Darkness Before Dawn

by Ace Collins

  After climbing the outside steps, Meg pushed open the ten-foot doors and made her way into the hall. There were steps to the right leading to the second floor. Made of granite, they were worn from more than a century of men and women climbing them to see if justice would be served. And though she now wanted to turn and race out the door, to not make this final climb, Meg solemnly put her feet where so many others before her had trod. Reaching the top, she noted a friend marching down the hall toward her.

  “This is the day.” Cheryl grimly announced. “Are you ready?”

  A knot blocking her throat, Meg could only nod.

  She had also gotten up an hour early on this special morning just to make sure that her hair, as well as her makeup, painted the picture Cheryl needed. She chose a royal blue maternity dress, dark hose, and pumps. She picked this dress because it made her look much further along than she actually was.

  Cheryl stepped back and studied Meg. “You look perfect. It’s just what we need.”

  “Thanks.” At least one thing was going right. The assistant district attorney had requested Meg look like a demure mother-to-be—a woman that a jury would take pity on—and she had evidently succeeded.

  “Your look will earn the jurors’ sympathy,” Cheryl assured her. “That is the first step in getting the maximum sentence.”

  “Thanks. I went through four or five dresses before I felt right about this one.”

  “It’s just what we need,” Cheryl added.

  As she seated herself in a chair directly behind Cheryl’s place at the prosecutor’s table, she didn’t know how to deal with her contradictory emotions. She was experiencing butterflies, and while she had expected that, she also had a conflicting deep-rooted confidence the case was so cut-and-dry that they had to win. These two polar opposites were fighting a war for her mind. And right now neither was winning. In an effort to dismiss these emotions, she spent the final few minutes before things began taking stock of those who had gathered in this historic chamber. She didn’t know most, but there was one who really stood out.

  Jasper Tidwell was heavy, white-headed, and probably mid-sixties. Meg had expected the attorney to be slick, refined, and polished, but Tidwell was rumpled and wrinkled. He wore a baggy gray suit that must have been at least twenty years old, unpolished and scuffed brown shoes, and a wide, ugly, dark green tie decorated with yellow dots held in place by a large, brass tie clip, all pulled together, or maybe torn apart, by a light blue shirt. A month overdue for a haircut, his glasses seemed permanently attached at the bottom of his rather large nose. He really appeared to be more a feeble but kindly old man who spent his spare time feeding pigeons at the park than a member of the state bar. In fact, due to his attire and unkempt look, Tidwell seemed to be the lovable, gullible, grandfatherly type. Could this be the famed lawyer she had been told to fear? At first glance, he did not seem like the sly, evil man Cheryl had painted him to be.

  As Meg continued to study Tidwell, he leaned over the railing and started a conversation with two well-dressed gentlemen who looked to be businessmen. All three men were smiling as they spoke. By the time Tidwell spied Meg, he’d finished his conversation and pulled a pocket watch from his coat. After checking the time, he nodded and shot her a pleasant smile.

  “Meg,” Cheryl whispered.

  Turning her gaze back to the assistant district attorney, Meg raised her eyebrows to indicate an affirmative response.

  “Don’t let his looks mislead you,” Cheryl’s eyes were directed toward the defense table. “He’s a shark and a smart one, too. If he smells blood, he’ll go for it. There are hundreds of guilty folks walking free, thanks to Tidwell.”

  Meg nodded, not quite able to reconcile Cheryl’s words with what she was seeing. Still, the warning did serve to put her on guard.

  Standing up, Tidwell turned toward the back wall. Throwing his arms out and forcing a huge smile, he robustly welcomed Jim Thomas into the courtroom.

  “James, my boy, and how are we today?”

  Thomas, dressed in a conservative dark blue suit, white oxford cloth shirt, and silk tie, managed to force a smile of his own as he replied in a polite voice. “Fine, sir.”

  Now showing his true colors, the grandstanding Tidwell made a big show of walking halfway down the center aisle of the room to embrace the boy. Then, in a voice just loud enough so the crowd could overhear but not loud enough to appear as if he had wanted them to overhear, he asked. “Is your father, Judge Thomas, coming?”

