Saving Ferris

by A R Kennedy

  “Sustained,” Judge Lowe ruled.

  “One more?” Sewell asked the judge.

  “Proceed.”

  “Do you buy your patio furniture a Christmas gift?”

  “I take the Fifth,” he answered.

  Sewell smiled, as did everyone in the courtroom, except the prosecutor.

  “All yours,” Sewell told Briscoe as he returned to his seat.

  Briscoe ignored him. “No questions for this witness, Your Honor.”

  CHAPTER 53

  Judge Lowe excused the jury for the day. The trial was winding down and the gallery knew it. Only one witness remained before closing statements.

  The defense team left the courthouse, steps behind the prosecutor team.

  “They seem louder today,” Cecilia said, once secure in the car.

  “There’s a rumor you’re testifying tomorrow,” Wyatt answered.

  Back at the house, everyone went their different ways. Wyatt went to the dining room/his office to prepare for the next day’s questioning. Abigail took the rental car, muttering as she left. “I could kill Wyatt. All this talk about the holidays. I have to do some shopping.”

  Cecilia went outside with Ferris. He ran laps around the yard until he was tired. He returned to the patio and rolled around on his back.

  Michael peeked out the sliding glass door. “Hey, Cecilia, can I borrow the car?” CB’s Diner was having Sloppy Joe’s for dinner.

  Cecilia agreed. She went back into the house and grabbed her keys from her purse. Michael caught the tossed car keys. The weather was getting colder and she’d been intermittently starting her car using the automatic start fob. She never left the confines of her house to do it. She knew she wouldn’t trigger the ankle monitor alarm if she went to her car or the garage but she didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. It would be her bad luck if Pugliese, or that Soloway neighbor, happened to pass when she went to the car.

  Michael looked at the keys. “Oh…I meant the truck.” He’d been wanting to drive that F-150 since the first day he’d seen it in her garage.

  “Joey’s truck?” she asked, needlessly. There were only two cars on her property, and only one of them was a truck. She paused. “Well…I doubt it’ll start. It hasn’t been driven in…” She could have said since he died, but continued “…in over a year.”

  “Oh, those trucks are tough. ‘Ford tough’ is the slogan, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged.

  “So can I borrow that?” he asked.

  She could not think of a good reason to deny him the loan. The only reason was that it was Joey’s truck and no one had touched it since his death. She went to the drawer. Her hand hovered over the keys, a small part of her not wanting to give Joey’s keys to Michael. A larger part of her reminded her that a truck should be driven, not housed in a garage. She took the truck’s keys out and threw them to him. It was a strong throw and Michael caught them. He yelled “thanks” as he ran out the side door.

  Cecilia watched as Michael ran to the garage, like a child on Christmas morning. Cecilia smiled, having watched Joey run to the truck the same way when he first got it. The car started on first try and Michael backed out the driveway.

  He couldn’t believe he was driving such a huge vehicle. It would never be practical for him to own one, but it was fun to pretend for an hour or two.

  He’d driven less than three miles when he heard a siren behind him.

  Chief Owens had been patrolling the neighborhood when he spotted the Chandler Construction truck. The truck had the company’s green and yellow logo on both cab doors. There was no mistaking the gray F-150 Limited as Joey’s. It was the newest one in the Chandler Construction fleet.

  Michael pulled over and wished he’d taken Cecilia’s car. Even though it was purple, it was far less conspicuous. “Everything okay, Officer?” he said as the officer approached.

  Holden recognized the driver when he glanced in the side mirror. “What are you doing driving this, Mr. Bloomington?”

  “Chief Owens? How are you?” Michael was relieved it was an officer who knew who he was and that he was part of the defense team.

  Everyone knew and recognized Wyatt Sewell, but few recognized Michael and Abigail away from him. He didn’t want to have to call Wyatt from jail, arrested for stealing the Chandler Construction truck. Because he was craving a Sloppy Joe.

