The Witnesses

by Robert Whitlow

  “I hope she brought a bag of personal items and toiletries.”

  “She’s going to jail?” Vicki asked, her eyes opening wider.

  “That’s what the DA offered as a plea bargain.”

  “Good luck,” Vicki replied with a shake of her head.

  Parker went downstairs. His client was nervously wringing her hands. She’d put on a conservative navy blue outfit with a white blouse and looked like she was ready to make a marketing call on a corporate client. Parker sat down across the table from her. No course in law school had prepared him for what he had to do.

  “Did you talk to the DA?” Donna asked before he could say anything. “I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours for the past three days.”

  Parker could see the shadows of fatigue beneath his client’s eye makeup.

  “Yes, and it’s not good news. Because Clarisse was in the car with you when you were pulled over, you’re subject to a level-one punishment under Section 20–179(g), which means a fine of up to four thousand dollars and a maximum jail sentence of twenty-four months. It’s worse because you’ve had a previous offense within the past seven years. The DA is willing to recommend a two-thousand-dollar fine and six months in jail if you plead guilty.”

  Donna stared at him with her mouth slightly open. “How can I do that?” she asked.

  It wasn’t a question Parker could answer.

  “And what’s going to happen to Clarisse?” Donna continued, her voice rising to the edge of hysteria. “Who is going to take care of her?”

  Steeling his jaw, Parker checked his watch. “We’ll talk on our way to the courthouse,” he said.

  They left the office walking side by side. Donna kept her head bowed with a wad of tissues in her hand. They got in Parker’s car.

  “Once the DA gets a chance to see you, I’ll make another run at a reduction in the sentence,” he said.

  “Let me tell the judge about Clarisse and how much she needs me,” Donna replied between sniffles.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Parker said slowly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because one of the reasons behind the harsher sentence required by the law is her presence in the car. Trying to convince someone that you care about her—” Parker stopped.

  He wanted to tell Donna she should be thankful she didn’t kill herself, Clarisse, and some other innocent people, but he knew she wouldn’t hear him. Donna buried her face in her hands. So far, Parker was failing miserably at satisfying Dexter’s request that he reassure the client. The famous statue of justice might be blind, but in Donna’s case the blindfold was lifted when she blew .19 on the Breathalyzer with a minor child in the car. They reached the courthouse.

  “There are a number of cases on the docket,” Parker said. “We’ll have to wait our turn.”

  “Will the officer who gave me the ticket be here?”

  “Yes. If we don’t work out a deal with the DA, your case will be called for trial in front of the judge, and the deputy will testify.”

  Since he’d joined the firm, Parker had been to traffic court several times to represent people who’d received speeding tickets, but he’d never walked into the busy courtroom with bigger stakes on the line. People were milling about and chatting. There was a casual atmosphere among the lawyers who spent the bulk of their careers in traffic court. They were accustomed to moving rapidly from one case to another. Even more serious offenses like habitual DUI charges happened so often that they became routine. Parker knew it would never seem routine to him.

  He found a place near the front of the courtroom where he sat down with Donna and waited for the arrival of the assistant DA, a young woman named Julie Fletchall. She’d been easy to work with about speeding tickets but showed a much tougher side for the DUI charge.

  “Who’s on the bench?” Parker asked Julie when she arrived and began lining up files on the prosecution table.

  “Judge Baldwin,” the assistant DA replied, glancing over her shoulder.

  Parker’s previous experience with the female judge had been positive.

  “And where’s my case on the calendar?” he asked. “It’s the only one I have.”

  “Did you talk to your client about the plea bargain?” Julie replied.

  “Yes, she’s thinking about it. I’d like the chance for you to meet her during a break so you can—”

  “See what a nice person she is?” Julie cut in. “Save it, but her case isn’t going to come up until the second half of the calendar. Maybe seeing what Judge Baldwin does in other DUI cases will help her make up her mind to accept my offer.”

