Justice for Cassie

JUSTICE FOR CASSIE

A NOVEL BY

FRED L. FUNK

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2017 by Fred L. Funk

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the copyright holder.

For information, contact:

Tattersall Publishing

1155 Union Circle #308194

Denton, Texas 76203

www.tattersallpub.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover and interior design by Crystal Wood

ISBN

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to recognize Dr. Ray Stephens for his inestimable help as my beta reader. Without his suggestions, the book would not be quite what it has turned out to be. Dr. Stephen’s input has been invaluable.

Secondly, I wish to acknowledge Crystal Wood of Tattersall Publishing. She does a spectacular job of editing, formatting, and cover design. Without her help, none of my books would have been possible.

Lastly and of great importance is the help of my wife, Dana. What stories I could not remember, she recollected, and many times she jogged my remembrances. She does a super job of researching facts about people and places. Without her support and consultation, I would be lost.

BOOKS BY FRED FUNK

Ministry and Moonshine

Moonshiners’ Revenge

Moonshine Memories

Life and Death on Cannon Creek

The Throwaway Son

Ephrim’s Journey (2017)

CHAPTER ONE

THE VERDICT

Virgil Grayson guilty as charged!

The tall, intimidating defendant glared at the jury as he stood with an arrogant, defiant smirk on his face. A loud clamor spread through the packed courtroom, people rose from their seats, applauded, and shouted affirmations of approval when the judge announced the verdict. The mind-numbing noise drowned out the remainder of the decision by the jury, but it did not matter, they had found the scoundrels guilty.

Elise only heard Virgil, guilty as thoughts of the ungodly events of the past years flooded her troubled mind. She vividly remembered the day that investigative reporter, Don Fields of the New Orleans Times-Picayune, showed her the horrifying crime scene photos.

Miss Elise, I wanted to show you these before you opened a newspaper or saw a report on TV, Fields declared. Somehow, someway, someone leaked these crime scene photos to the media and I figured you should know about it.

I appreciate your concern, Mr. Fields, Elise replied. You have been a true friend throughout this entire mess.

These are pretty gruesome so you may not want to look, he suggested.

No, I want to see, she replied.

Are you sure? They are pretty terrible.

Fields laid out the horrific photos on the dining table where he and Elise sat. Pictures of dirt floors, cold wet air mattresses, piles of human feces, and buckets in the corners used for nature’s call disgusted Elise. The horrendous living conditions forced on the residents of Grayson Manor Elder Care Home stirred up the local population to a fever pitch, but they held no comparison to the photos of the emaciated patients of the facility. They looked as bad or worse than prisoners of war depicted in photographs from World War II. The image of Clarissa Bienville’s dead body showed how the merciless treatment by the Graysons had aged the woman so that she appeared fifteen or twenty years older than her actual years. The pained expression on her face reminded Elise of her last visit with her Aunt Cassie . . . a look that haunted her for years.

The horrific, inhumane crimes perpetrated against a group of defenseless old women by the Grayson family as revealed in the crime scene photos struck a chord in the hearts of most folks in and around New Orleans and it seemed that every last person from the city and the surrounding area turned out for the trial. Numerous articles in local newspapers and the involvement of a state senator whipped up anger toward the defendants, and it seemed that everyone had a passionate interest in the case.

The courtroom where most local trials took place appeared too small for the enormous crowd, so court officials secured special arrangements for the use of the John Minor Wisdom U.S. Federal Court of Appeals Building. The historic structure occupied a full city block surrounded by Camp, Lafayette, Magazine, and Capdeville streets. The magnitude of the current case appeared as a match to the enormous size of the old building, and the massive three-story edifice with its colonnades of ionic columns that overlooked Lafayette Square seemed the perfect setting for the epic trial. Locals filled the historic chamber to capacity, overflowed into the hallways, and packed the famous square outside.

The roar of the crowd and the many comments that echoed through the hall jolted Elise from her thoughts.

Finally, justice is served.

Been a long time coming.

They got away with it for years, but what goes around comes around.

Hang the SOBs.

No punishment is bad enough.

Let ‘em rot in hell.

Give the bastards to us. We’ll give ‘em our kinda justice.

Somebody needs to burn that home to the ground.

The declarations from the rowdy spectators continued and the noise level rose to a frenzied pitch.

Wham! Wham! Wham! The sound of the gavel reverberated through the chamber as the judge repeatedly pounded the bench. Order! Order in the court. Sit down and be quiet or I’ll clear the courtroom. I will not tolerate such an outburst. Order in the court.

The judge’s demands fell on deaf ears and the commotion continued as commentators affiliated with local television stations from New Orleans and Baton Rouge quickly exited the courtroom. Each one wanted to be the first to file a report. Investigative reporters from The Advocate (Baton Rouge) and The Times-Picayune remained in hopes that sentencing would be forthcoming. Virgil, Eula, and Harry Grayson had been the subject of numerous articles in the publications and numerous commentaries on TV, but news of the current events overshadowed them all. The horrifying actions by the defendants had finally come to an end and the case had been concluded with the announcement of the verdict or so the angry mob thought.

