The price we pay, p.31
The Price We Pay, page 31
“Speaking of Haywood Wilson, can you recall the last day that you saw him?”
“I most definitely can. It was the day of the gathering at Gussie Mae’s house, the day after her girl was murdered.”
“Was Mr. Henchman there during this gathering?” The question half-witted, in my opinion, because nearly everyone from our neighborhood was there that day.
“He most certainly was there, and he was drunk out of his mind doing it.” Roy Lee seemed happy to reveal that Daddy may have partaken in a little too much to drink on that day, which wasn’t a crime. He may have been a professional, but he was still human, which meant he deserved to enjoy himself just as much as anyone else in the room.
“Was he neighborly to Haywood Wilson on this day?”
“Man, if he wasn’t neighborly to the man on a sober day, what makes you think he was nice to him on the day he was drunk as a skunk?” Roy Lee had become agitated.
“Just answer the question, Mr. Jones. Was he or was he not neighborly to Mr. Wilson on this particular day?” The prosecutor ignored the fact that Roy Lee was annoyed and asked again.
“To answer your question, no. He wasn’t nice to him. He was ruder than normal, and I even heard him threaten the man. The whole room did,” Roy Lee said.
“What did you hear him say?”
“I heard him say the same thing Gussie Mae heard him say. ‘If I do something, Odessa, it’ll be to hand the girl a knife myself.’ He made that statement after his girl threatened Haywood and tried to grab a knife.” Recognition dawned on Roy Lee’s face, while I felt like terror overtook mine.
At the second mention of me threatening Old Man Wilson, it looked like the jurors’ expressions dulled in unison. Though I wasn’t the one on trial, I sure did feel like it. I hated that Daddy was being judged solely based on a threat, yet a part of me was glad that I made the decision not to call the police the night me and Shannon found Old Man Wilson dead. Just as I expected, because I threatened him in the presence of nearly half the neighborhood, I would have been the prime suspect. The prosecutor turned and surveyed me before retrieving a small notebook from his jacket pocket and scribbling a note to himself before starting another line of questioning.
“Mr. Jones, can you tell us about the day of Natasha Bennett’s homegoing service?”
“I’m sure it was gonna be a beautiful service until he ruined it by addressing us as niggas and whatnot.” Roy Lee revealed what his real gripe was about.
“How did that make you feel?”
“Man, look, this ain’t no counseling session! All that matters is that he offended us, and then started shooting in the church like a fool!” Roy Lee put the nail in the coffin.
“No further questions, Your Honor.” The prosecutor was satisfied with Roy Lee’s response, giving Trudy the chance to take a crack at Roy Lee next.
“Mr. Jones, you stated that the defendant was neighborly toward you but not toward others, is that correct?” Trudy questioned.
“That is correct,” Roy Lee said.
“With that in mind, Mr. Jones, what would you define as being neighborly?”
“Sista, you know what it means to be neighborly.” Roy Lee tried to dodge the question, but Trudy wasn’t letting him off the hook he baited for himself.
“No, actually, I don’t, Mr. Jones. That’s why I asked you to define it for me. So again, how would you define neighborly?”
“You know, someone who’s helpful, friendly, or kind even,” Roy Lee said.
“Do you recall a time when you were neighborly, and if so, what was that experience like?”
“I’m neighborly all of the time. In fact, I just did something neighborly yesterday. I went shopping for one of the elderly ladies in our neighborhood ‘cause she can’t do for herself no more. That’s what neighborly means, being helpful to others and whatnot.”
“So, are you saying that my client is a bad person because he doesn’t exhibit such behaviors like shopping for the elderly?” Trudy studied Roy Lee’s face while she waited for an answer.
“I’m saying yo’ client is downright rude!” Roy Lee’s agitation was returning.
“How do you handle rude people, Mr. Jones?”
“I don’t! My motto is—if you whack, get back!” Roy Lee’s mouth twisted into a pout.
“So, what you’re saying to the court is that you don’t help rude people, and you have absolutely no dealings with them whatsoever?” I could see where Trudy was heading, and so could the prosecutor, because he shot up from his seat so fast, it nearly startled me to death.
