Miles paused, stepped to his table, and took a sip of water. He was an actor in the middle of a fine performance, and the jurors, as well as the others in the courtroom, were spellbound.
He continued, “Guilt in this case is simple, as is the punishment. You and you alone have the power to sentence the defendant to death in the electric chair, or life without parole in Parchman prison. The reason we have the death penalty in this state is that some people deserve it. This man is guilty of first-degree murder, and under our laws he has no right to live. Our laws are not written to protect the interests of the wealthy, the privileged, or those who served this country in the war. If I am found guilty of first-degree murder, I deserve to die. Same for you. Same for him. Read the law carefully when you get back to the jury room. It’s simple and straightforward and nowhere can you find an exception for war heroes. If at any time back there you find yourself tempted to show him mercy, then I ask you to take a moment and think about Dexter Bell and his family. Then I ask you to show Mr. Pete Banning the same mercy he showed Dexter Bell. God bless him. You took an oath to do your duty, and in this case your duty demands a verdict of guilty and a sentence of death. Thank you.”
Judge Oswalt had set no time limits on the final summations. Truitt could have gone on uninterrupted for an hour or two, but he wisely did not. The facts were simple, the trial had been short, and his arguments were clear and to the point.
John Wilbanks would be even briefer. He began with the startling question of “How do we benefit by executing Pete Banning? Think about that for a moment.” He paused and began pacing, slowly, back and forth before the jurors. “If you execute Pete Banning, do you make our community safer? The answer is no. He was born here forty-three years ago and has lived an exemplary life. Husband, father, farmer, neighbor, employer, church member, West Point graduate. He served this country with more courage than we can ever imagine. If you execute Pete Banning, do you bring back Dexter Bell? The answer is obvious. All of us have tremendous sympathy for the Bell family and their great suffering. All they want is their father and husband back, but that is not within your power. If you execute Pete Banning, do you expect to live the rest of your lives with a feeling of accomplishing something, of doing what the State of Mississippi asked you to do? I doubt it. The answer, gentlemen, is that there is no benefit in taking this man’s life.”
Wilbanks paused and gazed around the courtroom. He cleared his throat, and refocused on the jurors, meeting them eye to eye. “The obvious question here is, if killing is wrong, and we can all agree that it is, why is the State allowed to kill? The people who make our laws down in Jackson are no smarter than you. Their sense of good and evil, of basic morality, is no greater than yours. I know some of those people and I can assure you they are not as decent and God-fearing as you. They are not as wise as you. If you look at some of the laws they pass you’ll realize that they are often wrong. But somewhere along the way, somewhere in the lawmaking process, someone with a little sense decided to give you, the jurors, a choice. They realized that every case is different, that every defendant is different, and there may come a moment, in a trial, when the jurors say to themselves that the killing must stop. That’s why you have the choice between life and death. It’s in the law that you have been given.”
Another dramatic pause as Wilbanks looked from face to face. “We can’t bring back Dexter Bell and deliver him to his children. But Pete Banning has children too. A fine young son and beautiful daughter, both away at college, both with their lives in front of them. Please don’t take away their father. They’ve done nothing wrong. They don’t deserve to be punished. Granted, Pete Banning will not have much of a life inside prison walls, but he will be there. His children can visit him on occasion. They can certainly write letters, send him photographs on their wedding days, and allow him the joy of seeing the faces of his grandchildren. Though absent, Pete will be a presence in their lives, as they will be in his. Pete Banning is a great man, certainly greater than me, greater than most of us in this courtroom. I’ve known him for practically his entire life. My father was close to his father. He is one of us. He was bred here of the same black dirt, raised here with the same beliefs and convictions and traditions, same as you and me. How do we benefit by sending him to his grave? If we the people execute one of our own, there will be a bloody stain on Ford County that will never wash away. Never, never, never.”
His voice cracked slightly as he struggled to keep his composure. He swallowed hard, clenched his jaws, pleaded with his eyes. “I beg you, gentlemen of this jury, a jury of his peers, to spare the life of Pete Banning.”
When John Wilbanks sat down next to Pete, he put an arm around his shoulder for a quick, tight hug. Pete did not respond but continued staring straight ahead, as if he had heard nothing.
Judge Oswalt gave the jury its final instructions, and everyone stood as its members filed out. “We are in recess,” he said. “Court is adjourned.” He tapped his gavel and disappeared behind the bench. It was almost eleven and the snow had stopped.
In complete silence, half the crowd filed out of the courtroom. The great question was how long it would take, but since no one could predict, little was said. Those who stayed behind congregated in small groups and whispered and smoked and shook their heads as the old clock above the bench ticked slowly.
Jackie Bell had heard enough. She and Errol left after a few minutes and walked to his car. He brushed snow off his windshield and they left Clanton. She had been away from her children for four days.
Florry, too, had seen enough of the trial. Avoiding the stares of the Methodists, she and Mildred Highlander gathered their coats and walked out. They drove to Mildred’s home and brewed a pot of tea. At the kitchen table, they read the newspapers from Tupelo, Memphis, and Jackson. All three had reporters in the courtroom and photographers outside. Tupelo and Memphis ran long front-page stories, with pictures of Pete walking into the courthouse in handcuffs the day before. Jackson did the same on page 2. Florry clipped away and added them to her scrapbook. She would call Joel and Stella with the awful news when it arrived.
Pete returned to his cell and asked for a cup of coffee. Roy Lester fetched it and Pete thanked him. After a few minutes, Leon Colliver, the moonshiner across the way, said, “Hey, Pete, you wanna play?”
“Sure.” Pete walked out of his cell, got the key ring hanging on a wall, and unlocked Leon’s cell. They arranged their game board in the middle of the hall and began a game of cribbage. Leon pulled out his flask, took a sip, and handed it over to Pete, who took a shot.
“What are your chances?” Leon asked.
“Slim to none.”
“They gonna give you the chair?”
“I’ll be surprised if they don’t.”
No one volunteered to serve as foreman. As per instructions from the judge, their first order of business was to elect one. Hal Greenwood owned a country store out near the lake and was a big talker. Someone nominated him and he was unanimously elected. He quipped about deserving extra pay. The current rate in Ford County was a dollar a day.
Judge Oswalt had told them to take their time. The trial had been short; there was nothing else on the docket for that week, and it was obviously a serious case. He suggested they begin their deliberations by going through his written instructions and discussing the applicable code sections. This they did.