Dying Declaration

by Randy Singer

  “We can’t put him through that.” Theresa sounded desperate. “There’s got to be another way.”

  “I wish there were,” Charles answered calmly. “But there isn’t.”

  Another knock on the door. “It’s time,” the deputy called.

  “We’re coming!” Nikki yelled. “Give us a break.”

  Thomas stood and stared down at Charles. “I need to talk to Tiger for a few minutes before court,” he said. “Can you arrange for us to meet him here a few minutes early?”

  “I’ll try,” Charles said.

  Thomas then glanced nervously at Nikki and Theresa, before turning back to Charles. “Can I ask you somethin’ alone?”

  Charles looked at Nikki. “Can you buy us a minute with the guard?”

  Nikki let out a quick puff of air, as if insulted that Charles would even ask such an obvious question. “He’s a man, isn’t he?”

  Another knock, this one louder than before.

  After Thomas and Theresa hugged, the women left the conference room. Nikki started in on the deputy even before she had closed the door behind her. When the men were alone, Thomas sat down heavily and stared at folded hands.

  “My faith kilt him, didn’t it, Rev? Or maybe I should say my lack of faith.”

  Charles thought for a moment about the question—had been thinking about it dozens of times since taking this case. “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I think you had plenty of faith, Thomas.” Charles hesitated, wondering whether the big man could handle what Charles really thought. “This isn’t about faith. It’s about love. Scripture says that when all the smoke has cleared, three things will remain—faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

  At this, the eyes of Thomas rose slowly until they locked on Charles. They were deep pools of sadness, reflecting a bitter loss compounded by Thomas’s unyielding guilt. An overwhelming sense of sympathy almost prevented Charles from saying these next words. But sometimes, Charles knew, the most necessary truths were also the most painful ones.

  “I’m no expert,” Charles said quietly, “because I’ve got no kids of my own. But it seems to me that being a dad is not as much about faith as it is about love. Next time, let your heart tell you what to do.”

  Thomas nodded, but before he could respond, the deputy knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response. Nikki was right on his heels, complaining loudly.

  “No more favors for you guys,” the deputy said. “I give you an inch and you take a mile.”

  On the way back to the office, Charles stopped at a FedEx place and removed the letter to Senator Crafton from his briefcase. He knew time was running short.

  He was so emotionally sapped from the long day in court that he didn’t have the energy to even think about what he had to do. Besides, he had prayed about it and thought about it practically nonstop for the last seven days. He had carried the letter with him everywhere he went. He had to get this behind him.

  He could convince himself one way before he went to bed at night and change his mind the next morning. He had never felt so torn.

  He scribbled a note on the bottom of the letter: This is the only copy of this information I have sent. Call me. He wrote out his cell phone number just to be sure. He addressed the overnight package, paid the cashier, and tried to put it out of his mind.

  Charles prayed he had done the right thing.

  He drove away from the FedEx office feeling despondent. The images from the dream still haunted him—rows and rows of graves, Denita’s loud and mocking laugh so vivid he could hear it ringing in his ears. He needed to stop thinking about it and get back to the case. There was so much to do. And the fates of the Hammond family, including little Tiger and Stinky, hung in the balance. He needed to get Denita out of his mind for now, process these emotions later—but how could he?

  He picked up his cell phone and dialed Nikki. “What time can you make it to the war room?”

  “I’ve got to pick up the kids and take them to Theresa’s. It’ll probably be at least eight.”

  “Plan on staying late. We’ve got jury instructions to get ready . . . a closing argument to prepare.”

  “I’ll just let the kids stay with Theresa tonight,” Nikki said. “That way we can work as late as we need to. One night won’t matter.”

  Charles had a bad feeling about leaving the kids with their mother but didn’t want to say anything that might disrupt the tenuous relationship he had established with his volatile partner. “See you at eight.”

  “See you at eight, handsome.”

  The phone went dead, and Charles grinned. He loved it when she called him that.

  At precisely eight, the deputy commonwealth’s attorney’s office phone rang. She had already been to the gym and worked off her frustrations with Brandon. Armistead had bombed today, and she would never forgive him.

  She let it ring three times. She had a lot to do. She thought about just letting it go. They could always leave a message.

  Curiosity won out. “Hello.”

  “Ms. Crawford?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Frank Morris, deputy sheriff at the jail. Sorry to call so late.”

  “I’m pretty busy here. What’s up?”

  “You’re the prosecutor trying that case against the parents who let their kid die, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” He now had her attention.

  “Then I’ve got somebody you need to talk to, and you need to talk to him right away.”

  “Go on.”

  “His name is Buster Jackson, the cellmate of the kid’s father, Thomas Hammond. Jackson says he’s got some information that’ll help you. He wants to make a deal. Wants to talk to you without his attorney present.”

  “Interesting,” the Barracuda said. “Buster Jackson. I think I know this guy. Can you bring him over right away . . . without Hammond knowing what’s happening?”

  “Sure,” the deputy sheriff said. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

  62

  NIKKI WAS WEARING out the rug in the small windowless conference room on Thursday morning. Thomas, Theresa, and Tiger watched her pace. They were all waiting on Charles.

