by Ace Collins
“No, we didn’t. We didn’t feel . . .”
“Thank you. Your Honor, the defense is through with this witness.”
And so it went, for every witness and every bit of solid testimony that Cheryl brought to light, Jasper Tidwell found a small hole. Could those small holes Tidwell uncovered influence an experienced Judge Truett enough to toss out the district attorney’s case? In Meg’s eyes, Cheryl was presenting ironclad proof that Thomas was guilty and Tidwell was bluffing, but what about the judge? How did he see it?
It was late in the afternoon when Cheryl called Meg to the stand.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“State your name.”
“Megan Elyse Hankins Richards.”
Cheryl smiled at Meg before beginning her questions. It was a reassuring smile meant only to calm her jitters. It didn’t work. Meg felt both Jasper Tidwell’s and Jim Thomas’s cold stares, and these overruled the assistant district attorney’s warm smile.
“Mrs. Richards . . . Meg,” Cheryl began. “No one would have known your husband any better than you. Hence, we have you here to back up the other things that his close friends and coworkers have already said about him. Did your husband drink?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Of course, I can and will enter his driving record into the court, but to the best of your memory had he ever had a ticket or an accident?”
“No,” Meg answered, her nerves now calming.
“Mrs. Richards, we all know how tough these proceeding have been on you today.” Using a Tidwell tactic, Cheryl turned toward the crowd. “And a woman in your condition doesn’t need to answer needless questions. So thank you for your time.”
As Cheryl took her seat the attention of the courtroom turned toward Jasper Tidwell. Glancing down at some notes on his table, he slowly pulled his large form from the chair and ambled across the room until he stood before Meg.
“Mrs. Richards,” he stated in a gentle voice. “Just like the assistant district attorney, I don’t want to keep you up here too long. I’m a considerate man, but there are a couple of questions that I must ask.
“You stated that your husband did not drink, it that correct?”
Meg nodded.
Tidwell continued. “Let it be shown that Mrs. Richards answered in the affirmative.”
Pausing for a moment, he walked back across the courtroom, looked at some printed pages, and after picking them up, strolled back to Meg. “I have several sworn statements from college friends of Steve Richards that say they knew him as a drinker.”
Glancing at Cheryl, Meg swallowed hard. “Steve did drink in college. He quit when he started going with me.”
“Oh,” Tidwell raised his eyebrows and glanced back toward the crowd, “so you are saying that he didn’t drink around you?”
“I didn’t say that,” Meg retorted, a bit of frustration and anger now evident in her tone.
“But, Mrs. Richards, when your husband was gone on business, you weren’t there, so you can’t be sure that he didn’t drink. After all, we have no blood alcohol report to verify that he didn’t. The state didn’t think one was necessary. I’m not blaming you for this, but in this case the state failed to do its job. So we don’t know how much Mr. Richards had to drink that night.”
Now visibly shaking, Meg watched the attorney once again cross the room. Glancing at some more notes, he looked back up, and from the defense table asked, “Your husband called you on the Thursday before his death and stated that he was almost finished with a big job. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Meg whispered.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Richards, what did you say?” Tidwell asked.
In a stronger voice, Meg answered, “Yes.”
“Well, if he had just finished a big job, maybe he celebrated a bit before he came home . . .”
“Steve wouldn’t have done that,” Meg argued.
“So you say, Mrs. Richards.” Tidwell’s tone was now sarcastic. “But you told the court that he didn’t drink either. Now, we have discovered through other testimony that he had been working long—twelve, fourteen, even sixteen-hour—days, in order to get home to you before your anniversary on that Friday. Mrs. Richards, Your Honor, all of you who are here in this courtroom, I propose that it is just as likely that this tired man fell asleep. I mean if he had worked as hard as his coworkers said and then maybe had a drink or two to celebrate. Or maybe even three or four . . .”
Meg, her eyes now filled with tears of anger, lashed out, “You didn’t know him. How can you say those things?”
“Your Honor, I object!” Cheryl’s words shot out like a cannon blast. “There is no excuse for this woman to be badgered like this. It only serves the purpose to satisfy the defense attorney’s huge ego.”
“Your Honor,” Tidwell yelled. “I will not stand here and take these insults from an attorney who is just learning her trade. Put her in her place!”
After banging his gavel, Truett pointed it at the defense attorney. “Jasper, cut the theater or I’ll hold you in contempt. And don’t think I won’t do it. But in fairness to the case, I must also overrule Ms. Bednarz’s objection. This testimony does tie in with the case and I must allow it. I do agree, however, that a more gentle tone is in order from Mr. Tidwell.”
Cheryl sat down. It was obvious she was not happy. Tidwell only smiled as he again approached the witness box.
“Mrs. Richards,” Tidwell began again in a softer tone. “How well did you really know your husband?”
The attorney looked directly at Meg, his eyes not leaving hers for at least fifteen seconds. Meg stared back but said nothing. In her blushing face, she showed a contempt that anyone in the courtroom could read; her brown eyes flashed fire through her tears.
Satisfied, the defense attorney smiled. “Your Honor, I’m finished with this witness. Thank you, Mrs. Richards.”
