For all these reasons, Tony knew the process would take time. He fully expected to be back in the courtroom tomorrow. He was wrong.
***
Tony sat motionless at his computer, staring at the completed article on his screen. It was evening and the newsroom was quiet. Ben was in his office, but Tony hadn’t spoken to him since returning from the courthouse. It felt as if everything around him had slowed to a crawl. Tony could feel his heartbeat and was conscious of his own labored breathing. Why do I hate this so much?
He was reluctant to push the “send” button on the keyboard, as if moving the story to the copy desk would make it more real somehow – would add to the finality. In truth, it was final when the bailiff read the words, “We the jury find the defendant, Ralph Adam Wells, guilty of murder in the first degree…” It was final in every way that mattered. Ralph Wells would spend the rest of his life in prison. The official sentencing wouldn’t happen for weeks, but the outcome was predetermined. There would be appeals, of course, but they would lead nowhere. The Iowa Supreme Court almost never overturned murder convictions.
Tony’s heart ached. His mouth was dry. He pushed “send” and walked out the door without a word to anyone.
Wells Found Guilty of Double Homicide
Tony Harrington, Staff Writer
ORNEY, Iowa – After deliberating for just over 70 minutes Friday afternoon, a jury of seven men and five women returned two verdicts of guilty of murder in the first degree in the trial of Ralph Adam Wells.
Wells, 29, of rural Orney, was convicted of shooting to death Jerry and Anne Ennis, also of rural Orney. The couple was found dead of gunshot wounds to the head in the second floor bedroom of their farmhouse. A daughter, who was 9 years old at the time, found the bodies and called 911 on the night of January 12, this year.
Wells was represented at trial by Lawrence Pike, a longtime Orney attorney. After the verdicts were read in open court shortly before 5 p.m. and the jury sent home, Pike stayed in the courtroom long enough to answer a few questions. He was visibly upset by the verdicts and said, “What can I say? I believe with all my heart Mr. Wells is an innocent victim. I did my best to show the jury that the state’s case was based on circumstantial evidence and to show them clear evidence of his innocence. Obviously, it wasn’t good enough. I’m disappointed, but more importantly, I’m heartbroken on behalf of Mr. Wells and his family. I’m sorry. That’s all I have for you tonight.”
A few minutes later, on the front steps of the Quincy County Courthouse, a jubilant prosecutor, Attorney General W. Rodney Nelson, told reporters, “Clearly, justice was done today. The evidence of Mr. Wells’ guilt was overwhelming. I want to thank the jury for seeing it clearly and doing the right thing for the victims of this crime and for the people of Iowa.”
Wells’ sentencing is set for November 23. However, state law gives presiding Judge Arnold Schroeder no leeway in the matter. The first-degree murder convictions carry mandatory sentences of life in prison with no opportunity for parole.
The verdicts followed two weeks of proceedings in which…
Chapter 14
Snow was falling lightly as Tony pulled up the Freeds’ driveway early on a Saturday morning. It was the second weekend in December, and he and Lisa were headed for Des Moines to do some Christmas shopping. Tony left the Explorer running to keep the interior warm for Lisa as he headed up to the breezeway door between the house and garage. As he reached for the bell, the inside door swung open, and Lisa pushed through the storm door. She looked great, wearing a gray Columbia quilted jacket with a red and gray scarf twisted around her neck. She was pulling a small roller bag with one hand as she hugged him with the other.
“You goofball,” she said and pulled away, refusing to let him help with the bag. “You didn’t need to get out of the car. It’s cold.”
“What can I say?” Tony asked. “My mommy taught me to be a gentleman.” He finally tugged the bag from her grasp and carried it to the back as she got in the passenger seat. He pushed the bag into the gap next to his own and noticed, with some embarrassment, that Lisa’s bag was smaller than his. He had never learned to travel lightly.
“I’m glad we’re leaving early,” Lisa said as Tony tossed his coat in the back seat and slid behind the wheel. “I think the snow is supposed to be a lot heavier this afternoon.”
“Maybe we’ll get stuck in the hotel in Des Moines for a week or two.” Tony smiled as he put the Explorer in gear and slid his hand up the inside of her leg, squeezing the denim of her Levis.
“Down, boy,” she laughed. “It’s snowing. Eyes on the road.”
“It’s not my eyes you have to worry about,” he replied, sliding his hand further up her leg as she laughed again.
