“In each of these reports you will find sworn testimony from every teenager who was
at the bon fire the night of the accident. They were deposed in front of a court reporter
and witnesses. Each one stated very clearly that James Thomas, the defendant, was
drinking both beer and scotch that night. In fact, he actually taught them a drinking
game.”
Cheryl glanced back toward Tidwell. He’d pushed both his hands into his hair. She
studied the old man for a moment before turning back to the judge. “We can produce
these eleven high school students and put them on the stand if you and Mr. Tidwell
would like.”
“It’s your call, Jasper,” Truett announced.
“Your Honor,” the defense attorney stammered, “I had no idea. I’m just as surprised
as you are in this matter.” He glanced back to the depositions and shrugged. “I see
no reason why we would need anyone to verify what they have already sworn to.”
Cheryl smiled. “May I continue my questioning of Mr. Thomas?”
“You may,” Truett assured her.
“I believe you told us that Steven Richards’s car lights were on high beam and thus
blinded you as you rounded the curve. Is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Cheryl walked quickly back to the prosecution’s table and picked up a piece of paper.
She studied it for a moment before moving back to the bench and handing the document
to the judge.
“Your Honor and Mr. Tidwell, Mr. Richards had an appointment with Gene’s Auto Service,
located on Abbott Road in Springfield for the Monday after the tragic wreck that claimed
his life. You will note this on the service agreement I have presented to the court.”
She paused a moment, looked back at Tidwell and smiled. “The week before he was killed,
Mr. Richards had received a warning ticket because one of his bright lights was not
working. He informed the head mechanic at Gene’s of this and that was the reason for
the service appointment. Thus, he was not driving with high beams that night and the
low beams would not have caused any distractions for other drivers including Mr. Thomas.”
Tidwell flew toward the bench where Truett handed him the document. The lawyer studied
it for just a moment before moving slowly back to his seat.
“No more questions, Your Honor,” Cheryl snapped as soon as her adversary sat down.
“Any follow-up questions, Jasper?” the judge asked.
Tidwell shook his head.
“Mr. Thomas,” Judge Truett flatly stated, “the court is finished with you. You may
step down.” Turning toward the defense table, the judge asked, “Mr. Tidwell, do you
have more witnesses?”
“No, the defense is finished.”
“Ms. Bednarz, is the prosecution completed?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Okay,” Judge Truett said, “if there are no objections, I will initiate a fifteen-minute
recess then I will come back and hear closing arguments. Court will reconvene at 2:20
p.m.”
Meg couldn’t believe Cheryl hadn’t drilled Thomas more. He had lied! Why hadn’t she
gone for the throat? Why hadn’t she really lit a fire under him? She had him in her
sights. Hadn’t she thrown in the towel too soon? Even with all the testimony working
in their favor, maybe this wasn’t a sure thing after all.
U
SING THE RECESS TO GET A DRINK OF WATER
, M
EG WAS SHOCKED TO RUN
into her mother walking down the hallway. Why was she here? After all, Meg had asked
her to stay home.
“Mom, I thought we agreed you weren’t coming?”
“I know,” Barbara answered, “but I couldn’t stay away either. Will you please let
me sit with you? Please let me be your mother again?”
In truth, that wasn’t too much to ask. Meg hadn’t anticipated that being alone was
going to be this disquieting. Meg needed someone there—especially if things didn’t
work out.
After Meg nodded in approval, Barbara asked, “What’s going on?”
As they walked side by side down the hall, Meg caught her mother up on the events
of today. The session was just beginning when the two of them reentered the courtroom
and seated themselves behind Cheryl.