Meg was trembling with rage as she slowly stood. How dare he imply what he implied! What kind of a person would assassinate the character of a truly good man? How could he live with himself? Composing herself the best she could, Meg, her head down, quickly made her way through the gate and to her seat. Only after she sat down did the judge look at his watch and address the entire room.
“Ladies, gentlemen, as the hour is late, I recommend that we adjourn this proceeding until tomorrow morning at nine.”
With the pounding of the judge’s gavel, everyone arose, the session ended, and those watching got up to go home. But Meg remained seated.
“Meg, you okay?” Cheryl leaned over the railing and whispered.
She shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she looked toward the defense table and hissed, “Tidwell’s a snake. He’s as bad as Jim Thomas.”
“Don’t worry about Jasper,” Cheryl assured her. “I’ll take care of him. And in all honesty, I think we did pretty well.”
“Cheryl,” Meg inquired, “can you tell me now why no jury?”
“If Tidwell had lit into you like that in front of a jury,” she explained, “they probably would’ve tried to lynch his client right then and there. A judge usually doesn’t let that sort of thing affect him like a jury does. Hence, Tidwell got to use you, and abuse you, a little more than he would with a jury. Besides, Judge Truett and Judge Thomas have got to know each other pretty well and Tidwell figures that Truett might take that into account when deciding the case. So, the old man has got to paint his boy to be the saint and your husband to be something less. But he can’t step over the line and make himself look like the devil. He’s getting close to that right now. I think he blew it with you!”
“So I didn’t mess up?” Meg asked, her mournful eyes meeting those of the assistant district attorney.
“Meg,” Cheryl advised, “you were fine. Now you can’t do anything more here. Go home and get some rest. Come in here tomorrow looking even more pregnant. Tomorrow very well may be a wra
p.”
With that bit of advice, the two women walked side by side out of the courtroom. As they emerged into the wide, old hallway, Cheryl turned right and headed for her office to go over her notes. Meg made a left, marched down the steps, and drove straight home to take a shower and try to pull herself back together.
41
NIGHTMARES SO HAUNTED HER THAT AS THE HOURS WORE ON MEG GREW too fearful even to attempt sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she was back on the witness stand and Tidwell was badgering her again and again. As he ripped into her, he also tore Steve apart, taking the man she’d loved and transforming him into a monster. Worse yet, in spite of Cheryl’s warnings, Tidwell had found a spot in her head. In her dreams, the frumpy attorney pointed to the back of the courtroom where Steve was standing, cut and burned, looking like something out of a horror movie and holding a half-empty bottle of Buffalo Scotch in his right hand.
And then there was Jim Thomas. Every time she awoke from her fitful dreams he was there standing over the bed and smiling. It was almost like he was a ghost. And when she tried to reach out to hit him, the room was filled with wicked laughter and he disappeared—just evaporated into thin air.
Why was she so scared? Why had sleep become a prison? She knew why. It was because no matter what Cheryl said; Meg had blown it. She’d allowed Tidwell to get under her skin, prick her heart, and light a fire in her brain. And everything she’d said had helped the evil man paint Steve in such a dark light. If the judge let Thomas off, it would be her fault. She’d let Steve down and in the process she’d cooked her own chances of revenge. If she’d taken the deal, this would have never happened. What she thought she had been doing for Steve was destroying the only thing he had left—his character.
After a long night with little sleep, she yanked herself from bed, showered, and once more carefully got ready for her day in court. Too sick to eat a real breakfast, she was munching on a couple of saltines when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID before picking up.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are you doing?” Barbara asked, her voice just as sweet, caring, and condescending as it was when she taught the preschoolers at Sunday school.
“Okay, I guess. I think I messed up on the witness stand yesterday. I’m not so sure we aren’t going to lose the case.”
The line was silent for a few seconds before Barbara continued. “You want me to come down and sit with you. I’d be happy to. I’d have been there yesterday, if you’d asked.”
“No,” Meg quickly assured her. “I don’t want to be there with anyone I know. I need to do this by myself. But thanks for asking.”
Maybe it has been the discouraging day in court or perhaps the nightmares, but for the first time in weeks Meg actually felt a bit of warmth for her mother. She didn’t want her hovering around yet or once again becoming too involved in her life, but hearing her voice did offer a strange bit of comfort.
“If you need me, please call,” Barbara said.
“I will. Now I must get moving so I can be there when things start. I hope today is better than yesterday.”
“Megan, it will be.”
“Thanks, Mom, bye.”
Grabbing her purse, Meg made her way out the door and to the car. It was cool with a slight but bitter breeze. The sky was covered with clouds. Before this day was over it would likely rain. How she hoped the ominous weather was not a sign of what would happen in the courtroom.
42
MS. BEDNARZ,” JUDGE TRUETT’S VOICE WAS STRONG AS THE TRIAL’S SECond day began, “you may call your next witness.”
“The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”
Glancing up, the judge gave a nod toward Cheryl’s table and then turned to Jasper Tidwell. “Mr. Tidwell, do you have any witnesses?”
“We do, Your Honor.”
“Then let’s get on with it.”
“The defense calls Sam Chambers to the stand.”
