“I trust that you listened to the testimony of witnesses, police, medical experts and others and can weigh their credibility against that of Mr. Van Horn. As good an attorney as Mr. Becker is, I don’t really think he managed to crack the case we’ve built against his client.
“No, I won’t rehash the case. I will keep my remarks short and I hope to the point.”
I held up my prop, an eight by 12 photograph of a smiling seven-month old Amber Van Horn in her mother’s arms.
Becker was bouncing out of his seat, shouting, “Your honor,” but before he could finish I said, “This is simply a photo of the victim, your honor. Nothing inflammatory.”
Herring shot a glance at Becker and even Becker was smart enough to shut up, as Herring said, “Sit down.”
I walked down the jury box showing the picture slowly to the jurors.
I stopped in front of the young guy. He was trying not to stare at it, but he couldn’t help himself. They hadn’t seen a picture of the little girl since early in the trial. It had been all testimony and words and diagrams. Not a real person.
“I apologize for what I’m doing, ladies and gentlemen. Because what I am doing is haunting each of you. I’m doing it to remind you of what this trial is all about. Amber Van Horn was a living, breathing eight-month not too long ago. Now she is a decaying corpse in a graveyard in Jacksonville.”
There was a gasp and then murmurs from the spectators. I could sense Becker shooting to his feet and dropping again with a glance from Herring.
“I apologize for using that language, but it’s the truth. She is dead, and she has been buried. She was just a little girl. Plenty of little girls die even in this city every year from illness, accidents, murder. Only one little girl. But-“
I walked the line, staring each in the eye until they lowered their gazes.
“She’s the reason we’re here. She’s the reason why the state and defense have spent more than a half million dollars when you take into consideration the man-hours, salaries, facilities and everything else devoted to this little girl’s death.
“As I said, she was only one little girl. Why do we do this, why do we spend so much on one person?”
I held the photo up in front of them again.
“Because in our culture, every life is sacred. Amber Van Horn had written no novels, raised any children, did anything to make the world a better place…except exist. She was raw, unfinished and of no monetary value to anyone at all. But we hold this trial to confirm that her life had value, and the State is asking you to send her father, Chris Van Horn, to the death chamber to confirm that life is sacred.”
I turned my back on the jury and walked closer to Van Horn’s table. I did not look back at the jury as I said, “I apologized earlier for haunting you and I’m sure most of you didn’t understand what I was saying. Let me explain.
“I started working as a prosecutor 10 years ago. I thought it would just be a job.
“What I didn’t understand at the time is that it is much more than a job. I have prosecuted or helped prosecute hundreds of cases. I have seen pictures of, and gotten to know, the families of hundreds of murder or manslaughter victims. I thought when I finished a case, I’d be done with it.”
I turned and walked back to the jury box.
“I was wrong. I can still see the face of the first victim in the first case I ever prosecuted. She was a clerk in a 7-11 who was shot in the face by a bandit who got away with $211…and 37 cents. She was married and the mother of two young boys. Her name was Lilly Mae Longstreet. I don’t see her often, but sometimes when I’m falling to sleep or in my dreams, I see her.
“I lost that case. We couldn’t build a strong enough case and so the accused walked. But I did the best I could and when I see Lilly Mae’s face in my dreams, I can face her without regret.
“Now, I’ve planted Amber’s face in your minds. And trust me, one day, somewhere, somehow, you will see her face again. For myself personally, it doesn’t really matter what verdict you come back with. Murder One, manslaughter, whatever. I know that I – and my office – have given this case all we had. Even if Mr. Van Horn is acquitted, I can still face Amber in my dreams and not be ashamed of what I’ve done.
“It is you, the twelve of you, who will have to decide what you owe this little girl. When you see her again, and trust me you will, will you be able to say to yourself that you did what was right for her? I hope you can, because the alternative will be a lot of sleepless nights.
“Thank you for your time and consideration. Amber, and those who loved her, thank you as well.”
Becker gave me a sickly half smile, as if he couldn’t believe I’d tried to feed a modern jury that kind of pap. I just smiled back at him.
I smiled at him again at 6 p.m. after they’d called us back to Herring’s courtroom. The jury had been out a little more than four hours. The foreman stood and facing Van Horn told him they had found him guilty of murder in the second degree. That meant he was facing a sentence of 10 to 25 years. For a first offense, it would probably be ten years.
Becker was trying to smile for the parents. Undoubtedly he’d make the point that he’d saved their son from the death chamber. But I wondered what kind of person the kid would be when he left Raiford after ten years, or even three or four years with good behavior and parole. He wouldn’t be the same man.
Amber’s mother, and then Amber’s maternal grandmother came up and hugged me. I’m not much for touchy-feely, but I hugged them back. They hadn’t gotten everything they wanted, but I thought they could live with what they had gotten. They could go on with their lives now.
I was walking out when Becker approached me and tapped me on the shoulder. He had perfect hair, perfect teeth, was slim and trim and had a great smile. He reminded me of Debbie’s boyfriend – Lance/Doug Baker. I wanted to slug him but I just gave him a shit-eating grin.
