You could see the cogs turning in Zimmer’s head, debating exactly how much he wanted to share. “My father was an alcoholic.”
“And he was a horrible father?”
“Yes.”
“Abusive?”
“Yep. Smacked my brother and I around a lot. Beat on my mother more often than not. When she finally left him, he refused to leave the house, and we slept in her friends’ living rooms, sometimes at my aunt’s house, sometimes at my grandma’s. My mother did everything she could not to take advantage of her friends, yet keep us out of shelters, while she tried to get the divorce that he refused to let her have.”
Roger rocked back in his chair. “But why drunk driving? Did he drive drunk and kill somebody?”
“No.”
“Did he drive drunk and kill himself in an accident?”
“No.”
“Then what happened to him?”
“You shot him.”
Roger looked at Logan, bewildered.
Logan just smiled and nodded.
Zimmer smiled. “You killing my father was the single best thing that happened in my life. Since he refused to let the divorce go through, Mom got the house back, and the hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy, and social security benefits for us. Without the abuse and stress, my mother flourished. She sent us to college and told us to pay our turn of luck forward. This is going to be my chance to do that.”
“Isn’t this a conflict of interests?” Roger asked Logan.
Logan shrugged, “Only if he hated you. I mean, you’ll have to sign some extra paperwork to get the court to accept it, but we can have him represent you. The media will have a field day over it. It’ll be the headline that will get people reading the articles and to start caring about the bigger picture, here.”
“What if he’s lying about wanting to help me, just so that he can set me up for a crucifixion?”
“Everyone at the firm knows his story. He tends to represent battered women. They all know that if the killer were ever to be found, he wanted to handle the case.”
Roger looked back to Ryan Zimmer.
Zimmer leaned forward, his eyes bright. “I’ve been looking forward to this day since I moved back into my childhood home, without fear of saying or doing the wrong thing.”
“And did your fantasies have me agreeing to turn the horrible things I’ve done into something good for everyone?”
“I heard the police officers tell my mother that the killer was known by them to target drunk drivers. I knew what your motivation was, even without knowing why. You were this faceless entity to me who came in and eradicated the evil in my life. You were my hero.”
Roger was momentarily at a loss for words. “And so now you want to step out of your specialty and defend me against multiple murder charges?”
“I’m going to bring in a murder trial specialist as co-counsel.”
“And keep Logan on, too.”
“Of course. I understand you’ll want him involved to make sure I don’t turn on you.”
Roger drew his lips together, non-verbally admitting that it was exactly why he wanted Logan kept around. Well, that, and he wanted Logan around to keep him appraised on how the rest of the family was dealing with everything.
“I’m grateful for the role you played in my life, as messed up as that sounds. And I understand that you were trying to elicit real, meaningful, life-saving change, back then. Let me help you achieve that now.”
Roger let out a long sigh as he chewed on the inside of his lower lip, regarding the man in front of him. In all truth, he didn’t want to drag his family through a messy, public trial. But, at the same time, if his story could serve to help lower the number of people driving drunk on the roads… “So, what plea would you have me make?”
Zimmer glanced to Logan, and back to Roger. “Not guilty, by reason of insanity.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Skeletal Descendants
“Top news this morning, once again, pertains to the Driveway Shooter trial continuing today. Litigation has now gotten to the point of bringing in the families of the victims. On the docket, prosecution will be presenting impact statements to the court. One member from each victim’s family has the option of testifying as to the damage Roger Hayes has done to these families. Many say that it is too little, too late, to bring them any comfort. Others say they have been waiting far too long for this opportunity.”
Tamara Peterson, lead counsel for the prosecution, stood before the court, full of confidence as she looked from Roger, to the first person to take the stand that morning. “Miss Phillips, would you please take this opportunity to share with the court the impact your father’s murder had on you and your family?”