  “He’ll be along in a second,” the younger Thomas assured the attorney.

  “Oh, good.” A whimsical smile now filled the Tidwell’s face. “There’s no doubt, my son, of all the men I have practiced before, your father, Judge Alfred E. Thomas, is the finest. Our community is blessed to have him. Fine man, a very fine man!” Glancing around the almost-full room as if to make sure that all those present had heard, the attorney then slapped his client on the back and the two of them walked toward the front of the courtroom. As they passed the row where Meg sat, Tidwell announced just loud enough for Cheryl and Meg to overhear, “Don’t worry, James, we’ll have this little misunderstanding cleared up in no time.”

  Cheryl shook her head. She had likely seen this kind of stuff out of Jasper Tidwell on many occasions. She’d even warned Meg that the old man always played the crowd to try to unhinge the prosecution’s emotions. Yet while those from the district attorney’s office had long since learned to handle it, Meg’s blood was boiling. How dare this man refer to Steve’s death as a little misunderstanding! She glared at the bench where Thomas and Tidwell were sitting, and just as she did, the attorney turned around and smiled at her. He continued to stare and grin until she finally turned the other way.

  “Meg,” Cheryl’s tone was very assertive. “Ignore him. He wants you to get mad. That’s his plan. Don’t let him get to you. Stay cool.” Cheryl reached over the railing and patted Meg’s hand in an attempt to calm her down. It didn’t work. There were now two people in the courtroom the young widow hated.

  A tall, thin man Meg hadn’t noticed suddenly stood up and cried out, “All rise, this session of the Third District Court is now in session, the honorable Judge Scott M. Truett presiding.”

  Judge Truett, a short balding man in his mid-forties, walked through a door in the front of the room, up three steps, took his seat, and signaled for all to do likewise. Afraid to move her gaze back to Tidwell, Meg stayed focus on the man in charge of these proceedings.

  The judge appeared to be a no-nonsense person, someone whose face Meg would not be able to read. She sensed he might not buy the stunts the defense team was sure to try. But would that make a difference? Would anything make a difference? Had she made a mistake in not taking the money and running? She would know soon enough.

  After the charges had been read, the judge recognized Jasper Tidwell’s motion to approach the bench.

  “Your Honor, it is indeed a pleasure for me to practice in front of such a scholar of the . . .”

  “Jasper, you gave me this speech just a few weeks ago, so cut the flowers, and get right to the dirt. What do you want?”

  Tidwell smiled, momentarily bowed his head, and continued. “All we request, Your Honor, is to do away with a jury trial and try this case directly before you. We know you to be a wise and fair man, sir.”

  Judge Truett glanced down at the list of charges, read them over again, and didn’t look up. “Mr. Tidwell, you and your client want to try this case in front of me, thus waving a jury by this man’s peers. Is that right?” There was irony in his tone.

  “That is correct.” Tidwell replied with a slight grin.

  Looking past the attorney, Judge Truett spoke directly to the defendant. “Young man, do you understand that I will be the sole judge of your guilt or innocence?”

  Jim Thomas simply shook his head.

  Truett then turned his attention to the other side of the room. “Ms. Bednarz, will you agree to this request?”

  “
May I have a short conference, Your Honor?”

  “You may.”

  Cheryl turned and leaned over the railing toward Meg. As the women’s heads came close, the attorney whispered, “I think this will work in our favor. It will be easier to sway one person rather than twelve.”

  “So this is all right?” Meg asked.

  “Do you trust me?” Cheryl asked.

  Meg nodded.

  The assistant district attorney turned back to the bench and announced, “The prosecution has no objections Your Honor.”

  “Very well,” the judge said. “That will save us some time. If you are a part of the jury pool and are here waiting to be questioned, you may leave.” After two dozen men and women of all shapes and sizes had made their way from the courtroom, the judge looked at Thomas. “Will the defendant rise?”

