Redress of Grievances

by Brenda Adcock

  "And Mr. Taggart?"

  "I never liked him. It wasn't simply because I was jealous, although I admit that I was. Even if I wasn't the one she chose, she deserved so much more than Frank Taggart. Only good thing he ever did was help create two kids." Lou blushed slightly, glancing at the jury. "Sharon told me each one took about thirty seconds and four or five drinks on her part to accomplish."

  "How does Sharon feel about her children?"

  "I think she thought they would be someone who would love her and never hurt her."

  "Studies show that abused children often become abusive parents. Do you know whether or not she ever hurt her own children?"

  Shaking her head, Lou answered firmly. "No, she would never hurt them. There were a couple of times when I know she wanted to, though, and that frightened her."

  "What did she do when that happened?"

  "She locked herself in the bathroom until the feeling passed except once. That time she called me in a panic and asked me to take her to a clinic for help."

  "And did you?"

  "As quick as I could get to her house. They didn't do anything for her, though, and she seemed to get over whatever had triggered her anger."

  "Was she always like that, angry?"

  "Not much until after Laurel was born. Then Sharon's emotions would be up and down, almost manic."

  "Objection," Lassiter said. "The witness is not an expert in psychiatry."

  "Neither was your other witness, Mister Stevenson," Harriett shot back, reminding the jurors of the earlier testimony.

  "Objection sustained," Landers frowned. "The jury will disregard the witness's statement. Move on, Ms. Markham."

  "No matter what, Sharon wouldn't hurt anyone in her family," Lou volunteered.

  "Do you think, based on your intimate relationship, that Sharon would hurt anyone else?"

  Pausing for a moment and looking at Sharon, Lou said, "I don't know."

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  HARRIETT PULLED HER glasses off and tossed them on her desk, leaning back in her well-worn leather chair and pushing her hair over her head. "This case is giving me a headache," she said as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Nick chuckled, "Well, at least it will soon be over. What do you think the jurors are thinking right now?"

  "That we're all freakin' nuts," she laughed.

  "Lassiter got you pretty good with Lou Harmon. I'd still like to know what led them to her."

  "So would I," Harriett said, puffing out her cheeks as she exhaled. "So would I. But it wasn't all bad. She made Sharon look sympathetic, if not a little crazy."

  "Why do you think she did it? Kill those people, I mean?"

  "She didn't kill anyone, remember?" Harriett smiled. "They just overreacted and killed themselves."

  "Maybe there was something to what Lou Harmon said. Maybe they were just substitutes for the ones who really hurt her."

  "So what the hell does that make me? Her avenging angel?"

  Nick shrugged. "Maybe that was all she was looking for, her own kind of justice for everyone who had hurt her. After everything you brought out during the trial, Senator Collins's career is pretty much over. He probably won't be getting either married or re-elected. Mrs. Collins should drop in esteem in social circles, and I'd volunteer to be Sharon's divorce attorney. Frank Taggart has been branded as a wife beater and a probable rapist. And Alexis Dunne's reputation was certainly damaged as well. They all hurt her in one way or another, either physically or emotionally, and she found a way to get even."

  "And you think she was willing to go to prison or worse for that?"

  "I still think she's crazy, Harriett, but you're not going to be able to convince the jury that she's insane. Not after Lou Harmon's testimony."

  "I know," she said, slipping her glasses back on. "But maybe I can still save her life."

  Nick looked at his watch as he flipped another page on his legal pad. "It's getting close to dinner time. Why don't you call Jess and see if she'll pick something up for us? Then we can work through and get out of here at a reasonable time."

  "I can call someplace that delivers.” Harriett said. "What would you like?"

  Setting his pad down on the coffee table, Nick watched Harriett as she leaned her head on her hand and continued working on her closing statement. "Come to think of it," he observed, "I haven't seen Jess around in a few days."

