far, except for the secretary's death, everything seems to have gone just as they've planned.”