We’re downtown, near the courthouse, leaving our lawyer’s office when I notice a woman helping Lindsey into her car. Lindsey was at the top of my list, and seeing those red, crying eyes is all I need to convince me she’s the one I’m looking for.
I glance at the others, but no one else has a clue about what’s going on across the street.
One last thread to tie up.
NOVEMBER 17, 4:32 P.M.
SHEP: Just leaving our lawyer’s office. Are you done for the day?
PRIVATE NUMBER: Soon. We need to talk later. Important.
SHEP: Should I be worried?
Because of Lindsey’s testimony, Mr. Stone’s entire line of questioning will change. Mom sends me home in the car, telling me she’ll be late again, with a heavy sigh.
I feel bad for her. She’s not used to these hours, and it’s showing all over her face. I offered to get food, but she had already put in an order for delivery.
I need to talk to Shep. I’ve got to give him some sort of warning about what is going to happen tomorrow.
Suspects don’t testify in a grand jury hearing—there isn’t a defense attorney out there who wants his client on the stand with the potential of them saying something that could hurt them later—and they can’t be in the room, so at least they won’t be ambushed with this. Mr. Stone would kill me if he knew I was going to share what we found out today, but he doesn’t know we’ve been getting threats.
Right now, the defense believes there is no way an indictment will come down, because there’s little to no evidence. Even all of the talk about fights and bad behavior between the boys the police got from the witness statements would be considered unreliable, since those interviewed were all under the influence when they “witnessed” it.
But everything is different now.
I drop my bags on the floor in the kitchen and burrow down in my bed, still fully clothed, so I can text Shep.
Is it a good time to talk?
My phone rings immediately.
“Tell me something good. Tell me this will be over soon,” he says on the other line before I even get a chance to say hello.
My heart breaks. This is so far from over.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears to stay trapped inside. Once I tell him about Lindsey, everything will change, and selfishly, I want just a few more seconds before I shatter him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. When I don’t say anything: “Kate?”
“A girl came into the office this afternoon,” I say.
He’s quiet on the other end, so I keep going. “I’m not supposed to tell you this. Oh God, you’ll find out soon enough.”
“What is it?”
“This girl…she was on the phone with Grant…when he was shot.”
“What…what do you mean?”
“She said he started talking to someone else. Asked what the hell he was doing pointing a gun at him. And then…and then she heard the shot.”
“No. No, no, no. That can’t be right. It just can’t…”
I take a slow breath and listen to him struggle to process this. He never wanted to consider this as an option. Never thought it was possible.
“It was an accident. It was an accident,” he says over and over in a quiet voice.
I pull the covers tight around me and hold the phone close to my ear. “I’m so sorry, Shep.”
“One of my friends killed Grant on purpose.”
We stay on the phone, but neither of us speaks. There’s not much else to say, since we both know once the grand jury hears from Lindsey, there’s a very good chance all four boys will be taken away in handcuffs.
TRANSCRIPT OF THE OCTOBER 8 INTERVIEW AT ST. BARTHOLOMEW HIGH SCHOOL OF ROMAN BRADLEY BY DETECTIVE PIERCE, WITH BODY LANGUAGE COMMENTARY BY KATE MARINO
DET. PIERCE: Roman, were you at the party at River Point the night before Grant Perkins died?
KATE: He nods.
DET. PIERCE: From what I’ve heard from some of the other attendees, there was quite a lot going on that night. Grant seemed to be on the outs with most of his friends. I’ve heard about his fight with Logan, John Michael, and Henry. I know from Shep’s own mouth that they got into a fight. Did you see it?
KATE: He nods again.
DET. PIERCE: Listen, man, you’re going to have to talk to me. Tell me what happened.
ROMAN: Grant and I were watching the LSU-A&M game. Shep comes up and shoves his phone in Grant’s face. Asked him why in the hell would he get some text.
DET. PIERCE: Did you read the text?
KATE: He shakes his head.
DET. PIERCE: Then what?
ROMAN: Grant starts howling laughing. Damn near pisses himself he’s laughing so hard. Says something about Operation Fuck With Shep was a success.
DET. PIERCE: What does that mean?
KATE: He shrugs.
ROMAN: Something about a girl, and switching numbers or something. Then Grant tells Shep if he’s having trouble prying those legs open, he’s happy to step in and help.
DET. PIERCE: Then what?
ROMAN: Shep pulls him out of the chair then starts whaling on him. It took three of us to pull him off.
DET. PIERCE: Was that it?
KATE: He shrugs again.
ROMAN: Shep said if he went anywhere near her, he would bury him. Can’t say I blame him, I’d have done the same thing, too, if he said that about my girl.
NOVEMBER 18, 7:51 A.M.
SHEP: We’re not going to school today. Our parents want us home in case things don’t go well.
PRIVATE NUMBER: I won’t be at school either. It’s going to be a long day.
I don’t normally get to miss school for work, but Mom made an exception today. Mr. Stone and I are in his office, making sure he has every piece of evidence he needs to show the grand jury.