  Thomas stood up beside his lawyer. As soon as he did, Truett asked, “Mr. Thomas, how do you plead?”

  Jasper Tidwell answered, “My client pleads not guilty, Your Honor.”

  “All right, then,” Truett flatly replied. “Let’s get on with the opening arguments. Ms. Bednarz, as you will be representing the prosecution, are you ready to proceed?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Cheryl, pushing her chair out from behind the table, stood up and began her opening remarks. “Your Honor. We the people will prove that James Thomas, even though under age, did illegally possess, consume, and become intoxicated on alcohol. And then, while in this state, caused an automobile accident that resulted in the death of Steven Richards. Thus, making Mr. Thomas guilty of the crime of vehicular homicide as well as each of the lesser crimes that are listed in the indictment handed down by the grand jury.”

  As she finished her initial remarks, she looked directly at James Thomas. The boy’s eyes coldly stared back at her. After a span of at least thirty seconds, Cheryl broke off her gaze and continued her opening remarks.

  “Your Honor, this case is special, not just because a man has been killed, but because this death was such a waste, a terrible tragedy. The man who died was a model citizen, an important member of our community, active in both civic and church work, and an expectant father. Hence, James Thomas’s reckless nature, as well as his consumption of alcohol, has cost not only a community, but a wife, a mother, and an unborn child.”

  As Cheryl set down, the judge pointed his gavel toward the defense table. “Mr. Tidwell, you may give your opening remarks now. If possible—and after many years of watching you first hand, I doubt it will be possible—make them brief.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” the old attorney replied as he stood. Turning toward the audience, he made a big show of removing his glasses, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully cleaning both lenses, and then returning the glasses to their place on the tip of his sizeable nose. During his entire performance, one that lasted nearly a minute, he didn’t speak a word and he never took his eyes off of Meg. She’d never felt so uncomfortable.

  “Your Honor,” Tidwell began, turning toward the judge’s platform, “no one in this courtroom will argue that the loss of Mr. Richards’s life was a tragic one. Surely, all of us feel for his widow and unborn child, my client as much as anyone. Judge Truett, I can’t tell you how deeply this young man’s death has affected Mr. Thomas. Still, there is nothing that he can do that will bring Mr. Richards back to life. Furthermore, we will prove that James Thomas was not the reason that Mr. Richards died.”

  As Tidwell allowed his words to sink in, he glanced back toward Meg. He studied her intently for a few seconds and continued to push his withering gaze in her direction as he picked up his remarks.

  “The charges that have been presented by the prosecution are simply inaccurate and a wild attempt to pin the blame for an accident on someone who was just as much a victim of this tragedy as Mr. Richards. As a matter of fact, even though my only duty here is to prove that my client is not guilty of those crimes and to see that justice does prevail, I will also show through my witnesses, the real party who was at fault, as well as show the extent that some within the local district attorney’s office will go to in an attempt to embarrass one of this community’s finest families.”

  Turning his gaze from Meg to Cheryl, Tidwell paused for a moment, and then, in a strong, powerful voice roared, “That is all, Your Honor.”

  Meg was in shock, anger consuming her like a fire would a pile of dead brush. She glanced back toward Cheryl hoping her ally was mirroring the same emotion. Yet the assistant district attorney hadn’t even raised an eyebrow.

  Judge Truett, a pencil in hand, wasting no time, said, “Your first witness, Ms. Bednarz.”

  “The state calls Silas Ragsdale,” Cheryl responded.

  After the witness was sworn in and took the stand, Cheryl began her examination.

  “Mr. Ragsdale, how do you earn your living?”

  “I’m a state trooper,” the tall, rugged, uniformed man answered.

  “In that capacity were you called to an accident on Route 44, on Friday, March 4?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Officer Ragsdale, in your own words, can you tell us what you found that morning.”