  Nikki looked at her watch. Court would start in ten minutes.

  “How much longer?” Thomas asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Nikki said. “These sessions in the judge’s chambers can sometimes run right up until court starts. When I left, Charles was still arguing his motion.”

  “What motion?” Thomas asked.

  “That the Barracuda not be allowed to question Tiger about what type of parents you’ve been.”

  “Why not?” Thomas looked dumbfounded.

  “Because she’ll imply that you’ve abused your children and that’s got nothing to do with whether you took Joshua to the hospital in time for treatment. She just wants to use some statements that Tiger made to a child psychiatrist to raise the suspicion of abuse and fire up the jury.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” Tiger asked.

  “No, sweetie,” Theresa said. She reached out her hand and started rubbing his hair.

  “C’mere, buddy,” Thomas said. Tiger hustled to the other side of the table and climbed into his daddy’s lap.

  “Look at me,” Thomas said. Tiger lifted his chin and looked squarely in his daddy’s eyes. “Now, I want you to listen real carefully to what I’m about to say. Okay, Tiger?”

  Tiger nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Daddy’s done a lot of things wrong in his life, Tiger, and I’m just plain sorry about them.” Tiger started to object, to defend his daddy against these self-inflicted charges, but Thomas put his finger on the boy’s lips. “Shh, just listen.”

  Nikki stopped pacing. There was something special going on here, and she didn’t want to miss it.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think while I’ve been in prison, Tiger. And I been doin’ a lot of prayin’ and readin’ my Bible.” Thomas swallowed hard, a glimmer o
f moisture coming to his eyes. “I realize I been way too hard on you and Stinky, way too strict. There’s been too many spankings and not enough love . . .” Thomas’s voice began to crack, but he swallowed again and continued.

  “If ’n I ever get out of here, things are gonna change. I’m gonna change. We’ll need help from others, people who can make me be a better dad. But I want you to know one thing, Tiger. Regardless of what happens today, I’m proud of you and—” Thomas looked down as he completed his sentence, unable to look at Tiger as he said it—“I love you, Son, no matter what.”

  Tiger instinctively hugged his daddy’s neck. Thomas hugged him back, practically squeezing the air right out of him. “Just plain tell the truth today on the witness stand,” Thomas whispered. “Don’t you worry ’bout what I’m gonna think or what anybody else is gonna think. Just tell the truth, and everything’ll be all right.”

  Tears began welling in Thomas’s eyes.

  Nikki, who had been watching in silence, her hands pressed together with her fingers gently touching her lips, suddenly realized that it was the first time in this entire ordeal she had ever seen Thomas cry.

  After his dad’s pep talk, Tiger approached round three of Tiger versus the Mean Lady more confident than ever. After all, he was now a certified karate expert, making great progress on his yellow belt. His job was easy: just tell the truth. Okay, maybe his daddy was acting a little strange, but Tiger wouldn’t worry about that right now. He had a very important job to do. He was now the man of the house, and today he would prove his worth.

  He had left the small conference room and sat on the hard wooden bench in the hallway of the courthouse, his cowboy boots dangling over the edge, waiting for his name to be called. He hated wearing his clip-on tie, but Miss Nikki had assured him that even cowboys had to dress up when they went to court.

  He had practiced all kinds of questions and answers with Miss Nikki early this morning and seemed to get them all right. He was ready to do his part in springing his dad from jail. He would set this jury straight. He was a lean, mean, truth-telling machine.

  And he was ready.

  Suddenly the big courtroom doors opened, and a man with a gun and uniform called out his name.

  “John Paul Hammond.”

  With a quizzical look, Tiger pointed toward his chest, as if to say, “You mean me?”

  “Are you John Paul?” the huge man asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Tiger said.

  “Then come on in.” The big man held the door open and pointed down the aisle.

  Tiger peeked inside and froze in his tracks. It seemed like there were a thousand people inside, all turned to stare at him. The aisle looked as long as a football field, and the judge sat at the other end of it way up high, looking stern.

  Tiger told his legs to move, to start heading down the aisle. They didn’t seem to hear. So instead, he just stood there with his mouth hanging open, waiting for Miss Nikki to come down the aisle from the front and lead him in by the hand.

  They made him raise his right hand and swear to tell the truth. He was planning on doing that anyway. Then he climbed up in the witness chair and watched in petrified silence as Mr. Charles lowered the mike so that it came down to eye level.

  Mr. Charles walked a few steps away and smiled. “Good morning, John Paul.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tiger said. Somehow his voice came out in a squeak. He hardly recognized it.

  “Could you please tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury your name and how old you are?”

  “Um . . . sure.” Tiger looked down at his shaking hands and decided to tuck them under his legs. “John Paul Hammond. Five and a half.”

  “Do you have a nickname, buddy?”

  “Yep . . . I mean, yes, sir.”

  “And what is it?”

  “Tiger.”

  “Now, Tiger, are you the son of Thomas and Theresa Hammond?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s me.”

  Tiger had practiced these questions and answers many times. He started to loosen up a little and look around.