  “Did CeCe tell you that you could drive this?” Owens asked.

  “What?” he asked. “Of course she did. Did you think I’d steal it?”

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  Michael knew he didn’t have to answer these questions but he didn’t want the situation to escalate. He’d heard stories about small town cops and how they felt about the visitors from the city.

  “CB’s Diner for the special, a Sloppy Joe,” Michael answered.

  “Okay, well just be careful. She’d be upset if something happened to the truck.”

  “You seem awfully concerned with CeCe. Anything I should—”

  Owens interrupted him. “I’m concerned about all the citizens in my town.”

  “How small town charming,” Michael said.

  Holden ignored him and watched as another police cruiser approached. Pugliese stopped and yelled from the driver’s seat, “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, just leaving, Officer,” Michael said and rolled up his window.

  Pugliese made a U-turn and parked behind Owens’s car. He got out and stood with Owens. “You pull it over because you thought it was Cecilia?” They watched Michael drive away. “You think she was trying to escape?”

  “No.” Owens was starting to doubt Pugliese’s detective skills. “She wouldn’t be headed into town if she were trying to flee the jurisdiction.” Or use such a conspicuous vehicle. It literally had her name on it.

  “Where’s he going?” Pugliese asked.

  “To CB’s…something about Sloppy Joes.”

  Pugliese nodded and licked his lips. “You know what, why don’t I keep an eye on him?”

  Owens agreed, thinking it was a conciliatory offer. They’d barely spoken since their argument in the bar.

  Pugliese ran back to his car and followed Michael.

  As Vinnie drove away, toward the diner, Owens realized what he was really after.

  A Sloppy Joe.

  Cecilia was pacing the kitchen. Ferris matched her cadence.

  Wyatt stood at the kitchen doorway for several minutes before interrupting. “You need to get some sleep, Cecilia.”

  “I don’t want to testify,” she said, continuing the pacing.

  “You have to testify.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She stopped her pacing and looked at him. Ferris walked into her. “All your other cases, you never had the defendant testify. Why now? Why me?”

  “We have no choice. Your testimony is the only way to prove to the jury it was self-defense.”

  “But you’ve told them it was self-defense. Hol—Chief Owens said he thought it was self-defense.”

  “They need to hear it from you.” He walked up to her and held her shoulders. “Do what Abigail told you and you’ll be fine.”

  She looked over at Michael, leaning on the kitchen island, drinking a bottled water. “He’s worried too.”

  Michael swallowed and said, “It’s just that you’re kind of…kind of cold.”

  “Michael!” Abigail hissed.

  Cecilia wasn’t surprised by Michael’s comment or even insulted by it. It’s what Janna had told her on her wedding day. She couldn’t believe anyone would want to marry the “ice queen.”

  “What?” Michael asked. “You know it too, Wyatt. We’ve not once seen her cry. I’ve never seen her show any emotion. At the trial or at home.”

  “So you want me to cry?” she asked them.

  Simultaneously, they yelled, “No!”

  “Fake crying is far worse than no crying,” Abigail explained.

  “Just be yourself,” Wyatt ad
ded.

  “But”—she didn’t want to admit it, but it was the truth—“most people don’t like me at first.”

  “Well, this isn’t a first impression. They’ve seen you all week.”

  That did not make her feel better.

  CHAPTER 54

  “The defense calls Mrs. Cecilia Chandler to the stand.”

  The chair squeaked loudly when she stood. She smoothed her blue wrap dress and took a deep breath before taking her first step toward the witness stand. Judge Lowe ran a tight courtroom. There was never any chitchat in the gallery. Today was so quiet, Cecilia didn’t think anyone was even breathing. Everyone could hear every squeak of her shoes as she walked to the stand. She watched her shoes as she walked, not wanting to see every eye watching her.