The woman on the stand nodded. “Yes, thank you. My name is Elizabeth Phillips, and my father was victim number one. I’ve sat in this courtroom every day, listening to how you felt you were providing a service to the community, by killing drunk drivers. And, Mr. Hayes, on the surface, I can agree with your efforts. In fact, when I saw my father dead in the driveway, before the cops got there, I was relieved. Never again would my father yell at me for breathing. Never would he hit me for existing. I thanked God for whatever it was that had happened. I was glad he was gone.”
Roger started to relax in his chair, thinking this day may not be as horrible as he’d thought it might.
“What I didn’t comprehend, Mr. Hayes, is that my mother viewed herself incapable of taking care of me and my siblings on her own. She wasn’t empowered by the freedom from her abuser. Instead, she lived in fear of having to get everything accomplished on her own. Constantly overwhelmed, her desperate answer was to attach herself onto another man. He soon moved in, and then instead of living with a man who yelled at and hit me, I ended up living with a man who seemed perfectly reasonable to everyone on the outside. A man who kept a tight grip on control, and the family. A man who made sure the fridge was full and that we had clothes that fit properly. A man who everyone thought was wonderful and our savior. A man who invited himself into my room more nights than not, to force himself on me. A man who my mother was so afraid to leave, that she let it happen, over and over.”
Roger closed his eyes against the words he was hearing.
“I know that when you saw the bikes in the driveway, you thought you were doing us a favor. I know you thought you were saving my mother. But, honestly, while I appreciate your gesture, on its surface, I really wish you would have just minded your own business that night, and left my drunken father alone.”
Roger was grateful that he wasn’t allowed to say anything to the woman, because he wouldn’t have been able to conjure words for her right now, not even if his children’s lives depended on it. Ashamed to have cast the stone that led to the same type of abuse that he’d rescued his own daughter from, he could only hang his head.
Miss Phillips exited and the next person took the stand.
“Justin Miller, please tell the court the impact Mr. Hayes had on your life,” Tamara Peterson instructed.
Roger raised his gaze, determined to give each person the respect of being heard by him.
Justin Miller nodded. “My father was victim number four. He wasn’t abusive. He was good to us. Admittedly, he did like to drink. In retrospect, he may have even been an alcoholic. But he was a good man. Should he have been driving that night? No. But he did, and you shot him for it. And less than a year later, my mother committed suicide, making me a ward of the state. I was separated from my sister, and I still haven’t been able to locate her. I went through three abusive foster homes before landing in a decent one. But, the damage for me was already done and I turned to drugs, to find comfort. I’ve had to claw my way out of that dark hole. And while I know not all of that was your fault, it was my father’s murder that served as the tipping point in my life.”
Roger was looking even more dejected.
“I understand that what you had been through may have driven you insane, at the
time, but nothing gives you the right to get away with actions that had devastating affects to other people. My mother killed herself because you killed her husband. You started a whole string of events that fell like dominoes, and I hope you rot behind bars.”
Roger nodded, his only allowed form of acceptance of Justin’s words.
Justin Miller was excused and Taysha Brown took the stand.
“Mrs. Brown, please share with the court your experience,” Tamara instructed.
“My mother was victim number seven,” Taysha began. “My brother was diagnosed with leukemia at seven years old. He fought it for a year. A year in which my mother was by his side for every moment. When he had to go into the hospital, mom packed a bag and stayed with him. She was completely devoted to his fight. Thirteen months, two weeks, and five days into that fight, my brother lost the battle. The family was devasted. The funeral was long, the reception even longer. Everyone coming to her with their condolences, telling her what a great and devoted mother she’d been through it all, saying whatever else it was that they thought might bring her comfort, but didn’t. She felt like she didn’t deserve their praise, even though she totally did, because her efforts weren’t enough to save her son. She’d had enough with people coming up to her that day, and just needed some peace. She drove off that night, after everyone had left. We thought she’d gone to a park after hours, or something. We didn’t realize that she’d driven to a bar and proceeded to sit in a corner and drink her feelings away. And, no, she shouldn’t have driven afterwards. But this was a woman who’d just lost a child, was struggling with the acceptance of all that had happened, and for the first time since becoming a mother, overindulged. I think with all that she was going through, she was due just a little latitude, don’t you?”
