Trial, page 46
Ford’s unspoken admonition, Chase sensed, was that Malcolm would need to testify—both to explain the video and the shooting, and as an emotional imperative. But Chase contented himself with saying, “I don’t envy you this particular cross-examination.”
Ford shrugged. “True that,” he said. “You get all the easy ones.”
By midafternoon, Malcolm felt his optimism receding into worry and despair.
The prosecution’s social media expert, Dr. Mary Blaine, who had a PhD in computer science, was a plump and placid-seeming Black professional of indeterminate age who, if anything, seemed to regret the need to verify the video he had so carelessly posted. Beside her was the television screen on which, once again, Double-XX would appear before the jury to urge that Blacks kill white police.
Sitting on each side of Malcolm, Chase and Ford had assumed the bored expressions that he had learned signaled trouble. Malcolm could not bring himself to look toward his mother—or the jurors.
“After securing the defendant’s laptop and cell phone,” Harris asked Blaine, “what steps did you take?”
Briefly, the witness seemed to frown at her own work. “Among other things,” she answered, “I reviewed the defendant’s texts, emails, and social media sites since 2018, as well as his visits to websites and other sources of information.”
“What did you find?”
Blaine clasped her hands. “Most commonly, the websites Mr. Hill frequented concerned allegedly abusive police practices involving Blacks. He regularly followed the Black Lives Matter movement and its leaders, and sometimes posted their materials on Facebook. He also tracked a wide variety of sources involving the specific deaths or shootings of Black men and women in encounters with police, including Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, Philando Castile, and Michael Brown.”
Watching Blaine, Malcolm sensed that she was independently familiar with these incidents and found them troubling. Moving past them, Harris asked, “Did you also find a video by a rap artist known as Double-XX?”
The witness’ expression became as neutral as her tone. “I did. In June 2021, Mr. Hill posted it on his Facebook page.”
“In other words, only a year before the fatal shooting of George Bullock.”
“That’s correct.”
At a nod from Harris, Amanda Jackson stood, clicker in hand. “Thank you, Dr. Blaine,” Harris said. “I’d like to play a video and ask if you could identify it for the jury.”
Once again, Double-XX filled the screen.
Repetition, Malcolm discovered, only enhanced his sense of how incendiary the video would seem to others. The rapper’s gangsta posturing. The propulsive rhythm of the words. The black handgun dangling from his finger—apparently a Glock 19. The demand for the random shootings of white police in reprisal for the death of Blacks—now linked to Malcolm’s assiduous attention, to the cases of Blacks killed by cops. In the imaginings of jurors, this could have become Malcolm’s ongoing obsession, until he acted out a rapper’s instructions by murdering George Bullock.
Concluding the video, Double-XX told the jury: “If a white cop dies after any time another white cop kills a Black, that’s deterrence.”
Jackson hit a button, freezing his image. In the silence, Harris asked Blaine, “Is that the video the defendant posted on his Facebook page?”
“Yes.”
“Did the defendant ever take it down?”
“He did not.”
Once again, Malcolm cursed himself for having half forgotten the video’s fateful existence. “To be clear, then,” Harris prodded, “this video advocating the murder of police remained on the defendant’s Facebook page on the night a bullet from his Glock 19 took the life of Deputy Bullock.”
This time, Malcolm thought, the witness’ manner betrayed weary resignation at her role in Harris’ drama. “That’s correct,” she answered without inflection. “It was.”
Apprehensive, Allie watched Jabari Ford rise to question the witness. Leaning close, her mother whispered in protest, “That video isn’t like our baby.” As if hearing her, without seeking permission Ford took the clicker and banished Double-XX from the courtroom. Only then did he turn to Blaine.
“Dr. Blaine,” he asked politely, “did Malcolm Hill himself ever post a comment on this video—let alone endorse the sentiments expressed?”
“He did not,” she answered firmly. “All he did was post it.”
“You testified to performing an exhaustive search of his emails, texts, and postings for approximately four years—in other words, since he was roughly fourteen years old. Did you ever find anything else that suggested the commitment of violent acts against police?”
“Nothing.”
“You also mentioned that the defendant followed cases where police had harmed or killed Black men and women. In many of those cases, were the victims unarmed?”
For an instant, Allie imagined the hint of satisfaction in Blaine’s eyes. “Many,” she answered. “One of the themes running through those cases is that the victims were defenseless.”
Glancing at Harris, Allie saw the briefest look of irritation. “Is it correct,” Ford asked the witness, “that not all of the cases that Malcolm followed involved misconduct by police?”
“That’s true.”
“Indeed, Dr. Blaine, the cases of Trayvon Martin and Ahmaud Arbery involved the fatal shooting of unarmed Black men by self-appointed white vigilantes.”
Harris stood. “Objection, Your Honor, to the characterization of the whites involved in those incidents.”
Tilly raised his eyebrows. “What term would you prefer, Mr. Harris—‘guardians,’ ‘watchdogs,’ ‘protectors of the peace,’ or something else? The three men who killed Mr. Arbery were convicted of murder. The witness may answer.”
