He had tossed and turned all night, anticipating what he would say to his parents after all this time. Nineteen months felt like an eternity, and it probably felt even longer for them. Their lives would have completely transformed while he sat in a cell and stared at a concrete wall, growing older but no wiser.
He had hundreds of questions he wanted to ask, but when he entered the visitation room and saw the lines on his mom’s once youthful face, guilt took hold in his throat, making speech difficult. Memories clashed in his mind with thoughts of how the shooting had surely spun their lives down the shitter. Jeremy could see the pain swimming behind his parents’ eyes.
“Oh, Jeremy,” she gasped when he sat down and picked up his phone. “What happened?”
All he could do was stare at her. Finally he managed to say, “Hi, Mom. Dad,” tears forming in his eyes. He put an open palm up to the glass, wanting nothing more than to feel his mother’s embrace.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’m fine. I need help, Mom. Linda’s going to get me out of here, I just know it. I didn’t want to do what I did.”
Every thought of freedom flooded his mind. He hadn’t seen his parents in over eighteen months, and all it took was five seconds to feel a wave of guilt and regret.
Her lips quivered and she broke into a heavy sob, handing the phone to Robert.
“Hi, son. It’s been hard without you. I hope you’re doing okay.” His dad paused to contemplate his next words. “I told your mother this would be difficult.” His words came out slurred. He was a man of few emotions, but Jeremy assumed he was fighting back tears of his own.
“I love you both. I’m so sorry,” Jeremy said.
“We love you. I think we need to leave now. We’ll try to come back another time.”
Robert hung up the phone, squeezed his wife, and helped her out of the visitation room while she sobbed, seeming to hyperventilate.
Jeremy had never seen his father so defeated. So broken. The guilt he felt was the worst it had been since he had entered jail. All along he had been committed to the experiment, but he’d lost sight of how it would affect those closest to him. He wiped the tears from his face before returning to his cell for the evening.
* * *
The weeks leading up to the trial were eventful for Jeremy. He had appointments with barbers and suit tailors. He hadn’t worn a suit since his interview with Open Hands almost four years ago.
Linda dropped in every other day with a laundry list of questions regarding Jeremy’s past. She came more for confirmation as she worked to piece everything together for the trial. The questions became fewer as they approached the start date, and he figured that was a good sign, that Linda had filled the supposed gaps in his story.
“I think we’re in as good a position as we can be,” she said three days before the trial. It was Friday afternoon and she had just one final weekend to prepare for opening statements.
“Is there anything you don’t feel ready for?” Jeremy asked.
“No. My interviews have been good. Clark and Dr. Siva had a lot of great things to say about you. I like to think we have enough to convince the jury against death. At the end of the day, that’s the goal, anything extra is a bonus.”
Easy for you to say when it’s not your life on the line.
“Is there anything else I need to do for the trial?”
“No. Like I’ve said, just keep quiet, don’t engage. Be attentive to the witnesses, but never show emotion. Someone in the jury will always have an eye on you.”
“Okay, easy enough.”
With that, Linda left Jeremy for the weekend. When he returned to his cell, Jeremy did something he hadn’t done in more than two years. He laid on his cot facing the ceiling, and joined his hands below his chin.
“Dear God, please forgive me for my sins. Please protect me from death and allow me to continue my work to make the world a better place. Too many of your children live in darkness every day. Amen.”
Tears ran from his eyes into his ears. His mind had felt chaotic for the last two weeks, with all the preparation and seeing his parents. Praying helped put his mind at ease and he wished he had been doing it since day one.
The rest of the weekend dragged worse than normal. Time took forever to pass when all you could do was look at the ceiling and try to puzzle your life together.
On Sunday, Jeremy saved his pill underneath his tongue when he received it in the morning, stashed it under his pillow when the officer left, and swallowed it after dinner. He felt anxious all morning and knew he’d need the assistance with sleep later on. He had no windows in his cell but could see the daylight shine down in the hallway outside of his door, in golden rays. The beauty of nature could apparently find its way into the ugliest of places.
His mind drifted as he lay on his bed all afternoon. He pondered the trial, envisioning all of the jurors now responsible for the outcome of his life. He fell in and out of sleep, before finally dozing into a deep sleep in the evening and through the night.
20
Chapter 20
Sunday, October 22, 2017
Cathleen Speidel had tried to keep busy in the weeks leading up to the trial before her days would consist of sitting in a courtroom and hearing violent, disturbing testimony.
The trial had placed a damper on her upcoming travel plans for the fall. A trip to Las Vegas had been arranged, just like every autumn for the last several years, but now the trip was postponed until the conclusion of the trial. As a former airline employee, her flight was easily rescheduled, but delaying her relaxing week at the casino made her miserable.