  "She has a job, you know. Probably got behind when she was babysitting me," Harriett said, hoping she sounded nonchalant enough. She wanted to pick up her phone and call Jess but wasn't sure what kind of reception she would receive. She had spoken to Helen briefly the night before about the way they had parted and her reaction to being touched. Even though she had wanted Jess to touch her, her mind wouldn't allow it. She wasn't sure it ever would, but she resolved to call her as soon as Sharon's case was sent to the jury.

  "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, you have sat through an emotionally draining case, and my client and I appreciate the attention you've paid to the evidence and testimony presented. Sharon Taggart is a woman who has endured a lifetime of abuse at the hands of those closest to her, people she should have been able to trust to protect her. But they all failed her. I have presented you with expert testimony that Sharon Taggart suffers from a treatable mental illness, which rendered her incapable of making sound decisions. Unable to strike out at those who hurt her, she instead chose to hurt other people. Rather than hurt those who deserved to be hurt in return for their actions against her, she chose to put them all on trial here, along with herself. You cannot render a verdict against those who knowingly harmed her, but you must decide her fate. What Sharon Taggart did was wrong. We know she shot at those vehicles, which resulted in four deaths and serious injury to others. A witness testified that she saw her do it. Experts testified that it was a weapon readily available to her and that she purchased the ammunition used to commit the crimes.

  "Mr. Lassiter will tell you that she planned to shoot at those vehicles by bringing up the testimony that she patterned the crimes after something she had read. I suppose that's possible. However, Sharon Taggart had no way of knowing when her husband would rape her, when her daughter would accidentally be injured, when she would have to have her pet euthanized, or when her lover would unexpectedly end their relationship. Mr. Lassiter would like for you to believe that Sharon Taggart read something and then filed it away to be used at a later date, just in case something or someone hurt her. I submit that we all do things that we have read about." Smiling and briefly catching the eye of each juror, she continued, "I once read that during the Second World War, the military included a bar of chocolate in every soldier's rations on the battlefield because the sugar gave them energy when they were tired. Using Mr. Lassiter's line of reasoning, the only reason I reach for a Hershey bar when I'm feeling tired is because I read in a history book that it would increase my energy level.

  "None of us can be sure when we will finally reach the end of an intolerable circumstance or how we will react to it. Sharon Taggart managed to hover at the edge of stability longer than anyone could have expected only to slip over the edge and into severe postpartum depression brought about by the birth of her second child. A depression so deep that she couldn't find her way out without help, and then was turned away by medical professionals who could have helped her. Even though she pulled the trigger, the deaths of four innocent people and the injuries to three others were assured twenty-five years earlier when the defendant's brother, a sadistic sexual predator, began molesting her and allowed others to hurt her while he profited from her suffering. Through a second personality, Jan, Sharon Taggart protected herself until even Jan could stand the pain no longer."

  Taking a deep breath, Harriett lowered her voice slightly for effect. "We all have a dark side, ladies and gentlemen. Some hidden part of ourselves we hope will never surface, never be let loose. But, rest assured, if sufficiently provoked, that darkness will surface into the light of day and it will st
rike out, just as Sharon Taggart's did. Thank you."

  As Harriett listened to Sean Lassiter's closing arguments, she hoped the jurors would remember what she had said. She had no doubt that Sharon was mentally disturbed. Relatively few people were just plain evil like Jared Wilkes had been. He had never been mistreated by anyone, had everything he wanted with good and loving parents, and yet he had become an indescribable evil. She thought it had been a miracle that Sharon had maintained her stability as long as she had.

  THE JURY BEGAN its deliberations in the afternoon session after hearing the charge to the jury by Judge Landers. Their choices seemed simple enough. Either the defendant had a mental defect or she didn't. If she did, a mental institution awaited her. If she didn't, she was guilty of murder in the first degree and could receive either the death penalty or life in prison without the possibility of parole. Somehow, Harriett couldn't believe that imprisonment would upset Sharon very much. It would finally give her what she had probably been longing for her entire life. The chance to be away from everyone who had hurt her, left alone in peace with only her own thoughts.

