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 wrap.”
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.
N
IGHTMARES SO HAUNTED HER THAT AS THE HOURS WORE ON
M
EG 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.
M
S
. B
EDNARZ
,” J
UDGE
T
RUETT
’
S VOICE WAS STRONG AS THE TRIAL
’
S SEC
ond 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.”