Free Jungle Rules by Charles W. Henderson Page B

Zelinski in custody, and the military police wanted to check out his story with the corporal of the guard, the gunny intervened. Clearly protecting the corporal. If you ask me, that gunny sent the joint out with the corporal of the guard, just to burn Zelinski. That’s entrapment.”
    “So you have the word of the lance corporal against the word of the corporal, and the gunny vouches for the corporal,” Kirkwood said.
    “Correct,” Carter said, again pacing the aisle at the foot of the two captains’ racks. “The corporal and the gunny both lied on the stand, denying knowing anything about planting the joint on Zelinski. Also, like a bolt from the blue, the prosecution brought in the testimony of three other Marines from Zelinski’s squadron who were caught and arrested that same night smoking marijuana behind a hangar. Our only saving grace was the fact that all that the military police confiscated from Zelinski was the single joint of marijuana, and nothing else. Not even a book of matches or a cigarette lighter with which to light the joint, since Zelinski doesn’t even smoke.”
    “Well, that should have thrown some doubt the jury’s way,” O’Connor said, putting his feet on the floor, now sitting on the side of his bed. “The kid’s got a roll of dope, but no way to light it.”
    “Oh, but Charlie the shyster neutralized any reasonable doubt we had managed to put forth with his so-called character witness, Private First Class John White,” Carter said, pacing the floor faster. “He was not charged, nor was he ever listed as a material witness.”
    “Since when does the prosecution bring in character witnesses?” Kirkwood said, falling back on his bunk.
    “He had totally nothing to do with the case!” Carter exclaimed, waving his arms, punctuating his words with their frantic movement. “Yet the judge allowed him to testify. This is what killed us.
    “I had pretty much discredited the gunny and the corporal of the guard, and tied them together in their conspiracy. The military police who arrested my client testified as to the contents of Zelinski’s pockets, and the lack of any kind of lighter or matches. Plus the three other culprits they arrested smoking dope in the hangar were nowhere near Zelinski at any time that evening.
    “Then the judge called the next witness. The doors in the back of the courtroom swing open and in walks the largest, blackest Marine I have ever seen: Private First Class John White.”
    “Oh, shit,” O’Connor said, falling back on his bunk, laughing. “Big, very black, and the name White. Oh, that is good. Sleazy but good.”
    “Charlie Heyster had this Marine state his name not once but twice for the jury,” Carter said, waving his arms faster. “And in all, three times!”
    “You objected?” Kirkwood said, leaning on his elbows.
    “Of course I did, right after the second time Heyster had him say his name, but the judge let it slide,” Carter said, again pacing hard. “I tried to approach the bench, but the judge stopped me in my tracks before I could even take two steps toward him, and told us to move on. I think that the judge just didn’t want me near his face.”
    “I wonder why,” O’Connor said, and then flashed a quick, eyebrows-raised grin at Kirkwood. “So what did Private White have to offer in the way of evidence?”
    “Nothing of relevance,” Carter said, stopping again between the two racks. “However, his nonevidence nailed the coffin lid shut on Lance Corporal Zelinski.
    “Picture this very black Marine private sitting in the witness box, wearing a khaki uniform, which is a sharp contrast to his skin color. The eyes of all six jurors fixate on him. His presence quite literally mesmerized the whole court after Heyster had him state his name for a third time, right after my objection. A disgusting racial trick, and I know that even Private White did not like it.”
    “So the jury is hypnotized on Private White,” O’Connor said.