  As she passed the defense team desk, Abigail squeezed her hand. A subtle reminder to follow all the directions Abigail had given her. Cecilia took another deep breath, straightened her posture, and proceeded. She met the eyes of the jurors, tried to loosen her facial expression from what Abigail referred to as a scowl to something resembling neutral, but definitely not a smile.

  She took her pledge on the Bible to tell the truth and sat in the chair.

  Cecilia and Wyatt had never gone over her testimony together. He said it was so it wouldn’t become routine. He’d use the same questions, in a different order, and maybe throw in a few easy ones of his own.

  “Are you ready for Christmas?” Wyatt asked.

  “Um…no,” she answered. She couldn’t see past this week, never mind two weeks away.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I’ve been a little busy.” She waved her hand, referring to the courtroom. A few in the gallery giggled.

  “Have you put up a tree?” he asked.

  “No, I can’t get out to buy one. House arrest and all.”

  “How about shopping? Have you gotten your dog a gift yet?”

  “Of course. I got Ferris a big tennis ball.” She turned to the judge, to clarify she hadn’t broken the conditions of her bail. “I bought it online.”

  Wyatt smiled and she knew he had accomplished what he wanted—to get her at ease.

  “Can you please tell us what happened the night of the incident?”

  “Ferris woke me up. He heard something outside. I thought he had to go the bathroom. I got up to take him outside.” She paused. “Ferris was acting funny so I went into the backyard. When the backyard light flipped off, the man attacked.”

  The memory of the attack hit her as hard as the intruder had months ago. She closed her eyes and reminded herself the attack was over.

  “Did you recognize him?” Sewell asked.

  “No. He had a ski mask on.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He hit me. He punched me. He was going to rape me. I fought him as best I could and ran back into the house.”

  “And then?”

  “I ran to Joey’s safe to get his gun.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “Joey always said we lived too far out for them to get to our house quickly. He said I needed to learn to protect myself.”

  “And that was what you were doing?”

  “Yes. I only wanted to scare him off.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I ran back to the door and found him holding a knife to Ferris’s throat.” She cleared her throat. “I begged him to leave. To let Ferris go. I told him I hadn’t seen his face. I wouldn’t be able to identify him. The police wouldn’t be able to arrest him. He could just leave. He didn’t need to hurt Ferris.”

  “Did he hurt Ferris?”

  “Yes. He cut him with the knife.”

  “Is this Ferris after the attack?” Wyatt handed her, and the jury, a photo of Ferris a couple days after the attack. He had several stitches across his neck. “Is he okay now?”

  “Yes. The skin has healed.”

  “So, what happened when the attacker slit Ferris’s throat?”

  Cecilia’s eyes bulged at the term, as did many of the jurors. “I saw some blood on Ferris’s fur and knew he would kill Ferris. So I shot. I was trying to scare him away.”

  “What were you aiming for?”

  “For the large tree behind him.”

  “How far away from him?”

  “It was about twenty feet behind him and ten feet to his right.” She looked Wyatt in the eye. “I never meant to shoot him. I know I’m not good with guns. I know if I had aimed for him I could have hit Ferris and I wouldn’t have done that.”

  “What happened next?”

  “The attacker let go of Ferris and we ran in the house. I closed the door. I wanted to get to the phone, to a more secure area of the house. I wasn’t thinking clearly and then my legs gave out.”

  “What happened next?”

  “The next thing I remembered was seeing Chief Owens in the house.” Cecilia looked at Abigail, who gave a subtle nod that she was doing okay.

  “Dr. Kinney said Ferris is worthless. Do you agree?” Sewell remained at the podium. He wanted the jurors to remain focused on Cecilia.

  “No.”

  “What is he worth to you?”

  She hesitated. It was not a question she had prepped for with Abigail. But she didn’t find it a difficult one. “He’s priceless.”

  “Last question,” Mr. Sewell started.

  The jury and the gallery had come to look forward to Mr. Sewell’s last question. She was the only witness to know this type of question was coming. When she was having difficulty falling asleep the last few nights, she would run through a list of possibilities. Abigail wouldn’t tell her what specifically Wyatt would ask. She doubted Abigail knew.

