This is Our Story

by Ashley Elston

  Why would she make this up?

  Stone isn’t going to push her on it, because this totally works for him. With her testimony, he’s more likely than ever to get an indictment…against Shep.

  I barely listen to the rest of what she says. My mind goes to Shep and last night on the phone. He was shocked by the news that Grant was on the phone and that someone heard the shot. I might have wondered if he was lying once, but too much has happened between us. I would have been able to tell if he was hiding this. But why would Lindsey lie like this? Why would she say this, knowing it all but guarantees Shep will be charged with Grant’s murder? Not his death but his murder.

  Stone finishes with Lindsey and the damage is done. I’ll be surprised if it takes these jurors an hour to come back with a true bill and even more surprised if it’s not for second-degree murder.

  It was easy enough to mention to Dad what I saw in the courthouse parking lot. He told me to head home while he made a few calls to find out exactly what she was doing there.

  I decided to follow her instead.

  Dad called moments later with the news of “Jane Doe’s” last-minute confession that was conveniently logged in at the same time Lindsey paid a visit. We decided to keep this bit of info to ourselves, but he was worried what this would mean for all of us tomorrow.

  I wasn’t willing to risk it.

  It was easy to “bump” into Lindsey last night. When she pulled into the parking lot of that coffee shop—I knew it was my chance.

  I waited on one of the benches outside, knowing she would have to pass me on the way to her car.

  Just as she was exiting the store, coffee in hand, I held my phone to my ear and started talking.

  “We have to tell them who did it! It’s not right.”

  I know the second she heard me and my words registered. She was frozen just a few feet away. I kept talking as if I didn’t know she was there.

  “Grant deserves better than this!”

  I acted like I ended my call and dropped my head in my hands. She stepped closer to me and I acted startled when I noticed her.

  She stood rigid a few feet away, but her panic melted away after she saw my tears.

  Lindsey sat down at the other end of the bench, leaving plenty of space between us.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I held up my phone and said, “I guess you heard?”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything. I knew from her statement that she didn’t know who Grant was talking to that morning.

  That would tear our group apart—it wouldn’t take long before we were all turning on each other.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  Lindsey and I have always been good friends. And when I asked her if she wanted to smoke with me, she was practically drooling.

  We sat in her car, passing a joint back and forth, and talked about Grant. About how much we both missed him. About how unfair it was that he was gone.

  I told her that I was scared, that I had seen who killed Grant but didn’t think I could go to the police. That I couldn’t convince my friends to go to the police.

  Her eyes got big.

  I told her I saw it happen. That I saw Grant on the phone talking to someone when the shot ripped through his chest.

  She didn’t say anything, but I could tell she wanted to. She was practically shaking in the seat next to me.

  I took a long drag and decided how to handle this. I reached for the pills in my pocket but stopped myself before I offered them to her when she asked me. “Please tell me who killed him?”

  Maybe I could make this problem work to my benefit.

  So I told her. “Shep. Shep did it. And Grant saw him. His last words were, ‘You think you’re going to point a gun at me, Shep…’ And then Shep shot him.”

  I could see her absorb my words, matching them to hers. It doesn’t take much to plant a seed, especially when the soil is so fertile.

  A part of me hated turning on him like that, but I felt like he didn’t leave me any other choice. He’s digging deep, trying to find out what happened that morning.

  Her brow furrowed in thought, and she took another long drag.

  “Shep,” she said slowly. “He said Shep’s name.”

  “Yeah, that was the last word he said.”

  She nodded slowly, lost in her own memory.

  I kept the pills in my pocket. They can wait a few days until after she testifies.

  NOVEMBER 18, 11:22 A.M.

  SHEP: How long will it take? The wait is killing me

  Mr. Stone and I leave the conference room out of the back door so the jurors can deliberate and head to the small waiting room.

  “Where’s Lindsey?” I ask Mom.

  She holds up her hands. “She left. Tore right out the second she was done in there.”

  I turn on Mr. Stone. “Why did she add the part about Shep? She never mentioned him last night.”

