CHAPTER thirty-four
The Oliver Hill Courts Building was modern and full of light and Ayokunle Odeleye mahogany carvings. Brazil had never seen a court building that looked less like one, and it made him feel a little more optimistic when he walked in, Weed’s case file under his arm. It was five minutes before nine, and unlike other juvenile systems, this one had an exact time schedule docket.
If the arraignment was at nine, it would begin at nine, and that’s exactly what time it was when the intercom announced, ‘Weed Gardener, report to courtroom number two, please.’
Judge Maggie Davis was already on the bench, formidable and distinguished in her black robe. She was young to be a judge, and when the General Assembly had appointed her, she had charged in and made changes. Although she protected the confidentiality of juveniles who committed lesser crimes, she did not coddle or shield violent offenders.
‘Good morning, Officer Brazil,’ Judge Davis said as Brazil seated himself on the first row and the clerk handed the judge Weed’s file.
‘Good morning, Your Honor,’ said Brazil.
A deputy escorted Weed in from the back and positioned him in front of the judge, where he seemed even smaller in his ill-fitting blue jumpsuit and detention-issue black Spalding hightops. But Weed held his head up. He didn’t seem dejected or ashamed and in fact seemed to be looking forward to the arraignment, unlike Commonwealth’s Attorney Jay Michael or Sue Cheddar, the public defender on his heels, or Mrs. Gardener, who was at the door explaining to a deputy who she was.
‘… yes, yes, my son,’ Brazil heard Mrs. Gardener say.
‘Mrs. Gardener?’ Judge Davis inquired.
‘Yes,’ Mrs. Gardener whispered.
Weed’s mother had put on a crisp blue dress and matching shoes, but her face belied her neat facade. Her eyes were puffy and exhausted, as if she had been crying all night. Her hands shook. She had burst into tears and called herself a failure as a mother when Brazil had finally gotten her on the phone to tell her about Weed. She had told Brazil that she’d quit feeling or facing anything after Twister died.
You can come up here,’ the judge said kindly to Mrs. Gardener.
Mrs Gardener came to the front of the courtroom and sat quietly in a corner of the first row, as far from Brazil as she could get. Weed did not turn around.
‘Are you expecting any other family?’ the judge asked Mrs. Gardener.
‘No ma’am,’ she barely said.
‘All right,’ Judge Davis said to Weed, ‘I’m going to tell you your rights.’
‘Okay,’ he said.
‘You have the right to counsel, to a public hearing, to the privilege against self-incrimination, to confront and cross-examine witnesses, to present evidence, and the right to appeal a final decision of the court.’
‘Thank you,’ Weed said.
‘Do you understand them?’
‘No.’
‘What this means, Weed, is you have a right to an attorney and you don’t have to say anything this morning that might incriminate you. Those other rights don’t apply unless you go to trial. Does that make sense, do you understand?’
‘What does incriminalate mean?’
‘For example, saying something that will be used against you.’
‘How do I know what that is?’ Weed asked.
‘I’ll stop you if you start doing it, how’s that?’
‘What if you don’t stop me quick enough?’
‘I will, don’t worry.’
‘You promise?’
‘Yes,’ Judge Davis answered. ‘Now.’ She looked at Weed. ‘The purpose of this arraignment is to determine whether I should keep you locked up in detention before your trial date or let you go.’
‘I wanna stay locked up,’ Weed said.
‘We’ll talk about that as we proceed,’ said the judge.
She looked at the petition Brazil had signed.
‘Weed, you’ve been charged with 18.2-125 of the Virginia code, Trespass at night upon any cemetery, and 18.2-127, Injuries to churches, church property, cemeteries, burial grounds, etc., and 182.2-138.1, Willful and malicious damage to or defacement of public or private facilities.’ She leaned forward. ‘Do you understand the seriousness of these charges?’
‘I only know what I did or didn’t do,’ Weed said.
‘Do you believe you’re guilty or not guilty?’