  “Do you buy your refrigerator a Christmas gift?”

  “No.”

  Mr. Briscoe stood to begin his cross-examination of Cecilia. He licked his lips. He was going to enjoy this. He’d been looking forward to it since he’d seen the witness list.

  Cecilia reminded herself of Abigail’s instructions. She couldn’t prepare her for the specific questions but she prepared her for how to answer them.

  Keep your answers short and specific.

  Keep your voice level.

  Do not react.

  Mr. Briscoe skipped the pleasantries and went right into the questioning.

  “So, what I heard there is that you chose an animal over a human.”

  It wasn’t a question but she answered anyway. “That night Mr. Gabbert was the animal. He attacked me. He was going to rape me.”

  Mr. Briscoe turned to Judge Lowe. “I object. She cannot tell us what he was thinking.”

  “Overruled,” Judge Lowe ruled.

  “Well, he’s dead so we can’t ask him, can we, Ms. Chandler?”

  “Objection!” Mr. Sewell yelled.

  “Sustained,” the judge ruled.

  “You said you weren’t thinking clearly that evening?” Briscoe asked.

  “Yes, the doctor said I had a concussion from the attack—”

  “But you were thinking clearly enough to get a weapon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you get a knife? You had to go through the kitchen to get the gun.”

  “I’d have to get too close to him to use a knife. I didn’t want to get close to him. Joey told me to use a gun.”

  “So you were thinking clearly enough to remember where the gun was, to get to the safe, and open the safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you need a combination for the safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were thinking clearly enough to remember the combination for your husband’s safe?”

  “Yes. It’s our wedding anniversary. June 25th. 0625.” Cecilia bit her lip. “I guess I should change that now.” She smiled when a soft roll of laughter went through the room.

  “You said Mr. Gabbert was going to rape you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you this?”

  “No.”
>
  “How could you know this?”

  Cecilia thought of Abigail’s instructions. Be specific. “He had me pinned to the ground. He was ripping my clothes off. He was removing his belt. He had an erection.”

  “When you shot the gun did you think your life was in immediate danger?”

  “Yes.”

  Mr. Briscoe raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Gabbert was twenty feet away from you.”

  “Yes.”

  “He had a knife to your dog?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he have a weapon on you?”

  “No.”

  “Then your life was not in immediate danger, Ms. Chandler.” Mr. Briscoe turned, pleased with the cross-examination. He had proven that her life wasn’t in danger when she shot the gun. That was all he needed to prove.

  Mr. Briscoe stopped in his tracks when he heard Cecilia say, “I wouldn’t have a life if I lost Ferris too.”

  Dan Briscoe stood to give his closing statement. During his career he hadn’t had to give too many of them. Most of his cases, he pleaded out. He knew his cases. He knew his state’s laws. He knew how to serve his state best.

  And he knew this case, this jury, and this defense team. Sewell would dazzle them with a long-winding closing statement, based on sentimentality. Briscoe would dazzle them with the truth. Succinctly.

  Seated in the jury room, they would be left with one thought.

  Chandler killed Gabbert. And they would vote guilty.

  Briscoe walked over to the jury box. He leaned onto the railing and looked at each of them.

  “When we first met, I told you that you needed to know one thing for this trial. One thing to cast a guilty verdict. Cecilia Chandler murdered Robert Gabbert. I was wrong.”

  Mr. Sewell’s eyebrows raised. Briscoe was not a man to admit a wrongdoing. Otherwise, he would have dropped this case months ago.

  “You need to know two things. Cecilia Chandler murdered Robert Gabbert. She did so to protect property. That is not self-defense. That is illegal. That is murder in the second degree.”

  Mr. Sewell put his hand on Cecilia’s. He, and most of the people in the courtroom, had seen her flinch when Briscoe had said Cecilia had murdered Gabbert the first time and then again the second time.