Normally, only the prosecutor, the court reporter, and the grand jury are allowed in the room during this proceeding. Even the witnesses are only allowed in while they are testifying, and then they have to leave. The defense team is only allowed to be present if their client is.
But because our parish is small, we’re short on court reporters, so usually someone who is employed by the DA’s office sits in during the proceedings to work the recorder for the transcript. Lindsey is a total basket case this morning and Mr. Stone is afraid she’ll chicken out and run off before he can get her in front of the grand jury, so today Mom is going to sit with her until we need her. That means the lucky person working the recorder is me.
I feel like I could vomit.
Once everything is boxed up, Mr. Stone motions for the deputy by the door to take everything down to the conference room. After watching so many legal shows, I always thought the grand jury would take place in the courtroom and it would be very formal and intense, but that’s not how we do it here.
Basically, all twelve jurors will be sitting around the conference table in the large conference room we call the grand jury room. I’ll be at one end, working the recorder; Mr. Stone will be at the other. Any witness who testifies will sit at the table with the jurors.
It’s not nearly as dramatic as you would think.
Stone wanders around the room in a tight circle, mumbling to himself. I catch enough bits and pieces to know he’s practicing his opening statement.
When he finally stops at his desk, he holds a piece of paper out to the side where he can focus on it. “Okay, here’s our lineup: We’ll show the tapes of each boy when they are asked about the gun. Then we’ll bring in the detective who worked the case, then the coroner. We’ll end with Lindsey. It’s all we’ve got, so I hope it’s going to be enough.”
A knock on the door startles us both.
“Come in,” Mr. Stone calls out.
Mr. Gaines, the DA, sticks his head inside. “All set, George?”
Mr. Stone nods and there is a brief, tense silence.
“Are we all good here this morning?” Mr. Gaines asks, not even sparing me a glance.
I try t
o blend in with furniture, the wall, or really anything. This is so awkward.
“I’m going to present what we have and leave it up to the grand jury,” Mr. Stone says, then shrugs and extends his hands in a helpless sort of way.
A smile breaks out across Gaines’s face. “Good. Good. It’ll be best for everyone when this mess is behind us.”
I’m sure it will mostly be best for Mr. Gaines when he gets the River Point dads off his back.
He bids us good luck, then leaves the office. Mr. Stone starts gathering his papers, shoving them in his bag, and I can tell he’s pissed.
“Let’s get moving, Kate. The jury is probably ready for us.”
We go down a flight of stairs and turn toward the main hallway, smack-dab into a throng of people.
Being on the grand jury is different than being on a jury for a regular case. When you get picked for grand jury duty, you’re on the list for six months, and you’re called in to hear any case that pops up in that time period. Most times, the jurors don’t even know what case they’re hearing until they get here, but everyone knows what’s going down here today.
“Wonderful,” Mr. Stone says under his breath.
“Why are they all here?” I ask. “It’s not like they can go in.”
Mr. Stone shrugs and we keep moving.
On one side of the hall are Mr. Perkins, his lawyers, and his investigators, and on the other are the River Point dads and their lawyers. Shep and the other boys aren’t here.
And in the middle of the hall, headed straight for us, are a few reporters from the local station with their camera crews.
We’re blinded by the lights from the cameras the minute they’re on us. Microphones are shoved in Mr. Stone’s face and questions are flung at him from every angle.
“What are your chances of convincing the grand jury to indict?”
“Do you know which boy pulled the trigger?”
“Do you think you can convince the grand jury to indict all four boys?”
“We have no comment at this time,” he answers. Then, with his hand on my arm, he forces our way through the crowd, into the conference room.
The room is long, with a massive table running down the center. The walls are paneled with a dark, shiny wood, and at the end of the room is a large window that overlooks the wooded area behind the courthouse.
The men and women of the jury are already seated at the table. They nod to me and smile as I make my way to the far end and sit down behind the recorder, pressing play.
I pull out my notebook and pen from my bag and jot down notes for Mr. Stone. He’s basically instructed me to write down everything, no matter how insignificant.
Jurors: 7 men (3 black, 4 white), 5 women (2 black, 1 white, 2 Hispanic).
One of the women turns to me and says, “There’s coffee and soft drinks on the cart over there if you get thirsty.”
I smile and nod my thanks without making a sound, so I won’t show up on the transcript.
Mr. Stone stands at the other end of the table. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I appreciate your time today.” On the table in front of him is the paperwork to be completed and signed by the jurors once they’ve made a decision.
I’ve heard his opening statement a number of times by now since he’s been practicing it for days. He talks about Grant and how his life was cut short and all that wasted potential, blah, blah, blah. Of course he doesn’t mention all the shitty things Grant did.
He also tells the jurors that he’s asking them to come back with a true bill for either manslaughter or second-degree murder and explains the differences between those two charges. Personally, I don’t think there’s any way in hell he’ll get second-degree murder, since he doesn’t even know who the shooter is. He’ll be lucky to get involuntary manslaughter.
Then he moves on to the morning of the shooting.
“These boys, who had been drinking and doing drugs all night, had no business going hunting that morning. But I’m going to show you that it was more than just a drunken accident.”