“That’s correct,” Blaine promptly told Ford. “Both cases involved the death of unarmed Blacks at the hands of white civilians.”
Ford nodded. “In the course of your review of materials accessed by Malcolm Hill, did you also find a case where a white sheriff’s deputy in Georgia was arrested for communicating with the leader of a white nationalist group?”
“Objection,” Harris said again. “The question is beyond the scope of direct examination, as well as the opinion expressed by this witness.”
“Not so,” Ford answered promptly. “The proper scope of cross-examination covers the entirety of Dr. Blaine’s examination of information consumed by the defendant. It’s not confined to the single piece of evidence Mr. Harris chose to offer.”
The judge nodded briskly. “Objection overruled.”
Briefly, Blaine glanced at Harris. “I did,” she told Ford. “Two newspaper articles accessed by Mr. Hill involved alleged misconduct by a deputy in Wilkinson County.”
“What did that case involve?”
“Several things,” Blaine answered. “The deputy in question was accused of beating Blacks in custody.” For an instant, the witness’ gaze flickered toward Malcolm. “According to the articles, he told the leader of a white extremist group that he meant to charge Black people with felonies to keep them from voting, and to intimidate voting rights workers—or maybe worse.”
“Specifically, Dr. Blaine, did one of the articles report that the deputy had threatened to ‘kill or castrate’ canvassers who registered Blacks?”
Again, the witness glanced at Malcolm. “That’s correct.”
“Thank you,” Ford said. “No further questions.”
It was the most Jabari could do, Allie thought. He could not change the video, or erase its adverse implications for her son. Instead, Ford had laid the groundwork for explaining why Malcolm had purchased a lethal handgun—not to murder a law enforcement officer but to protect himself from one.
But only if Malcolm chose to testify.
From the bench, Judge Tilly was addressing Harris. “Is this your final witness, Mr. Harris?”
“It is,” the district attorney responded calmly. “The prosecution rests.”
73
At ten o’clock the next morning, Jabari Ford asked the court to dismiss the prosecution of Malcolm Hill for the murder of George Bullock.
With the jury absent, he stood at a podium in the well of the courtroom. The rapt spectators who crowded the seating area included Allie and Janie Hill, Dorothy Bullock and her children, Fay Spann, locals of varied races, and a throng of print and television reporters ready to supplement the cameras instantaneously broadcasting the proceedings to millions of Americans.
Outside, Chase felt certain, the throng that had greeted them as they arrived—demonstrators supporting Malcolm; white militia led by the Parnells—remained to await Tilly’s ruling. Sitting beside Malcolm, he could feel his son’s tension.
“Your Honor,” Ford concluded, “the prosecution case has failed on its own terms. Even if you interpret the evidence most favorably to the tendentious theories it espouses, it has not—and cannot—prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Malcolm Hill committed an act of murder. Under the law, we respectfully submit, this court is required to dismiss these charges with prejudice.”
“Mr. Harris?” the court said. “Do you feel the need to respond?”
In itself, the wording of the inquiry put Chase on edge. “Briefly, Your Honor,” Harris responded in a confident manner. “The court saw that video, and so did the jury. The operative question is simply this: whether there is evidence sufficient for rational jurors to find the defendant guilty. The fact that there may be opposing interpretations regarding some of the physical evidence does not support an acquittal. That’s all the more true when there’s substantial evidence of the defendant’s intention to commit murder, including his penchant for violence and loathing of law enforcement officers. Under the law of Georgia, this motion must be denied.”
This line of argument reflected what Chase had expected. Despite the problems with this case, Harris hoped to get past this motion, force Malcolm to testify and, having wounded him, persuade the jury that an angry and inebriated Malcolm Hill had murdered George Bullock. The one thing that would surely end his public career would be to lose here and now.
With an air of command, Judge Tilly surveyed the courtroom, its inhabitants, and the cameras that had followed him to this critical passage. In somber tones, he said, “We must agree with the district attorney, Mr. Ford. In trials like this, the evidence is frequently ambiguous. That’s what trials are for, and juries—to sift the evidence, including that regarding the defendant’s intent at the time of the victim’s death, and then measure it against the appropriate legal standard for conviction. Motion denied.”
Sitting close to Malcolm, Chase felt his son slump in his chair. There was a brief murmur from those watching before Tilly cracked his gavel. “With that,” he said to Ford, “is the defense ready to proceed?”
Briefly, Ford glanced at Chase. “May it please the court, we request until tomorrow morning to consider whether to call witnesses. And, if so, whom.”
The time for decision was here, Chase knew. Within minutes, every legal analyst on cable would be talking about whether the defense would call Malcolm Hill.
“Very well,” Tilly responded. “The court will reconvene at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. At that time, we will either hear from the first defense witness or commence closing argument.”
Moments later, Chase and Ford sat across from each other in his conference room.
Chase felt torpid and dispirited. “It’s not that either of us expected to win,” he told Ford. “What made it so hard was knowing that Malcolm has gotten his hopes up, and then watching him return to jail without knowing if he’ll ever see freedom again. I could feel the life going out of him, and know Allie was seeing it, too.” His voice softened. “I keep thinking about the two of us at Harvard, with me not knowing she was pregnant, and wishing that somehow I could go back and redirect all our lives.”