  He sits down next to Mom. “I don’t know. Maybe she remembered more from the call once she got home.”

  Pacing the small room, I try to get my panic under control.

  “Do you believe she’s telling the truth?” I ask.

  Mr. Stone tilts his head and his forehead crinkles. “Why would she lie about something as serious as this?”

  I want to scream, Because there’s no way Shep did this! There’s no way Grant said his name on the phone that morning!

  Mr. Stone rests his head against the back of the chair and closes his eyes. He did a really good job out there making it seem like his vision is normal, but Mom and I know the toll it takes on him. Mom busies herself organizing the papers he brought with him, and I continue to pace the room.

  We’re prepared to sit here all day, waiting for the decision from the grand jury, but it doesn’t take long at all.

  The jury foreman sticks his head into the small waiting room. “We’ve made a decision,” he says, then goes back to the conference room.

  This is not good. It was too fast.

  Mr. Stone and I follow the juror back into the conference room and I take my spot at the far end of the table, restarting the recorder.

  Mr. Stone asks, “Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a decision?”

  The man stands and says, “Yes, we have. We return a true bill of accessory to commit murder on Henry Carlisle, Logan McCullar, and John Michael Forres. And we also return a true bill of second-degree murder on Shepherd Moore.”

  Each word is like a punch in my gut. Shep is getting charged with Grant’s murder.

  Mr. Stone rubs his hands together, clearly excited about this outcome. Once the verdict has been returned, I stop the recorder. Mr. Stone says, “Kate, please ask your mother to inform Mrs. Morrison we need to file an indictment with the court.”

  He’s going to enter the true bill today. Now. He’s got time to do this…It doesn’t have to be done today, but I bet he thinks if Gaines has time to bury this somehow, he will.

  I duck out of the room and relay the message to Mom. She clenches her hands and leaves the room through the side door.

  Sliding into the chair Mom just vacated, I wait for her to return. It only takes a few minutes for her to pop back into the room. I follow her into the conference room, where Mr. Stone is waiting alone, since the jurors have been dismissed.

  “Morrison said Judge Ballard is available in courtroom number three,” she says, and Mr. Stone nods to her, then motions for us to follow him out of the grand jury room.

  I’m not sure how my legs even work right now, but somehow, we’re walking down the hall through the sea of cameras and reporters.

  Questions are fired at Stone, but he ignores them. I’m not sure he’s ever walked so tall, as we make our way down the hall to courtroom three. He feels justice has been served today.

  Because this is not a closed hearing, everyone in the hall follows us in and takes a seat in the gallery, including the River Point dads and Mr. Perkins and his group, which I’m sure is exactly what Mr
. Stone wanted. Once the public hears what the grand jury decided, there’s nothing Gaines will be able to do about it. A bailiff alerts Judge Ballard to our presence, and within minutes, we’re in open court.

  “Your honor,” Mr. Stone says from behind the prosecutor’s table. “The grand jury has returned a true bill for accessory to commit murder on John Michael Forres, Henry Carlisle, and Logan McCullar, and for second-degree murder on Shepherd Moore.” He hands the signed paperwork to the bailiff, who hands it to the judge.

  The crowd behind us roars with angry shouts from the River Point parents and defense lawyers and loud sobs from Mrs. Perkins. Mr. Perkins stands, his arms crossed in front of him, and stares ahead. I sink down in my seat next to Mr. Stone, wishing I was anywhere but here.

  The judge bangs the gavel until everyone quiets down.

  The defense team has already taken up the table on their side of the room, ready to go into battle for their clients.

  The judge turns to the defense and says, “I’ll give you one hour to have your clients surrender. One hour or I send officers to arrest them.”

  One of the lawyers nods, then speaks quickly to another lawyer next to him, gives him instructions to go get the boys and bring them back here. The other lawyer sprints from the room.

  “Your honor, the boys will be here within the hour,” the lawyer says. “At this time, we request you set bail for my clients.”