This perks everyone up.
“I’m going to show you that it was unlikely the shooter thought Grant was a deer in the woods. I’m going to show you that Grant saw his killer, spoke to his killer, just before he died.”
Mr. Stone wraps up his opening remarks, then rolls out a TV on a stand and pops in the disc with the boys’ interrogations regarding the Remington. After all four segments play, the jurors are literally on the edge of their seats.
He moves to a side door, where he calls in Detective Pierce.
Detective Pierce sits at the opposite end of the table but turns his chair toward Mr. Stone, who is at his left side.
“Detective, please describe the scene you came upon on the morning of October fifth at River Point Hunting Club.” Stone is passing right over the party the night before, since in those events Grant looks terrible and Stone wants Grant to have the jury’s sympathy.
Detective Pierce paints the picture. Grant, dead on the ground, the gaping wound in his chest. The other four boys, some still under the influence, some crying, and the rest falling apart in other ways. He talks about which direction Grant had been facing when he was shot. The impact of the bullet that knocked him out of his boots. The fact that all five boys shot the gun during target practice, so all of their fingerprints were found on the gun and all tested positive for residue.
Stone pulls out some blown-up pictures of the crime scene, along with the shots I took with Officer Jones, thirty yards away.
“And was there a phone at the scene? Grant’s phone?” Stone asks Detective Pierce.
He’s setting up Lindsey’s testimony. Planting that seed.
“Yes. His phone was on the ground beside him,” Det. Pierce answers.
“Did you examine the phone? Determine whether there were any calls or texts placed or received that morning? Were there any fingerprints?”
“Yes. We checked. According to the log on his phone, there were no calls or texts made or received that morning. Only the victim’s fingerprints were found on the phone.”
Mr. Stone fumbles around with the papers in front of him and I know he’s struggling to find the one he’s looking for. Finally, he turns his head to the side, and within seconds, he locates what he needs.
“Detective Pierce, please read from this log from Grant’s cell phone provider and tell me what you see on the morning of October fifth.”
He hands the paper to Pierce and Pierce takes his time reading it.
“It says there was one outgoing call that morning around seven fifteen that lasted for six minutes. Then there were three more calls coming in from that same number at seven twenty-three, seven twenty-four, and seven thirty-two.”
“Can you please tell me from what number those calls came?”
With each number Detective Pierce calls out, Mr. Stone writes it in marker on a piece of paper and holds it up to the jurors. Then he turns toward them and asks, “But you said there was no record of these calls on Grant’s phone.”
“That’s correct.”
“What would be the explanation for that?” Stone asks.
Detective Pierce shrugs. “Our assumption was that someone deleted the calls from his phone prior to our arrival.”
“But I thought you said the victim’s fingerprints were the only ones found on the phone?” Stone asks.
“It was cold out and all the boys were wearing gloves.”
Gaines completely underestimated Mr. Stone. I completely underestimated Mr. Stone. Several of the jurors look shocked and I can’t imagine what they’re going to do when they hear from Lindsey.
Stone wraps it up with the detective and dismisses him with the reminder that his testimony today is confidential and cannot be repeated outside of this room.
Detective Pierce leaves through the doors we came in through, and he’s immediately assaulted by cameras and reporters. He shuts the door quickly and the room gets quiet again.
T
he coroner is brought in next, and his testimony is so technical that several of the jurors begin to lose interest.
Mr. Stone tries to hammer home how close the shooter was to Grant, but it’s dry and sort of washes over everyone.
Stone wraps it up quickly and moves on to Lindsey.
When Lindsey comes in through the side door, she looks worse than she did last night. Her eyes are swollen like she’s been crying most of the night, and she’s shaky. Lindsey sits in the chair and clasps her hands tightly together on the table.
Mr. Stone pulls up a chair from the side of the room and moves it closer to her.
“Lindsey, please describe to the jurors your relationship to Grant Perkins.”
She gnaws on her bottom lip. “We were seeing each other. Dating a little bit. You know…”
Mr. Stone nods. “Can you verify your phone number for me?”
She rattles off seven digits, and the jurors watch Mr. Stone write them underneath the number Detective Pierce called out from the phone logs, matching them number for number.
“Okay, now tell me what happened the morning of October fifth.”
Lindsey takes a deep breath and her bottom lip quivers. She’s about to fall apart.
“Grant called me. We…we…we had gotten into a fight the night before. He called to ask me to forgive…to forgive him.”
“And then what happened?” he asks, then passes her a tissue.
“Grant said, ‘What the hell? What are you doing here? You think you’re going to point a gun at me, Shep…’”
My head pops up and the jurors glance at each other.
Did she just say Shep’s name?
Mr. Stone looks startled too. For the first time this morning, he’s speechless.
“Could you repeat that, Lindsey?”
She repeats the same words, including Shep’s name. She just said that Grant called out Shep by name.
Oh my God. What is happening? She never mentioned Shep by name last night.
Mr. Stone recovers somewhat and continues his line of questioning, but I’m reeling. Why did she say his name? Is she making it up? She has to be making it up.
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