Mama's Boy (13 page)

29

G
loria couldn't believe that she had been reduced to spying on her husband. But if she hadn't, there is no way she would have known what he was planning. Even listening now, she would have never believed it if she hadn't stumbled into the church sanctuary and been able to duck out of the way in time to hear.

“My wife is concerned that the Black Justice Coalition is really only about uplifting their own cause,” Elton said.

“Of course we are,” Rev. Clayborn replied. “And part of our cause is bringing justice to young black men who have been wronged. And our brother Jamal has been wronged. This is a town of deep-seated racism and we want to bring the fact that nothing has changed directly to the forefront.”

Gloria couldn't believe Elton was even still talking to these men. They'd dang near incited a riot at a protest march, they'd spouted their cause and all the change they could do, yet not one time had any of them asked how Jamal was doing. She didn't trust these men,
and the fact that her husband was even entertaining them was another crack in his already shaky foundation.

“H-how much money will my church get?” Elton asked.

“Well, our donations have already begun flowing in. We'll allocate a percentage for your family and church,” Rev. Clayborn said.

“So, what exactly will you need me to do?” Elton said.

Rev. Clayborn smiled. “Well, we need to get our attorney down so he can get moving on the case. Then we have planned a full media campaign. CNN, MSNBC, Fox, local media, even
The View
and
The Talk.
We plan to hit all of the media outlets, including the morning shows. We will need you and your wife by our side supporting our efforts,” he said.

The Muhammad man spoke up. “Reverend, the one thing we can't have is us being extremely vocal and then you all coming back saying you don't support our cause. So we need to make sure we're all in accord.”

Elton didn't say anything, just shifted his body like he was unsure what to do. Gloria willed her husband to do the right thing. Give her a tiny reason to believe in him again. Yet he said nothing.

Rev. Clayborn's voice got stern. “You do support our cause, don't you?”

“Well . . .” Elton began.

“Let me be very clear, Reverend Jones,” Rev. Clayborn continued. “You said yourself that your church is struggling. The Black Justice Coalition is prepared to give a donation of twenty thousand dollars to the Mount Sinai Church to, shall we say, defray any costs incurred with our usage of your facility. We can call it an advance on our donations.”

Elton's eyes danced and Gloria's stomach churned. Was her husband really about to sell out their son for a cash donation to the church? She'd had all that she could take. She stepped out so she could be seen.

“Ummm.” She cleared her throat.

Elton jumped up. “Uh, hello, honey. I-I was just meeting with the ministers here.” Elton had to have known he was wrong, because he didn't usually stumble around her. He took his job as head of household very seriously and she had never seen him the least bit intimidated—until now.

Gloria didn't say a word as she stared at the two men.

“Good day, Mrs. Jones,” Rev. Clayborn said.

“As-salamu alaykum,” Minister Muhammad added.

“Hello,” Gloria said, only because her mother had taught her never to be rude.

“We were here just discussing—”

“I heard what you were discussing,” she said, cutting off Elton before he started lying to her in the church. She turned to Ministers Clayborn and Muhammad. “But I just want to be very clear that we will not be needing your services. We have secured a wonderful attorney.”

“You have?” Minister Muhammad asked, shooting a strange look at Elton, who simply looked away.

“Yes, Phillip Christiansen has decided to take our case,” Gloria said.

“Mrs. Jones,” Rev. Clayborn said, “I really do not think that is a good idea. Our attorney has an impeccable record.”

She turned to him and snapped. “A record of inciting violence,” she said. “I've researched your attorney and not only does he not
win cases, but all he's good for is getting folks riled up and not in a good way.”

“Gloria!” Elton said. He turned to Rev. Clayborn. “I'm sorry. You'll have to excuse my wife. This whole thing has been stressful on her and she's not herself.”

“You don't need to speak for me, Elton.” She knew she was catching him by surprise because usually she was the meek and timid pastor's wife. But that was before these people started messing with her son. “Thank you, gentlemen. Obviously, we can't stop you from doing what you need to do, but my husband and I would rather have your prayers than to become the face of your cause.”