Roger had tears in his eyes as he nodded his head.
“I stayed up that night, waiting for her to come home. Dad was exhausted, and had cried in his room before finally falling asleep. I know, because I was sitting outside of his bedroom door, until he quieted. Then I sat on my desk chair, in my darkened room, because it sat by my bedroom window, which overlooked the driveway. I was waiting up for her, because my mother had spent enough nights away from home, in the hospital with my brother. I wanted her home, to know she was going to be okay. When she pulled up, I was so relieved. I watched her get out of the car. And I watched as she dropped to the ground.”
Roger’s head was now in the palms of his hands.
“I saw your car drive off, but couldn’t catch a license plate or even what color the car was because of the dark. But I ran out to her, trying to help her up, because I didn’t realize what had actually happened. She ended up dying in my arms, my nightgown covered in her blood. She deserved your compassion that night, Mr. Hayes, and instead you gave her a toe tag.”
Roger’s composure broke as Taysha Brown was excused from the witness stand.
Ryan Zimmer, Roger’s lead attorney stood, “Your Honor, the defense asks for a fifteen-minute recess so that the defendant may gather himself.”
The judge looked from Zimmer to Peterson.
Tamara Peterson, wanting to look appropriately concerned for the mental health of the defendant, simply nodded her head.
“Very well,” the judge said, “since there are no objections, I will grant a fifteen-minute recess.” He picked up his gavel and banged it.
Roger’s psychiatrist stood and helped his lawyers escort him to a designated private room where she could talk to him and help him navigate through his battered emotions, and gear him up for the rest of the statements.
“My mother, victim number nine, was a functional alcoholic,” Rachel Nguyen stated. “She drank every night, but we had a roof over our head, good food in our stomachs, warm clothes, and we felt loved. I understand that she drove drunk, I do. But she was a good mother, despite her difficulties. And her murder resulted in my sister and I being turned over to our drug addict of a father. Instead of having a mother who took care of us, we had a father that we had to take care of. My sister and I were six and eight, and we did our best, but he still overdosed. And you’d think that would have actually been a good thing for us, because we were then sent to our grandmother’s home to live. And my grandmother, she did her best, but she’d had my mother later in life and was really old enough to be our great-grandmother and she died. And still, you’d think we were fortunate because my mother’s sister stepped forward and she and my uncle took us in. But my uncle, see, he never wanted kids and ended up resenting my aunt for taking us in. So, he left. And my poor aunt found herself a single mother despite having borne no children. And do you know what she did? She turned to alcohol. Let’s just say that she wasn’t as functional as my mother was. So, screw your intentions, Mr. Hayes, you can go to Hell.”
Rachel Nguyen stepped down from the stand, and an elderly gentleman took her place.
William Champion cleared his throat before speaking. “My son was your twelfth victim.”
Roger slumped. It was one thing to face the offspring of his victims. It was a whole other thing to face parents he’d caused to have to bury their own child.
“My son had called me and his mother over to his place, just the night before. My ex and I were notorious for not getting along, and purposefully kept our distance from one another. So, we knew it was a big deal for him to call us both to come over. He’d just lost his friend to an overdose, and proceeded to confess his drug and alcohol problems to us. He’d called us over to ask us for help in getting better. You see, his friend’s death had made him realize what he was really doing, the harm he was causing. My ex and I promised to help him. She took him home with her that night, and I researched rehab places for him. The next day I called around, and I had a rehab scheduled to admit him the following day. I told him, and my ex, and we promised to drive him in together.”
Roger lifted his head, truly curious to hear what had gone wrong with their plan.
