Lost in Clover Page 7

  “I want him out of here, now!”

  The deputies dragged Crazy Eddie out the back door. People in the audience were on their feet, some taking pictures with their cell phones. Lawrence, pale and shaking, pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed blood from his lip.

  “Sit! Everybody!” the judge yelled, slamming the broken gavel down. Reluctantly the audience sat down. Reinhardt surveyed the room. “Mr. Elliot, are you okay? Can you continue or do you need another delay?”

  Lawrence seemed to be considering several things, but said “I’m fine, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. McKinney, you may proceed so we can get this…” The judge stopped for a moment as if holding back a profanity. “This case over with.”

  Carson stood. “Absolutely, Your Honor.” His chin was up and shoulders drawn back as if he had some rooster in him.

  “Excuse me,” Wynona said, talking into the microphone. A black mass of tear-streaked mascara surrounded her eyes. “I just want to make it clear that I didn’t want those boys to be killed or nothing, okay? I just didn’t like a couple of ’em. That’s all.”

  The judge looked as if he wanted to strangle the witness.

  “I have nothing more, Your Honor,” Carson said quickly.

  “Recross, Mr. Elliot?” the judge asked.

  Lawrence stood, and smoothed rumpled his suit. He looked exhausted. “No, Your Honor, the defense rests.”

  The judge turned to Wynona. “Please leave the booth immediately and don’t say another word.”

  She gave him a severe look and strutted out of the courtroom with a defiant sway in her hips. Judge Rhinehart reddened with anger.

  22. ALL THE DIFFERENCE

  Tuesday brought closing arguments, with Carson talking in the morning and pushing for a guilty verdict on the capital murder charge. Crazy Eddie sat with his hands and feet in shackles. Again, he gave almost no expression except for the same glare maintained throughout the trial.

  Carson reminded the jury of all the forensic evidence he had presented earlier, as well as the unknown potential of the dead young men whose lives were “violently snatched away from us.” Then he painstakingly recounted all of the major statements his witnesses had made. It almost put Jeremy to sleep.

  “These murders became premeditated once Mr. Cooper reloaded his automatic weapon on those unarmed boys, and by definition of Kansas state law…” Carson said, holding up a piece of paper dramatically. “I quote, by the killing of more than one person as part of the same act, Mr. Eddie Cooper has fit the circumstances required for capital murder.

  “Remember, seven young souls perished in Clover that night, not because of property rights or any second amendment argument. We all know if he had shot his gun in the air those boys would have been running home. This was cold-blooded murder. He shot those defenseless boys while they lay wounded on the ground. This man deserves nothing less than death, ladies and gentlemen. He is a cold-blooded murderer.”

  After lunch, Lawrence, looking fresher and more energized than the previous day, reminded the jury that not only was Eddie sixteen, “but he was sleeping in his house on private property when a caravan of drunken men showed up with the idea of giving him a beating. Did he overreact? Most certainly. But did he start this? Absolutely not. It would have been considered self-defense a century ago, and there is no reason it shouldn’t be today. He stepped forward to defend his family, and any red-blooded American with an ounce of spine in his backbone would have done the same. Eddie Cooper did not knock on their doors and shoot them. Not at all. Those eight men trespassed on a man’s private property, looking to cause at minimum mischief, and most likely bodily harm, and that, ladies and gentlemen, makes all the difference.”

  23. VERDICT

  The jury deliberated for almost two weeks. It seemed that all of Clover was on pins and needles, waiting for the verdict. Rumors abounded that the jury was deadlocked because Jessup Cotton wanted a capital murder charge and nothing less, or that Janelle Hughes demanded that Crazy Eddie be freed, but the most popular one was that Thomas Ginty was delaying as long as possible so that he wouldn’t have to go back to repairing the roads.

  Lawrence was living in Lawrence again, an hour and a half away from Clover. He was on call if the jury was ready to announce their verdict. The only other reason for him to come back to Clover was for his post-indictment arraignment a month later when he would enter a plea.

