Hannah watched as Matt sorted through a stack of documents, and Finch and Brian whispered in some sort of consultation.
“Well, this is it.” Carol turned to Hannah.
Hannah massaged her temples. “I can’t believe it’s finally over.”
Carol nodded, her eyes distant. “I remember this part.” She looked sadly at Hannah. “Be careful.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve convinced yourself that a conviction will bring you peace, it’ll release the anger that’s tearing you up. It’s the answer to all the problems left behind when Tom and Alicia died.”
“It’s all I want.” Hannah felt the beginning of tears.
“I know. That’s all I wanted, too. But it took me a long time before I found the secret to having peace in my life again.”
What was she talking about? Didn’t she know how much Hannah’s head was pounding? How confused she was already? Hannah didn’t need this. “It’s no secret, Carol. When that animal is locked up, Tom’s and Alicia’s deaths won’t be in vain.”
“But there won’t be peace.”
Hannah was silent.
Carol reached out and took Hannah’s hand in hers. “And even a conviction won’t bring Tom and Alicia back.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” She had fought the front line of this battle, and now they had almost reached a victory. There would always be sadness, but a guilty verdict would bring Hannah peace no matter what Carol said. Immediate, perfect peace.
Carol’s eyes were so sad Hannah wanted to weep. “Okay. But if you still feel empty when it’s all over, I’ll be here.”
“The only way I’ll feel empty is if Brian Wesley walks out of this courtroom a free man. And personally, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Now let’s change the subject before you ruin my day.”
Twenty-nine
They mock me in song all day long.
LAMENTATIONS 3:14B
Closing arguments were about to begin, and for the first time all week the jury looked wide-eyed and attentive. An air of excitement buzzed through the courtroom as reporters speculated and spectators recounted evidence in the case. If history were going to be made in Judge Horowitz’s courtroom, they wanted to remember every detail. Especially the lawyers in attendance. Someday it would make for great storytelling: the case that changed California drunk driving laws forever.
Matt spoke first, reminding the jurors of Brian’s history of drinking and driving. He moved quickly to the day of the accident. “No one wants to get news from the boss that he’s been laid off.” He walked slowly back and forth in front of the jurors, meeting their intent gazes. “Mr. Wesley packed up his things, loaded his truck, and headed for the road. That’s when he made his first choice. He could have gone home. Instead he went to the bar.”
Matt stopped and leaned against the railing. He walked the jurors through Brian’s every movement that afternoon, emphasizing the choices Brian had made: the choice to go to the bar, the choice to drink, the choice to get drunk, the choice to drive home, the choice to ignore warnings from Carla, the state, and finally the bartender.
“Brian Wesley made deadly choice after deadly choice. Regardless of his history.” Matt stared at Brian for a moment, and Hannah watched the jurors do the same. Matt faced them again. “Brian Wesley signed a document agreeing that to make those very choices was to risk life. He knew his choices were deadly.” Matt paused. “He told you so himself.”
He told you so himself. Hannah closed her eyes, and suddenly she was sucked back to a moment, decades earlier … it was Tom’s mother saying those words, days after he proposed to her.
Hannah had been fretful that afternoon. “I don’t know, Mrs. Ryan, he spent so long loving that other girl …”
Tom’s mother had set a plate of warm cookies on the table and motioned for Hannah to sit. “Oh, no, dear. He never loved her like he loves you, not for a moment.”
“But how can I know he really loves me?”
“Hannah, dear, you know he loves you. He told you so himself.”
Told you so himself … told you so … told you so …
If there had been a way back—a river to swim, a bridge to cross, an ocean to sail—she would have taken it. She would go back to that warm, Southern California afternoon when she and Tom’s mother were speculating about the future, and she would start over again. Relive every day, every minute with Tom. And Alicia. And Jenny. The way everything was before. And when it came to that terrible day last August, she would stop time.
If there was a way.
