Miscarriage Of Justice

by Bruce A. Borders

  Ethan could identify with the sentiment and the author’s perspective. He liked the book so well; he copied one excerpt onto a sheet of notebook paper and hung it on his cell wall for inspiration. The passage was the author’s response, regarding the belief that if a guy is or had been in prison, he obviously was a bad individual and guilty of something.

  “I too was once so naive, thinking prison was a place for only criminals; reserved for those wayward individuals, guilty of crossing a well-defined line between right and wrong. I was grossly mistaken.

  The instances are many of good men, law-abiding men, guilty only of the crime of being innocent without proof, who are spending insufferable days behind the confines of those cold stone walls. Conversely, plenty of cases can be cited where men: evil, brutal, and ruthless, cold and calculating, are walking the streets.

  These days it seems the more guilty a person is, the less likely it’ll be that they’ll do time, and vice versa. The guilty go free, while the innocent pay dearly. Is the system broken? No. Quite the contrary, it’s fixed. Fixed in prearranged deals between prosecutors and judges, in collusion with defense attorneys, who don’t seem to care if their clients win or lose—as long as they are paid and their career is bolstered.

  Barter system justice.”

  Later, through more rumors and scattered bits of information, Ethan learned that Mitch was the crazy uncle of Sara Wyman, the victim’s mother. The man’s time in the mental hospital, according to the gossip, was due to having tried to kill the same girl ten years earlier.

  Six months before Natasha Wyman’s gruesome murder, a psychiatrist had determined Mr. Evans to be sane and competent. Apparently, so had the parents. Why had they ever let the man near their daughter? And again, why hadn’t any of this been mentioned at the trial? The fact that it hadn’t been discovered before, during, or after the trial, constituted gross negligence on the part of the prosecutor, that being the Lincoln County District Attorney, Mariana Clark, as well as Ethan’s attorney. If the rumors were true, Natasha’s parents should’ve had a pretty good idea who killed their daughter. Did they not care that an innocent man was paying the price? Did anyone? Were they all in denial? Or, had they really believed Mariana Clark’s arguments when she had presented her case. Admittedly, it had been a compelling presentation.

  Ethan shook his head in disbelief. He still didn’t know if he bought into all of the rumored details of the events, but those rumors did explain how Mitch would’ve had access to the home, and the clock. Yet, what it didn’t explain is how the pictures had wound up at Granite Hills. But then, a lot of items from the outside seemed to make it through. Who knew how any of it was done?

  That had been the turning point for him. The determining factor in Ethan’s decision to exact a little payback of his own. He’d already planned to retaliate but now he had a new motivation. Obviously, he’d known he was innocent; now he had proof the prosecution had known too. His trial, and evidently the entire judicial system, was nothing but a scam. A farce. An egregious affront to all he believed in.

  That day he became a changed man and began diligently formulating his strategy. The strategy of revenge.

  The preferred tactics, kidnapping and torturing the D.A., or simply killing her were out. Other methods running through his mind like blowing up her house or targeting family members were not options either. These would be expected. And likely, anything so brazenly disastrous would land him right back inside Granite Hills.

  Ethan chose a more subtle approach. Things not so obvious. Little things. Seemingly mundane things. He understood that anything, if repeated often enough can become intensely annoying, even terrifying, no matter how small or insignificant it seems. Together, these little things would serve to drive the D.A. to the brink of insanity. In the end, this would certainly be more cruel.

  Patience was the key. It was also his weak point. A man obsessed with revenge, and consumed with rage is typically not a particularly patient individual, or a rational one. Ethan was no exception. Yet, while patience may indeed be a virtue, it isn’t alone. Brainpower, commonsense, or whatever it’s labeled, cannot be discounted, even amid a lack of patience.

  Ethan was no fool, so patience or not, he bided his time. There would be no attempted escape; no deals with the gangs in prison who promised their contacts could effect his release from the outside. No, this was too important. It could wait until his time had been served. That’s when he began to learn patience.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Ethan looked at the calendar on the wall in his hotel. Twenty-two days. A little over three weeks, that’s how long he’d been out. Three weeks of living free, re-adjusting to life on the outside, trying to become a normal citizen. The concept seemed simple, but it was no easy task. A new century had dawned while he’d been inside, social practices and the American culture had seen drastic changes in those years. Mainly, the changes were technological advances, which affected the cultural environment as well. Many things now widely in use had not even existed before he’d gone off to prison; CD’s, DVD’s, digital cameras, cell phones, and a whole assortment of other gadgets. Perhaps the most drastic new creation, the one that linked all of the others, was the personal computer. In the mid-eighties, when he’d gone off to prison, virtually no one had a computer, now nearly everyone did. The world was definitely a much different place. He soon learned that successfully transitioning from convict to citizen involved more than merely changing one’s locale.

  In the past three weeks, he’d purchased new clothes, rented a hotel room, and gotten used to eating his meals in a restaurant where he could choose his own menu. But, after years of a strictly regulated regiment, a regiment, which controlled every aspect of his life; when he got up, when he went to bed, when and what he ate, along with the clothes he wore, whether he was allowed to go outside or watch TV, and virtually everything else in his life, he was finding it difficult to forge his own path. Despite loathing the routine at Granite Hills, he found that, for the most part, he was sticking to the prison schedule to which he’d grown accustomed.