“I guess a lot of addicts going into rehab like to go out for one last night before having to give it up, and get themselves really strung out. My ex and I didn’t know that, though. He said he wanted to go back to his apartment and get some stuff. Clothes and things like that. We offered to go with him, but he said he was fine. We let him go and my ex and I sat down and talked. I mean, really talked, without fighting, for the first time in over a decade. We talked about how we hadn’t made things any easier on our son, and how that might have played into his issues. And the whole time we were gearing ourselves up for the coming day, our son was out getting drunk one last time, and driving back to his mother’s place. We saw the headlights in the driveway, and waited several minutes, wondering what was taking him so long. Finally, I went out to see if he needed help carrying bags in, or anything, and I found him collapsed on the pavement.”
Roger wished he could apologize to the man, but he’d been advised to not speak. His not speaking was supposed to make it easier for the families to say what they needed to say.
“I understand that my son was in the wrong. I understand that he had no business behind the wheel. But he hadn’t actually harmed anyone. He’d arrived safely enough to make it back. And he was aware of his problems and preparing to do something about them. He was seeking help. Why couldn’t you have picked Fridays or Saturdays to kill? Why did it have to be Thursdays? Why did you have to pick my ex’s neighborhood that night? I understand that a lot of people relapse after their first go around of rehab, but… you turned your life around after a lot of therapy and help, didn’t my son deserve the same chance?”
William was excused and Angelina Reagan was brought up.
“My brother was victim number nineteen,” Angelina began. “My brother had gotten his acceptance letter into a graduate level program with MIT. He was ecstatic. He went out and met up with some buddies to celebrate. He knew how drunk he was, and called our mom to come get him. She went out to leave, but the car wouldn’t start. She called my brother back and told him to just call a cab.
But, see, my brother knew that our Mom would need a car for work in the morning, and decided to just man up and drive home. And. He. Made. It. Home. Safely.”
Roger looked to the floor and nodded.
“My brother was a mathematician, Mr. Hayes. He wasn’t a partier. He wasn’t out drunk driving every week. Frankly, I was shocked he even knew where a bar was located. But he’d achieved something great, something not very many people are capable of accomplishing. And all he wanted was one night to kick back and let loose, and you killed him for it.”
* * * * * * * * * *
“The Driveway Shooter trial continues for yet another day. After yesterday’s impact statements on behalf of the prosecution, Mr. Hayes’ defense counsel will launch their countering impact statements. Given the personal history the lead counsel for the defense, Ryan Zimmer, has shared with the public, I can only imagine the statements that will come to light today.”
“My name is Jessica Dunlap, and I am the daughter of victim number five. My mother was an alcoholic. My father spent years in their marriage, trying to figure out a way to save her. I’ll give him credit in that he never wanted to give up on her. Life wasn’t easy, nor normal. I couldn’t have friends over, because I’d spend the entire time trying to make excuses for her behavior. Dad struggled with his obligation to not kick her out.”
Roger was holding his breath, hoping Jessica wasn’t about to stab his team in the back, having only pretended to want to testify on his behalf.
Jessica used a hand to wipe her brow, as Roger noticed she wore peacock blue nail polish, before lifting her eyes to the court. “The night Mr. Hayes shot my mother, is the day he set me and my father free. Free of having to care for an alcoholic, of trying to get her help and her refusing. Free of having to try and understand how someone could claim to love you, even as her every action showed that she didn’t. Free of having her drag us down with her negativity and her cursing of everything. With the matter of Mom gone, and my father not having to feel guilty about it, life was lighter. We finally had a normal life. And my dad turned out to be a great father. Do you know that I stayed out of trouble as a teenager, because I didn’t have the heart to put him through any more struggle than he’d already been through? This may sound strange to anyone who hasn’t been through it, but I’m grateful for her death. It’s selfish, I know. I should wish that she had been able to receive help, and recover. But she had a daughter, and a nice house, and a devoted husband, and she wasn’t willing to be helped. We tried, repeatedly. I firmly believe she would have kept going until she did kill someone while driving drunk. I firmly believe Mr. Hayes saved innocent lives by killing my mother. With her, it was just a matter of time.”
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