  Jeremy was restlessly ambivalent. Crazy Eddie shouldn’t have been harassed by those boys on his lawn, but he shouldn’t have shot them all to hell either. He was glad it would be over soon, regardless of the outcome, and maybe could he get back to being who he once was.

  Jeremy was in fifth hour biology, drifting in lazy daydreams of sleep—what it would be like to have solid dreamless sleep—when cell phones that were supposed to be off started vibrating. The jury announced they had reached a verdict. Mr. Howard turned on the radio in time to hear Judge Rhinehart delay the reading of the verdict until the morning, “considering all the travel of key people involved in this case, including the defendant Mr. Cooper from the Emporia detention facility.”

  Minutes later, Principal Morgan spoke over the intercom cancelling the next day’s classes. “It’ll probably be a zoo tomorrow in Clover, so I recommend all students stay at home, if possible.”

  He wasn’t wrong. The streets by the courthouse were full of local gawkers, those from Shelby and Emporia and even a few from Missouri and Oklahoma. All of the Kansas City and Wichita news stations arrived to cover the story. Jeremy stood in the crowd with Carrie and most of their classmates. When Lawrence drove up in his black BMW, silence trickled through the crowd. It was not the respectful kind of silence though—more like a mass revulsion after seeing a notorious war criminal.

  “That’s the bad one isn’t it, Mommy?” a little girl said a little too loudly, creating a domino effect of chuckles.

  “You bet it is,” somebody called from the crowd.

  Lawrence glared disdainfully at the girl and marched into the courthouse.

  “I guess he’ll be on trial next,” somebody said.

  “Naw, a guy like that gets a plea bargain and cleans up the road for a week. He ain’t ever going to be coming back here again,” an older man said.

  “Good riddance, scumbag,” another voice said.

  Although most people, not even considering Crazy Eddie, were wishing the worst for Lawrence, journalists were saying that the jury’s nearly two-week deliberation should make him feel confident. It meant a lack of unity. Most likely somebody or somebodies didn’t want to convict Eddie Cooper of first-degree homicide.

  Judge Rhinehart had cleared the courtroom except for immediate family members of the murdered and Wynona. He also had the TV and radio broadcast banished. Hundreds stood outside the doors waiting to hear the verdict.

  Jeremy and Carrie stood shoulder to shoulder, the tips of their fingers almost touching. Jeremy felt electricity rocketing through his body. He wanted to grab her hand, mesh his fingers between hers. But he couldn’t. His throat was Sahara dry and his body was stiff: he couldn’t move or speak. She didn’t say a word either and seemed as rigid as they waited. He watched birds returning from the winter, jumping from budding branch to branch. Jeremy decided he was going to touch Carrie, put his arm around her and point to a blue jay hopping in a nearby rosebud when the doors of the courthouse flew open. L.T. and his wife strode out.

  “What happened?” somebody yelled.

  “Bull crap is what happened. A huge steaming pile of it. There is no justice in America anymore.”

  “L.T.,” his wife chided.

  “Bull crap!”

  Other family members of the murdered piled out of the courtroom looking equally disgusted.

  The jury found Eddie guilty of having illegal weapons, misuse of a firearm, and failure to call the authorities, but not guilty of first-degree murder. As the jurors revealed later, they felt the charge was too high. They would have voted for manslaughter
or even a lesser murder charge, but Carson didn’t give them that option. There had been a fifty-fifty split, but eventually it became apparent that even as heinous and cold-hearted as the massacre was, those boys had stepped on private property and should have known better. It was as if some idiot went to the zoo and jumped in a lion’s cage. You don’t fault the animal when it tears that person apart; you fault the stupid human.

  Jeremy wasn’t sure if he was let down or not. He was glad that Crazy Eddie would be serving time, but not a life sentence—even though a freed Crazy Eddie could only lead to more trouble. It seemed the town of Clover, however, was disappointed. Quietly the masses walked back to their cars saying very few words above a murmur. Jeremy and Carrie walked back to their cars silently. Jeremy wasn’t thinking about the verdict, but was trying to find the words to ask Carrie out. He saw himself confidently asking “Hey, are you doing anything tomorrow?” or straight to the point: “Would you like to go out?” When he looked at Carrie, however, he noticed her eyes weren’t on him, but Zack and Michelle walking hand-in-hand. Jeremy felt the urge to get home and play video games.

