Bicycle Shop Murder by Robert Burton Robinson (parable of the sower read online .TXT) 📕

Angela Hammerly took a slow, deep breath as she collected her last-second thoughts for the closing argument. For just a moment, some doubts crept in.

Had she made a mistake in not using Daryl Felson as a witness? He would have testified that Kantrell was bragging about his plans to move to Shreveport and buy an expensive new car. That would have gone to motive, if she had presented the case as a murder-for-hire. But who had hired him? She couldn’t find any evidence to support the theory.

Or she could have called Mr. Felson as a witness, but not asked him about the money, and just focused on the fact that the defendant told him he committed the murder.

But Kyle Serpentine would have asked him if the D.A. was offering him a deal that would keep him out of prison. And, of course, he’d have to say ‘Yes.’ Another issue: one of the juror’s friends or relatives could have been a victim of Felson’s criminal activities, and the juror might have remembered his name. Felson had quite a record of car thefts for a 21-year-old.

If the jury had seen Felson for the lowlife that he was, they would not have believed anything he said. And she would have been giving Daryl Felson a get-out-of-jail-free card in exchange for nothing. And worse yet, she would have damaged her own credibility with the jury.

No. She had made the correct decision. She had presented a strong enough case with Arabeth Albertson’s testimony. Besides, she knew this all-white jury wouldn’t need much proding to convict this black defendant. Personally, she hated prejudice of all kinds, but in the courtroom, if it worked to her favor, so that a guilty person would get the punishment he deserved, she rationalized that the end justified the means.

Angela Hammerly walked up close to the jury, placing her hands on the railing in front of them. She spoke so softly that observers at the back of the courtroom could barely hear her.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, Sam Spokane was a wonderful man.” As anyone could guess, she had started softly so she could crescendo to a dramatic conclusion.

“He touched the lives of hundreds of kids over many, many years at his bicycle shop. We’ll probably never know how many teenagers, at a critical fork in the road, took the right path because of Sam Spokane’s influence.

“He was a father figure to many, a friend to all. I like to think of our town as a community, a family. And our family is hurting today—diminished by the loss of this dear man.”

She pointed to the defendant, but not in a rude, intimidating way. Rather, she seemed to reach out to him. “Kantrell Jamison is also a member of our family. And as such, we hate to see him facing life in prison. But just like the uncle or cousin who can’t seem to stay out of trouble—sometimes there’s nothing you can do to help him. And he must pay for what he’s done—even though he’s part of the family.

“We have no way of knowing what Kantrell Jamison was thinking when he entered Sam Spokane’s Bicycle Shop on the evening of April 1st. But we do know what he did once he was inside.”

She began to act out what she was saying. “We know that he picked up a bicycle chain, gripped it with both hands, got behind Sam Spokane and pulled the chain tightly across Sam’s neck. We know that he pulled the chain hard enough to leave an impression of the chain links around the front and sides of Sam’s neck. We know that he held Sam Spokane in that position for several minutes.

“Now think about that. It’s not like shooting a gun, where you pull the trigger once and it’s all over. That can happen in an instant. And then there’s no way to undo it. But with strangulation, you must maintain the pressure for several minutes. The victim might pass out in less than a minute. But then you have to continue to shut off the air passage even longer to kill him.

“Kantrell Jamison could have changed his mind after a few seconds. If he had, then Sam Spokane would be alive today. But the defendant continued to pull that bicycle chain tight around Sam Spokane’s neck. He still wanted to kill him after ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds, sixty seconds, two minutes. He never let up. Until Sam was dead.

“If a man makes you mad and you lash out and punch him in the face, it could kill him, if you hit him hard enough in just the right spot. Or you could push him, and he might fall and hit his head, and that might kill him. Either case might be considered an accident—if you did not intend to kill him.

“But, ladies and gentlemen, if you do what Kantrell Jamison did: wrap a chain around a man’s neck and pull back with all your might for several minutes until he dies—it’s murder. There is no way around it. The defendant purposely and brutally choked the life out of Sam Spokane.

“Why did he murder Mr. Spokane? We don’t know. And we don’t have to know. Because no matter what his motive was, the inescapable truth is that he murdered Sam Spokane—in cold blood. So, ladies and gentlemen, you have no choice. You must find Kantrell Jamison guilty of murder.”

Greg Tenorly thought the District Attorney had done a good job. But he was still not convinced beyond reasonable doubt. Obviously, someone had murdered Sam Spokane. But not necessarily Kantrell Jamison. He wondered if the other jurors were thinking the same thing.

Troy Blockerman’s blood was boiling. He was ready to vote GUILTY. Let’s get it over with, he thought. He didn’t want to waste another minute on that filthy animal.