  Strangely, he kept forgetting that if he needed, or simply wanted, to buy anything, take in a movie or go someplace, any place, he didn’t need to ask permission. Life’s decisions and choices, the road he traveled, what he did or didn’t do, were completely up to him. And yet, returning from a late-night supper at the corner café, the Wagon Wheel Grill, which had become his favorite place to dine, he had the oddest sense that he’d crossed some invisible line of forbidden conduct, and would be reprimanded and penalized. The feeling was indicative of the way he felt daily—awkward and out of place. However, though it was taking considerably more time than he’d expected, slowly, he was easing back into a comfortable lifestyle.

  Since his release, Ethan had carefully avoided any activity that would in anyway telegraph his intentions. He thoroughly enjoyed the first week of relaxation. After a few days however, he would have liked nothing better than to catch a ride to Cedar Springs and settle the score with Mariana Clark, once and for all. But the learned patience and his common sense kept him idle, at least for the time being.

  Prison officials had repeatedly insisted no one would be checking up on him. That was not the sort of thing they did, they claimed. But, he knew otherwise. He’d heard too many stories from returning inmates to fall for that line. The system hadn’t quite treated him justly in the first place; Ethan was under no illusion that those in charge would suddenly have a change of heart and behave honorably. As far as he was concerned, someone would be watching, at least for the first month or so.

  And so, for three weeks, he’d stayed close to the hotel, not venturing more than a few blocks from his new home. To further give the impression he harbored no illicit intentions, he’d applied for a job, eleven of them actually. Of course, he received no response. Listing Granite Hills Correctional Facility as his last place of residence had guaranteed that. And it suited him fine. Right now, he needed to be free to pursue his own agenda
, and not be bogged down with the responsibilities and limitations a job would bring.

  Reasonably confident now that he wasn’t being watched, Ethan left the hotel early the next morning and strolled downtown, walking the eleven blocks to the library. In prison, he’d learned to acquire knowledge and information by reading, listening, and paying attention, not by asking questions. Questions led to people remembering what a guy was interested in, and he surely didn’t need that! But through a constant observance—simply keeping his eyes and ears open, no one ever knew just what he’d learned.

  Though the advent of the computer age had dawned while he’d been locked away, it hadn’t necessarily passed him by. During his incarceration, he’d become extremely proficient in their use as well as familiar with the Internet, despite the outdated equipment available. And though his activities were restricted and the approved sites severely limited by the prison, he’d learned the basics easily enough.

  Seated now at the public computer terminal inside the library, he casually surfed the Web, visiting a variety of sites. He’d heard the library staff would not be at all concerned with what he did online still, he was cautious, wanting to make sure.

  Forty minutes later, convinced no one cared what he was doing; he typed anycase.com into the address bar. The library’s Internet connection was blazingly fast compared to the dial-up at Granite Hills, and he was amazed at how quickly the pages were displayed. In a matter of seconds, he was viewing the homepage of the largest database of court records from across the nation. So far so good.

  Using the search box, he typed in the state and his last name. If what he’d heard about the website were true, he should soon be wading through a wealth of information regarding his case, complete with the most intricate details. Supposedly, the database included both public and private information. Privileged information. Information to which he should not have access. That’s precisely the information that interested him.

  It wasn’t exactly illegal. He had broken no laws. He was merely surfing the web, just a typical library patron. With the exception of porn sites, the law didn’t regulate who could and couldn’t visit a particular website. Theoretically, he supposed, state lawmakers could enact legislation prohibiting convicted criminals from pursuing this kind of information, but so far, he was under no such restriction.

  On the other hand, the anycase.com site, which provided the information to the public, probably was skirting the law, simply due to the methods by which they obtained and collected the data, as well as the fact that they disseminated it to the masses by publishing it on the Web. The company employed a vast number of computer geeks, hackers, who regularly accessed the judicial archives of every county in each of the fifty states; public records and sealed documents. The data from these documents was then transferred to their own site. The information was made available to the public free of charge.

  Since first hearing of the site, nearly five years ago, Ethan had been worried the government, which had to know of the site’s existence, and its shady practices, would, through the aid of the courts, force a shutdown. A cease and desist order would bring an immediate end to the operation—before he’d had a chance to use it. But, smiling briefly, he read his name on the screen. The site still worked!

  Most of the details appeared in article form, giving a short background, describing the trial in general terms, and then a brief rundown on the outcome. More essential particulars—dates, places, and other interesting facts followed the general text. What came next was more intriguing, and his reason for visiting the site, an extensive list of names and how each related to the case. Ethan read the article, and swore under his breath. It made him sound like a criminal. Then he relaxed. That was understandable. He had been convicted of murder and whoever had compiled and written these articles didn’t know he wasn’t guilty.