  Once the jury began its deliberations there was nothing to do but wait. It was impossible to concentrate on other work. Finally dropping her pen on her desk, Harriett picked up her phone and punched in a familiar number.

  "Sex Offenders, Davidson," a deep male voice answered mechanically.

  "Jess Raines, please," Harriett said.

  "Detective Raines isn't in the office right now. Can I help you or take a message?"

  "This is Harriett Markham. Would you ask her to call me when she returns? She has my number," Harriett said.

  "I'll leave a message, ma'am, but it might be a while before she gets back to you. She took a leave of absence."

  "Did she say when she would be returning?"

  "No, ma'am, she didn't. Sorry."

  As soon as she disconnected, Harriett punched in the numbers for Jess's cell phone. I can always be reached at this number, Jess had told her. But after four rings, Harriett was instructed to leave a message by an automated answering device.

  TWO DAYS PASSED and Harriett was beginning to feel hopeful. "The bailiff said they have sent out notes asking to see evidence or clarification four times," she said, joining Nick in the office kitchen for a snack. "What do you think?"

  "Well," Nick said as he slid his glasses onto the top of his head, "it could mean anything. Maybe they're looking for a way to justify the lesser charge."

  "I was surprised the charge gave them that out. I wasn't expecting it, and I don't think Lassiter was either." Taking a diet tea from the refrigerator, Harriett sighed slightly. "Where do you think Lassiter got Lou Harmon's name?"

  "Maybe from a family member."

  Frowning to herself, she said softly, "I think Wayne leaked it."

  "Why would he do that? He works for you."

  Joining her partner at the table, Harriett shrugged. "He's always thought Sharon was faking. Lassiter's people found everything about her that we did. Except that one piece that drew it all together."

  "Have you asked him about it?"

  "No, and I don't plan to," she said as she nibbled at a cracker.

  "Ms. Markham?" Phyllis said from the kitchen doorway. "You have a call on line two. Mr. Lassiter."

  Harriett and Nick looked at one another for a moment before responding. "Thank you, Phyllis," Harriett said as she got to her feet. Nick followed her to her office and waited while she took the call.

  "What did he want?" he asked as she replaced the receiver on its cradle.

  "A meeting. In an hour."

  "Maybe he's worried about it taking the jury so long to reach a decision."

  "Guess we'll find out in an hour."

  NICK SAT AT the conference table in a room on the second floor of the Travis County Courthouse while Harriett paced in front of a window overlooking the street below, periodically glancing at the clock on the far wall. She was startled when Lassiter walked into the room.

  "Ms. Markham. Mr. Lazslo," Lassiter nodded as he pulled out a chair and set his briefcase on the table.

  "Ms. Markham," Lassiter said, clearing his throat, "I can honestly say that the things I have heard during the course of this trial have both disgusted and angered me. However, even though I have enormous empathy for what your client has endured, I cannot, in good conscience, hold her blameless for the deaths of those four people, but..."

  "But you're concerned that the jury might find her insane," Harriett finished for him.

  "It's a possibility that I would rather not face. While I don't believe Mrs. Taggart suffers from the disorder she is claiming, I have no doubt that she is mentally disturbed." Taking a deep breath, Lassiter said, "Therefore, after conferring with the Dallas County District Attorney, we are willing to offer a plea and make a sentencing recommendation that would allow Mrs. Taggart to receive psychiatric help."

  "What are you offering?" Nick asked.

  "Second degree murder, twenty-five to life with the possibility of parole after she serves the minimum," Lassiter stated. "Non-negotiable."

  "I see," Harriett said. "I'll have to confer with my client, of course."

  "Of course," Lassiter nodded.

  HARRIETT WAS WAITING in a small interview room when Sharon was brought in. She looked tired. When they were alone, Harriett said, "The DA has offered to make a deal, Sharon."

  "Why?" Sharon asked.

  "They're afraid the jury will rule in your favor, but I'm just as afraid that they won't. Or it could still go either way. I think this is the best deal you're going to get."