Hannah felt the sting of tears, and she opened her eyes reluctantly. Matt was still speaking, and she chastised herself. She had to pay attention. It was Brian Wesley’s final hour. After this she would have peace. Finally.
Matt’s voice was deliberate and intense. “I want you to close your eyes for a moment. Go ahead, close them.” He waited until the jurors did as he asked. “Okay now. I want you to imagine three people you love dearly are in a vehicle … coming home from a summer camping trip.” Matt waited. “Can you see them? See their smiles? Hear their laughter, hear the fish tales and the retelling of campfire stories? Can you see them?”
Matt walked silently across the courtroom and stopped in front of Hannah. He held out his hand wordlessly. She nodded, reaching into a bag she’d brought for this moment. Inside were two photos. One of the Ryan family, taken the Christmas before the collision. The other of Tom and Alicia. She handed them over to Matt and watched him carry them carefully back to the jury.
“Keep your eyes closed, please.” He began pacing again, this time staring at the photos of Hannah’s family. “Coming the other direction is Brian Wesley. A man with so many drunk driving arrests the system’s nearly lost count. A man who by drinking and driving has already caused two traffic collisions. A man who has signed a statement—signed a legal document—agreeing that for him to drink and drive again could very likely result in death. His or someone else’s. A man who has been warned, over and over again. A man who knows that the gun he’s wielding is loaded.”
The courtroom was so quiet Hannah wondered if everyone could hear her beating heart.
Matt continued, his voice softer still. “Can you see him? Guzzling fourteen drinks over a two-hour span, stumbling out of the bar and heading toward his pickup truck? Can you hear Nick Crabb asking him to wait for a cab? Listen, now. Hear him swear at this young, inexperienced bartender. Can you see him storm out of the bar? Hear his tires squealing as he peels out onto Ventura Boulevard?”
Matt stopped and stared at the jurors, who sat with their eyes still closed. “This is a man who has chosen to drink and drive despite the risks, despite the potential for death. Can you see him behind the wheel, eyes barely open?”
Matt’s words came faster now, louder, his tone more urgent. “Now picture your loved ones again, getting off the freeway, their car loaded with camping gear, almost home. They head for the intersection—the same intersection Brian Wesley is about to plow through. Your loved ones move through that intersection at the exact same instant—” Matt stopped, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy with sorrow. “And in that moment, those three people you love so much are obliterated by an impact as severe as a freight train. One of your loved ones is dead before she ever knew what happened. Another is dead minutes later. The third, alive … but forever devastated.”
Hannah was barely aware of the tears sliding down her cheeks. She watched as Matt drew close and leaned against the railing so that he was only inches from her. “You can open your eyes.”
The jurors did so but instead of looking at Matt, they stared at Hannah.
“You have not met Hannah Ryan. She has nothing to add to the testimony in this case. But if those had been your loved ones killed by Brian Wesley’s speeding truck, if that were you sitting there—” he gestured toward her—“where Hannah’s sitting, would you think it was an accident? No. You’d think it was intentional murde
r. First-degree murder.”
Finch squirmed in his seat.
Matt held up the pictures and stared at the faces of Hannah’s family once more. Then he looked back at the jury. “It’s up to you.”
The jury strained to see the photos, and Matt moved closer, positioning them so each of the twelve could study the smiling faces, frozen in a moment that was gone forever.
“It’s up to you to open the door. Pave the road to a new California, a place where people will think twice before drinking and driving. A place where people like Brian Wesley won’t have a chance to load up and shoot because they’ll be behind bars.
“You hold the keys, and I ask you—” Matt turned the photos so he could see them once more—“I beseech you on behalf of Tom and Alicia Ryan, on behalf of young Jenny Ryan and her mother, Hannah. I beg you on behalf of your own loved ones who deserve safer streets. Please … return a guilty verdict. What Brian Wesley did to Hannah Ryan’s family was not an accident. Let’s stop calling it one. Thank you.”
Finch wasted no time. He struggled to his feet, coughed, adjusted the buttons on his vest, cleared his throat. Papers rustled in his hands. Hannah realized he was doing everything he could to break the mood Matt had masterfully created.