She knew she’d be selected to the jury as soon as she arrived the courthouse back in August. She’d served as a juror twice before, and that experience always made her an automatic favorite. The questionnaire she filled out upon arriving made her suspect she would be a prime target. While they didn’t ask directly, the questions strongly suggested they wanted jurors who had free time to spare, in anticipation of a lengthy trial. They also preferred candidates with minimal TV, technology, and social media exposure.
As a 65-year-old single woman, she checked all of these boxes. As suspected, she was asked into the courtroom, where the attorneys would question her further. She froze when she entered and saw the man who had killed all those people, sitting calmly beside his defense team dressed in a dark red jumpsuit.
This is for his trial?
All the worries about her trip vanished. She wanted this trial. It would be historic, and who wouldn’t want to be a part of history? Vegas wasn’t going anywhere. She immediately told the attorneys she had a wide open schedule and would have no issues committing to a longer trial. They projected three to four weeks, which really wasn’t that long. During her time in the courtroom, she looked out the corner of her eye toward Jeremy Heston. And while her glasses didn’t allow her a clear view from that angle, she could sense him staring back at her.
The attorneys grilled her with questions about her family’s history, digging for any sort of connection to mental illness. There were none, and after a couple hours Cathleen was informed that they would follow up should they choose her as a juror. This process was different than the common procedure where jurors were informed the same day, but she recalled seeing the number of jury summons had been record-breaking for this case.
As she thought back on all of these events, she felt a tingle of excitement knowing the trial would begin tomorrow. On this particular night, Cathleen had just returned from a trip to the grocery store. She liked to go at night time when there was less of a crowd and no lines.
A cool breeze blew her short, sandy brown hair in crazy waves when she stepped out of her car at home. A full moon lit up her block and she could hear a distant squeal of teenagers playing a game of hide-and-seek. Leaves rustled across her lawn as she stood behind her open trunk, examining which bags of groceries to take inside, and which to leave in her freezer in the gara
ge. Boxes of frozen dinners had spilled out of their bags and all around the trunk.
Cathleen sighed as she collected the boxes; she didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching from behind. The shuffling steps silenced directly behind her, and the dark figure watched as she gathered the groceries.
Cathleen felt eyes on her, but it wasn’t uncommon for a neighbor to be on a late-night stroll around the block.
When she turned, her heart leapt through her throat as she saw the hooded figure. The darkness provided camouflage too, along with the black clothing and the baggy hood over the head.
“Cathleen,” a steady man’s voice said from the pit of darkness where his face would be.
Cathleen’s throat locked and she couldn’t speak. Quickly, the man’s hand grasped her and clenched tightly around her neck. She sucked in air with short, panicked gasps. The man’s fingers felt soft, and she assumed he was wearing gloves. The glow from the garage light revealed the whites of the man’s eyes, staring at her as his grip loosened just enough for her to breathe normally.
“Ms. Speidel,” the man said, this time in a formal and articulate voice. “I know you’re on the Jeremy Heston jury. I need you to make sure he receives the verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity.”
He paused as if awaiting a response, but he still had her throat grasped, so as to not allow speech.
“Anything less will be very bad for you.”
A gust of wind howled and whistled, prompting the man to look behind him. She could feel his hand trembling beneath the glove and wondered if he was nervous.
“If he receives any sort of guilty verdict, I’ll be back. I know where your son lives and I’ll slit his throat faster than you can say ‘not guilty.’ All you have to do is become the jury foreman, and make sure to influence your peers to see things your way.”
Tears rolled down Cathleen’s face and adrenaline flowed through her veins. The lack of oxygen to her head made her eyeballs feel like they would explode out of their sockets.
“My instructions are simple: get him the insanity verdict, and I’ll leave you $100,000 cash as a thank you. I understand the risk you’re taking, so I want to make sure you’re taken care of. If he gets a guilty verdict, I’ll be paying a visit to Ironwood Street in San Diego.”
David. That was where Cathleen’s adult son lived. Whoever the hooded figure was, he was not bluffing.
The man released his grip and watched as she huffed and puffed for fresh air. He took a step back before speaking again.
“Make it happen, Cathleen. And if you speak of this confrontation to anyone, I will find out, and I’ll come back here. If I have to come back here for any other reason besides delivering the $100,000, it won’t be a pretty sight for you.”
The man pivoted around and broke into a sprint. His rapid footsteps faded away into silence within seconds.
Cathleen rubbed her throat, where the throbbing pain remained from the man’s fingers. Every inhale felt like sharp needles in her throat. She looked in the direction the man had run and saw nothing but darkness, street lights glowing softly over the deserted street.
What do I do? Call the cops right now?
She wanted nothing more than to do just that, but she resisted.
How could this man know if I contact the authorities?
Perhaps he knew someone within the court system, or even worked in the system himself. That would explain how he knew she was a juror in the case.
But why would he want to fix the trial to end this way?
He was surely a friend or relative of Jeremy’s. Who else would go to such an extreme measure?