  The sentencing trial happened the next week, and the judge took the jury’s recommendations, giving Crazy Eddie the maximum time possible with a ten-year sentence. It was reported that Crazy Eddie wasn’t happy, swearing at Lawrence as deputies pulled him away in cuffs. Carson had been on the television and radio stations denouncing “the gross miscarriage of justice in Clover,” though nobody cared what he said. He let Clover down. Lawrence had slipped away unnoticed, probably happy to be out of Clover.

  PART 3: HIGH SCHOOL

  24. LIFE CONTINUES

  Jeremy continued his life almost the same way as before the trial, before the massacre. Smiling and getting along with people, he was good at that. He didn’t think that anything stood out noticeably, but he had changed. He felt hollow. Sometimes when he shut his eyes at night, he would drop into an instant free-fall, his body hurtling into a dark abyss. He’d wake with his heart racing and teeth clenched. He would then play video games into the morning, completely exhausted.

  Lawrence Elliot from Lawrence came back to Clover for his own trial. As predicted, he turned everything upside down and mixed and muddled everything until he was convicted on a couple of misdemeanors and given commuted sentence. He had to perform community service, but it wasn’t even picking up trash. He gave talks about the dangers of driving drunk and provided legal advice at community shelters. The girl’s family changed their position from wanting to prosecute and designate Lawrence as a pedophile to publishing a statement that nothing had happened in his car that night; only a simple misunderstanding.

  L.T. Diamond dropped out of the church and atrophied into an embittered hermit that even his wife could no longer reach. Jeremy was grateful L.T. didn’t attend his church anymore. Any reminders, whether sisters, brothers, or parents of the dead boys, or even those damn Diamond Contractors signs, could turn a decent mood into a downer.

  Jeremy’s conversations with friends stayed on temporary and trivial subjects, avoiding any deep topics. He also found video games to be infinitely more intriguing than homework or people. Although he talked to Carrie often, the ease and comfortableness he had with her over the years were gone. He began to feel nervous around her. She had started dating a jock in the class ahead. Although it didn’t look like anything more serious than hand holding and kissing, it made Jeremy depressed, wanting to fall inward.

  In the cafeteria, he had slowly migrated away from “The Table” where Carrie, Zack Utley, Matt Hendershot, Michelle Anders, and all of the cool kids ate to tables of lesser distinction. To be at the cool kids’ table you had to be quick on your feet, as jabs were thrown in rapid machine-gun fire, but with constant respect given to the kings and queens lest they turn their wrath and that of others against you. Zack was an asshole of the highest order who seemed to work hard at it, like it was an obligation because he was the popular guy. He had money, looks, and played quarterback, centerfield, and guard in the three sports that mattered in Kansas—football, baseball, and basketball. He wore his letterman’s jacket almost every day except for the hottest ones. He exuded outward displays of confidence, except when looking into his eyes after he made a boastful comment that was unfounded in reality or common sense. Behind those eyes were layers of fear and insecurity.

  To Jeremy, it seemed Zack still wanted Carrie even when he was with Michelle or some other girl. They had dated in middle school and again for a short time before the trial. It was almost as if Carrie had no choice—she was destined to be with him.

  Jeremy had hated Zack since the eighth grade, when Jeremy stood alone at a urinal doing nature’s business. Out of the blue, Zack unzipped and stood next to him, even though there was another toilet a spot away he should have used according to man code edicts.

  “Hey Rogers, you know when I made out with Carrie, I got to feel up her boobs. They are sweet.”

  Jeremy nodded, feeling emotions of envy, embarrassment for Carrie, and anger at Zack’s arrogance. He loved Carrie and would have given a couple of fingers just to make out with her. Boob touching wouldn’t even be on his agenda…unless it was okay with her.

  Zack’s eyes watched Jeremy carefully, waiting for a reaction. He was gauging Jeremy, but for what?