He smiled at the jurors and gestured toward them as if they were family gathered for a summer reunion.
“Now you folks are a lot smarter than the district attorney might think.” He smiled broadly, dabbing quickly at the perspiration on his forehead. “The good D.A. asks you to close your eyes and imagine. I never heard of anything so ridiculous in all my life.” Finch shook his head disdainfully and leaned his belly over the railing, propping himself up on both elbows and looking hard at the jurors. “How dare the district attorney ask you to close your eyes in this case? I will ask you to open your eyes. Open them wide. Look at the defendant.”
Twelve pairs of eyes shifted toward Brian Wesley. Hannah scowled at him through narrow eyes, hating the way he hung his head. Only a worthless human being would try to look humble now. She gritted her teeth. He was detestable. Certainly the jury could see that much.
Finch smiled at Brian, and when it was obvious there would be no eye contact between attorney and client, Finch turned back to the jury. “He’s not a killer.” The attorney searched the faces of the jurors. “You needn’t fear him in dark alleys like some hardened criminal. Mr. Wesley is an alcoholic. He needs help. Your help.”
Finch paused and raised an eyebrow. “You know, what happened to Brian Wesley could have happened to you. Drink a few too many, wind up in a tragic accident.” He straightened his arms, rising several feet above the jurors. “But that doesn’t make you a killer, anymore than it makes Mr. Wesley one. He made a series of poor choices. But Brian Wesley did not set out on the afternoon of August 28 to kill two people. The prosecution has not proven that in this courtroom. They have not proven that Brian Wesley chose to kill that day. No. He didn’t set out to kill. He just wanted to get home.”
Finch moved away from the railing and adjusted his vest buttons. “He was a guy down on his luck who drank a few too many, a guy who wanted to get home. It was an accident, folks. We feel for the family, the victims. But that doesn’t change the facts. Brian Wesley never intended for anyone to die. And murder one means a person must intend to kill. Please, folks—” Finch gripped the railing with both hands and once more leaned toward the jury, his voice filled with passion—“Vote with your heads and not your hearts this time. You convict Brian Wesley of murder one in this case, and the next person serving a life sentence for drunk driving might be someone you love. It might even be you.”
Finch was finished, and it was time for Matt’s final rebuttal.
“What we are talking about here is the repeat drunk driver.” He stopped and faced the jury, clearly concerned. “You don’t have to worry about serving life for drunk driving unless you’re a repeat drunk driver, careening headlong toward a fatal collision.”
He waited and Hannah held her breath. “But there is something you and your loved ones do need to worry about. And I ask you today, as you begin wading through the details of this case, please, worry about it. Worry about leaving here and getting on the streets in a state that allows a man with a string of drunk driving arrests and revoked licenses and alcohol-related traffic collisions—a state that allows a man like Brian Wesley—to be on the road when he should be behind bars.”
Matt moved closer to the jury box. “And something else. Mr. Finch told you Brian Wesley was not a man to fear.” Matt glanced at Hannah, and the jury followed the direction of his gaze. “To tell you the truth, men like Brian Wesley scare me more than convicted felons. I can avoid the places a convict might hang out. But Brian Wesley? I might be coming home from a fishing trip, chatting with my family, and boom! The people I love most are dead.” Matt raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Laws being what they are today, I can’t avoid a man like Brian Wesley. And that scares me.”
Matt leaned against the railing and folded his arms. “Mr. Finch wants you to think of Brian Wesley as someone down on his luck, just trying to get home. Well, that’s all the Ryan family was trying to do. Three days in the mountains, end of summer, school’s about to begin. They were coming home.”
He faced the jury squarely and slid his hands into his pockets. His voice was strong, but Hannah thought his eyes looked damp as he continued. “What happened to Hannah Ryan could happen to me—” he met their eyes—“or you. Any day. Anytime. Anywhere. Remember, there are two reasons why Brian Wesley should be convicted of first-degree murder. The first is to punish him. He took a weapon, in this case a pickup truck, and made a choice to use it under the influence of alcohol. That’s intentional murder, and it must be punished as such.
