"The trial lasted only one week. The prosecution called the coroner, who explained to the jury that because of the way in which the victim had fallen and struck her head on the small table next to the couch, her brain swelled, and there was extensive bleeding."
They cut to a shot of Alex walking toward the courtroom, a trail of reporters and cameras crowding around him. "The prosecution also put William and Patricia Wells on the stand, but the most poignant testimony came from Alex Wells, who recounted the events which culminated in his mother's death. At the conclusion of his testimony, the state rested their case. The defense also rested, following a motion to dismiss the charges on the grounds the prosecution had not met their burden of proving beyond a reasonable doubt that James Wells had murdered his wife. The motion was denied, and both sides presented closing arguments the following day."
The original news coverage of the verdict is playing, the camera trained on James Wells. He has the same stoic expression as Alex, but that’s where the similarities end. Once the guilty verdict is read, Sweeney places his hand on James' shoulder, and leans in to speak to him. Wells shrugs Sweeney off, his eyes ablaze with anger, and he says something that causes the attorney to pull back, nearly falling out of his seat.
"Coming up after the break…James Wells is serving a life sentence for the murder of his wife, but is there more to this story than originally thought? We'll talk with Mr. Wells’ new attorney about a bombshell which could change the outcome of this tragic story."
"What the hell does that mean?" Alex asks through clenched teeth.
I take a deep breath. It could mean a whole host of things—many of them I'm not sure I want to discuss with Alex for fear of sending him over the edge of sanity. The tension radiating off him is palpable.
"I'm not sure. He has a life sentence without parole…I don't know if he has exhausted all of his appeals or not. It could be that, but it's difficult to get a new trial on appeal, especially if none of his previous appeals amounted to anything."
I glance at Alex who is staring at me, his eyes demanding more of an explanation. "I mean, presumably, his best shot would’ve been the earlier appeals. They would have gone over every piece of evidence admitted, every word of testimony, all of the motions, objections, and sustainment's by the judge—everything would have been scrutinized for potential errors which would amount to an unfair trial that requires a retrial."
"So, this is just bullshit by this new attorney?" Alex asks.
I take a drink of my gin and tonic, letting the alcohol burn a path down my throat and ignite my lungs. "I would guess so. Unless he has new evidence, I can't see where there is anything to appeal."
The show returns and the reporter is standing in the middle of an empty courtroom. "After sitting in prison for eighteen years, and nearly exhausting all of his appeals, James Wells decided to reach out to attorney Geoffrey Hamilton, whose success rate in the courtroom is eighty-five percent."
"Have you heard of him?" Alex mutters, his jaw clenched.
I suck in my breath, my stomach ties into a knot, and a chill runs down my spine. "Yeah, I have." Holy shit. This is not good news. Geoffrey Hamilton is amongst the best attorneys in the country, and his success spans from criminal trials to the appellate courts. He is excellent at finding the tiniest of threads in his client’s conviction and pulling them until the case begins to unravel and the trial looks like a farce.
"In a letter to Mr. Hamilton, James Wells admits he had been drinking the night of his wife's death, but when he left the house that night, she was alive and there was only one person who could have caused her death. The only other person in the room that night—the couple's eldest son, Alex Stone."
Oh my God!
Alex jumps to his feet. "What the fuck?" He whirls around and faces me. "He killed her. He was convicted!"
"I know, Alex." I place my hand on his arm. "Let me hear what he has to say, so I can figure out what angle he's taking."
Geoffrey Hamilton sits in his office, casually leaning back in his desk chair. "According to my research, Alex Wells—Stone, as he is known now—hated his father. He also resented his mother for not leaving Mr. Wells. That night, Alex confronted his father, hitting and punching him. James retaliated in defense, eventually punching Alex in the face, knocking him out. Can you imagine how humiliated Alex would have been that his father was able to dominate him? It's not hard to imagine that when he regained consciousness, he was enraged, and took it out on the only other person around—his mother—and accidentally killed her, covering it up by blaming it on his father."
The exterior of the courthouse flashes on the screen. The camera follows the current District Attorney, Matt Gaines, a microphone in front of his face.
"Mr. Wells never made this allegation before, during, or in the eighteen years he has been incarcerated," Matt says. "It has never been brought up in any of his previous appeals and has only come up recently." Matt opens the driver's side door of a car and pauses before he gets inside. "It makes for great drama but is nothing more than a final desperate attempt to avoid punishment for taking the life of a vibrant, beautiful woman."
Officer Markinson appears again. "The children were all in the back bedroom when we arrived. The oldest boy told us what happened. He was very calm—gave a thorough account of the events. He seemed somewhat detached from the scene. His younger brother and sisters were crying, but Alex showed no emotion."
Cut to Hamilton. "The issue I've been struggling with since I initially read through the case files is why it took Mr. Stone two days to make a statement to police regarding his mother's death. And when he finally did get around to making a statement, he had prominent criminal defense attorney, Jack Daniels, with him. Now, I have to ask myself, why would he need a criminal defense attorney if he's innocent?"
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and heat floods my neck and cheeks. "Because only a jackass would allow the police to question him without an attorney present. Hamilton would’ve done the exact same thing."
