“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 am 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.”
Undaunted, Tidwell played his next card by trotting up a host of witnesses, who testified
to the nature and character of James Thomas. These talking heads ranged from fellow
students, to coaches, neighbors, scoutmasters, teachers, and businessmen. Each of
them painted a picture of Thomas as a perfect model for American youth. The testimony
made it sound as if the boy was up for sainthood. Still, Cheryl was able to knock
holes in these stories, too.
Upon cross-examination, a number of the students admitted that the underage Thomas
had been known to drink, even occasionally get drunk. The linchpin moment came when
Cheryl cross-examined Matt Craig.
“Mr. Craig, you claim to be James Thomas’s best friend, is that correct?”
“Yes,” the six-foot, solidly built young man answered. As he waited for the next question,
his dark brown eyes sought out Tidwell. The attorney smiled.
“Mr. Craig,” Cheryl continued, “you were not with Mr. Thomas on the night of the accident.
Is that correct?”
“No, I was home that night.”
“I believe you were grounded. Is that correct?”
All the color abruptly drained from Craig’s face, his confused expression clearly
spelling out his shock. As he struggled to find words, Cheryl continued.
“I can bring witnesses, including your mother and girlfriend, who will not only confirm
that you were grounded but will give the reason as to why.”
“Your Honor,” Tidwell barked from his table, “the fact that he was grounded that night
has no bearing on this case.”
Truett looked down at the assistant district attorney, “Can you justify this line
of questioning?”
“Yes sir, and as this is Mr. Tidwell’s witness and he opened up the door, I plan on
walking through it and revealing the skeletons in the closet.”
“Then go ahead,” Truett suggested.
“Mr. Craig, why were you grounded by your parents?”
The boy sheepishly answered, “I got caught drinking.”
“Was it at a party?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“At whose house?”
Craig took a deep breath. “Jim Thomas.”
“And did Jim Thomas supply the alcohol that night?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The kid scratched he head before adding, “well, actually his father
did. The judge always got the booze for us. He didn’t want his son getting picked
up buying with a fake ID.”
Cheryl smiled as she glanced back to Tidwell and then deeper into the courtroom to
Judge Thomas. “I think that is all I need from this witness.”
Truett dismissed Craig. When the teen had exited the courtroom, he glanced over to
the prosecution’s table.
“Miss Bednarz, if an investigation has not yet begun, I suggest your office get with
the police chief and validate Mr. Craig’s testimony. If he has lied about who supplied
the alcohol for these parties, then I will charge him with perjury. If what he says
is true, then the adult who supplied that alcohol needs to be charged and dealt with.”
Glancing at his watch, the judge looked up and said, “This is the end of the morning
session. We will begin again at 1:30.”
As Meg got up, she felt a lot better than she had when she’d walked into the courtroom.
Cheryl had anticipated every move Tidwell was going to make and was ready to counter.
Her preparation had likely come as a shock to the defense, but what would the crafty
old attorney do next?
O
VER LUNCH AT A NEARBY
S
UBWAY
, M
EG ASKED
C
HERYL THE QUESTION
that was likely on the minds of everyone who witnessed the morning’s proceedings.
“How did you know what Tidwell was going to do? Every time he made some kind of move,
you pulled out a trump card?”
“It was nothing really,” she modestly explained. “Everyone knew he’d trot out folks
who’d attempt to make Thomas look like the all-American, innocent kid. So I spent
the last month looking at every possible person that Tidwell would likely use and
did research on them. The Craig kid likely hadn’t told Tidwell about his checkered
past. So I went to his girlfriend and mother to discover why the guy who was usually
Thomas’s shadow was not there that night. The mother slipped up and said she was so
glad she grounded him. The rest of the information came easily after that.”
“But the consumer affairs guy,” Meg noted. “How did you have the information you needed
at your fingertips?”
“Oldest trick in the book,” Cheryl explained. “When you can’t blame the man, blame
the vehicle. I did full research on the make and model to see what Tidwell would find.
The car was simply well-made and had few problems. But I’m sure
Tidwell thought I was too green to already have those facts in hand. He was expecting
me to be surprised by that move. I loved watching him wilt when I had more facts on
the matter than he probably did.”
Meg nibbled on her sandwich before posing the question that she really was afraid
to ask. “Are we winning?”
Cheryl shrugged. “I can’t read Judge Truett and I doubt if anyone can. I do know he
is a pretty good friend of the Thomas family. But he also has the reputation of not
letting anything stand in the way of the truth.”
“So you think he’ll make a judgment just on the evidence?” Meg asked.
“Yeah. Let’s review what has happened in the first day and a half. Tidwell has attempted
to cast doubt upon Steve’s character and I just don’t think he’s done it. He also
attempted to paint Thomas as an angel and I think we beat that one, too. Then, in
a move I had expected, Craig volunteered that it was Judge Thomas who supplied the
booze for the kid’s parties. So I think Jasper has to be worried, and if I am right,
the only thing he can do to shore up his case is to call Thomas to the stand. I sure
hope that’s what he does.”
“So you want to take on Thomas?” Meg asked.