  Parker returned to the bench and told Donna. A fresh wad of tissues emerged from her purse.

  “Do you see the officer who gave you the ticket?” he asked when the sniffles momentarily slowed.

  “That’s him over there.” Donna pointed to the upper left portion of the courtroom where five officers were huddled together. “He’s the tall, skinny one with black hair.”

  “I’m going to talk to him before court gets started,” Parker said.

  Frank woke up later than usual. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he let his head settle back into the pillow. He’d slept peacefully all night with the windows open and a breeze wafting through the screens. The image of the meadow and flowing stream remained, and he was able to meditate on the serene place while he sipped his morning coffee on the back porch. No tears came to his eyes, but an inner thankfulness welled up within him. Over and over he found himself saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He then switched to German, “Danke, danke, danke sehr.” The change in language touched him in a different way because it brought him closer to the world in which death had once reigned but did so no longer.

  He took a sip of coffee and thought about all the men he’d known who needed a green field of forgiven graves. All casualties of war can’t be counted on a calculator and recorded in a book of military history. Frank touched his chest. The wounds a man carried within could be as real as a severed limb.

  After finishing his coffee, he decided to go for a walk. There was a narrow path beside the creek that ran along the edge of his property. He followed the creek for almost a mile until it spilled into a marshy area. There was enough breeze that the summer’s remaining mosquitoes couldn’t stay airborne, and Frank found a fallen log where he could sit and watch the marsh.

  For a few minutes there was no sign of visible life, even though he knew the murky water was teeming with crabs, bait fish, and small crustaceans. A blue heron glided overhead and landed not far from where Frank was sitting. Balancing on one leg, the bird peered with dark eyes into the water. It was sight-fishing in its purest form. Frank waited along with the heron, which was more patient than most human fishermen. After several minutes passed, the bird’s head suddenly knifed into the water and came up with a fish impaled on its sharp bill. The heron expertly transferred the fish to its mouth, where it made a final quick trip down the bird’s neck and into its stomach. Frank started to get up and move on when he saw a swirl in the water to the right of the heron. The bird sensed it, too, and took off, awkwardly flapping its wings until the natural grace of flight took over. Frank watched the swirl in the water as the two nostrils of an alligator broke through the surface.

  Alligators were occasional inhabitants of coastal areas as far north as New Bern and often hung out where they had access to an easy food source like garbage or discarded fish parts. When he ran his fishing boat, Frank would dump fish heads and guts in a spot frequented by a small band of gators. He enjoyed watching the babies snap their jaws and frantically scoop up the food as if it were their last chance on earth for a meal. This gator was no juvenile. It moved through the water with the easy confidence of a creature that knew it had no natural enemies.

  Frank’s eyes widened when the reptile turned toward him and raised its head above the water to inspect him. Big gators weren’t common in North Carolina, but if the size of the alligator’
s head was any indication, this was one of the larger creatures Frank had seen. It opened its mouth in a massive yawn that revealed rows of pointed, yellow-tinged teeth.

  “I’m impressed,” Frank said to the gator. “But I don’t have any dead fish or spoiled chicken parts to feed you.”

  The gator turned to the side and exposed enough of its broad body to confirm Frank’s suspicions about its size. The cold-blooded animal had spent the warm summer months feasting and storing up fat in advance of the fall and winter, when the temperatures would cause it to become lethargic and a less effective hunter.

  As the gator moved away, Frank glanced down at the wrinkled hands that rested on his knees. He couldn’t tie on a hook or fix a rip in a net as quickly as he could in years past. And there was no denying that Frank’s time in life’s pond was drawing close to the end, with way more water in his wake than in front of his bow. He’d survived the war, immigrated to America, and lived what most people would consider a full life, and now, at last, he’d made peace with the guilt of his past. The war years weren’t erased, but they lay buried beneath a field of green grass that proclaimed the message of life covering death. He relaxed and let the tranquillity of the marsh wash over his soul.