"Harold set it up," Alex says. "I was on auto-pilot the first few days after it happened. It seemed like a bad dream I couldn't wake from, and I let everyone make decisions for me. I answered questions they asked, but I had no cognizant recognition of what I was saying and doing. I was trying so hard to get the image of my mother lying there dead out of my mind. I just shut down."
I slide closer to him on the couch and hold tightly to his hand. "I can only imagine what you were going through, Alex. It doesn't surprise me Jack would’ve insisted on accompanying you to the police station. Too many things can go wrong when you're that emotional, and unable to properly understand what's going on around you, or the implications of answering a question in a way the police may consider suspicious."
We both turn our attention back to the TV. An old interview with Harold, Alex's adopted father and uncle, is playing. "No, I never knew my sister was being abused by her husband."
It quickly changes to a woman who lived next door to the Wells. "I never suspected James could do this to his wife. He was always so nice."
"It's important to note—" Another shot of Hamilton in his office—"There is no evidence of domestic violence by James before his wife died. No calls to the police. No visits to the emergency room. No doctors noting bruises or other injuries inconsistent with actions. And not one teacher feared the children were living in an abusive environment."
Old news footage shows a young woman standing outside the courthouse. "William Wells, the second youngest of the Wells children, testified he heard Alex Wells yelling at his mother sometime after his father left the house."
"Jesus, they're taking this all out of context," Alex says, raking his hand through his hair.
The reporter appears on the screen. "Perhaps the most damning statements pointing to the possibility Alex Stone may have been more involved in his mother's death than he claims, comes from his own statements to the nine-one-one dispatcher."
"Okay. The pol
ice are on their way. I'm going to stay on the line with you until they get there. What is your name?"
"Alex Wells."
In the background, Alex murmurs. It's so quiet, I can't tell what he's saying.
"What?" The dispatcher asks.
The voice is louder. "I'm so sorry, Mom. I didn't mean for this to happen."
"Christ." Alex rests his head against the back of the couch, and closes his eyes.
I focus on the TV screen. A psychologist is speaking. "James Wells really didn't stand a chance against his son's testimony. No one wants to believe a child is capable of killing a parent. It's much easier to place the blame on an adult."
The shot cuts back to Geoffrey Hamilton. "Look, James Wells may not have been a saint. He drank too much and was abusive towards his wife on occasion. Alex Stone witnessed these outbursts. The more I delve into this case, the more it seems clear the sins of the father have been passed down to the son. Alex Stone may have picked up where his father left off that night and taken it to a deadly extreme."
The glass of scotch whizzes past my head and shatters against the wall. "Fuck you!" Alex howls.
There is a buzzing. Alex looks at his phone. "Hey."
Will is yelling so loud, I can hear him even though Alex is a few feet away from me. "Those fucking assholes! They have no idea what they're talking about. They made it seem as if that bastard should get sympathy or something."
"I know. It's complete bullshit," Alex says.
I walk into the kitchen and grab the broom and dustpan before glass ends up in someone's foot.
"No…I know, little brother…they twisted everything around. I know you never thought I hurt Mom."
I gather up all the shards of glass and toss them into the trash in the kitchen. Alex comes in, drops his phone on the counter, and wraps his arms around my waist.
"I'm sorry about throwing the glass. It was impulsive and immature."
"It was also understandable," I say, and kiss him. He pulls me against his chest. I can hear the rapid beat of his heart.
"What's this all about? Why, after all these years, is he coming back into our lives? Why the sudden interest in this case?"
"I don't know, Alex. I'll call Matt in the morning and see what he knows." I tip my head back so I can see his face. The dispassionate expression he displayed for the majority of the evening is gone. His eyes are glassy, dazed. "We'll figure this out, I promise."
He pulls me back into him and nuzzles my hair. "I hate this. I despise that man and resent the hell out of him for disrupting our lives again. He's hurt us enough for one lifetime."
"We'll figure out what he's trying to accomplish, and we'll stop him. He's no match for us. He has no idea the force we make together."
I hope my words convince Alex we can beat his father. And I hope I can actually deliver on my promise—whatever it turns out to be.
8
We turn into Jack's driveway and I try to remember the last time I was here. Missing a chunk of time out of my life skews my timeline. I know, however, it's been way too long since I spent an evening with the two people I consider my pseudo-parents. Jack took me under his wing and became my mentor after I left the public defender's office and went to work at his law firm. After meeting Annabelle at a Christmas party, they unofficially adopted me into the family. Next to Ryan and Paul, they are who I consider family.
Dinner is casual and comfortable, even with the news program still lingering in the periphery. Public opinion is beginning to swirl with discussions of whether James Wells received a fair trial and should be granted a new one. The most disturbing outcries, however, have centered around the allegations that Alex was responsible for his mother's death.
Most people agree James was solely responsible. But there is a vocal minority rattling cages and demanding the investigation into Ellen Wells' death be re-examined with closer scrutiny of Alex and his potential role in his mother's murder.