They looked appalled, but Gloria didn't care. She didn't care that she was being rude. She didn't care that she was making her husband mad. Right now it seemed like she was the only one who had sense when it came to her son.

30

A
fter reviewing the evidence, Kay doubted that
State v. Jamal Jones
would ever see the light of day. If Jamal's family had any sense, they would take her offer of Manslaughter 1.

She knew her husband, though. He was going to fight this and want to take it to trial, but Kay was hoping she could get through to the boy's parents. A trial could get very ugly and with a videotape there was simply no way they could win. It's not like the cop shot himself.

“Knock, knock.”

Kay looked up from her desk to see Valerie poke her head in the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Christiansen.”

“Good morning, Valerie,” she said, waving her in. “Are those for me?” she asked, motioning to the folders in Valerie's hand.

“Yes, ma'am.” Valerie handed her the folders. “The top folder has all the info on Officer Wilkins's family. The next is some more case material and the one on the bottom is all the info you asked me to pull on the suspect's personal history. His parents, his school, all his personal information.”

“Okay, great.” Kay opened the first folder and her heart once again went out when she saw Officer Wilkins receiving his pin from the police academy. She closed that folder and pulled out the one with the suspect's personal info. She liked to get into the head of the criminals she prosecuted, understand what made them tick.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Christiansen,” Kay's secretary, April, said over the telephone intercom. “I have Judge Raymond's office on the phone. She had something come up this afternoon and wants to know if we can move your pretrial meeting up.”

“Up to when?” Kay asked.

“Up to now. Like in twenty minutes.”

Kay silently cursed. They weren't supposed to meet until 3 p.m. She wanted to review these files first, but Judge Mona Raymond was not a person who liked the word
no
.

“Fine. I'll be there. Get Harold. Tell him to meet me in Judge Raymond's chambers in twenty minutes.”

“Why are you stressing?” Valerie asked after Kay had hung up the phone. “You know you're prepared.”

“I know, but I really wanted to go through these files. It's not like me to be unprepared, but this campaign has had me running.”

“Hopefully, you won't need them. Maybe they'll accept your plea today, and all of this,” she said, pointing to the folders, “will be moot.”

“You're right.” Kay stuffed the folders in her briefcase and stood. Valerie was great at keeping things in perspective. She'd hired the girl six years ago, when she was a junior at the University of Houston. It had broken Kay's heart when Valerie dropped out of school because she got pregnant. Valerie had kept promising to go back, but she'd told Kay that as a single mother, she had to keep working full-time.

“I'll make sure Harold gets over there,” Valerie said.

“Great, I'm heading over now.”

Twenty minutes didn't give Kay time to do more than grab a granola bar and head over to Judge Raymond's office. Kay liked to keep her energy up because she always wanted to stay on top of her game. No doubt Phillip would be on top of his.

When Kay walked into Judge Raymond's chambers, her husband was already there, chatting it up, using his undeniable charm to put the judge on his side. Kay had peeped his game a long time ago. Luckily, Judge Raymond was a hard-nose who might smile and chitchat with him, but when she banged that gavel, she was strictly business.

“Hello, Mr. Christiansen,” Kay said.

“Hello, Mrs. Christiansen,” Phillip replied.

“I just think it's so cute when you two go up against each other,” Judge Raymond quipped, before turning back serious. “Thank you for getting here on such short notice. Are both parties ready?”

“Yes, we are, Your Honor,” Kay said, sliding into a chair across the table from Phillip. Harold, the other assistant district attorney working with her on this case, eased in the door.

“Sorry, got here as soon as I heard,” he said.

“You're fine,” Judge Raymond said, motioning for him to take a seat. She turned to Phillip. “Are your clients on the way?”

“Yes, luckily my clients were already en route, so the change didn't affect them. They were pulling into the parking garage a few minutes ago, so they should be here any minute now. My client won't be joining us. The jail is on lockdown.”

“Again?” the judge asked.

“Yep,” Phillip replied. “So it will just be the parents.”

“I know this is an emotional time for your clients,” Judge Raymond said, “but the mother is aware that I don't do theatrics, correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I have informed her of that.”