“Objection, Your Honor!” the prosecutor called out.
“Overruled, Counselor.” Judge Fitzgerald was suddenly becoming interested in what Trudy had up her sleeve. “You may answer the question, Mr. Jones.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Roy Lee’s response was so quiet, it was almost inaudible.
“If you don’t deal with or help people who are rude, why is it that you spoke to my client on a regular basis despite the fact that he wasn’t neighborly to others?” Trudy asked pointedly.
“Like I said, he was neighborly to me, but he wasn’t neighborly to others,” Roy Lee answered, trying to justify his own words.
“That may be correct, however, you stated that you stay away from people who are rude, which is how you’ve described the defendant. Not only did you keep the company of my client on a regular basis, but you also helped him into his home the night that Haywood Wilson disappeared, is that correct?”
“I did help him, but that was only because he was so skunky drunk that he could hardly stand up! Once I got him into that house and dumped him on that couch, I planned on telling him about himself. I even planned on telling him not to speak to me as long as his face had lips, but he was knocked out cold before I even threw his legs onto the couch. I couldn’t wake that fool up even if I tried to.” Roy Lee’s slip of the tongue nearly caused the color to drain out of the prosecutor’s face.
“No further questions, Your Honor.” In contrast, Trudy’s face was as bright as a rainbow following a rainstorm.
Roy Lee proved that Daddy was too intoxicated to let himself into his own house, let alone help himself into someone else’s home to murder them. Whether he liked it or not, Roy Lee helped Daddy score bigtime. During Roy Lee’s testimony, I learned that the scale could easily tip unexpectedly.
CHAPTER 39
Gussie Mae and Roy Lee had it out for Daddy for one reason or another. It wasn’t clear if the two had that animosity from the start or if it had built up over time, but either way, each one held on to their feelings about him until the time was right. That was when releasing them would do the most damage. Unfortunately for Daddy, their untimely moments of truth met him during his day in court.
I didn’t know what Daddy took from it, but hearing Roy Lee and Gussie Mae fill the court in on what type of character he displayed was proof that one would never know how someone felt about them until they were given their moment to shout it from the rooftops. Surprisingly enough, the two showed their true colors, but there was still hope that Mrs. Milly wouldn’t follow their lead once she took the stand.
Mrs. Milly was the owner of Milly’s Chuck Wagon, the neighborhood soul food joint, and the home of the best fried okra in town. Mrs. Milly was best known for whipping up dishes seasoned with so much flavor, the smells seeped out of the kitchen and into the restaurant, making waiting to eat nearly impossible. My favorite dish was collard greens served with an extra side of pot liquor, soaked by a heap of cornbread. Momma and Daddy praised Mrs. Milly for serving the best hoppin’ john to ever touch their lips, but it was Daddy who favored her for the recipe the most. He credited Mrs. Milly’s pork and black-eyed peas over rice for doing something to his soul every chance he got a taste of it. In fact, he always showered her with compliments, which made Mrs. Milly sweet on Daddy—not in a romantic way like Momma suspected the office receptionist at school was, but like a son.
It was assumed that Mrs. Milly was well into her early eighties because of the thick wrinkles extending far beyond her eyebrows and multiplying near the corner of her eyes. Her time-chiseled face housed milky eyes, and her gun-metal-gray hair was as thin as single ply tissue paper. It wasn’t much left of her skeletal frame, but that didn’t stop her from living what was left of her life with love and wisdom. Daddy loved her cooking, yet he admired her most for her consistency. She laid her head to rest every night at the stroke of midnight and was awake at the 4:00 a.m. watch hour. Her lined hands prepped the ingredients that would be served at the chuck wagon for the day, but not before she read her Holy Bible—the same Bible she once recalled reading over one hundred times from front to back. Mrs. Milly was a well-respected, God-fearing woman who had been nothing but good to Daddy, and I didn’t see her suddenly changing that narrative just because she was subpoenaed to testify before a judge and jury.
“Can you state your name for the court?” the prosecutor began.