  “Why are you telling me this, man?” Jeremy said with a flush and zip up.

  “What do you mean? Just letting you know that I got some. You’re close to her. Did you ever get any?”

  “Boob?”

  “Yeah.” The truth of the matter was that they did kiss and hold hands a few times in preschool up until first grade, when it wasn’t cool for boys and girls to be together.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Not yet sounds like never to me, bro. I’ve had her already, but you better jump on her before somebody takes her away. That is, unless you’re into dudes.”

  “Shut up, man.”

  Zack laughed. Forced and dumb.

  *

  Jeremy hung out with friends four tables down whom he had forsaken a few years earlier to be cool. He said hello to everybody at the cool tables—there weren’t hostilities, he just no longer played football or kept the edge needed to be there. He sat with Erik, Graham, Cynthia, and Lisa. They were academically motivated and had aspirations for college.

  “How about you?” Erik, a scrawny bespectacled sixteen-year-old asked. “Do you know where you want to go to school?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Don’t know yet. I need to make sure I get through high school.”

  The table laughed and Jeremy smiled, but he really meant it.

  25. SAM

  Somewhere during the middle of the trial, Jeremy stopped losing weight and started gaining it. As he grew in height, so did his waistline. He’d been big boned and might have even been called thick before, but a tummy started to creep over his belt. It would have been called a beer gut, but in reality Dr. Pepper and snacks from plastic bags were the culprits.

  “If that belly grows any more you won’t be able to see your toes. You need to get out and exercise,” his mother would chide. But upon hearing the word exercise, Jeremy recoiled, desiring the comfort of his bed.

  *

  When the school year ended and as the summer progressed, Jeremy got leaner and tan mowing lawns and working on a few roofs here and there. Like his stint in football, he was second string. Only if somebody else was sick or injured—injuries usually happening after work, in a bar or a house party, though it would be reported as a workplace injury for the workers’ comp—would Jeremy work on a roof. The roofers drank in the name of comfort after a day of back straining labor. Jeremy joined a few times, but the déjà vu was too strong. He began declining invitations, instead going straight home to the comfort of the basement.

  *

  A month into his junior year, Jeremy’s sister, Jessica, brought her boyfriend Sam over from Wichita State. His handshake was so firm that it seemed like he was intentionally trying to b
reak fingers. He was hyper-optimistic and assured, pursuing a Business Administration degree. He had played a year of baseball at Wichita State until he had to “retire” after tweaking his knee sliding into second base.

  “Could’ve signed with the Reds out of high school, but went for the scholarship instead. At least now I’ll have a solid business degree. No injury can take that away.”

  Jessica and her mother sat almost star struck listening to the one semester college athlete talk between bites of Gail’s homemade lasagna. Jeremy, his hand still smarting, wasn’t impressed. He looked over at his father, who also seemed underwhelmed. Sam came across as a blowhard, like so many other males that women desired. He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t they see past the ego and the veneer of big talk? Carrie didn’t. That’s why she dated morons like Zack.

  “Isn’t he great, mom?” Jessica asked.

  She nodded as if lacking words.

  “So what about you, sport? Do you play anything?”

  It took Jeremy a couple of seconds to realize Sam was talking to him.

  “Oh, uh…no. Used to play football, but I got a concussion,” Jeremy said, upset that he felt like he was apologizing.

  “It was from Crazy Eddie Cooper, that psycho who killed all my friends. Remember?” Jessica said.

  “Yeah, that guy was crazy,” Sam said.

  “I wouldn’t allow Jeremy to play football after that,” Gail said.

  “So what about other sports? How about playing baseball or something?”

  “Naw. I’m getting by fine. Football was my sport.”

  “And getting fat,” his sister added.

  “Hey,” Gary said. “Leave your brother a little dignity. He drives a mean riding lawn mower in the summer.”

  The table laughed. Jeremy sat quietly stewing. There wasn’t another sport he could play. He couldn’t hit a fastball to save his life, he was too short for basketball, and there was no way he would even consider cross-country. It hurt that his father was ganging up against him.