“Congratulations,” he said. If he wasn’t sincere, he could certainly fake it. “I never thought that bullshit would work, but I really was expecting manslaughter tops and maybe less. You got a minute to go out for coffee, a drink somewhere?”
I almost said no, but then realized I had nowhere to go and nothing to do tonight. So we wound up at Pelicans, a downtown bar that draws most of the night action unless you’re going out toward the Beaches or one of the suburbs. He was buying and since he probably made ten times the amount of money I did, I let him.
I worked on a Bloody Mary, heavy on the Tabasco and pepper, while he drank some girly drink.
“You wondering why I invited you out for a drink?”
“Not really. I think you’re after my body.”
He smiled and said, “In a way…”
I shook my head.
“You’re going to be sooooo disappointed.”
He laughed and took a sip, then sat it down and stared at me. I wondered if I’d been right and he was going to hit on me.
“I do want you, but not physically, Bill. By the way, that face is pretty impressive. You just don’t seem like the kind of guy to get involved in barroom brawls. A good story?”
I shrugged.
“Playing basketball with my son a week ago. I’m not as young as I used to be and the concrete is very unforgiving.”
“Oh. Good story anyway. Now, My law firm is always looking for new talent. We have branches in a dozen major cities across the U.S., close to fifty partners and maybe 500 attorneys altogether. Would you ever consider crossing the aisle? I hear you were defense once.”
“I’m flattered, but why?”
“I can’t put my finger on it. I really can’t, no BS. It’s just…something I sensed or felt in there. I think you’re a hell of a lot better than this place deserves. Jacksonville? Jesus Christ, you could be practicing in New York, or San Fran, or Chicago. Big cases, bigger money, much bigger paydays. And the ass…my God, man, you wouldn’t believe the pussy that wanders through our offices. You don’t even have to work hard for it. Our throw aways wo
uld knock the eyes out of guys around here.”
He looked at my left hand and saw the ring on it.
“Looks like you’re married, so we could arrange for employment for the spouse. And the great thing is that even the married guys get all the ass on the side they can handle. Does any of that sound interesting?”
I took a sip of my drink and thought about it.
“No, not really.”
He looked genuinely puzzled.
“I like what I do. I think I need what I do. Representing rich SOBs or working divorces or corporate does nothing for me. I’m tempted, because it would be a challenge, but I guess I’m set in my ways. And I couldn’t walk away because I’ve already paid too high a price to be here.”
He lifted one eyebrow. I’d only seen people do that in movies.
I held my wedding band out. The skin around it was still pink, but mostly healed.
“My wife called me twenty minutes before I walked into court to tell me she didn’t love me anymore and was filing for divorce. After nearly 18 years and two kids.”
“Ouch. I – uh.”
“It was the job, mostly. Some of the fault was just me personally, but I did what I did willingly so I can’t bitch too much.”
“But, doesn’t’ that leave you free…I mean, I don’t want to be indelicate, but as wonderful as she may have been, you do know there’s a whole world of women out there? You may not want to think about it now, but life goes on.”
“Maybe. Look, right now I just want to hunker down and try to ride this out. Leave me your card. If I change my mind, I’ll call you, but it won’t be for awhile.”
He looked around the bar. As usual there were dozens of younger and not so young attorneys, courthouse staff, secretaries, male and female, drinking, flirting, trying to line things up for later that night. I was younger than some of the guys and women there, but I felt like I was a hundred years old. This was going to be my world in the future? God help me.
Becker shook my hand and moved on after a tall redhead who worked in the Public Defender’s Office. As I walked out he was saying something to her, standing so close they could have kissed without moving more than a millimeter in either direction and she was giggling. God, I already hated being divorced.
I made my way back to the River condo and let myself in. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, but I found a pack of cheese crackers and a lukewarm half-empty Pepsi on the desk by the bed and devoured both..
I lay back on the bed fully clothed and stared at the ceiling. I should be in our bedroom, lying next to Debbie, hearing the kids’ music, watching television or talking with her about something inconsequential that had happened to one of us during the day. I shouldn’t be lying in a strange bed, alone, in the quiet except for the infrequent sounds of cars in the night and faraway police sirens.
It was finally sinking in on me away from the courthouse and the cases and the people I worked with. I was alone, and I would be alone from now on.
As I lay there I felt a black anger rising inside me. I’d never denied I was at least partially responsible for what had happened between Debbie and me. I had let my care and concern for others invade my life and push her and the kids to one side. I had been stupid and foolish.
But I had never looked at another woman and seriously thought about cheating on my wife. I hadn’t given the love that I had pledged to her to a stranger. And if I had had the kind of problem that Debbie had had, if it had been me that had kept in shape and her that had let herself get fat and flabby, I knew I would have gone to her and tried to make things work.
During her two pregnancies she had gotten huge and it had taken awhile after each to re-gain her old body. But I can’t remember ever looking at her and not seeing the woman I loved. It was her under that flab and those extra pounds. Why couldn’t she have done that for me?