  Scrolling down, he scanned the names; Judge John Bingham, Mariana Clark - Lincoln County D.A., Daniel Young - Defense Attorney. Ethan was intimately familiar with these names. Reading further, he saw the lead investigator listed, along with a dozen or so other police officers and what each had contributed to the case. Various lab techs and other specialists followed. Then, there were the names of the two witnesses with a summary of their testimony. Finally, he reached the part he wanted. Taking a deep breath, he read the subheading, Jurors. There, printed on the screen in front of him were the full names of the twelve honest and upstanding citizens who had convicted him. A dozen of his peers. That’s what the Court had claimed. Yet, even at the time, he’d known they were as far removed from his lifestyle as could be. None were his peers, by any definition of the word.

  Reaching for a pen and paper from his pocket, he quickly scribbled down the twelve names, taking care to print legibly. He didn’t want to be forced to make another visit, just because he couldn’t read his own handwriting.

  Scrawling the final name on his paper, Robert A. Behren, he noticed an asterisk on the screen. With a puzzled frown, he quickly scrolled down. “What’s that mean?” he muttered to himself.

  Continuing to the bottom of the page, he read, “Deceased,” next to the symbol.

  “Interesting,” he thought. When? No date was given, but to the right he saw a notice that read, “For more information, click on the small blue box next to the name.”

  Immediately, he scrolled back up and clicked on the pale blue box to the right of the man’s last name on the list of jurors. A small window opened, giving a short bio on Mr. Behren. He discovered the man had died from heart related complications, more than nine years prior.

  “That one’s out,” he frowned, closing the window.

  Clicking on the box by the next name on the list, Ethan was pleasantly amazed. Not only did the information window give a brief history of the juror, but the small color photo was a shock to see, and brought back vivid memories of the trial.

  Curious now as to what more he could learn, Ethan clicked on another name and then the next. Not all of them had a picture, in fact, only three, but he took his time, reading the short history it gave for each one. He didn’t learn much aside from who each of them were with respect to the community. With a sigh, he closed the window, and typed Cedar Springs Daily Tribune into the search engine box. Clicking on the link, the website of his hometown newspaper opened. Using the site search to explore the archives, he entered the first name from his list of now eleven jurors.

  “Sorry. No results were found matching your search,” was the message that appeared on the screen.

  Disappointed, Ethan tried the next name. Nothing. Not giving up, he continued. Of the eleven, he found recent articles on only four. One by one, he pulled up the stories. The first two were a rather mundane mention of the names in connection with fund-raising efforts for the American Cancer Society. As businessmen, both had donated to the cause and were being lauded by the paper for their generous support.

  The third yielded a bit more information. Sandra Lovell, an elderly woman, after an extended absence, had recently returned to the area where she’d grown up and had a noteworthy impact. “The Lovell Hospice, which bears her name, was started by Mrs. Lovell after her late husband passed away in the early nineties.” The article ended by stating the woman now resided in Canyon Creek, a posh suburb of Cedar Springs, that Ethan knew well. Some friends owned a home there, or used to. He’d been away for a while and hadn’t heard from them. Like everyone else, they too had deserted him. He made a note beside the lady’s name on his paper. The information could perhaps prove useful in the future.

  With an audible sigh, he clicked on the link to the story on the last juror, Gerald Duncan. What he saw made him instantly sit up straight, and then brought an mischievousness grin to his face. The article that appeared was an obituary column! And it was dated just three days after his release from prison.

  “Perfect,” he whispered. It was exactly what he had hoped to find. And the timing couldn’t have been better.

  Clicking on the “Related Story”
tab, he began to read the small news article. The column stated that Mr. Duncan had been killed in an automobile accident, during the early-morning hours on the eleventh of April. The cause of the multi-vehicle crash, which led to the untimely death of Duncan, it said, was unknown. The story further stated that the matter was currently under investigation.

  Ethan was elated. He’d planned to write down any information he found, not wanting to leave an online trail of his activities, but this was too good to pass up.

  Quickly, using the state of the art printer the library made available, he printed the obit column and short article and then closed the browser. Gathering up his papers, he shook his head, still not believing his good fortune at finding the story. It was almost as if he’d had a hand in the man’s fate himself. He was betting Mariana Clark would think the same thing. Banking on it, in fact.

  “Perfect,” he mumbled again, walking to the exit. “Perfect.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  One dreadful fact was patently obvious, Mariana thought as she left for work one early May morning. The worry and anxiety she’d felt recently over the release of Ethan Rafferty, had all been for nothing. A month had now passed and she’d neither heard from, nor seen the man. Turning the car down the street to the county parking lot, a short two blocks from her office, she laughed carelessly. Arrogantly. The poor fool didn’t have enough guts to do anything to her, or even attempt a move against her. “I guess fifteen years in Granite Hills was enough for him,” she snickered.

  The cocky self-confidence and newfound bravado came quite easily now. Through the aid of a couple of Lincoln County deputies, whom she had enlisted to determine Ethan’s whereabouts, she’d learned he was living in a hotel downtown Fulton. After tailing him for three days, the officers’ report had concluded the former convict had no designs on anything that could land him back in prison. The man had even applied for a job, they told her. Quite a few of them, in fact.