“But the second reason is just as valid. The second reason is to protect people like Hannah Ryan. People like you. It’s time, friends, please. Find Brian Wesley guilty of first-degree murder, and let’s put an end to this madness now. Before it’s too late.”
The judge finished giving instructions, and the case was handed over to the jury. After just two hours the foreman notified the clerk.
They had reached a decision.
Thirty
He has broken my teeth with gravel; he has trampled me in the dust.
LAMENTATIONS 3:16
Because of the late afternoon hour, Judge Horowitz determined that the verdict would be read at 10 A.M. the next day. The moment Matt heard the news, he was on the phone to Hannah. A quick verdict wasn’t good.
“So fast? What does it mean?” Hannah sounded frantic, and Matt’s heart went out to her.
“It could go either way.” He wanted to be honest. “But usually … quick verdicts wind up in favor of the defense.”
Hannah was silent for several seconds. “What? That’s impossible!” Matt could see the fury that would be in Hannah’s eyes as clearly as if he were standing in front of her. It made him wish he’d told her the news in person so he could take her in his arms and comfort her.
“Remember, Hannah, we had the burden of proof. Brian is innocent until proven guilty, and usually it takes longer to study the evidence and determine guilt. Usually.”
“Then we’ll have to appeal, find a loophole. Something. He has to pay for this, Matt. He can’t just—”
“Hannah, I didn’t say he was acquitted. I just wanted to warn you. There’s a chance. A good chance. We took a gamble in this case and didn’t leave the jury much choice. All or nothing.”
Hannah made no response, and Matt could hear her quietly sobbing.
“Hannah? Are you all right? I can be there in five minutes if you need me.” Matt almost hoped she’d say yes.
“No.” She gave two quick, jerky breaths and steadied her voice. “I’m okay. I have to talk to Jenny. She’s … she’s been in her room all evening.”
Matt felt Hannah’s heartache as though it were his own. He had to resist the urge to ask once more if she needed him. He wanted to be there. Wa
nted to help her. But he didn’t ask it. He didn’t want her to mistake his intentions. Not now. He changed topics instead. “I’m still worried about her.”
“Jenny?” Hannah drew a weary breath. “I think she’ll be okay. She’s just hiding out until the trial’s over. When I have peace, she will, too.”
Matt sighed. “Hannah … what if the verdict …” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
“Don’t, Matt. Please. I simply can’t imagine the what-ifs. It’s late and it’s been the longest week of my life. My daughter hates me, and after tomorrow I have to put this behind me and get on with making a life for the two of us. Right now I have no choice but to believe that tomorrow you will win your conviction, and finally—” her voice broke once more, and she sounded beyond tired. “Finally, I can have peace.”
Matt tapped a pencil on his dining room table and searched frantically for the right words. She wouldn’t have peace. He knew she wouldn’t. But there was no point trying to convince her. Not right now. “Get some sleep, Hannah.”
She laughed, but there was no hint of humor in her voice. “Are you kidding? With Jenny upstairs pouting and the verdict sitting in some sealed envelope down at the courthouse? You sleep, Matt. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, but if you’re going to be awake anyway, at least pray, Hannah. Please. Jenny needs your prayers.”
“She doesn’t need prayers, Matt; she needs her daddy and her big sister.” Hannah sighed and the emotion drained from her voice. “And not even your God can give her that.”
Matt cringed. Lord, give me the words. Hannah’s your child. Jenny, too. Help them, Lord.
When he remained silent, Hannah drew another deep breath. “I’m sorry, Matt. I don’t mean to take it out on you. You’ve been wonderful through this whole thing. I could never have climbed into that legal ring and duked it out with Finch like you’ve done. You were my only weapon in the biggest fight of my life.”
Waiting for Morning Page 28
