Josie cringed. She was ashamed that people would hear what she did to her own daughter. Frankie didn’t care. He was a combination of catatonically depressed and fully aware he would die very soon. He just didn’t care. Brittany started to sob. Ronnie sat there, silently. He would take this like a man. He had been beaten by his father since he was a little kid and knew how to take it without giving someone the satisfaction of knowing you were hurting.
Rich had always been interested in law. He aced the legal and criminal procedure parts of his law enforcement training and had picked up a lot of law from being a cop for so many years. He and Grant had talked about the charges before the trial. He knew it probably wasn’t common for the prosecutor to consult with the judge about what charges to file, but this wasn’t a common time.
“The people charge Brittany Franks and Ronnie Williams,” Rich said, “with grand theft and, separately, with the knowing possession of stolen property. Grand theft being theft of items more than $100 pre-Collapse.”
Brittany and Ronnie looked up at Rich. They were relieved that this was all they were being charged with. Theft? That was nothing. They wouldn’t even get arrested for that by the old government. This was no big deal, until they figured out that if they wouldn’t be arrested for this in the old days, but now they were sitting in a trial, maybe the Pierce Point people took this theft thing more seriously. Their initial relief turned to dread.
“In addition to theft,” Rich said, “the people charge Brittany Franks and Ronnie Williams with felony murder, the killing of Denny Ellis during the commission of a felony, which is possession of stolen property worth more than $100 pre-Collapse.”
Murder? The crowd was stunned. Brittany and Ronnie didn’t kill anyone. Grant could see the crowd’s confusion about why thieves were being charged with “murder.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Grant said, “felony murder is a common law doctrine that if a person commits a felony and any person is killed in the act, intentionally or accidentally, that the person committing the non-murder felony can be guilty of felony murder. It’s the common law’s way of further discouraging people from committing felonies.”
Grant hated the felony murder rule. It was overkill, in his opinion. But, it was the common law and it was constitutional. This was one other reason to have the jury decide the sentence: If they thought it was too harsh, they could find a person guilty but not impose a sentence on them. This was yet another check and balance to get a fair result instead of giving the judges, who were the government, all the power.
Well, Grant thought, the felony murder rule might be a good thing here, after all. It would probably give Brittany and Ronnie a reason to testify against their former housemates. This would mean Crystal wouldn’t need to testify. Either the jury, or Grant overriding the jury, could make sure Ronnie, or especially Brittany, would not be executed for merely stealing some property and being in a meth house when a fellow meth head got killed.
“The people charge Josie Phillips,” Rich said, “with rape of a child, grand theft, and felony murder involving the death of Denny Ellis during the commission of another felony, which is her knowing possession of stolen property.” Dang. Rich sounded like a real prosecutor.
Josie started wailing and screaming. Then her chest, still tender from the puncture wound, started to hurt as she screamed, which quieted her down.
“Frankie Richardson is charged with the same,” Rich said. Frankie just sat there.
After a few seconds, Frankie sat back in his chair. Felony murder, huh? He had heard about that when he was in the joint. The cops never charged that anymore. It was some old thing, but now these rednecks were charging him with “murder” just because Denny got shot by that Asian guy. That’s fair, he thought to himself, sarcastically. Whatever. This trial was a show for the rednecks out there. He was surprised they hadn’t shot him out at the house. He shrugged. He’ll sit through this and then they can get it over with.
“Please proceed,” Grant said to Rich.
He was wondering if Rich could do this, but based on what he’d seen so far of Rich’s prosecutorial skills, he figured Rich would do a great job. Rich was a smart guy and, given that Grant didn’t do criminal law when he was a lawyer, Rich probably had much more experience with this from being a cop than Grant had. When the laws were simple and the Constitution was applied, deciding people’s guilt or innocence and imposing a sentence was much easier than the pre-Collapse system that grew more and more complicated as time went on. The old system required hundreds of thousands of prosecutors, judges, public-defender attorneys, court staff, probation officers, social workers, jail guards and administrators. It really was an industry more than a system. A white-collar “jobs program” that had the extra benefit of making the population feel safe. It was gold for politicians: a jobs program with voters feeling safe—and, as an added bonus, a reason to constantly raise taxes for more “public safety.” No wonder it turned into such a hideous bloated mess.
Rich put the neighbors whose property had been stolen on the stand. They talked about the constant problems at the Richardson tweaker house. Once a witness started repeating and speculating, Rich would cut them off with a polite, “thank you,” and then he would move on to the next question.
Since there was no defense attorney, Grant had an obligation to do more than just run the trial. He needed to take on a few of the tasks of the defense attorney to make sure things went fairly; not to get the defendants off, but to make the trial fair.
To prevent hearsay testimony, Grant asked the witnesses if they actually saw any of the defendants stealing their property or having their property at the house. The third man said he saw a young man running from his property, saw the same young man dead at the Richardson house after the raid, and he found his property there at the house.
The other crime victims answered that they did not see the defendants stealing the property, but did find their items at the Richardson house after the raid. They also said they saw all the defendants handcuffed at the Richardson house when they found their property there.
“The people call Brittany Phillips,” Rich said. There was a murmur in the crowd.
Grant said, “Ms. Phillips, you are not required to testify and the jury is instructed not to consider your choice to remain silent as an indication of guilt. It is entirely your choice.”
Brittany started to cry. All of her friends, who had all been to jail many times, had always told her not to talk, but she couldn’t just sit there. She had to tell the people staring at her why all this had gotten out of control. She was terrified of that “felony murder” thing. She didn’t want to die. She had to tell her side of the story.
Brittany went to the witness chair. “My name is Brittany Amber Phillips,” she said. She started crying again. It was so hard to admit all the bad things she’d done. Giving out her full name brought her an intense feeling of shame. Especially her middle name, which reminded her of when she was a little girl before things got so bad with her mom, the drugs, stealing, and the other thing she did for money to get high. For an instant, she saw herself as a little kid in her jammies watching cartoons with her younger brother. And laughing. But that little girl was gone. A monster named Brittany had taken over. Brittany wanted the people there to know this wasn’t her fault. That it wasn’t her fault Denny died. It was the Asian cop who shot him. She had to talk. Even though she knew she was supposed to remain silent.
She told a heart wrenching story about a terrible family life. All the usual things. She started “hanging out with the wrong people” as she put it. One thing led to another, and about six months ago, she started living out at the Richardson house and “partying.” It sounded like a sappy anti-drug afterschool special, but it was her life.