  “For the accessory charges, bail is set at $200,000. For the second-degree murder charges, bail is set at $750,000.”

  There are gasps behind us. I know these families are wealthy, but I have no idea if they will be able to come up with that much.

  The defense lawyer makes a note of the amount on his pad, and just like that…it’s over.

  The defense team and the River Point dads scurry out of the room, and Stone leaves with more pep in his step than I’ve ever seen. I can’t get up from this chair. I stare at the empty courtroom for what feels like forever. A deep, unbearable sadness settles over me while my mind ticks through what this means. Shep is going to be arrested for murder. He’s going on trial for murder. Second-degree murder means life in prison.

  I pull my phone out and call Reagan, who should already be at work.

  She answers on the first ring.

  “Kate, oh my God. It’s crazy down here. Where are you? Morrison is freaking out. The River Point Boys will be surrendering in less than an hour. Gaines is about to lose his shit,” she whispers in the phone.

  “I need to get out of here,” I say. “Can you take me home?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Still in the courtroom.”

  “I’m on my way,” Reagan says; then the line goes dead.

  She bursts into the room minutes later and settles in the chair next to me.

  “Kate, what’s wrong? I know something has been going on with you. What is it?”

  She scoots closer and opens her arms. I fall into her hug, my head on her shoulder, and let the tears flow.

  “It’s so bad. So bad.” My words come out mumbled and Reagan squeezes me tight.

  “Shep didn’t do this. I know he didn’t. I’ve talked to him…”

  Reagan looks around the empty courtroom. “Kate, watch what you say here. We’ll talk about this later.” She pulls me to my feet and adds, “And you know this is just the beginning. Once those defense lawyers get involved, you know that will change things.”

  I nod, but the part that I can’t tell her is what’s gnawing at me. Lindsey lied. I know she did. If Grant had said Shep’s name on the phone, she would have told us that last night. And now that she’s pointed the finger at him, the others will do the same. The charges filed against them will all but disappear if they turn on Shep.

  “Can we go?”

  I do not want to be here when the boys come in.

  Reagan pulls her keys out of her pocket. “I can’t leave. It’s a madhouse right now and only going to get worse. But take my car. I’ll catch a ride to your house as soon as I can get off. We’ll eat pizza and ice cream and you can tell me what’s going on with you and Shep.”

  I run my hand across my face. “Okay.”

  Reagan links her arm through mine. We make it to the end of the hall without running into anyone. But as we turn the corner to head outside, we’re met with a wall of people.

  There is twice the number of reporters that were here this morning, but they’re not looking at us. They’re zoned in on the group walking up the steps and headed inside.

  All four boys walk shoulder to shoulder, dressed in suits and ties. They look amazing. Their heads are held high and, on the outside at least, they are fearless.

  But I’ve spent hours scrutinizing these boys, watched them in their lowest moments, and it’s easy to pick out the cracks in their façade.

  John Michael’s lower lip trembles slightly and I know he’s a hairsbreadth from crying. Henry taps his fingers against his leg as he walks inside. I bet if he were sitting, that knee would bounce him across the room. And Logan…his face has gone pale, making his red hair seem redder.

  But what completely crushes me is looking at Shep. He’s on the edge of the group with distance between him and the others as if he is already somehow separate. On his own.

  His eyes dart around, scanning faces in the crowd, but stop when he finds me. I see the release of his breath from here and then his eyes take in the details of my face. I’m sure he can tell I’ve been crying. He flattens his lips and gives me a small nod.

  Cameras are in their faces and flashes pop from all directions. The boys walk with purpose into the courthouse, their parents and defense team close behind.

  Reagan and I push ourselves against the wall so we stay out of the crowd. Shep gives me one last glance as he passes. I would give anything to be able to touch him right now. Squeeze his hand or kiss his face, something to let him know I’m with him. I support him.

  Once the boys leave through the door that will take them to booking, the reporters quiet down. Just as we’re about to try to ease out of the building, another group catches the reporters’ attention.

