Darkness Before Dawn (24 page)

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 regain 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?”

“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.”