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Very soon.
Chapter Sixty-Three
I sat in the front row of the gallery, next to my mother, my father, Gabby, and Martin. On my left sat Chuck Whitman, and next to him, Tony Bales, plaintiffs from the Holmesburg case. On the other side of Gabby were the other plaintiffs and members of the community who had dedicated themselves to bringing to light what happened at Holmesburg. We awaited the jury in silence, having been told that they had reached a verdict. The suspense had been excruciating, lasting three days.
I glued my gaze to the paneled door, and the jury was about to file in. I reviewed the evidence in my mind, because I replayed it at night when I got home, wondering whether Bostwick would get convicted. He hadn’t taken the stand, but the defense lawyer had put up two expert witnesses who testified that the lawsuit wouldn’t necessarily have affected the stock price of the company. It went against common sense, an argument that Assistant District Attorney Nolan made in his closing to the jury. They had listened carefully to both sides, and by the time they’d filed out of the courtroom to deliberate, I had no idea which way they would go.
My gaze settled on Bostwick, of whom I had a view in semi-profile.The CEO kept his gaze trained on the judge, looking neither right nor left. My eyes bored into the side of his head, and I realized that’s where he would’ve drilled a bullet into mine.
I tried to understand the depth of depravity that would cause one man to order the killing of another, but it was beyond me. All I knew was that I wanted to see this doctor go to prison for what he had done, like Mortensen and Solkov. I didn’t know if we’d get justice, but I prayed for it every night. If Solkov and Mortensen were in jail, then there better be a cell for Dr. Bostwick, too.
Suddenly the courtroom side door opened and the jury began to file in, twelve residents of Chester County, male and female, each looking solemn and grave, each dressed like everybody else because they were everybody else, except today they had been charged with the awesome responsibility of delivering a verdict. In other words, upholding American law.
I craned my neck to see them, and so did everybody else in the row. My mother took my hand, and I heard my father grunt, shifting uncomfortably on the pew since he still hadn’t healed fully from his surgery. Gabby perched on the edge of her seat, on point as a bird dog as she watched the jurors settle into their chairs and scrutinized their expressions. She had told me that if they were smiling, it was good for us, but I didn’t see any smiles now.
Everyone shifted in the gallery, and Chuck caught my eye with a tense smile. I wanted this verdict for him and all of the other plaintiffs as much as I wanted it for us, and Gabby felt exactly the same way. Today wasn’t about her and me at all, but about whether you could stop justice with a bullet. I knew it happened in other parts of the world, but it wasn’t supposed to happen here.
Judge Rati-Jio turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I understand that you’ve reached a verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” The forewoman stood up, an impassive expression on her lined face. She must’ve been in her sixties, and on the short side in a plain denim dress, but there was a strength in her frame that I could almost feel, like my mother’s.
“I’ll have the clerk take the verdict.”
The uniformed clerk, whom I remembered as Mack, faced the jury. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“Yes,” the forewoman answered again.
“Do you find the defendant, Dr. Carl C. Bostwick, guilty or not guilty of the crime of criminal conspiracy regarding the attempted shooting of Thomas Devlin?”
“Guilty.”
My God. Tears filled my eyes. I wanted to shout for joy, burst into tears, and jump up and down.
My mother covered her mouth, and my father grinned from ear to ear. Gabby gasped, her hand flying to her chest, and Martin quietly put an arm around her.
The clerk asked the forewoman each of the questions and each of the counts as to me, Gabby, and my father, and the answers came back “yes,” “yes,” “yes.”
“Hot damn,” Chuck said under his breath.
“We did it.” I squeezed his arm.
“We sure as hell did. Justice was served.” Chuck’s cloudy eyes rimmed with tears, and I tried to keep it together.
“They couldn’t stop us.”
“No, they couldn’t. They can’t. They can slow us down, but they can’t stop us.”
“That’s right,” I told him, then my throat caught. I realized that he was saying something profound, something more than what was happening in this courtroom or this lawsuit. Something that had beenhappening in this country and every other country from the beginning of time. Some men would struggle to be considered equal, and other men would try to keep them down. Nobody knew that better than Chuck, Tony, our other plaintiffs, and the rest of the community, filling the gallery and unable to stifle tears of joy and relief.
Judge Rati-Jio was saying something on the dais, then defense attorney Yler asked the judge to poll the jury, a common practice. We composed ourselves as every single juror called out “guilty,” “guilty,” “guilty,” one after the next, twelve in all, a collective judgment of humanity on those who would seek its destruction.
“Wow,” I said to myself, wiping my eyes.
“TJ,” Chuck whispered. “You should go to law school.”
“I didn’t even graduate college,” I whispered back, like a confession.
Chuck smiled. “What’re you waitin’ for? I think they’re still open.”