  Maybe, like the old gator, he could live out his days in peace.

  Parker walked up to the group of deputies, who didn’t pay any attention to his approach.

  “Officer Buchanan, may I speak with you for a minute?” he asked the deputy identified by Donna and listed on the ticket.

  The officer held up his index finger. “Take a number, I’m finishing a story.”

  Parker took a step back and tried to keep his cool while Buchanan continued talking. While he waited, Parker thought of a question that might throw the deputy off his obviously confident demeanor. The other men laughed when Buchanan finished. He faced Parker.

  “What do you want, Counselor?” he asked, looking Parker over.

  “I’m Parker House, and I represent Donna McAlpine. I assume you’re here to testify in her case.”

  “Affirmative. And I did that one by the book.”

  “I agree. Nice work.”

  Buchanan gave Parker a surprised look.

  “How well do you know her husband?” Parker continued.

  “We’ve met a time or two. Sean and I occasionally play pickup basketball at Twin Rivers YMCA.”

  “Did you talk to him the day you pulled Donna over and gave her the ticket for DUI?”

  “Why would I do that?” Buchanan looked past Parker and raised his hand in greeting to someone.

  “Judge Baldwin is going to make you answer that question,” Parker replied calmly. “And when you do, are you curious what I’m going to ask you next?”

  “Not really.” The deputy shrugged.

  “You should be, because it has to do with Jasmine Vickers, the woman Donna stopped by to see on her way home from work the day you stopped her.”

  “What does she have to do with it?”

  “Wasn’t she more than just the person who gave Ms. McAlpine a few drinks on the way home from work? What will you tell the judge about her relationship with Sean McAlpine?”

  Parker turned away and didn’t wait for the deputy to respond. He returned to his place beside Donna.

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  “Not much. He doesn’t have to talk to me.”

  The judge arrived, and they sat through the opening half of the calendar that was devoted to plea bargains and initial arraignments. The cases to be tried would begin after the 10:30 a.m. break. As soon as the judge left the courtroom, Parker saw Deputy Buchanan make a beeline for Julie Fletchall. While they talked, Julie glanced over her shoulder at Parker and Donna. The deputy backed away, and Julie motioned for Parker to come over.

  “I can recommend thirty days in jail and a thousand-dollar fine for Ms. McAlpine on a guilty plea to a level-two offense under Section 20–179(h).”

  Parker started to speak, but the DA cut him off. “No negotiation or counteroffers,” Julie said. “Your so-called entrapment defense isn’t going to work, but it’s going to muddy the waters if we end up in front of a jury in superior court.”

  “I’ll talk to my client,” Parker said.

  He returned to Donna and told her about the new offer. He didn’t mention Julie’s reference to an entrapment defense.

  “I can’t go to jail.” Donna shook her head. “And where am I going to come up with a thousand dollars?”

  Parker pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. His extremely limited bank of sympathy for his client was already overdrawn.

  “You’re not paying me an attorney fee,” he said through clenched teeth, “which is saving you way more than a thousand dollars. There’s no getting around Clarisse being in the car with you when you were stopped, and I don’t have a way to attack the Breathalyzer test that proves you were way over the legal limit.”

  “It’s not right,” Donna replied in a whiny voice. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, and my driving was fine. The deputy had no reason to stop me. It would be different if I’d been speeding or ran a red light or had a wreck.”

  “Yes, and those would be aggravating factors in addition to the ones you already have and make the deal I just communicated out of the question.”

  Donna bit her lower lip. “Who’s going to take care of Clarisse if I go to jail for a month?”

  “What about Dexter’s wife, Missy? Aren’t you good friends?”

  “She and Jasmine have been my only friends. Missy’s daughter and Clarisse go to the same preschool program. She’d probably do it.”

  “Well, this is the best I can do for you. Take the deal or tell me to turn it down so we can go to trial.”