  Sharon frowned, "What are they offering?"

  "Second degree murder with a sentencing recommendation that will allow for parole eventually if you agree to receive psychiatric help while in prison."

  "I see. And you think I should accept this generosity?" Sharon asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

  "Yes, I do."

  "When do I have to decide?"

  "As soon as possible. The jury could come back with a verdict at any time. The judge will have to be notified that we have agreed or declined to take the offer."

  Sharon walked to the window and stared out. "How long before I would be eligible for parole?"

  "They're recommending twenty-five to life," Harriett said. "Fifteen years minimum served, possibly less with good behavior."

  Sharon turned and smiled at Harriett. "And this is a good deal?"

  "You're guilty, Sharon. You know it and I know it. There was never a Jan, but you did a damn fine job of fooling everyone."

  Sharon laughed, "Fooled you, didn't I? And those idiot shrinks who examined me."

  "You need help, Sharon. Maybe you didn't think those people would die, but they did and for what? So you could drag your family and husband through court?"

  "I might win."

  "You might, but if you do and get out, what will you do the next time someone hurts you?" Moving closer to Sharon, Harriett said, "Who will you hurt the next time, Sharon?"

  "Has anyone ever hurt you, Harriett? Hurt you so badly you didn't think could get over it?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you gotten over it yet?"

  "I'm working on it," Harriett admitted.

  "So I don't suppose I'll be seeing you after this," Sharon smiled.

  "No, you won't."

  "You did the best you could," Sharon grinned, the look in her eyes unnerving. "Maybe this way I'll get a chance to see whoever told them about Lou Harmon through my rifle sight someday."

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  SHE HAD BEEN driving through an unexpected gray rain that seemed to be following her for nearly a hundred miles before the truck finally popped out into bright sunlight that glared up from the road. Rolling the driver's side window down, she rested her elbow on the window frame, allowing the spring air to blow her hair wildly. The rain dripping from the roof occasionally found its way against her face. She ignored it. For the first time in months, she felt
strangely free. The air smelled fresh as she took in deep breaths. She wasn't in a particular hurry, but hoped to make it into the silence and safety of the cabin before the rain could pursue her any further. She had loved the rain as a child. Thoughts of soaking rains cooling the dusty soil around her parents' house had soothed her and carried her off into a dreamless, peaceful sleep. She hadn't experienced that feeling in a long time, and she needed it now more than she ever had before.

  Without any real need to, she flipped the turn signal and turned the steering wheel, guiding the truck onto an unpaved road toward the lake. By morning, the narrow road would be too muddy to navigate, but that was fine, she thought. She wouldn't be going anywhere for a while anyway. She couldn't wait for the solitude ahead of her and realizing how much she wanted it, needed it, she accelerated toward it, covering the final two miles quickly. Bringing the truck to a stop next to the cabin, she lifted her duffel bag from behind the truck seat and slung it over her shoulder. Wayne had promised that no one would know where she was, she thought as she walked slowly up the front steps, glancing over her shoulder at the small whitecaps that were beginning to form in the cove. The rain would be there soon.

  Unlocking the cabin door, she stepped into her past and was momentarily flooded with memories. The air smelled slightly stale as she looked around. She smiled at her mind's sight of her father attempting to flip pancakes in an old skillet, making yet another snack on the floor for his dog instead of breakfast for his hungry, laughing daughter. Moving across the front room, she paused in front of the cold fireplace, seeing herself in Alex's arms, warm and contented at the time. Blinking the memory away, she shook her head slightly and walked into the master bedroom and tossed her bag on the bed.

  As she carried three bags of groceries into the kitchen, she set them on the counter and opened the refrigerator door. She was surprised to see a familiar looking bottle of wine lying on the bottom shelf and picked it up. "It can't be," she said aloud. It was Alex's favorite wine. "Surely Wayne has cleaned out this damned refrigerator at least once in the last twelve years."