Cathleen returned to taking her groceries inside as her mind raced. She looked over her shoulder every time she returned to her car, but she knew he was long gone and not coming back any time soon.
He could be bluffing.
If the man was bluffing, she could call the police and notify the judge without a worry. But what would she tell them? She didn’t even get a clear look at the man and had no way to describe him except for his approximate height and the tone of his voice.
And if he’s not bluffing?
The thought sent chills throughout her body, and she shivered underneath her sweater. If he meant everything he said, then she had no choice but to try and influence the verdict. She didn’t need his money, but she didn’t want to die from something out of her control. Or worse, have something happen to David.
I could run away.
Cathleen entertained the thought. She could finally get the condo she wanted in Las Vegas, or live on an island somewhere and drink fruity cocktails all day. With more years behind her than ahead, the idea wasn’t too shabby. Living the island life for the next ten to fifteen years could be relaxing. All she’d need to pack would be books and clothes. She could leave Denver behind forever and be a fugitive of the United States for fleeing from a trial.
Don’t be silly. You live here. Your life is here.
She’d wanted to work on this jury, looked forward to it, but now it was all tainted by the hooded man.
Cathleen poured a glass of wine to the brim, knowing sleep would be hopeless without a little help. She could still feel her body pulsing in anxiety at the violent encounter.
Once the wine kicked in, she felt she had the courage to do the right thing and took out her cell phone, punching in 9-1-1 on the number pad. She stared at the three numbers in her trembling hand, her thumb hovering over the green button to place the call.
He has David’s address.
Cathleen canceled the call and ran to the bathroom to vomit. She was about to be sucked into a conspiracy much worse than fleeing the country, and there was nothing she could do about it.
21
Chapter 21
Monday, October 23, 2017
Day 1 of the trial
Jeremy declined breakfast, his body trembling from a monsoon of nerves. Looking at him, someone might have thought he had Parkinson’s; he’d never felt so many nerves working their way through his body. Like creatures crawling beneath his flesh in search of a way out.
It’s time. This is really happening.
He wasn’t conscious of the drive to the courthouse, his mind racing out of control as the outdoors passed by the window. As of today, his life was officially in the hands of a jury of nine women and three men who had never met him.
A dozen news vans filled the court’s parking lot as they pulled around to the back entrance. Police had blocked the area to protect Jeremy from reporters and photographers. His escort led him to his private holding room in which to change into his suit. Gray slacks and a navy jacket waited on the table with a white button-up to wear underneath.
Jeremy changed quickly and made his way to the courtroom. It was his first public appearance where he didn’t look like a criminal, and the crowd fell silent as he entered and started toward Linda. He had gone through this exact motion several times already, but today felt like the start of a new game. The cameras were on now, and the whole world could watch if they wanted. Every single move from here on out would be greatly scrutinized. Geoff glared at Jeremy when he sat down, and Linda returned the glare at the prosecution table.
“All rise!”
Judge Zamora entered the courtroom, settled behind his bench. He sat down and began speaking. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I look forward to finally beginning this trial. It’s been a long road and I hope you’re all prepared. Does counsel have any matters to discuss before we bring in the jury?”
“No, Your Honor,” Geoff and Linda said in unison.
“Let’s bring in the jury.”
The bailiff opened the door next to the jury box and all eyes turned to the twenty-four people walking in. Some jurors grinned nervously while others kept their eyes to the floor en route to their seat.
Jeremy noticed the older woman who had stared at him before sat in the first seat in the front row now. She still had a stern expression and peered at Jeremy from behind her glasses,
causing the hairs on his arms to prickle.
“Good morning, jurors,” Judge Zamora said. “I want to cover a few things before we get started today.
“First, please remember that a camera is live in the courtroom and broadcasting the trial worldwide. Be assured that your identity is protected, as none of you will appear on camera at any point in this trial. Should you choose to speak with the press at the conclusion of the trial, that is at your discretion.
“At no point are you to discuss the trial with friends, family, the press, members of counsel, nor among yourselves—until after all evidence has been presented and the defense rests their case. Until then feel free to talk with each other about anything else in the world.
“Last, and most important, remember this case is based on mental illness. The defendant has pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity and therefore the burden has been placed on the prosecution to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant was sane during the time of the crimes.
“I will remind you of this again when the time comes, but please keep it in consideration throughout the whole trial. Now we’re about to begin with opening statements. Opening statements are not meant to be used as evidence, but rather as an outline for what you can expect to be covered during the course of the trial. Any questions from the jury before we begin?”
The jurors looked around at each other and shook their heads.
“Okay, Mr. Batchelor, you may begin with your opening statement.”
Geoff rose from his table. He wore a navy jacket and pants with subtle gray pinstripes, a light blue undershirt, and a blue and gray checkered tie with a double Windsor knot. He looked every bit the district attorney, with his blond hair styled to perfection.
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