During my closing argument, I tell the judge that the burns , though horrible, were accidental and that a single negligent act is not child abuse. Harley Sloan, who likes to brag he has been mistaken for David Letterman, is courteous and attentive. Instead of displaying impatience (he has three more cases to hear this afternoon), he follows me closely as if he is still pondering the outcome.
As I review the evidence favorable to Gina, I remind him that it is indisputable she called 911 and by so doing saved her child’s life. Gina Whitehall’s behavior through out this case simply does not fit the profile of a child abuser. Do I believe my own words? I don’t know.
At the end of the hearing. Judge Sloan says he wants a few minutes, and we are in recess. Outside on the grass in brilliant sunshine, Gina, like a condemned prisoner taking her last cigarette, lights up and asks me anxiously, “How’d I do?”
I look across the street at McDonald’s, and, having missed lunch, wonder if I have time for a chocolate milkshake. Probably not, and besides, it would be stretching civilized behavior to mention food at a time like this.
Even if my client has given the performance of her life, the odds are against her.
“You did great,” I tell her sincerely If I were your customer, I’d give you a tip. Did she hold her kid down in a tub of unbearably hot water? Regardless of what Sloan does, I’ll never know the answer for certain. There is no doubt in the minds of anyone involved in the presentation of the case by the Department of Human Services. They have all been righteously indignant The pictures are too horrible not to provoke out rage. Yet, as Gina testified, no one feels worse about what happened than she does (with the exception of Glenetta).
“I don’t have any money to pay you yet,” Gina says, not quite able to look me in the eye.
I am afraid she is about to suggest again that I take it out in trade and say hastily, “You don’t need to worry about that now.”
She gives me an uncertain smile and studies the shrubs in front of the building.
“I want to pay you.”
I nod, knowing this is her way of expressing gratitude, regardless of the outcome.
The bailiff, an elderly ex-cop named Sonny McDill, whom I’ve known for years, waves at me through the glass window that the judge has reached a decision.
Knowing this haste is not a good sign, I take a deep breath, realizing that I’ve come to like Gina.
“I think they’re ready for us,” I say, as gently as I can.
In plain view of Sonny she flips the cigarette into the shrubs, and I resist the urge to tell her to pick it up, realizing I think of her as a child and not a woman.
As Judge Sloan enters the courtroom, I search his face for an answer, but he seems preoccupied as if he has al ready mentally moved onto the next case.
“Be seated, please,” he says nodding to Sonny to close the door.
These moments in a courtroom before a decision is announced are an eternity and usually the climax of wishful thinking. Somehow, despite the evidence, the jury will acquit, the judge will remember what it was like when he was young,
“This is an especially difficult decision,” Judge Sloan begins, looking directly at the social worker, Laura Holmes, who filed the petition on behalf of the department “because of the seriousness of the injuries to the child, but in this particular case I am persuaded by a number of factors that Ms. Whitehall did not injure her child deliberately, and therefore I’m dismissing the petition against her.”
Tears spurt from Gina’s eyes as she gasps with joy, and I glance at the social worker, who is crying just as hard.
Joe Heavener is outraged.
“Your Honor,” he says, his voice high with indignation as he struggles to his feet.
“There was overwhelming medical evidence in this case!”
“Sit down, Mr. Heavener,” Judge Sloan says placidly.
“And I’ll tell you the reasons for my decision. Just be cause you bring in a doctor to testify doesn’t mean I’m obligated to accept his testimony. What would be the point of having judges to hear these cases? I’m the finder of fact here, and I wasn’t persuaded by the evidence that the child was held down….”
Like a schoolboy naming the causes of the Civil War, the judge begins to tick off on his fingers the evidence favorable to Gina. While he does, I think how this decision would have been virtually unthinkable only a few years ago. It has only been since 1987 that the Arkansas Supreme Court has required juvenile proceedings to be truly adversarial. I pat Gina on the back and whisper that after the judge is finished she should go thank Steve Huddieston who now seems a little stunned by his part in the outcome. In his summary Judge Sloan has noted that he found Dr. Huddleston’s testimony helpful in understanding why Glenetta simply didn’t crawl out of the tub when she began to be burned by the water.
Outside the courtroom I pump Steve’s hand and ask him if he would be interested in doing more research for me some other time. His hands in his pockets, he stares at the floor and says sheepishly, “One case like this is enough for me. I’ll worry about this kid until she leaves home.”
“All you did was give the judge information,” I assure him, “he wouldn’t have had otherwise.”
Apparently relieved to be thought in some manner as a technician, Steve’s face brightens visibly.
“I guess so.”
Outside in the parking lot, Gina, her face shining with joy, gives me a big hug.
“You were great!”
Hardly, I think, but she got her money’s worth. I’d give what little I’m getting on this case to know if she really burned her kid deliberately.
“Was it an accident?” I ask.
“You can tell me now.”
“Of course it was!” she says indignantly.
“I wouldn’t hurt my child!”
I say quickly, “I didn’t think you did.”
Driving back to the office, I muse on what a dumb question I asked her. Nearly every defendant I’ve ever represented says he or she is innocent. It’s the nature of the beast. Did Dade rape Robin? That’s an even dumber question.
12
“Dade would have made all the difference in the world against Auburn,” Clan says, staring out my window into the street below. Each Monday he comes into my office and dissects the Hogs’ performance from the previous Saturday.
“They knew we didn’t have anybody who could get open long without Dade.”
The Razorbacks kept it close (21 to 14), but it was painfully obvious how much they missed Dade. Only five completions in twenty attempts and none more than ten yards.
“It serves them right,” I say, still angry about the administration’s decision to uphold the “J” Board.
“If they lose the rest of their games, you might see some heads roll.”
Clan lets out his belt a notch, even though it is only nine in the morning.
“People have been fired for less.”
He was almost absurdly pleased that I got the dependency-neglect petition against Gina dismissed on Friday. I noticed he took off the rest of the day. Surely he isn’t still sleeping with her. If he is, he deserves what he gets.
“It pisses me that Carter didn’t even mention Dade on his TV show Sunday. It’s like the Soviet Union when