  “Officer Bill Johnson was with me and when we arrived at the scene we observed that two cars had been involved in a head-on collision. The first car I came to was on fire with a man trapped inside. I grabbed an extinguisher, as did Officer Johnson, and we put the flames out enough to check on the status of the man, an individual whom I later learned was Steven Richards. He was dead. On checking the fate of the persons in the other car, I discovered all but one of the five passengers to be unhurt. That one, James Thomas, had a cut on his head. Paramedics who had arrived just as we did informed me that the boy—Thomas”—Ragsdale pointed toward the defendant—”would need to be transported to the hospital. As I had already noted a large number of beer cans and empty bottles of Buffalo Scotch in the car in which the kids were riding and upon finding out that Thomas had been driving that vehicle, I asked the paramedics to order a blood test on the individual when he was treated at Springfield Community Hospital.”

  “Officer Ragsdale,” Cheryl broke in, “according to your report, who was at fault?”

  “In our report, we concluded that the car driven by James Thomas caused the accident. If you like, we have some slides that will explain why we came to that conclusion.”

  The courtroom had already been prepared for this visual aid and within two minutes the lights had been turned down and the computer began flashing color images up on the screen.

  “As you can see in this photograph, the skid marks on the highway indicate that the Thomas car crossed the center lane and ran head-on into the Richards vehicle. From the damage shown in the next slide, as well as the length of the skid marks, we have concluded the Thomas vehicle was traveling at a very high rate of speed. In excess of eighty miles an hour.”

  Meg’s eyes focused on what had been left of Steve’s car. She had not gone to the wrecking yard to see it nor had she given much thought as to what kind of shape it must have been in. Still, as image after image demonstrated the extent of the damage, she quickly understood why he had been so brutally injured. The last slide, one of the inside of the vehicle, showed large amounts of fresh blood dripping from where the door had been torn from the car, forming a pool on the street. Even though she was a nurse and was used to gory injuries, Meg had to turn her head to keep from throwing up.

  For the first time since the night of the wreck, the trauma began to take its toll. This impact was so great her head began to swim, causing Meg to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Try as she could to focus her energies and attention back on the stand, the picture of the car still invaded her mind, forcing her to consider time and time again her great loss. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought about what Steve must have felt and been thinking during his last moments. The image of various parts of his own car piercing his body cut through to her heart. It was some minutes before she was able to re
gain enough control to glance back at the stand. When she did look up, the Thomas car was being shown. It, too, had been wrecked beyond recognition, and yet, except for one small cut on Jim Thomas’s head, the kids had walked away unhurt. How?

  The lights came back up as Cheryl turned her attention from the screen toward Thomas and Tidwell and announced, “I’m finished with this witness.”

  After the assistant district attorney took her place behind the table, Tidwell slowly rose and approached the trooper.

  “Officer Ragsdale, you stated that your investigation proved that the Thomas vehicle was at fault. You said that the skid marks from that vehicle were on the wrong side of the road. Tell me, in your expert opinion, could it have been possible for those skids marks to have been on the wrong side of the road because James Thomas had been forced to cross to that side of the road in order to avoid Steven Richards’s vehicle that had been traveling on the wrong side of the road?”

  “I guess it could have been possible, but . . .” The trooper’s answer was cut off by Tidwell’s response.

  “Not only was it possible, but that is the way it happened.” Turning away from the stand and facing Meg, Tidwell struck again. “Officer Ragsdale, can you be 100 percent certain that Steven Richards’s vehicle was not the one traveling at too high a rate of speed? I mean, the skid marks end where the two vehicles plowed into each other, so how can you tell which was going the fastest? That is with 100-percent certainty.”

  “Well,” the officer answered, “our tests showed that . . .”

  “Officer,” Tidwell jumped in, “and the independent tests that I had done by a former lead investigator for the FBI show just the opposite. Can you say, and I want you to listen to this very carefully, to 100-percent certainty, that you are right and the tests that noted expert Jason Rolling conducted were wrong?”

  “I can be pretty sure . . .”

  “Officer Ragsdale,” Tidwell whirled and stared directly into the trooper’s eyes. “Pretty sure is not enough. Did you get any alcohol blood test on Steven Richards?”