Burning Crosses - Part 32 - Isaac Slade's Testimony

It was three entire days before Isaac Slade took the stand. They questioned seemingly everyone in town – from Zebb McCabe, the deputy, to Larissa Slade, and the friend of Isaac who'd discovered Ben's corpse in the pond. Finally, Isaac was sworn in on a day when the weather was cool and it looked like Seattle.

Isaac laid a large hand on the Bible and promised to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and all that garbage. He took a seat near Judge Bustamante, his face tilted in such a way that the frail light streaming through the stained glass windows fell upon his brown face.

"Isaac Slade," Washington started. He stroked his mustache. "Tell me what happened the night Benjamin Betancourt disappeared."

The man smacked his lips, his eyes fixed firmly upon the lawyer pacing in front of him. "Well, I was going out to feed my fish that night, but then I heard the voices of a man and woman in the forest. Larissa and my other girl, Patricia, had already gone to bed, or so I thought, yet I found my daughter with Benjamin Betancourt in a clearing. He was wearing only his undershirt. And I heard him…I heard him propose to her, ask her to go to New York with him the following night. I'd done tole him to stay 'way from my girls many times, fer I didn't trust him."

"Why was that?"

"My momma and papa used to always tell me that you could never trust a white man. After all they've done to our family, and all they do to take 'way our rights and oppress us, why should we trust them? My family was attacked by th'Ku Klux in 1928, four of my relatives were killed, and there ain't no way I'm gonna let my daughter associate with 'em."

Washington nodded. "But did Benjamin try to convince you otherwise?"

"Oh, he claimed he was a good man who wouldn't embarrass my daughter, but I've seen him associate with th'likes of Heidi Ross, who I knew was cruel to Larissa in th'past. And besides, he's been with so many women and I've seen him stumble out of Madame Stella's on more than a few occasions.

"I just want my daughter to date a respectful, good man…not some lying little playboy who'll break her heart the second she goes off with him to New York."

"Can you recall what happened that night?" Washington stood close to his client, speaking in such a calm, caring manner, I was mollified. And Patty clearly was as well, for she slumped in her seat, her face without expression.

"As I said, I came across them in th'clearing. At first, I merely listened, but when I heard him propose to her and saw th'ring he gave her, I couldn't control myself any longer. I remember grabbing my pistol from my holster and aiming it at him. I tole him to git th'heck offa my property before I blew his brains out."

"Would you have actually shot him?" Washington shuffled uneasily.

"No, I wouldn't ever shoot him, because ya know what happens when a black man even so much as injures a white man. He's strung up in a tree. And iffin a white man kills a black, the white man is looked at as a hero."

"Carry on, Slade. Tell me what else happened after you aimed that gun in the young man's direction."

"I clearly startled him. He started apologizing, professing his love for Larissa, and pleading for me to allow her to marry him. It made me mad, really, that he would go against my threats and continue to see me daughter even after I'd tole him not to. I got mad." It was chilly in the courtroom, but Isaac still wiped sweat from his forehead. "I hit him. Across the face and knocked him to th'ground. And I stood over him, aiming my gun directly in his face, and tole him to git offa my property iffin he didn't want to die."

Isaac's words sputtered to a stop, like a car that had just run plum out of gas on a highway.

"What did you hit him with, Isaac?"

"My fist! I took a swing at him. And when he recovered, he stood and looked me in the eye with pure hate. He tole me….he tole me that I would pay dearly fer what I'd just done. He would see to that, I knew," Isaac said. "He ran off, then. And I didn't ever see him again…till his corpse was found in my pond."

"Did you kill Benjamin Betancourt?"

"I did not, Sir."

Washington absorbed all this with a poker face. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back. He'd heard this story before, I knew. He finally wagged his head back and forth before he looked up to Judge Bustamante. "I have no more questions, your Honor."

Just as what had happened all the times before, both lawyers had to question the witness. Neely rose and mercilessly, said, "You like beating people up, don't'cha, Slade? Now we've all heard about how you've tossed a man up against the wall who spoke wrong to you. And we've heard about you beating the heck out of others, threaten people, hurting people…all because they say something you don't like. So how can we believe that you didn't kill Benjamin Betancourt when his body had been found on your property?"

"I did not kill that boy."

"But you threatened him on so many a time that you'd snap his neck, blow his brains out. You even went so far as to go to his house with a pistol!"

"That was a scare tactic! I would never kill anybody!"

"Then why did you tote that gun around?" Neely persisted.

Isaac made a face like someone had taken a boot to his family jewels. "I keep it on me fer protection, just in case some white man tries to hurt me or my family!"

"A white man," Neely parroted, "like Benjamin Betancourt, perhaps? You don't trust him and you're afraid of how he'll betray your daughter, all because you've spied him stumbling out of Madame Stella's. So you decide to kill him, right?"

"I didn't kill anybody!"

I fingered the jackknife in my pocket. Ben had been completely right when he'd told me all those months ago about people in Heaven being like rubber bands. Don't stretch too far or you'll be broken; most heeded that warning and snapped back into place just in time before the conformist police scouted out the people like Mengele amongst a faction of Jews scouting for someone to perform experiments on. To be a maverick in Heaven, I quickly discovered, was as great of a sin as taking God's name in vain in Jack's presence.

And I wouldn't be surprised if the outcome was a Ku Klux Klan coup.

