vignette

They had killed her husband. Lenny had made the mistake of reporting them when he looked outside and noticed shadows in the garage. They were caught, but, of course, protested their innocence. They got a ride to the police station and since they were underage, they were released to their parents ... once again sighed Martha.

Dirk and his buddy, Prowler, were well-known to the neighborhood and had been in and out of skirmishes since they had met in grade school. Both sets of parents worked and the kids had been left on their own a lot, but Martha felt that shouldn’t really excuse their behavior. She thought maybe the parents had just finally given up. Joe and Barb, Dirk’s parents, had split up four years ago leaving Barb with her hands full ... or fuller, Martha thought. Joe had always been quiet and kind of mousey. It was tough on Barb to have to try to control Dirk and hold down a job, too. Obviously it hadn’t worked very well.

But this last escapade was different. Martha had noticed some new graffiti on the train overpass two blocks down the street and had seen some new ‘tough guys’ hanging around the neighborhood. She was convinced the new influence had lead to Lenny’s death.

After Dirk and Prowler were released to their parents, they’d driven by her house six or seven times, playing their god-awful music real loud and squealing their tires. Lenny had kept reading the paper, figuring they could protest all they wanted, but that justice was going to be done sooner or later since both boys would be graduating in two months and would turn eighteen one of these days.

Lenny’s murder happened exactly three weeks later. She had reminded him to take out the trash, then had gone on upstairs to brush her teeth and go to bed. She’d heard the back door open, then had drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t until she’d awoken at 2:20 am that she realized he wasn’t sleeping beside her. When she didn’t hear any noise she got up to see if something was wrong and that was when she found him -- out by the back door with a single, fatal knife wound to the heart.

She had called the police, had managed to hold together through the funeral, had answered questions for the investigators, had watched as they arrested Dirk and Prowler, and had sat through the hearing and trial. Dirk had confessed that he and Prowler had attacked Lenny, although Dirk insisted Prowler had wielded the knife. The trial had riveted the small community and today the judge was expected to announce the sentence.

“This court is now in session!” The pronouncement startled her from her thoughts and she nervously listened as the judge spoke. “The tragedy that ended the life of Lenny Brocker began years ago with these two young men. When children are not disciplined, when they do not suffer punishment for their mistakes, when they do not learn there are consequences for their actions, they grow into angry, aggressive, or apathetic young people who refuse to be responsible members of our society. If they are unwilling or refuse to follow the rules -- the laws of our land, their obligation to society will be harshly redeemed. It is not the policy of this court to be lenient to either miscreants or murders. In addition, this court finds that innocent victims often regain some control over their tumultuous lives by providing their own input as to the disposition of these cases. With that in mind, this court will take a fifteen minute recess while Mrs. Brocker meets with me in my chambers.”

Her heart pounded furiously. Was he going to question her, ask her what verdict she thought appropriate? She was a God-fearing woman who had opposed capital punishment all her life. She never raised her voice, never gossiped, always went to church, helped down at the Mission once-a-month, and forgave and forgot easily. Usually. But now she was so angry. Lenny had been taken from her and she missed him. He was her best friend, her companion, her advisor, her humorist, her shoulder to cry on. His death had hit her hard and she’d spent not a little time questioning her beliefs. And, truthfully, there were times when she thought her anger and grief were going to make her permanently crazy.

The judge asked her to be seated on the leather couch in his office, then sat and looked at her. “Martha, I know you have given this whole sad situation a lot of thought. I know you are a good woman who has never wronged anyone. I am confident you know the difference between right and wrong. Since I want your opinion about this mess and I’d like to have an opinion that is separate from strong emotion, let me ask you about everything this way. Just assume you live in the wilderness of the Arctic with fourteen dogs which are trained to work together pulling your sled. Some of the dogs are easy-going, some are lazy, and several are leaders, but two of these dogs fight with others, won’t obey and work with the team, and are disruptive, what would you do?”

She looked him straight in the eye and calmly said, “I’d shot them.”

They exchanged a few more words, then Martha returned to the courtroom with the judge following shortly. His comments thereafter were succinct: Life in prison with no chance of parole. Several people thought the sentence was too strong and vowed to seek a milder sentence, in the name of justice. Others thought the young men should be put to death, in the name of justice.

Martha wasn’t sure how she felt about the decision and worked it back and forth in her mind as the weeks and months wore on. Finally, however, she did make peace with the issue -- revenge was wrong and she was glad to be able to hold to one of her basic beliefs, but justice, oh yes, justice was certainly right. And those two deserved every living hell they had coming to them. And she was at peace with that.