  Donna didn’t respond, and Parker waited. There was nothing more for him to say. He wanted to become a trial lawyer, but it would be hard to put his heart and soul into trying to beat a DUI charge for Donna McAlpine. He suddenly wondered if his lack of zeal meant he should withdraw from the case.

  “I’ll do it,” Donna sighed.

  “Are you sure?” Parker asked.

  “Yeah.”

  After they finished entering the guilty plea, the judge gave Donna a day to make arrangements before reporting to the jail to begin her sentence. The tears that had dominated Parker’s time with his client were gone. Either Donna was numb or the tears were a subterfuge. Parker didn’t know or care.

  “I may ask Jasmine to watch Clarisse,” Donna said as they left the courthouse. “I’ve known her longer than Missy, and she’s not so uptight.”

  “Are you sure Jasmine is a friend?” Parker asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  They stopped at a light and waited for it to turn red before continuing down the street.

  “What kind of friend fixes you drinks on your way home from work when she knows you’re going to have your little girl in the car?” he asked.

  CHAPTER 15

  That afternoon Parker was working in his office on the arbitration case when Dexter barged in without knocking.

  “What happened in Donna McAlpine’s case?” he demanded.

  Parker outlined the plea bargain. “It was a phenomenal deal,” he said when he finished. “Ask any lawyer who does that sort of thing for a living, and he’ll back me up.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. Is it true that Sean is having an affair with Jasmine Vickers and used her to get Donna drunk, then notified one of his buddies at the sheriff ’s department to pull her over?”

  “It’s possible, I guess.”

  “Donna thinks you knew and didn’t tell her because you wanted her to plead guilty.”

  “No,” Parker replied and then told Dexter exactly what he said to Deputy Buchanan. “After that, the deputy huddled up with the assistant DA, and we got a much better offer. But what you’re saying makes sense because Julie Fletchall claimed an entrapment defense wouldn’t work in a DUI case. And she’s right. Something seedy like that
might generate sympathy in front of a jury but not enough to convince them to let a woman walk free who was driving with over twice the legal limit of alcohol in her system and a three-year-old child in the car.”

  “Okay,” Dexter said. “But that doesn’t make my job much easier on the home front. We’re stuck babysitting Clarisse for a month, which is going to be a huge hassle, and Donna gets more hysterical every time she calls my wife.”

  Parker didn’t doubt Donna’s ability to ramp up the hysteria.

  “Dexter, I did what I could,” Parker said as calmly as possible. “Do you want me to go to the jail and talk to Donna? And how did she find out about her husband and her friend?”

  “Sean blabbed about it, and it wasn’t going to stay a secret, especially when Jasmine kicked her husband out of their apartment earlier today.” Dexter paused. “But there’s no need for you to meet with Donna at the jail. Anyone with half a brain knows you got her a great deal, and she’s crazy to think dragging all their dirty domestic laundry out in public was going to work. But she’s not going to be referring any cases to the firm in the future.”

  “Great.”

  When the day for the Mixon arbitration arrived, Parker put on his favorite yellow tie and carefully knotted it while standing in front of the bathroom mirror. He tried to strike a menacing pose, but it lacked ferocity and really didn’t matter. Charlie Tompkins, the arbitrator from Washington, DC, wouldn’t tolerate courtroom fisticuffs. He would want the facts topped with barely a smidgen of legal argument; however, Parker anticipated a smattering of fireworks from Thomas Blocker and a vigorous, if wild, response from Greg.

  Full of nervous energy, Parker bounded up the steps to the office.

  “You look like you’re ready to climb a mountain,” Vicki said in greeting.

  “Then I’d better not have another cup of coffee. Is Greg here yet?”

  “No, but he took the file home last night.”

  “How do you know?”

  Vicki pointed to Dolly, who nodded her head. “He remotely sent in a bunch of dictation around midnight,” the secretary responded.