“I’m Milly Mathis, sugar, and you ought to know that already ‘cause you called me here,” Mrs. Milly responded with sass.
“Mrs. Mathis, can you identify the defendant?” He ignored her comment about being called to court and kept with his script.
“Of course I know him. That’s one of my best customers, Hershel.”
“How long have you known Mr. Henchman?”
“I’m an old woman, sir. My mind don’t travel back that far, but I’ve known him long enough to know that he ain’t hurt nobody!” Mrs. Milly defended Daddy’s honor just as I expected she would.
“Mrs. Mathis, I’m going to need you to only answer the questions that are asked of you.”
“If you ask me a question, son, I’ll answer it how I see fit.” Mrs. Milly waved her finger at the prosecutor before turning to the judge. “Your Honor, lawyer or not, I’m gon’ need this one here to mind his manners. I may be an old woman, but it’s only so much I’m bound to take.”
Judge Fitzgerald’s eyes widened with disbelief before he regained his poker face. For a second, I thought Mrs. Milly had lost her mind to speak the way she had. The last thing I wanted to see was the bailiff hauling Mrs. Milly off to jail for contempt of court. Even as the judge’s brows drew together, Mrs. Milly’s face remained full of audacity and nerve. He sized her up and took in the sight of the old woman who dared to speak like that in his courtroom, rendering judge and prosecutor both at a loss for words. My heartbeat slowed when the corner of his mouth lifted into a slight smile. Seeing him offer Mrs. Milly that faint smile made everyone release the breaths they’d been holding.
“Counselor, take into consideration the age and patience of Mrs. Mathis,” Judge Fitzgerald noted before nodding at the prosecutor, who appeared hesitant to proceed.
“Yes, Your Honor, I will do my best…” The sentence rolled off his tongue cautiously. “Mrs. Mathis, you mentioned that Hershel Henchman was your best customer, is that correct?”
“Yes, he most certainly is.”
“Do you recall the day that your favorite customer showed up to your diner and began a confrontation with a gentleman by the name of Haywood Wilson?”
“I don’t remember the exact day because that was so many moons ago, but yes, I remember a little bit about it.”
“Do you remember why the defendant provoked an altercation with Mr. Wilson?”
“I remember Hershel showing up and doing his job to remove Haywood from the Chuck Wagon after he had relieved himself in the middle of the floor while our customers were enjoying their meals.” Mrs. Milly looked hurt. I assumed it was because she loved each of her customers like family.
“Do you think forcibly tossing a man out of a diner is a part of doing the job?” the prosecutor pressed. Trudy looked like she was headed for an objection until Daddy whispered something in her ear.
“I think one must do whatever it takes to get the job done! Haywood wasn’t complying too well, so what else did you expect the man to do?”
“So, you do admit that on that day, Hershel Henchman used force on Haywood Wilson?”
“That’s not what I said, young man. I said one must do what they have to do in order to get the job done.” Mrs. Milly peered from the prosecutor to Daddy with a look in her eyes that told him she was being backed into a corner she didn’t want to be in.
“Mrs. Mathis, please answer the question. Did Hershel Henchman use force on Haywood Wilson the day that Mr. Henchman was called to your diner?” the prosecutor repeated, his voice getting louder.
“He did toss him out of the diner, but it was the only way to get Haywood out. I don’t reckon he intended to hurt him otherwise.” Mrs. Milly raised her hands to her mouth, revealing scattered spots. Many, I assumed, were war wounds from the kitchen. She tried hard to trap her own words from escaping, but it was too late to take them back.
“I have no further questions, Your Honor.” The prosecutor looked satisfied that he succeeded in showing the court that Daddy had a history of assault against Old Man Wilson.
“Counselor, will you be cross-examining this witness today?” Judge Fitzgerald asked Trudy.
“Yes, Your Honor.” Trudy moved a couple of things lying around on the defense table before she stood and padded toward the jurors. She removed a cloth, revealing a board placed on a stand. From where I sat, it appeared to be a map of Buzzardville streets. “Mrs. Mathis, do you recall the day that Natasha Bennet was killed?”
