“So you had two cars at Legacy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And when you left Legacy?”
“He drove her car and I drove his. He went and hid her car and I followed and picked him up.”
“So you can take us to Angel’s car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know where it is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re willing to take us there?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“And you’re willing to serve time for you part in this crime?”
“Yes, sir. I . . . I wish I hadn’t let him blackmail me from the very beginnin’, but I want to make it right now.”
“Okay. Let’s go get Angel’s car.”
The interview ends and after a brief, suspenseful music transition Natasha Phillips comes back on.
“So, there’s Justice Witney’s statement to the police—well, one of them. He made several, and it’s worth noting that they changed each time, almost as if he was refining his statement, editing it. It seems to have been fairly fluid throughout the entire process, though the core of it largely remained the same. What do you think? Do you find Justice Witney a credible witness? The cops, prosecutors, and the jury certainly did. And here’s the thing—well, two things. No, three. Here are the three things that make Mr. Witney such a believable witness. One, the cellphone records corroborate his testimony. Investigators were able to match pings on cell towers records with the times and locations of Justice’s and Qwon’s phones. When they were downtown, their phones pinged on the downtown tower. When they were at Coram’s up on Highway 231, their phones pinged on the Bayou George tower. When they were in Callaway at Justice’s uncle’s crematorium, their phones pinged on the Callaway tower. Et cetera. To me, that’s huge and convincing. Though it may not be quite as damning to Acqwon as it first seems. But we’ll get into that later. For now, let’s just say if you didn’t have the corroborating cell phone pings, all you’d have is Justice’s word against Qwon’s, which means you’d have nothing. Because remember, no DNA evidence can be gathered from a crematorium. It gets so hot for so long that even if a fragment of bone or tooth remained it wouldn’t be testable and according to Justice, Qwon took all of Angel’s ashes and fragments and got rid of them. And even if the crematorium could be tested, which it can’t, it was used for nearly an entire month after Angel’s body was allegedly destroyed in it. So all the state had for corroboration are the cell phone records. Oh, and the second item on my list. Number two, Justice knew where Angel’s car was. He took police to it. That’s also why police, prosecutors, and ultimately the jury found Mr. Witney such a compelling witness. Think about it. Officials had been searching for Angel and her car for nearly a month. Justice told them where it was and took them to it. How could he do that if he wasn’t involved? If he killed Angel, he would know where the car was, sure. But if Qwon wasn’t involved then the cellphone records wouldn’t match up, right? And three, the other thing that made Justice Witney such a convincing witness is that he was willing to go to prison for his part in the cover-up. It’s true he got a dramatically reduced sentence for his cooperation with the state, but that he was willing to go to prison at all convinced everyone involved—or at least those who mattered most, the jury—that he was credible, that he was telling the truth.”
The show breaks for a commercial and I stop for gas in Eufala.
While pumping the gas, stretching, and grabbing something to drink, I call Anna.
“How’re my girls?” I ask.
“All good except missing you. Taylor says she can’t wait to see her sissy, JoJo.”
“I love it when we’re all together,” I say. “Wish it was all the time.”
“Maybe one day it—”
My phone vibrates with an incoming call and she breaks up. I glance at it. It’s Jerry Raffield, Randa’s dad.
“Hey, Jerry’s callin’,” I say. “Can I—”
“Take it,” she says. “Call us back when you can.”
“Call you back just as soon as I finish with him. Love you.”
“Love you.”
I click over, as I climb back in my car and ease back into traffic.
“Hey Jerry,” I say.
“John.”
“How are you?”
“Still not good. Sorry to call so much, but . . .”
“Don’t be. I’m glad you call me. I really am.”
“I just can’t get over losing her,” he says. “You know.”
“I know.”
“And the way I lost her. The fact that she could keep so much from me for so long. I just . . . I thought we were closer, that . . . we had a better relationship than that. Can’t believe I was so blind, so ignorant, so . . .”
“You’re being way too hard on yourself,” I say. “Randa is obviously a very special person, strong and determined in ways very few people are. She’s . . . she must have this . . . vault inside her where she keeps all her secrets.”
“But I’m a professional. I should have—I help unlock secrets for a living.”
“I’m still working the case,” I say. “A lot of people are. Followed a lead just last night.”
“Anything come of it?”
“Unfortunately not, but it’s just a matter of time until one does. You’re a good man, Jerry. You raised an incredibly capable and resilient and brilliant daughter. Hang on to that.”
“But I let her be victimized, let my little girl go through a hell like I can’t even fathom and . . .”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
We fall silent for a few moments.
“You have a daughter?” he asks.
“Two,” I say.
“Do everything you can for them. Spend every moment you can with them. Do all you possibly can to protect them.”
“I will.”
“I’ll let you go,” he says. “Please keep me posted on all developments.”
“You know I will.”
“I’ll let you go,” he says. “I know you’re expecting another call from me anytime now.”
I laugh. “Take care of yourself, Jerry. Call me if you need me. I’ll be in touch.”
We hang up and I call Anna back, but get her voicemail.
After leaving her a message to call me back when she can, I call Kathryn Lewis.
“Did you have a cellphone back in 1999?” I ask.