The look of extreme annoyance on the judge’s flushed face failed to bring order as the large man arose from his seat. The flowing black robe that he wore accentuated his tall, robust frame and gave him the appearance of a man twice his actual size. His longer than average, snow-white wavy hair, dark pensive eyes, and blood-red angry face gave the magistrate a menacing look as he slammed the gavel down and demanded order. Bailiff, clear the room if order is not restored immediately.

Elise and Judson Brighton sat quietly as the furor lowered to a quiet murmur and calm returned. Another outburst and the bailiff will clear the gallery. I understand your anger. My own feelings are beyond rage at what these scumbags did, but I must have order in the court, the judge declared. The invective seemed less than professional from a sitting judge, but the current case apparently infuriated the man beyond his judicial capacity for objectivity.

Tears rolled down Elise’s cheeks as her husband placed one hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with his free hand and handed it to his grieving wife. Although the guilty verdict brought her a sense of validation, it did not erase the sadness in her heart and soul over circumstances that surrounded the loss of her beloved aunt, Clarissa Bienville.

The wealthy Bienville family had lived on a large plantation along the Mississippi River near New Orleans for many generations. Bienville Hall lay along the banks of the mighty stream near Oak Alley, The Myrtles, Nodaway, Laura, and numerous other massive antebellum homes. Grayson Manor Elder Care Home occupied a restored colonial mansion near Bienville Hall, and current generations of the Grayson and Bienville families at one time had enjoyed a close bond, or so the Bienvilles had thought.

Stories passed down for generations by word of mouth indicated that Clarissa and other family members were descendants of Jean-Baptiste Le Moyne de Bienville, a Frenchman who directed the founding of Nouvelle-Orleans in 1718. It appeared that at some point the family dropped much of the French name and shortened it for simplicity’s sake. The city, located in a sharp bend of the Mississippi River, was later renamed New Orleans after the French regent, Phillip II of Orleans. No definitive documentation of the lineage had ever been uncovered, but with an unusual name like Bienville the family felt that the legend must be true. Family lore implied that their French descendants had been fur trappers and traders in the region as far back as the 1690s.

Thunderous declarations of disapproval filled the air as the judge announced that sentencing would take place at a later date.

Why wait? Burn ‘em now!

Torture the bastards before you kill ‘em. See how they like it.

Executin’ ‘em is too easy. Make ‘em suffer.

Ah, hell! Forget about sentencin’. Let us take care of the SOBs.

Once again a deafening uproar echoed through the courtroom as the boisterous crowd shouted one inflammatory comment after another before the judge pounded the bench with his gavel as he stood and instructed, Bailiff, clear the courtroom.

Several outraged observers rushed the table where Virgil, Eula, and Harry sat as the bailiff and other lawmen attempted to clear the room. Virgil stood shirtless after one man grabbed the garment and ripped it from the his body when he pulled away from the assailant. Another infuriated mobster landed a solid blow to the guilty man’s face with a doubled-up fist. Deputies struggled as numerous men forced Harry to the floor and beat him unmercifully while several women attacked Eula. Blood from Virgil’s busted lip and nose splattered the crowd, many scratches appeared on Eula’s face, and Harry’s swollen cheeks and eyes looked gruesome from the beating that he received. When the lawmen finally brought the melee under control, they quickly escorted the offenders from the courtroom. No charges ever resulted from the fracas, since it seemed that the prosecutor and even the judge to some degree understood and empathized with the crowd’s anger.

The lawyer for the defense remained in his chair, dodged blows from the angry mob, and watched calmly until the fracas ended. It appeared to most observers that he had little real interest in the case, but they did not know about his behind-the-scenes maneuvers.

That evening a news anchor on a local television station declared, "This reporter has never witnessed a mob so angry. I believe the crowd would have killed the trio on the spot had law enforcement not stopped them. Virgil, Eula, and Harry Grayson suffered numerous injuries at the hands of the disorderly throng. On a personal note, I believe that this crowd will take matters into their own hands if the judge does not assess the maximum penalty, and who could blame them after what that family has done? Every human being should be incensed. It could have been anyone’s parent."

As the crowd exited the courthouse, lightning flashed and thunder rolled as if God himself were expressing his anger and declaring vengeance against the Grayson clan for the horrendous crimes they committed. The heavens opened up and a drenching rain flooded the

area as Jud and Elise emerged from the building and headed to their car. Numerous times it seemed that storms foretold disastrous events that took place, but this time it appeared as though the deluge that fell from the sky attempted a cleansing of the unbearable incidents of the past several months from their souls, but no sense of peace descended on Elise. Although the unspeakable atrocities had ended and the trial had concluded, all but the sentencing of the culprits, the woman felt no consolation.

What are your thoughts about the verdict? A reporter questioned as he forced his way through the crowd until he stood next to Elise. Do you feel that justice has been served?

What sentence do you think is appropriate? Another newspaper man asked.

What will become of Bienville Hall now that Miss Cassie is gone? (Clarissa Bienville was affectionately known as Miss Cassie by all who knew her.)

Elise, who had been extremely persistent and verbal throughout the investigation, arrests, and trial, felt emotionally drained and refused any comment. Deputies and city police pushed the throng back as they escorted the couple to a waiting vehicle.