Alex has been tense most of the day, growing more and more irritated with the news reports, eventually turning off the TV and burying himself in work. Now that he's had a few glasses of wine, his jaw unclenches and he's laughing. Annabelle gathers up some of the dishes and heads into the kitchen.
Jack leans across the table and pats my hand. "Alex, do you mind if I steal our girl here for a chat about business? Annabelle refuses to allow such discussions at the dinner table."
"Not at all." He stands and grabs my plate, placing it on top of his. "I'll help Annabelle clear the dishes so we can have dessert." He turns and walks into the kitchen and I can hear Annabelle gushing over him. I can't help but smile. Alex has a way with people, and women often fall all over him, but with Annabelle—it's different. She treats him like a son and makes no bones about how proud she is of him, and how much she loves him.
I follow Jack into his study and sit down on the settee across from him in his leather wingback chair.
"Talk to me about how you're doing," he says. "And don't give me the answer you gave Annabelle so she wouldn't worry about you."
I smile. "I really am okay, Jack. The doctors are happy with my recovery, and confident I'm in the clear."
"And what are your plans professionally? Do you think you’ll return to practicing law?"
I let the question sink in. I've never considered not practicing law. I figured it was a matter of when I would return, not if.
"I'd like to, I just know it comes with some obstacles. I haven't discussed it with Alex yet, but I can't imagine not litigating. I love it. There's nothing I'd rather do."
My hands are clammy. I wipe them on my pants, and work through how to tell Jack I'm not coming back to the firm. I can't work there. It's where John and I met, started dating, and broke up. People watched as he slowly started to unravel mentally the closer Alex and I became, and did nothing to help me or stop him. Many of them despised me after John was fired. They blamed me. One of them paid his bail.
Once he was free, he hunted me down like prey and intentionally shot me in front of Alex. There are just too many bad memories associated with that place, and I need a new start.
"I'm thinking about…going out on my own." I hold my breath and stare at Jack trying to gauge his reaction.
He takes a deep breath, leans back in his chair, and strokes his chin. "I think that's a smart move for you—professionally. It's probably a good time for you to be your own boss. There is a certain satisfaction in being able to choose which clients you want to represent."
All the air rushes out of my chest. Warmth washes over me. "You have no idea how relieved I am right now."
A deep chuckle rolls through his body. "Do you have office space?"
I shake my head. "No, this idea is still pretty much in its infancy. I haven't even talked to Alex about it, yet."
"Well, I can't help you with Alex, but I can help you with the other. It just so happens I own the building where I first started as a sole practitioner too many years ago to count. The main level is a clothing boutique or some such thing. But the offices above are vacant. The tenant recently moved his office to a larger building with more space. So, it's yours, if you want it. It's on Main Street, not far from the courthouse, and still close enough we can meet for lunch."
"Yes, I want it,” I say without thinking about it. “Thanks." My head is spinning. I can't believe what started as a fleeting thought has mushroomed into reality in the span of a few short minutes.
"Nothing to thank me for. Let's meet in the next couple of days so you can see the place and get the keys."
"Great.” Before he can stand, I decide to delve into the deep end of the pool. There are things I need to know I’m not all that comfortable asking Alex about. “Um, Jack, I wanted to talk to you about the news program last night. Did you watch it?"
His face reddens and his lips flatten into a thin, white line. "Yes, I saw it. I didn't want to bring it up in front of Alex."
I nod my understanding. "I assume Geoffrey Hamilton is planning an appeal
for Alex's father. Do you think the allegations James is making against Alex will be an issue?"
"I would hope not, but I've been in this business a long time, and seen appeals granted on some pretty flimsy arguments."
"I'm going to meet with Matt tomorrow.”
“Hopefully, he'll know more." Jack shakes his head. "Hamilton is going to push this as far as he can, even if it means retrying the entire case in the court of public opinion. You can bet he's getting something in exchange for representation. I've never known Geoffrey to do anything out of the goodness of his heart."
We stand, rejoin Alex and Annabelle, and enjoy the remainder of the night. But Jack has me thinking—what does Alex's father have that Geoffrey wants? And how far is he willing to go to get it?
9
Thomas drops me off in front of the courthouse for my meeting with the DA. People fill the sidewalk, spilling into the street, holding up signs.
"I don't know how long I'll be," I say, leaning back into the vehicle to avoid the noise. "I don't imagine it will take too long, but I'll text you."
Thomas nods his head, gives me a two-finger salute, and drives away. People are chanting, holding signs over their heads, and making it difficult for anyone trying to gain access to the courthouse. I can't tell what they're saying, and I'm not sure I care, but they are starting to piss me off and are making me late for my meeting.
"Excuse me." I elbow one guy in his side, and he moves enough for me to get by him.
"Justice for James," he yells at me. I jerk my head up, stare at him for a moment. Anger rolls through me like lava spewing from a volcano. I can't believe what I’ve just heard. Then he thrusts his sign in front of me.
Alex Stone is a murderer.
I push past him and manage to reach the steps of the courthouse. One of the state troopers is standing at the door, making sure people coming in have a reason to be there. He opens the door, pulls me through, and closes it before the mob outside can worm their way in.
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