“No.”
“How did Qwon?”
“Saved up for it. Was really important to him. He had just gotten it a couple of weeks before Angel went missing. Ironic, isn’t it? Probably wouldn’t have been convicted if he didn’t have it. Justice Witney had one because he was a drug dealer. His was for business. Most of the rest of us, if we had anything at all, we had pagers. My parents had one. I mean they each had one. My mom would often lend me hers when I went out on the weekends—especially since my boyfriend didn’t have one. They weren’t all that prevalent in our circles. Not at the time. Nothing like today.”
“How did Qwon save up for one?” I ask. “What’d he do for work?”
“Lot of different things. Mostly detailed cars, but he mowed grass, raked leaves, cleaned pools. Anything he could to make money for clothes and shoes and music and so he and Angel could go out.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Thank you. I really appreciate you lookin’ into it.”
“Will you still if I find out that Qwon actually did it?”
“Not as much,” she says, “but yeah. I will. Besides, that’s not what you’re going to find out ’cause he didn’t do it.”
We end the call and I turn the Wrongfully Convicted podcast back on.
“Welcome back to the show,” Natasha Phillips says. “Now . . . after the first segment you may be wondering why we’re even looking into the Angel Diaz case. The evidence against Acqwon Lewis seems pretty ironclad, doesn’t it? But remember the name of the show. After looking at the case and talking to several people involved, I became conv
inced there was at least enough evidence for the possibility that Acqwon was wrongfully convicted to reinvestigate his case on the show. So . . . with that in mind, I’m now being joined by a very special guest. When Kathryn Lewis, Acqwon’s sister, first brought his case to my attention and asked me to take a closer look at it and to join her in taking up his cause, she said after you look at all the evidence, you’ve got to talk to Darius Turner. Well, guess what . . . we have Darius Turner on the show today. Welcome Darius.”
“Thanks for having me,” he says.
“So happy to have you on the show.”
“My pleasure.”
“Let’s start with your relationship to Acqwon and the case.”
“Qwon was one of my closest friends in school. We hung out a lot. I dated his sister. Knew the entire family well. They’re good people. I think a lot of them. And I know for a fact Qwon couldn’t have killed Angel.”
“We’ll get to that in a moment, but tell me more about Qwon as a person back then first. What was he like?”
“Just a really good guy. Popular. Everyone liked and respected him. He won homecoming king, was voted most friendly. He was handsome and like this star athlete, yet he was nice to everybody, truly treated everybody the same.”
“I’m gonna be honest with you, Darius. He sounds too good to be true.”
“I know. I knew you were gonna say that. Several other people have too. But look . . . it’s true. I’m not saying Qwon couldn’t be a typical teenager sometimes. And he had a weakness for the ladies. He was a horn dog. He could be a jerk. Selfish. Whatever. But it really was rare. For like ninety-nine percent of the time he was just a really good dude. Ask anyone in our class. They’ll tell you. Look at our yearbook. It’s all in there.”
“Okay,” she says, “but good dudes can kill, can’t they? We hear about it all the time. I never would’ve suspected him. No way he could do it. He was so quiet. So nice. So . . . but then they do kill sometimes.”
“Sure. No, I hear you. I’m not saying Qwon didn’t kill Angel because he was a good dude. I only told you about that because you asked me to tell you about him. I’m saying he didn’t kill Angel because of evidence, facts, not personality.”
“What evidence? What facts?”
“It’s simple. He was with or near me the entire night. He couldn’t have killed Angel because he didn’t have the opportunity. Was never away from us, our group, for long enough to do any of the stuff Justice testified to.”
“But, Darius, let’s be honest. You’re his friend. His sister, his greatest advocate and defender was your girlfriend. Of course, you’re going to say that he didn’t do it. Of course you’re going to provide him with an alibi. Do you understand what I’m saying? How would you respond to that?”
“I get it. I know what you’re saying. But this is what I’d say. You don’t have to take my word for it. Ask anyone who was with us that night. Several of the people in the group were more Angel’s friends than Qwon’s. They wouldn’t lie for him. Take their word for it. Not just mine. As far as Qwon being my friend, if I thought someone killed someone, that person wouldn’t be my friend anymore. Period. And as far as his sister being my girlfriend, that was eighteen years ago. And she broke up with me back then and broke my heart. And it’s almost two decades later. I haven’t even talked to her in all that time. So . . . I have no reason to lie.”
“Okay, let’s say you’re not lying,” she says. “That would mean that Justice Witney is, right?”
“Yes it would.”
“But if that’s the case, why would the cellphone records and tower pings substantiate what he alleges?”
“I have no idea. I really don’t. But my guess is that you could get cell phones to lie a lot easier than a group of twenty teenagers.”
“That’s an interesting point, and I see what you’re saying—especially throughout all eighteen years. If it was a cover-up someone would have talked by now. But both the prosecution and defense’s experts testified that the cell evidence is accurate, that in your words, it’s not lying.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you, but I am not lying and neither are all the other witnesses from that night.”
“So how late were you with Acqwon that night?” she asks. “Maybe he did it after he left—or after you did.”