“I remember that day like it was yesterday. That was a terrible thing that was done to that child.” Sorrow overshadowed Mrs. Milly’s weary face.
“Do you remember seeing Hershel Henchman at your diner that day?”
“I most certainly do. Him and his pretty lil wife came in and dined with us that afternoon. He couldn’t get enough of his first helping of hoppin’ john, so he ordered himself seconds. He even took a to-go plate.” Mrs. Milly’s face lit up with pride.
“Do you remember what time he came into the diner that day?” Trudy asked.
“I most certainly do ‘cause it was rush hour, and I scolded him for coming in to dine when we were at our peak. It wasn’t enough hoppin’ john to go around for everybody, but that didn’t stop him from ordering it all up and not saving some for the rest of the fish.”
“What time was that to be exact, Mrs. Mathis?”
Mrs. Milly surveyed Trudy’s face long and hard before answering. Mrs. Milly was approaching the question with an immense amount of caution after maybe feeling like speaking too soon to the prosecutor may have cost Daddy more than he could afford to spare.
“If my mind serves me correctly, I remember it being fifteen minutes to four, to be exact, ‘cause when I took a peep at the wall clock, I remember saying, ‘Come on, four o‘clock, so I can take myself a much-needed break and rest these ole tired feet.’”
“Thank you for confirming that, Mrs. Mathis.” Trudy appeared to be happy with this response. “Here I have a map of Buzzardville that shows the distance between Mrs. Milly’s Chuck Wagon and Church Hill Street in Woodland Hills, where Natasha Bennet was murdered.” Trudy placed magnetic markers on the areas that she wanted to bring to the attention of the court. “Mrs. Mathis testified that my client and his wife dined at her restaurant during the three o’clock hour. The autopsy report stated that Natasha Bennet was killed between five and six p.m. based on rigor mortis and lividity.
“My client couldn’t have possibly helped himself to two servings of Mrs. Milly’s famous hoppin’ john—” Trudy nodded appreciatively to Mrs. Milly and what she did best. “—order a to-go plate, wrap up afternoon errands with his wife, take a fifteen-to-twenty-minute drive to Woodland Hills, and murder Natasha Bennett by six.” Trudy’s hands were going crazy with placing the markers onto the map.
After she broke down her demonstration, her hands weren’t the only thing that went wild. The entire courtroom erupted into noisy jabbering. Some had good things to say, and many most definitely had bad things to say, about her findings. Judge Fitzgerald pounded his gavel, yet the chatter continued. Everyone ignored his effort to restore order. Even the prosecutor hadn’t gotten the memo that it was time to simmer down or else. His body moved faster than his feet as he tried to spring up and object, but he somehow twisted himself up into his own web. From where I sat, I could see that his body was no longer being supported by his feet. He tried whirling his arms to catch his balance, but that didn’t stop him from toppling over to the floor.
Judge Fitzgerald’s gavel couldn’t restore order, yet somehow, the lawyer’s mechanical fall did—but not for long. Silence filled the room as all eyes rested on him and the ground beneath him. No one made a move. No one said a single thing.
That was, until Mrs. Milly decided to put her two cents in and make matters even worse.
“Well, what y’all all looking stunned for? Didn’t they say what goes up will soon fall down?”
The room filled with laughter.
CHAPTER 40
Over the weekend, the whole town buzzed about Mrs. Milly’s courtroom performance. Some hummed about how foolish it was of her to make a mockery of the court, while many praised her for her bravery and her audacity to be herself. Despite what anyone else felt about her antics on the stand, her behavior appeared favorable to Momma. For the first time in a long time, she was able to smile again. She was able to glow without the presence of sadness hidden behind a forced grin. In fact, talk of Mrs. Milly seemed like it brightened the spirits of nearly every household on Central Street. Many, if not all, of our neighbors crowded up Central toward the empty space that would welcome our new church house, bliss on their faces and happiness in their voices. Even the bishop’s nice white friends joined us and pitched in to help. After the shooting that took place in the old church, the bishop thought it best to tear that one down and build a new foundation.