“But you can’t,” Ford answered. “So time’s up, Chase. You don’t want to call witnesses, do you?”
Chase forced himself to refocus. “No. I don’t.”
“Didn’t think so,” Ford said crisply. “But you’d better spell that out for me.”
“It’s pretty simple. Any DA who’s not an idiot could get this case past a motion to dismiss. But Harris has had his shot, and I don’t think he’s close to proving his case beyond a reasonable doubt. If we rest our case without calling witnesses, that’s the message we’d be sending to the jury.”
Ford looked askance at him. “So, you’d hang Malcolm’s future on reasonable doubt. We just go to the jury, without him ever saying a word in his own defense. Without anyone saying anything in his defense.” He leaned forward. “Are you really willing to take that kind of risk?”
“Not happily. But anything we do is a risk—especially calling Malcolm, which is exactly what the prosecution wants us to do. I can’t dismiss the not-insignificant chance that Harris could tear him apart. You saw what I did to Billy.”
“If I hadn’t,” Ford rejoined, “I was pretty sure you’d remind me. Look, I know it’s a risk. But like you say, Billy Palmer is a moron. Your and Allie’s son isn’t, I think you’d be the first to acknowledge. No matter how you feel, he’s the one whose life is on the line.”
“I know that all too well, Jabari. But once we put him on, we can forget about everything else. It will all come down to how the jury sees him.” Chase paused, then began speaking with all the urgency he felt. “What has Harris got? His experts can’t tell them anything about Malcolm’s intent. I’m pretty sure the Black jurors saw Billy Palmer for who he is. That leaves the videotape, and you did an optimal job of using Blaine to provide an alternative explanation for why Malcolm bought that gun. Why effectively erase all that on the chance that calling Malcolm makes things better?”
Ford’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I tend to agree with you about the experts. I think we dented Harris’ enough that we don’t need to call our own. But no witnesses at all? Setting aside Malcolm, I can think of two: Al Garrett, and a formidable woman you pretty much know better than anyone. Alexandria Hill.”
Surprised, Chase studied him. “In terms of sheer presence, I’d take both Allie and Garrett. But what would you call them for?”
“Several things. First, presence matters. You’re right that the Blacks on the jury have seen one version or another of Billy Palmer all their lives. But what about somebody they can actually identify with in a positive way?
“Al Garrett is an authoritative Black man, and he can spell out a lot better than Nick Spinetta how many departmental policies Bullock violated, and why they exist. And if we don’t call Malcolm—or even if we do—Allie’s the best character witness we’ve got. She may be his mother, but most of the Blacks on the jury respect her like pretty much no one else. I think that they not only hope to see Allie; they want to.” Ford looked at Chase intently. “Put her on, and she can tell the jury all that Malcolm knew about death threats, white nationalists posting his picture and directions to their house. If you don’t think that resonates, you need to spend more time here.”
Silent, Chase parsed his thoughts. “I get all that,” he answered. “But they could rough her up about the things she didn’t know about her son—like his posting that video and buying a Glock.”
Ford gave him a thin smile. “She’ll get by. I can see you betting against half of your newfound family, however imprudent that might be. But Allie? Do you really want to do that?”
Chase emitted a brief, halfhearted laugh. “Not particularly.”
“Smart man. So here’s the rest of my thinking about Malcolm. For this whole fucking case, George Bullock has been a cardboard corpse. We know he was a bigot, but they won’t let us prove it.” Ford jabbed the table with his finger. “Call Malcolm, and suddenly the jury hears about all the things he said and did—knowing who Malcolm was, hating Allie, turning off those headlights. You don’t think that our man Robert Franklin isn’t going to snap to attention?
“But here’s the other thing—once we roll out the real Bullock, which we can only do through Malcolm, we can ask Tilly for more slack in asking someone like Spinetta who Bullock really was. Harris sure can’t keep on saying that’s irrelevant to what happened on Old County Road.”
Chase hesitated, weighing the known risks against what, to him, were speculative benefits. “I understand,” he finally responded. “But suppose Spinetta comes back and says that the real George Bullock loved Black people, and never said a racist thing. You just don’t know, but the man was Bullock’s friend.”
Slowly, Ford nodded. “True. Still, I think there are multiple reasons we end up calling Malcolm. But I’m willing to wait on deciding until after the jury sees Garrett and Allie. Suit you?”
It was more of a concession, Chase understood, than Ford needed to make—perhaps only a courtesy. But, for now, he would take it.
“Suits me,” he answered.
74
As Chase lay on the bed, contemplating the multiple implications of calling Malcolm as a witness in his own defense, Allie stepped from the shower.
Entering the bedroom, she wore nothing. For an instant, the image froze in Chase’s mind. She was achingly lovely, and the superficial domesticity of the moment seemed especially poignant. In another life, this could be their reality. But reality awaited them in the courtroom where, tomorrow, Allie would testify on their son’s behalf.