“We were together all night. He stayed at my house that night. We were together all evening and all night.”
“Could he have snuck back out after you fell asleep?”
“No, ma’am. Neither of us did much sleeping that night. Not only couldn’t he have, but if he did, if it was that much later that night, or actually that morning, then it invalidates all your cell phone evidence.”
“It’s not my cell phone evidence, but that’s a very good point, I hadn’t thought of that. It has to have happened when Justice and the cell phone evidence says it did or . . . there’s no case.”
I pause the show and think about what I’ve heard and what I know about the case so far. Still don’t know a lot, still don’t know nearly enough, but I do enough to wonder who’s lying—Justice, the cellphone records, or Qwon and his friends?
In Phenix City, I pass by the hotel Susan and I met at back when we were first trying to reconcile. Seems like a lifetime ago now—and we had shared what seemed like a lifetime before ever reaching that point. I still feel bad for not being able to make it work. I had truly tried—more than once—but we weren’t a good fit and shouldn’t have tried to force it to work to begin with. I was so young when we first got together, still suffering from PTSD from the Lamarcus Williams case—though that’s not what I’d have called it at the time, even if I had tried to call it something, which I had not. I liked Susan. I felt like I owed her. And at a certain point I had come to believe that making it work with her was the honorable thing to do—something that really did neither of us any favors. God save me from my own sense of honor and nobility and rigidity about what is right and wrong.
A line of Rumi’s poetry comes to mind.
Out beyond ideas of right-doing and wrongdoing is field. I’ll meet you there.
As long as I can remember I’ve had a strong, innate sense of what is right—a fixed, unwavering point I attempt to live by. I often fail to live by it or live up to it, but it’s always there, a beacon in the blackest night.
I tried to do right by Susan, and though my failures relating to her are many, I believe the biggest among them wasn’t the end of the relationship but how long I allowed it to go on, how hard I tried to will it to work. Of course, if I hadn’t we wouldn’t have Johanna, the complete and perfect success within my failure.
As if my thoughts of Susan have signaling properties sent out to her unbeknownst to me, a call from her comes through on my phone.
Susan is unpredictable. And I feel a certain small dread every time her name pops up on my phone, never knowing what kind of crisis or issue it might be.
At the moment though, my greatest concern is that she is calling to try to cancel Johanna coming to see me this weekend. And the fact that I’ve already driven over halfway to Atlanta to pick her up is the least of it. I just really, really want to spend time with my daughter.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she says, her voice surprisingly upbeat. “Where are you?”
“Almost through Phenix City.”
“Well, stop.”
“What?” I say, my anger rising. “Why?”
“I really felt like getting out and going for a drive,” she says. “So I decided to bring our little angel part of the way. We’re almost to Phenix City. We’ll meet you there.”
“Oh, wow. Thank you, Susan. I . . . I really appreciate you doing—”
“I should do it more often. It’s such a long drive for you. Sorry I haven’t done it before.”
Her simple act of kindness means I’ll get even more time with Johanna this weekend, and I can’t help smiling, can’t help appreciating this woman--her mother, my ex-wife--in a way I have
n’t in a while.
“Where would you like to meet?” I ask.
“You pick the place,” she says. “Just make sure it has food and a bathroom.”
Twenty minutes later, Susan, Johanna, and I are sitting in a booth at a small Mexican restaurant eating chips and salsa.
“This is nice,” Susan says.
I nod and smile and glance from her to Johanna in the booth beside her. “Yes it is.”
Surely she means the three of us sharing a meal together, because there is nothing nice about the empty restaurant. The booth and menus are sticky, the old decor around us dusty and dirty, and the Mexican music being played through the cheap speakers in tinny and too loud.
“Maybe in an alternate universe it’s like this all the time,” she says. “The three of us, a family, eating together every evening, doing what families do.”
I’m not quite sure what to say to that. Thankfully she continues, tacking toward a slightly different point on the horizon.
“Do you think there are multiple timelines?” she says. “Multiverses?”
I start to answer, but she continues.
“Would be cool, wouldn’t it? Be even cooler if you knew you were living them. Would make each life more bearable knowing you had others that just might be better.”
I nod.
“How is your life in this timeline?” I ask eventually.
She shrugs. “No major complaints. Certainly like living in Atlanta again. Sorry it’s so far away. I know this drive is brutal for you.”
I shake my head and glance at Johanna again. “It’s my pleasure.”
“My life along this timeline would be better if I could meet someone and fall in love,” she says. “I keep trying these ridiculous online dating sites, but . . . even with the nice guys there’s just no chemistry. It’s so hard to really connect with someone.”
“I would think a single date, especially a first one, wouldn’t give you much of an opportunity to really connect.”
“True. There are second dates. Occasionally a third. It’s just . . . not easy.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not.”
“Are you and Anna as happy as you seem?”
Our eyes meet, and I wonder how I can be honest without being hurtful or insensitive to how vulnerable she’s being about her lack of a love life. Anna and I are hit-in-the-head happy, truly grateful to be together after so long apart. Our life together isn’t without difficulty and challenge and pain, but we’re happy—as happy as I’ve ever been—in the midst of it all.
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