“So will you be taking our plea offer?” Kay asked. Her office had formally presented the plea agreement to Phillip's office yesterday.

“Absolutely not,” Phillip replied.

“You do realize the video tells the story?” Kay asked.

“The video tells
half
the story,” Phillip countered. “We're not exactly sure who fired the fatal shot. Maybe the gun just went off. Maybe one of the other boys picked it up and fired.”

“So, that's your theory?” Kay asked.

“Reasonable doubt, that's all I need,” Phillip said.

“Well, if your client hadn't gone on the run, we would have been able to have ballistics determine whether he fired or not.”

“My client was a scared young kid who was raised in a city known for racial intolerance. So he was in fear for his life. But initially, he was doing nothing wrong. Shall I quote you the law: ‘Members of the public are legally allowed to record police interactions. Intentional interference such as blocking or obstructing cameras or ordering the person to cease constitutes censorship and also violates the First Amendment.' ”

“Okay,
War of the Roses
,” Judge Raymond interjected. “We're going to save this until the defendant's parents are present.”

Kay scribbled a few notes just as Phillip said, “Here are the defendant's parents now.” He stood as the couple walked in. “Your Honor, this is Reverend Elton Jones and his wife, Gloria.”

Kay looked up from her notes and every ounce of air drained from her body. If she had been standing, her legs would've surely
given out. She stared at the Joneses in horror. This had to be some kind of sick nightmare.

“This is the prosecutor, Kay Christiansen,” Phillip continued.

This could not be happening.

“Are you all right?” Judge Raymond asked.

Kay took short, deep breaths, trying to keep from passing out. Was this really Elton and Gloria Jones in front of her?

The judge looked back and forth between Kay and the Joneses. “Do you know them?” she asked.

“I—I . . . Excuse me, Your Honor.” Kay stood and bolted out of the room, nearly knocking Gloria over on her way through the door.

Kay knew her husband would follow, because as professional as he was, he cared about her well-being more than anything else, so he would come and see what was wrong. That's why she ducked into the ladies' room.

Kay had never suffered from asthma. But right about now, she felt like she was having an asthma attack.

“Kay, are you all right?” Phillip called from outside the door

“Yes,” she answered between breaths. “Just give me a minute!”

“Kay?”

“Just go back inside!”

“Kay! What's wrong?”

“Go!” She inhaled, trying to compose herself. But it wasn't working. She shook her hands like she was fanning herself.
Breathe, Kay, breathe,
she told herself.

This couldn't be happening. No way could she go back in that room. She
wouldn't
go back in that room.

Kay ducked into the bathroom stall when she heard the door open. She locked the door and leaned against the side of the stall.

“Kayla.” The voice from her past called out to her. “Kayla, are you all right?”

“What are you doing here?” Kay asked from inside the stall, her voice trembling.

“Trying to save my son,” Gloria softly said.

“J-Jamal Jones is your son?”

“Come out so we can talk.”

Kay took a deep breath and eased the bathroom stall door open. She stood face-to-face with the woman she hadn't seen in almost seventeen years. Gloria hadn't changed. She had a few more wrinkles and a few more silver strands, but everything else was the same.

“Yes, the boy you're prosecuting is . . .” She paused. “Jamal is my son.”

“Did you know I was the prosecutor?”

Gloria nodded.

“Did you know who my husband was when you hired him?”

Gloria didn't say a word.

“What kind of game are you playing?” Kay hissed, her shock now replaced by anger.

“I'm not playing a game. I'm just a mother trying to save her son.” She took a step toward Kay. Kay took a step back. “Do you have children, Kayla?”

“Don't ask me any questions.”

“Phillip said you do,” Gloria answered for her. “What lengths would you go to for your child?”

Kay glared at her. She had so much that she wanted to say to this woman, but in the end, all she said was “I'm not doing this with you. I don't know what kind of game you and your sick husband are playing, but I'm not taking part.”

“The only thing I'm trying to do is save my son. Save—”

“I'll call the judge and ask for a continuance.” Kay stormed out of the ladies' room. She was usually strong and confident. Not much could rattle her, but this blast from the past was about to make her completely lose her mind.