  “And were you living with your mom and dad and Joshua when little Joshie got sick?”

  “And Stinky,” Tiger corrected Mr. Charles.

  “And Stinky,” Mr. Charles repeated.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Did your mom and dad at some point take Joshie to the hospital?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now this is a very important question, Tiger. Do you remember how many days Joshie was sick before your mom and dad took him to the hospital?”

  Tiger knew the answer: two days. He had practiced it many times early this morning and it also happened to be the truth. But Tiger decided to add a little drama to his answer—after all, the cameras were rolling. So he scrunched up his forehead and looked hard at the ceiling, as if he were searching for the answer. After a few seconds, when he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he went ahead and said it.

  “I’m pretty sure he was sick for dus’ two days. We took him to the hop-sicle on the third day.”

  “Are you sure about that, Tiger?”

  “Um . . . yes, sir.”

  It seemed to Tiger that Mr. Charles let out a big puff of breath, as if he had just come up from a long underwater swim.

  “Now, Tiger, did that lady sitting there at counsel table—” Mr. Charles turned and pointed at the Mean Lady—“did she ask you a few questions on videotape about Joshie?”

  Tiger narrowed his gaze and shot the Mean Lady a nasty look. He didn’t like what he was about to do, and it was all her fault.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did you tell her the truth when you answered all those questions?”

  Tiger shrugged his shoulders. “Not really,” he said. He happened to look past Mr. Charles and directly at his dad, who gave him a stern look as soon as he heard the answer. “I mean . . . no, I didn’t.”

  His dad nodded.

  “In what respect did you not tell the truth?” Mr. Charles asked.

  “I told her—” Tiger nodded his head toward the Mean Lady—“that Joshie had been sick for five days.”

  “Was that true?” Mr. Charles asked.

  How many times have I got to say this? Tiger wondered. And whose side are you on anyway? “No,” he said softly.

  “Then why did you tell her that?”

  At this, Tiger looked right at the Mean Lady, just as Miss Nikki had told him to do. “’Cause afore she turned the camera on, she telled me it might help my daddy get out of jail if he waited a long time afore he took Joshie to the hopsicle. The lady—” Tiger had thought about calling her Mean Lady, just for emphasis, but decided not to—“telled me the story of Abe-ham and Isaac and what a great man Abe-ham was cause he waited three days on the mountain and was ready to kill his son afore God sent a goat. So I dus’ said if Abe-ham waited three days, my daddy prob’ly waited five.”

  “But did your dad really wait five days before taking Josh to the hospital?”

  “No, sir. I made it up.”

  “Thank you, Tiger, that’s all I have. Please answer any questions that Ms. Crawford might have.”

  “Okay,” Tiger said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. The Mean Lady did not look happy.

  63

  NIKKI COULDN’T RESIST a smile as she watched her cute little protégé on the stand. He was dwarfed by the massive courtroom and the judge’s bench that towered over the witness box. Tiger had hammed it up a little on direct examination, but that was to be expected. All in all, the little bugger had followed the script and done a masterful job.

  Now came the hard part.

  The Barracuda strode forward and positioned herself directly between Nikki and the witness stand. Nikki could no longer see Tiger as he talked, her view blocked by the unflattering backside of the Barracuda. Nikki wished a few of the shots for Court TV would use this angle. She scooted over slightly to the right but still couldn’t get Tiger in her line of sight.

  “So y
ou lied before to help your daddy?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I guess so.”

  “Even though you knew it was wrong?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “But this morning, you just happened to remember that Joshie was sick for three days instead of five days, and you want everyone to believe that’s the truth?” The Barracuda spoke softly, but her words were like daggers hurled at the little guy. Nikki did not envy Crawford on this cross. She had to cast some doubt on Tiger’s testimony without seeming like she was picking on him.

  “Um . . . y-y-yes, ma’am.”

  “Was it your idea to come into this courtroom and change your story or did somebody else—” the Barracuda now turned and pointed to Charles and Nikki—“like Mr. Charles Arnold or Miss Nikki Moreno tell you that you should do this?”

  When the Barracuda moved, Nikki could see the fright in Tiger’s eyes as he contemplated the question. His eyes grew as he stared at Nikki, as if afraid to implicate her, yet mindful of his unbending obligation to tell the truth.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “It was Miss Nikki’s idea.”

  “Let the record reflect,” the Barracuda said forcefully, “that the witness is pointing at Nikki Moreno, who is working for the defendants and has served as the court appointed special advocate for the children pending trial.”

  The Barracuda turned back toward Tiger and took a few steps closer. She was blocking Nikki’s view again. Nikki could stand it no longer and moved to an empty seat at the far end of counsel table.

  “And did you and Ms. Moreno practice questions and answers that you might be asked today?”

  Tiger nodded.

  Nikki felt her pulse quicken, the blood rising in her neck. The Barracuda was leading this poor kid, one step at a time, like a lamb to the slaughter. Nikki glanced toward Charles. Do something!

  “Let the record reflect the witness nodded his head, answering in the affirmative,” the Barracuda said to the court reporter. Then she turned back to Tiger and lowered her voice. “And did she help you decide what to say for your answers?”