Judge Truett looked out at the scene before him, adjusted his robe and glanced over
to the prosecutor. After catching the assistant district attorney’s eye, he asked,
“Are you ready Ms. Bednarz?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Cheryl stood at the table and, after taking two steps toward the bench, began, “I
don’t think there is any doubt that we have proven, despite all of the smoke screens
that Mr. Tidwell has thrown up, that James Thomas is guilty on all charges. If the
court does not rule so, not only will we in the county be guilty of freeing a man
who took another man’s life but we will be making a larger statement to any man or
woman in this county, this state, and even this country who drinks and drives in the
future. That message is ‘go ahead, you can get away with it.’ ” She paused, took a
deep breath and added, “Even if you kill someone.
“At some point the American system has to protect us against those who maim and murder
through the use of alcohol. If James Thomas,” Cheryl pointed toward the youth with
both her hand and eyes, “is cleared, then how many more of our youth, and even the
adults in this community, will think nothing of drinking and then driving?”
As she allowed the words to soak in she moved toward the center of the room. She stood
there a moment before picking up her arguments. “It is time, no, it is way past time
for us to get this kind of abuse off the streets and away from those who can be hurt.
The actions of James Thomas have left a pregnant woman alone and will leave a child
to wonder what his or her father was like. While the defendant lives, the innocent
party, as well as those who needed and depended on him, must pay a huge price. Meg
Richards and her unborn child have already been sentenced to a life without a husband
and a father. This happens over 12,000 times a year in this country. In these cases,
no court decides who dies, but rather that decision is in the hands of an alcohol-fueled
executioner. Now the time has come to find one of those executioners guilty.”
The assistant district attorney turned toward the Thomas family and continued, “In
this case, as in almost every other
case involving underage drinking, it was an adult who supplied the alcohol. The fact
that the adult in this matter might have been a member of the bench shows how little
regard most in America view the problem of underage drinking.
“In conclusion,” she said, once more facing the judge, “Your Honor, we have proven
our case. There can be no doubt. Now is the time and the only verdict that the evidence
can possibly call for is guilty. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bednarz,” the judge said from his bench. After she had taken her seat,
he turned to the defense. “Are you ready, Mr. Tidwell?”
Jasper Tidwell rose from his chair and stood behind his table. He exhibited little
of the confidence he’d displayed earlier. Far from employing his normal dramatic flair,
he glanced up at the bench and quietly said, “Sir, I do not believe that the prosecution
has proven its case beyond a shadow of a doubt. I believe that the law enforcement
agencies not only bungled their investigation but that there was a rush to judgment
against my client simply because of his youth. The police failed to check the blood
alcohol level of Steven Richards. That in itself shows a rush to judge. I also would
like to point out that in my view nothing presented by the prosecution has conclusively
proven who was at fault. Further, the thin evidence the state presented has been successfully
challenged by testimony and reports supplied by the defense.”
He looked back at his notes before picking up again. “Still, there has been a significant
loss here. A woman has lost her husband in an unfortunate accident. This accident
might just as easily have been caused by his impaired judgment, but we will never
know. Still, at the urging of my client, his family has shown their incredible compassion
by endowing a scholarship in the name of Steven Richards at our own university. That
is how forgiving the Thomas family is.”
Tidwell pulled his handkerchief out to wipe his brow and added, “If there is even
the faintest doubt as to who was at fault, then there can’t be a guilty verdict and
this is nothing more than a tragic accident. Your Honor, James Thomas is guilty of
nothing but attempting to avoid that accident. His very conduct through his entire
life has been much like any other youth in our community. His fiber is that of a young
man who will become the best we have to offer. You cannot find him guilty with the
proof of innocence so heavily in his favor. Once more, and I can’t emphasize this
enough, the evidence against him is flimsy at best. If anyone is guilty, it is the
hungry prosecution that so needlessly wasted your time and the county’s money.
“So, toss this case out the door, and then I suggest that you take a long look at
the manner and the reasons the grand jury and district attorney’s office use in deciding
who is persecuted,” smiling, Tidwell paused a moment, “I mean prosecuted in the county.
Thank you.”
With that, the grand old man wiped his brow in dramatic fashion and sat down.