Meg recognized Chambers as one of the two men she’d seen talking to Tidwell before yesterday’s session had begun. Appearing to be in his mid-thirties, he sported a clean-shaven face and thinning, light brown hair and looked very sharp in a dark blue suit and white shirt. If Tidwell wanted to begin the day with someone who appeared successful, he had chosen well.
“Mr. Chambers, just what is it that you do for a living?” Tidwell was looking at the prosecution’s table when he asked the question.
“I own Wilson Construction,” the witness stated matter-of-factly.
“Did you know Steven Richards?”
“Yes, he and one of his partners audited our books the week of the accident.”
Jasper Tidwell sought a degree of clarification. “The accident that we have been discussing in this court proceeding is the one to which you are referring?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How was Mr. Richards’s work?”
Exasperated, Cheryl voiced a complaint. “Your Honor, I hardly see how this has any bearing on this case.”
“Your Honor,” Jasper Tidwell interceded, his voice roaring. “I can clearly show where I’m going, that is, if you will just be patient enough to allow me to continue along this line for a few more moments.”
Judge Truett, weighing both requests, looked the defense attorney directly in the eye and said, “I will allow you a few more attempts to justify this line of questioning. But, Jasper, this had better not be one of your famous fishing expeditions. I don’t want this court’s time and money wasted. Now, answer the question, Mr. Chambers.”
“His work was superb. The best.”
Meg was hardly surprised by the response. What she couldn’t believe was that Tidwell was opening a door that made Steve look like such a model citizen. Maybe this day wasn’t going to be so bad after all!
“And were you surprised when he finished that work late on Thursday night?”
“No,” the businessman answered. “I mean, he pushed himself hard. I don’t know when he rested. He and his partner were great. I was so impressed with how fast they worked that I sent them a case of beer as a reward.”
Meg’s eyes darted to Cheryl and then back to the stand. So that was it. It was a set-up to make Steve look like the drunk driver.
“And when was this?” Tidwell asked now turning to look directly at Meg.
“Right after they finished on Thursday,” Chambers replied. “They deserved it. I had it sent right over to their room. Made sure it had already been chilled. I had no idea that either of them would be driving that night or I would have made different plans.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chambers,” then pausing for just a moment, the attorney turned to Cheryl and smiled. “Your witness.”
The assistant district attorney nodded but didn’t return the smile. Not bothering to glace at her notes, she pushed her chair back and quickly walked over to the witness.
“Mr. Chambers, I only have one question. Did you see or do you have any knowledge of Mr. Richards consuming any of that case of beer?”
“Well, ma’am, he didn’t return it,” Chambers’ reply brought a small giggle from two or three members of the audience.
“Do I have to repeat my question?” Cheryl sternly asked, ignoring the witness’s initial response.
His smile erased, Chambers quickly answered, “No, I didn’t see him drink any of the beer I sent over.”
“Did anyone else see him drink?”
“Not that I know of,” Chamber quickly answered.
“Do you even know if any of the beer was consumed at all?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chambers. Your Honor, I am finished with this witness.”
If Tidwell was surprised by Cheryl’s savvy counterpunch, he didn’t show it. Instead, he seamlessly moved on to his next witness.
“Your Honor, I call Drake Reason to the stand.”
After the witness was sworn in, Tidwell went to work.
“Mr. Reason what is your occupation?”
“I a
m an engineer for the Consumer Protection Agency.”
“What have your tests shown about the make and model of car Mr. Richards was driving on the night of the accident?”
“Some tests have indicated that this particular year and model had steering linkage problems that caused a loss of control.”
Tidwell smiled and continued, “So there could have been a malfunction that caused Mr. Richards to lose control of the car.”
“It is possible,” Reason explained. “It has happened before. There was a wreck in Boston last year where a failed linkage was determined to be a factor in the accident.”
“I see,” Tidwell said and nodded toward the opposing table. “Your witness.”
After Cheryl glanced through some notes, she looked back toward the witness stand. She didn’t bother getting up as she posed her question.
“How many wrecks?”
“Excuse me?” Reason replied.
“How many accidents have been attributed to the steering linkage issue?”
The expert licked his lips and moved his eyes toward the defense attorney. As he did, Cheryl pounced.
“Mr. Tidwell might well know the answer,” Cheryl said, as she got up from her chair and crossed to a point where the witness’s view of the other attorney was blocked, “but Mr. Tidwell is no more an expert in this matter that I am. So, as you are the expert, why don’t you answer the question? How many accidents?”
“Two,” Reason whispered.
“A bit louder,” Cheryl demanded.
“Two.”
“And those two accidents attributed to steering linkage were the only two reported in the six-year run of that make and model of car?”
“Yes,” Reason answered.
“And there was no recall ever requested by the government?”
“No, there was not.”
“I’m finished, Your Honor. And, if so needed, I can provide photographic proof and expert testimony that the steering linkage on Mr. Richards’s car was still in perfect condition after the wreck. As a matter of fact, I can even bring the vehicle to this court to prove that point, if necessary.” Cheryl shot a glare back to the defense table before calmly saying in her deep Texas drawl, “The ball is back in Mr. Tidwell’s court.”