“If I were Tidwell,” Cheryl shot back, “I’d be scared of having me go after him. He
has seen how well I’ve been prepared. But Tidwell is in a hole and he really has no
choice because the blood evidence doesn’t lie. His client was drunk. So he has to
put him there and let the chips fall where they may. That may shore up his guilt,
but not putting Thomas up there will certainly seal his doom.”
Meg nodded, a rush of warmth filling her heart. Maybe they could beat the Thomas money
after all.
Cheryl’s eyes drifted to a far window. As the light caught in those baby blues, she
smiled grimly. “Meg, I want him to feel
my wrath. I want to treat him like I wish I could have treated my father’s killer.
I want the chance to deliver the final blow for the prosecution by personally knocking
the cover off the man who was responsible for killing your husband. I want Jim Thomas
to pay the price for every person who has ever used a car and a bottle as a weapon.
I can’t begin to explain how badly I want that!”
Cheryl turned her attention back to the woman across the table. “How did you sleep
last night?”
Shaking her head, Meg answered, “Not well. I was so mad I just tossed and turned.”
“Well,” Cheryl smiled, “tonight you’ll sleep, and if I’m right, sleep very well. I
think we’ll have a verdict by the end of the afternoon.” Looking at her watch, she
continued, “Okay, time to get back.”
Meg took a last sip of her Coke. Would this be the day when she could put this huge
weight of retribution off her shoulders and onto the person who should be carrying
the load? Would she be able to visit Steve’s grave tonight and tell him that she had
won?
O
NCE THE AFTERNOON SESSION OPENED UP
, J
ASPER
T
IDWELL DID JUST
what Cheryl had predicted. Still, it was easy for anyone to see the defense attorney
didn’t look very pleased when he called Jim Thomas to the stand. Maybe sensing the
verdict was no sure thing, the young man looked nervous and afraid as the questioning
began.
“Mr. Thomas,” Tidwell’s voice was kind and gentle, almost grandfatherly as he began,
“on the night in question, in your own words, tell me, and this court, exactly what
happened?”
“Well, sir,” the boy began, “a few of my friends and I had been out having a little
party. Nothing big, just laughing and stuff around a bon fire out at the lake. The
fire was dying down and it was getting cold so we decided to go to Susie’s, excuse
me, Miss Milam’s house. On the way, I looked up and saw this car barreling around
a curve, his lights on bright, in my lane.
“I guess I just reacted, I don’t know, but I swerved into the other lane and he followed
me, probably trying to avoid me and correct his own mistake. I put on my brakes, but
I couldn’t miss him.”
“I see,” Tidwell stated, nodding his head as if in approval of the story. “Now this
is very important. Think carefully before
you answer my next question. Had you been drinking that night?”
“No, sir,” the boy quickly replied. “The others had, but I didn’t because I was driving.
I didn’t feel that would be responsible, sir.”
Meg could hardly believe the piety the boy was attempting to show. She looked around
and noted that very few other folks seemed to be buying it either. But what about
Judge Truett? She couldn’t read his face. He remained as stoic as he had been throughout
the entire trial.
“But, James,” the attorney said, “at the hospital the blood test indicated that you
had some alcohol, an amount over the state’s legal limit, in your blood. If you didn’t
drink, how can you explain that?” Tidwell turned after asking the question, strolled
over to an area just in front of the prosecution’s table, faced the audience, and
waited for a response.
Clearing his throat, Thomas began his explanation. “Well, when the wreck happened,
I hit my head. As a matter of fact, you can see the scar,” he pointed to a long mark
on his forehead. “Anyway, I was knocked out cold and in an attempt to bring me around,
one of the kids poured some scotch down my throat. When I came to, my girlfriend poured
some more in my wound to help stop any chance of infection.”
“So,” Tidwell, now turning back toward his witness, concluded, “you actually had nothing
to drink before the accident. And the car driven by Steven Richards, the one that
the prosecution claims you struck, blinded you with its bright lights and actually
hit you. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
During the entire line of questioning, Thomas delivered his answers like a pro. Not
once did he ever sound or appear anything but completely sincere.
“Ms. Bednarz,” Judge Truett asked, “do you have any questions?”
“I believe I have some pretty good ones,” she replied from her seat.
A few seconds later, Cheryl got up from her chair and moved like a cat toward the
witness. She glared at him for about thirty seconds and then in a low, steady voice
inquired, “Mr. Thomas, do you actually expect us to believe that your blood count
went to 1.4 because of one shot of whiskey administered to bring you around after
you hit your head?”
“That’s the way it happened,” the boy resolutely answered. He then continued, “Of
course, I’m no chemist, so I couldn’t tell you the levels or anything.”
“No,” Cheryl smiled, “you’re not a chemist, and you are not a very good liar either.”
“Your Honor!” Jasper Tidwell’s voice roared throughout the courtroom.
The assistant district attorney was ready. With no hesitation she marched to her table
and picked up two stacks of paper. She dropped one stack on the defense table and
handed the other to the judge. As the two men looked through the documents, she explained
what they would find.