Give these folks a break, one officer demanded as he opened the car door for Elise. Haven’t they been through enough?

Dozens of TV commentators and newspaper reporters stood soaking wet in the torrential downpour as they sought comments from the couple, but the object of their inquiries sped away. A large contingent of news people remained as most of the crowd dispersed. They hoped to question the defendants when the deputies led them from the courthouse to a vehicle for the return trip to the jail where they would await sentencing. Rather than an air of defeat, the defendants displayed a look of victory, a puzzling continence to the crowd. The guards did not allow questions from the news media as they hustled the trio through the horde, escorted them to a squad car, and departed.

After the last of the frenzied crowd dispersed, a lone figure hobbled from the courthouse with the help of a walker. The snow-white-haired-stooped-over black woman shuffled across Lafayette square to a car where a somewhat younger black man and woman waited. She had gone unnoticed by most of the crowd as she attended the trial each day. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek each time she heard the name Clarissa Bienville during testimony. No one realized what role she had played in the current drama.

Don Fields, a writer with The Times-Picayune wrote in that day’s Op-Ed: The scene was like nothing ever experienced in this city. The crowd had blood in their eyes and was more unruly even than any I’ve seen at the most raucous Mardi Gras celebration.

Thank God that’s over, Elise muttered as she and Jud fastened their seatbelts and pulled into traffic for the one-hour drive across the city and down the highway toward Bienville Hall. The crooked road ran beside the mighty Mississippi and meandered through the river bottom in the Louisiana delta lands. The sound of the horn from a barge on the waterway drowned out the peaceful sounds of crickets and frogs. The deafening noise pierced the night air as the couple passed by Oak Alley, with its impressive driveway lined with twenty-eight live oaks and the magnificent mansion surrounded by twenty-eight massive columns; Nodaway’s huge edifice; The Myrtles, known for its ghost; and Grayson Manor.

Look, Jud. There’s a light in one of the windows in the cupola, Elise declared as they passed Grayson Manor.

Has to be just some kind of reflection, Jud replied. Nobody’s at home. They’re all in jail and the house is empty.

I just don’t know how such atrocities could happen in a place so beautiful, Elise commented as the stately antebellum home came into view. Anyway, I’m just glad it’s over.

It’s not quite over yet, Jud replied. There’s still the sentencing.

We may just skip that one.

You need to be there. You’ll have a chance to speak, to implore the judge to exact a stiff punishment.

I just don’t want to ever see those Graysons again.

Elise, you’ve got to buck it up and be there. If you don’t show up, the judge will think you don’t really care and the SOBs might get a lighter sentence.

I know you’re right, and we will be there, but right now I don’t want to think about it. Jud, did you notice the old black woman in the back of the courtroom? I think she was there every single day of the trial.

No, what black woman? What about her?

I think that may have been Sarah Jane. I haven’t heard from her in years; not since she left Bienville Hall suddenly with no explanations or goodbyes. I always thought that was strange since she held a position of high esteem with the family. I figured she had passed on a long time ago.

Probably just your imagination. That woman would be up in her nineties by now.

Yeah, you’re probably right. Right now I just want to remember Aunt Cassie and the good times we shared at Bienville Hall, Elise sighed as they drove up the long driveway to the imposing house. Tall weeds and large branches from magnolias that lined the lane scraped the sides of the car as they drove through the tunnel formed by the overgrown trees.

Neglect had taken its toll on the estate during the time that it lay in limbo because of claims made by the Graysons. The pungent scent of gardenia and the sweet aroma of honeysuckle wafted through the night air as the couple emerged from the car. Huge crape myrtles that lined the walk from the circular drive to the front portico hung heavy with large, dark red blossoms, and yellow blooms covered Cassie’s favorite roses that grew by the steps. Stately white columns spread across the front of the mansion and had welcomed many guests over the years, but recent events curtailed the flow of family and friends. The grounds that surrounded Bienville Hall had been among the most beautiful of all the estates along the river until they fell into ruin from inattention as the different factions battled it out in court over control of the plantation. The unkempt area gave the once breathtaking place a ghostly look of desertion. Trees, shrubs, and perennials had survived, and Elise hoped that restoration of the gardens would be forthcoming at the hands of whomever purchased the estate.

Light from a massive crystal chandelier that graced the gargantuan foyer sparkled in the enormous mirror that hung over a large mahogany console table and glistened on the marble floors. A grand staircase stood before the couple and Elise remembered the many times she slid down the rail all the way from the second floor landing, much to the displeasure of her aunt and Sarah Jane.

Child, get down from there before you fall and break your precious neck! Clarissa’s voice echoed in Elise’s mind and it seemed that she heard her beloved aunt as she and Jud ascended the stairs to the room where they slept on the second floor.

Oh, auntie, don’t be an old stick-in-the-mud, the niece muttered.

What’d you say? Jud questioned.

Nothing, Elise answered. I just thought I heard Aunt Cassie fussing at me and I was answering her.

You really do need to rest, her husband replied. I think all the commotion and stress has gotten to you...talkin’ to someone who isn’t here.

"Humor me. I was just going back in