  Mr. Perkins and his group of investigators are coming from the other end of the hall.

  They stop just inside the door, not far from us.

  “I want a transcript of what happened in the grand jury hearing,” Mr. Perkins says.

  One of the investigators shakes his head. “I’m not sure I can pull that off.”

  Mr. Perkins jabs his finger in the man’s chest. “Make it happen. The defense is going to use everything they have to pull this case apart, and we need to be ready for that.”

  I think about Lindsey and wonder how she’ll hold up with both sides tearing into her story. Maybe her lie won’t stand up to questioning.

  “I’ve got to get back. Morrison is texting me. I’ll see you later.”

  I nod numbly to Reagan but stay rooted in my spot as I watch Mr. Perkins and his men head toward DA Gaines’s office.

  Finding a spot off to the side, I drop down on a bench and wait. I thought I couldn’t stay here and watch this, but now I know I can’t leave until Shep does.

  TRANSCRIPT OF THE OCTOBER 8 INTERVIEW AT ST. BARTHOLOMEW HIGH SCHOOL OF MARSHA FLYNN BY DETECTIVE PIERCE, WITH BODY LANGUAGE COMMENTARY BY KATE MARINO

  DET. PIERCE: Mrs. Flynn, you are the vice principal of St. Bartholomew High School, is that correct?

  MRS. FLYNN: Yes. I’ve held this position for the last fifteen years.

  KATE: Mrs. Flynn is sitting ramrod straight. She looks…stern.

  DET. PIERCE: So how well would you say you know the boys associated with the River Point case, including the victim, Grant Perkins?

  KATE: Her face cracks a bit.

  MRS. FLYNN: Very well. St. Bart’s isn’t a big school and I know most every student here, especially by the time they make it to their senior year.

  DET. PIERCE: I have to tell you, I’ve been surprised by the stories I’ve been hearing about what goe
s on over the weekends. You’ve got a wild bunch here.

  KATE: Her eyes narrow. She’s pissed. Didn’t like hearing that.

  MRS. FLYNN: I certainly hope you’re not implying that St. Bartholomew students are anything less than exemplary individuals.

  KATE: She didn’t even crack a smile, which is sort of shocking.

  DET. PIERCE: What I’m saying is, you’ve got one dead student and one of his classmates pulled the trigger, but we can’t tell which one because they’re either hiding what really happened or they were too drunk or stoned to remember. Most people at those parties are drunk or stoned. There’s talk of sports betting and drug deals. And then there are the graphic pictures on the Internet of those three girls. And one of your parents came in to report cow manure in his daughter’s air-conditioning system. And then there was the graffiti and the smoke bomb, and every person I talk to keeps coming back to this group of boys as possible culprits. So, Mrs. Flynn, when I say you’ve got a wild bunch here, that’s putting it mildly.

  KATE: Her face is a shade of red I’ve never seen.

  MRS. FLYNN: If you have a specific question I can answer, Detective, please ask it.

  DET. PIERCE: Tell me what you can about these boys: Grant Perkins, Henry Carlisle, Logan McCullar, Shep Moore, and John Michael Forres.

  KATE: She relaxes in her chair a bit but still looks really stern.

  MRS. FLYNN: They are good boys. I’ve known most of them since elementary school.

  DET. PIERCE: From what I understand, they were inseparable.

  MRS. FLYNN: Inseparable is a good word for it.

  KATE: She sits forward, resting her elbows on the desk. She raises her left eyebrow.

  DET. PIERCE: If you had to pick one who was quickest to get in a fight, who would it be?

  KATE: She leans back again, her eyes going to the ceiling like she’s thinking about it.

  MRS. FLYNN: Logan was quick to use brute force, but the others were just a step behind him. If one had a problem, it became their entire group’s problem.

  DET. PIERCE: So was there ever a problem within the group?

  MRS. FLYNN: Oh no. On the contrary. They never went against one another. But I bet everything has changed. They all loved Grant. I would guess that group is a ticking time bomb now that he’s gone.