I licked my lips and leaned forward in my seat, watching Neely interrogate the shivering black man. Funny how, when Neely spoke of Ben's corpse, found in the pond, Isaac was still unfazed, as if he'd somehow expected this entire thing. He even brought out autopsy photographs, taken at the coroners office, and slapped them down in front of Isaac, to see if he'd be fazed, but Isaac seemed as if he couldn't care less. But when Neely showed them to the audience, many grimaced. Indeed, they were disgusting photographs.

"I swear, I didn't kill that boy! I never would kill anybody, especially not a white man!"

He's said that at least twenty million times.

And I didn't know what to believe, now that I'd heard his side of the story.

"Tell me, then, what you think happened to him," Neely probed.

"What do I think?" Isaac sounded as if someone had just told him he'd won a million dollars. "What I think is that I've been framed! Someone hated me and hated that Betancourt boy as well. Th'person hated us both enough to kill him and then use his body to frame me!"

"After the incident, both of your daughters were awake to hear you complaining about that boy, or so they said. After they went to bed, what did you do next?" he asked.

"I went to bed soon after."

"And you never saw Benjamin again," Neely concluded.

"No." Isaac's head snapped.

Neely addressed the courtroom. "The victim in this case was young, talented, handsome, had everything going for him. And he was white. And found dead in the pond of Isaac Slade, who is known by basically everyone in Heaven and the area around it, to be brutal and violent. Someone who has thrown men up against walls, beat them up. And so, when a body is found in his pond, especially that of a young man who he hated with passion, how can we believe that he didn't kill him, despite his testimony?" His eyes swept the breadth of the room. "How?" he repeated.

He turned again to look at the defendant. "I have no more questions," he fired. His eyes widened once, then closed, as if for emphasis. I held my breath as he sat back down in his seat.

The jury vacated into a room off to the side where they'd decide whether or not Isaac was guilty or not guilty. In the meantime, we were given a recess, during which Jack took us all down to Slater's Diner for the fourth day in a row. By this time, I was sick of mustard burgers and picked listlessly at my lunch of fries and fried chicken. All I could think about was Isaac's testimony and how many holes there'd been in this entire case. There wasn't enough evidence to base the outcome on. Sure, there were my dreams of a dark hand holding Ben underwater, but what did that prove? I couldn't see the face of the killer, so who was I to condemn Isaac?

It made me want to laugh in a way that wasn't really that funny.

And then Jack spent a majority of his lunch time talking to sympathetic people who vowed Isaac wouldn't get away with this crime. He killed Ben, despite what his testimony stated. And the jury would see that, and he'd get a good punishment.

And that made my father laugh in a way that wasn't really funny.

Take a look at how poker-faced Cookie was, as well, as if this was just nothing. God's retribution had been drawn against those who'd done wrong, and it just went to prove that Ben had committed a great sin by being a playboy.

And it made her laugh in a way that wasn't really funny.

Algie, who'd joined us for lunch, talked between slopping down his fish sandwich, stating that Isaac was a "jerk who deserved to be hanged", no matter what his punishment actually was. He swiped the sleeve of his ratty blazer along his tartar sauce-smeared chin, flashing his butter-colored teeth at me all the while. Come what may, Isaac would pay for Ben's death.

Algie laughed in a way that wasn't funny at all.

Heck, all of us wanted to or did laugh in ways that weren't funny. But, I formulated, no wonder! How else could sleepy Heaven cope with such a vicious murder? Especially since nothing "this big" had hit this small town for scores of years? And nobody knew how to cope, so they just laughed in ways that weren't funny at all while, inside, they were trembling, wondering if this crime announced the apocalypse.

An hour and a half after they'd retreated into the meeting room, the jury shuffled into the room with their verdict. The judge had Isaac Slade rise before the decision was announced. The foreman stood and said, "We find the defendant to be guilty."

Guilty.

Isaac closed his eyes and fell back down upon his seat. The people who were backing the man up were booing and some were crying. Patty was supporting her wailing sister while tears ran down her own cheeks. Everyone else, on the other hand, was cheering and whistling, glad to see another black man done in. I didn't cheer. I felt worse than I did when Jack beat me up. Suddenly, I felt like a small child again – what I'd give to have my mother lock me in her embrace the way she did before bedtime every night when I was small. I wanted to feel her arms around me, her lips on my forehead while she comforted me after a horrendous dream. I wanted to be locked in the feeling of security. But now, I felt out in the open, as if I were bare naked in front of an open crowd.

"Lynch him!" someone screamed from the back of the room.

I had to get out of here.

I pushed myself to my feet and started for the door to escape this atmosphere and breathe.

"Where the heck're ya going, Rune?" Algie shouted from behind me. "Don't ya wanna see th'black go down?"

I ignored him and kept on staggering out of the courtroom. The room spun before my eyes, tilting and swaying worse than a pirogue in a tempestuous swamp. Salt rose in the back of my throat. I had to get out of here before I threw up. Reeling, staggering, I stumbled out of the courthouse. My shoes felt like they turned into roller-skates as I escaped the stifling courtroom. All I wanted to do was get into bed, cover my head with a pillow, and drown out the sorrows of the past few months.

Once outside in the growing darkness, I breathed in deeply. Oddly enough, my twentieth birthday was a week and a half away, yet I felt like I was turning thirty.

I tilted my head back and fixed my eyes on the overcast sky, as if Jesus would descend from above and give me an answer. I folded my hands together. I'd never been religious, nor did I see myself ever becoming religious, but still, I whispered, "Please, God…please…"

God…send me down a miracle.

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