The judge shook his head, “Jasper that is the shortest summation I’ve ever heard you
present.” Looking back to the rest of the court, Truett continued, “Ladies and gentlemen,
this court is now adjourned until such time as I have studied the testimony and feel
ready to render a verdict. I suggest that you stay close so that an officer of this
court can advise you when I have reached a decision. I can guarantee this case will
be decided by no later than early this evening.” With no further words, he got up
and departed for his chambers.
T
WO HOURS IS BARELY ANY TIME IN THE SPAN OF A LIFE OR EVEN A WEEK
. But when waiting for a verdict, two hours is an eternity.
During the time that had already passed, Meg had thrown up twice, downed three Cokes,
paced the hall outside the courtroom, and spent countless minutes replaying in her
mind both the trial and the events of the last two months. During these long minutes,
every person who came out of the courtroom raised her hopes, but each time when that
person had proven not to be a court officer, she had seen her hopes dashed.
Now as she sat at the conference table in the district attorney’s office, Meg felt
as if the world had stopped moving. Speaking to no one in particular, she asked, “How
long is it going to take?
“As long as it takes,” was the only reply Cheryl could muster.
“Don’t worry, Darling,” Barbara said in her best Sunday school teacher, comfort tone.
“It’ll all work out for the best.”
Meg glared at her mother. She was supposed to be here to support Meg and that meant
leaving her pious attitude at home! That eternal faith of hers! Why couldn’t she just
pitch the positive sentiment and get mad once in a while? Didn’t she ever get frustrated?
Didn’t she ever realize that things don’t
always work out for the best? Was there ever a point that she felt was worth fighting,
really fighting for, or did she always accept everything as God’s will?
As the two hours became three, Meg was questioning more and more if justice would
really be served. The testimony Tidwell had presented seemed so transparent to her,
but maybe the judge had not seen through it. After all, he hadn’t seen firsthand just
what kind of person Jim Thomas was. He hadn’t been publicly humiliated by Thomas like
she had at the cleaners. He hadn’t observed the way the teen really viewed the world
and life. So maybe the judge could be fooled by what Tidwell had done!
And what about Steve? Did Judge Truett really believe the horrible, unreal picture
that Tidwell attempted to paint? If he did, would he blame Steve for what happened?
This was a nightmare, one that apparently wasn’t going to end. As the time dragged
on, she rued more and more not taking the money.
Meg glanced over to Cheryl. “Is his taking this much time to reach a verdict working
against us?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “In most cases like this, we are waiting on a jury.
A judge is different. Each works at his own pace. Old Jasper is hanging this whole
case on the fact the police did not test Steve’s blood. That might convince one person
on a twelve-person jury, but I just can’t see that working with a judge deciding this
case. But you never know, after all, sometimes it rains even in West Texas.”
The assistant district attorney had no more than finished her analogy when there was
a knock at the door. A few seconds later a young man stepped into the room and announced,
“Ms. Bednarz, the judge will call the court to order and render his judgment in five
minutes. I suggest you come back into the courtroom now.”
“Finally,” Meg breathed. But what almost kept her in her seat was the question of
whether this was going to be good news. Was this the ruling she wanted to hear?
As Meg, her mother, and Cheryl took their places, Tidwell and the Thomas family filed
into the room from a side door. Over the course of the next three minutes, the spectators
and press filled the remainder of the seats. When the judge entered the room, the
milling throng grew silent.
Meg’s heart jumped into her throat as the stoic bailiff stood and announced, “This
court, the Honorable Judge Scott Truett presiding, is once again in session.”
As the judge sat down, he looked over the packed courtroom as if taking inventory
of those he knew and those that were strangers to him. Finally, after what seemed
like a lifetime, he began to speak. His voice was strong and his tone deadly serious.
“Ladies and gentlemen. The case that I have studied over the past few hours is not
one to take lightly. There are lessons to be learned from what transpired in both
the courtroom this week and on the highway not that long ago. I hope that those lessons
will not be overlooked by the press or by those members of the public who have viewed
these proceedings.