I sat bolt upright on the bed and wanted very badly to smash things. Screw being the nice guy. I had made some mistakes, but I wasn’t the person who had betrayed my partner; I hadn’t pulled the plug on nearly 20 years together to go lust after some hard body.
I didn’t have to read her emails to Lance. I could quote every word in my head. While I had been working and loving her and trying to keep a middle-aged marriage together, she had been flirting with and lusting after and finally falling in love with a guy who hadn’t been with her through those pregnancies.
Lance hadn’t held her during the nights when she had cried at career reverses and the time when we thought because of a hospital error that a three-day-old Bill Jr. might have Down syndrome. It had taken a week before we’d gotten the correct results. We had stood over his crib and I remember the tears we’d both shed trying to imagine what our life, what his life, would be like if he did have Downs.
Lance, that young son of a bitch, had come in with his hard cock and his flat abs and a ten-year-plus edge on me and she had forgotten all those nights, all those hours, the life I had devoted to her. She had thrown me and those years away.
I thought I had been angry before, but I realized what I felt then was nothing. Until she said the words, told me she didn’t love me anymore, it hadn’t been quite real. I’d had hope. Now that was all gone.
I had prosecuted cases where cuckolded husbands had killed their unfaithful wives while letting their lovers live. I had never understood that. Now I did. Lance was guilty of nothing but being a man guided by his dick, If I was his age and single I might have done the same thing. But Debbie had stabbed me in the back, cut off my balls, torn out my heart. I was glad that I was nowhere near her tonight. I wondered if it would be safe to even face her any time in the near future.
I couldn’t lie down. I got up, took my Escalade and somehow wound up at The Last Call. Maybe because it was close to home, or what had been my home. I drank at a table by myself and watched young and old lovers flirt and kiss and dance and do everything but mate on the dance floor. When I couldn’t see straight enough to walk, the owner called the cops and after they consulted with a sergeant and realized who I was, took me back to the River Condo, put me inside on the bed and let me fall gratefully into unconsciousness. And that was how my first day of freedom ended.
I could have gone back to the house with a deputy but I couldn’t make myself face Debbie or the kids, or my former home. I watched every channel I could find most of the day Saturday, went out and had Thai at a new restaurant near the beach and finally sat on a bench back at the Riverwalk letting the breeze whip around me as the sun sank below the horizon, the air got cooler and rain approached.
My cell rang and I pulled it out, intending to ignore it if it were from Debbie.
“Hi, Roy.”
When she spoke I realized it was Debbie’s mom, Cathy. Roy was okay, but Cathy was as close as you could come to being a classic grandmother, even though she still had a fairly nice body at 65 and had retained the facial features that showed me where Debbie and her younger sister Clarice got their beauty from.
“Hello Bill. Are you okay?”
“Define okay.”
“I’m so sorry, Bill. I want you to know, I tried to talk Debbie out of it when I heard what she was going to do. I told her she was an idiot. She’s my daughter and I love her, but I can’t believe what she’s doing.”
“I found it kind of hard to believe myself, Cathy, but sh-things happen. She did go ahead and filed Friday, didn’t she?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, but she did. What are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“You’re going to fight it, aren’t you? You’re an attorney, you’ve got to know people. Drag it out as long as you can.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why fight for your wife? You love Debbie don’t you? And the kids.”
“Yeah, the kids. Debbie, probably. Not as much as I did three weeks ago.”
There was a long silence, then she said, “You know she doesn’t love this guy, don’t you?”
I played ignorant.
&n
bsp; “What guy?”
“Oh Bill, don’t be an asshole. I’m on your side. Doug Baker, the guy from UNF.”
“How do you know about him?”
“…He’s come by her house since the blowup at UNF that Friday, and she had him over – as a friend – last night. They went out to dinner. As friends.”
“Do you think she’s fucked him?”
She didn’t gasp or get irate or defend her daughter and so I had a pretty good idea what she thought.
“I don’t know, Bill. Probably, honestly. You can look at her while she’s talking about how good friends they are and know she’s lying through her teeth. I just don’t know if she’s lying to herself as well as everybody else.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. The first few hints of raindrops were hitting my face.
“Well then, Cathy, what’s the point? Why fight when she’s already replaced me?”
‘Because she may think she loves him, but she doesn’t. She built a life with you, and you two have the kids, and she did love you so much once. It’s just that…time passed and you didn’t keep yourself up physically and she was ripe for romance when Doug came along. Look, Bill, it happens to men too. It’s that itch you get when you’ve been married a long time and you stop looking at your husband or wife as a lover.
“I guess what I’m saying is that this is a fling. I think she thinks she loves him, or she’s flattered by the idea of a young attractive man wanting her when she’s getting ready to turn 40. And she probably will have, if she already hasn’t had, sex with him. I hate to hurt you, but it probably will happen.”
“So what is the point of my trying to hang on to someone who thinks she loves a younger hot guy and is going to have sex with him and probably rub my nose in it?”
“Because flings don’t last, Bill. It’s not love. It’s fantasy and lust, but those burn out. The day will come when she sees him and what she’s doing in the light of day. She’ll remember what you two had and what she’s got with him won’t be able to match that.”
The Long Fall Page 9