Tony felt good. A full weekend off work; a trip to Des Moines with a beautiful woman; gas in the tank; money in his pocket; Jimmy Buffet on XM Radio. He was smart enough not to take for granted how good he had it.
Ironically, the thought of how good he felt immediately reminded him of what a tough couple of months it had been. The Wells verdict had felt like a sucker punch to the gut. Intellectually, Tony knew he should not have been surprised, but emotionally it had taken a huge toll. He had kept going, doing a thorough job, covering the verdict, the reactions to it from all parties involved, the sentencing, and the imprisonment at “The Fort,” as the state penitentiary at Fort Madison was called. He had, of course, written dozens of other stories in the meantime, trying hard to set the “Wells thing” aside and get on with his life. But far too often, when he was doing something fun or romantic or fulfilling, the thought of Ralph Wells sitting in that cold fortress reached out of the depths, gripped his heart, and sent his mood spiraling downward.
Thankfully, Lisa only rarely became irritated at his mood swings. She clearly didn’t enjoy seeing him down, but she did seem to appreciate the fact he didn’t take lightly the tragedies he covered in his work.
As the SUV sped across the countryside on a mostly empty Highway 141, Tony glanced at the clock on the dashboard. At 9 a.m. he punched a button on the radio and brought up a Des Moines station. As a CBS affiliate, it had news at the top of the hour. “You can take the boy out of the newsroom, but…” Lisa said, shaking her head.
The news could have been lifted from just about any day of the past decade. Conflicts in third-world developing countries, worries about the latest strain of influenza, record-breaking weather somewhere, and politicians blaming each other for the latest budget problems. As the local news came on, Tony turned the radio up and listened more intently. Lisa understood. She was more interested herself in what was happening in Iowa. The lead story surprised them both.
“At the annual holiday gala and political fundraiser held last night at the downtown Marriott Hotel, Attorney General W. Rodney Nelson announced his intention to run for governor in next fall’s general election. Calling Governor Harry Roskins ‘A man who cares more about his wealthy friends than the working families of Iowa,’ Nelson said it is time for people of conscience from both parties to band together and help the governor learn what it feels like to be out of work.”
The radio announcer went on to say the announcement wasn’t a huge surprise, as Nelson had formed an exploratory committee months ago and had begun raising money last summer. “Political insiders have said Nelson kept his activities unusually quiet during the summer and fall because he didn’t want them to be a distraction as he led the prosecution of Ralph Adam Wells, an Orney, Iowa, man convicted in September of a double homicide. During his speech last night, Nelson described Wells’ conviction as ‘one more example of my ability to successfully tackle a difficult problem for the benefit of all Iowans.’ In fact, Nelson said his campaign slogan will be, ‘I won’t just serve you, I will protect you.’ Aides to the governor said he would have no comment regarding Nelson’s decision to run. In other news…”
Tony groaned out loud and punched off the radio. Then, imitating Nelson’s voice, “I’m W. Rodney Nelson.
Please ignore the Ivy League degree and the Cadillac Escalade as I convince you I’m a man of the people.”
“Tony…” Lisa said, with obvious concern in her voice.
“No, no, relax,” he responded quickly. “I swear, I am not going to let this bother me. Our weekend is safe. If I start to dwell on it, you can distract me with another romp on top of the TV.”
Lisa giggled, obviously relieved. “That could be a little tough. Aren’t the TVs at the Marriott mounted inside wooden cabinets?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Tony said. “Until I met you I only took girls to the Motel 6.”
She punched him hard in the shoulder, but then immediately leaned over and placed her head on it, slipping her arm under his and holding tight. “No more Motel 6 for you pal,” she said. “Tonight I’m going to show you why you take a woman to a Marriott.”
Tony’s mouth went dry and he forgot all about Ralph Wells and W. Rodney Nelson… for about ten minutes.
***
Eleven hours later, Tony and Lisa were dining on cavatini at Marco’s Ristorante in Des Moines. It had been a long day of shopping and Tony was exhausted. They had debated going to a movie or to one of the bars on Court Avenue to hear a live band, but in the end decided to have a quiet dinner and turn in early. Tony was trying not to think too much about the “turn in early” part.
Des Moines was a city with many outstanding restaurants, including the most expensive upscale chains as well as establishments with renowned professional chefs and the latest “foo-foo” foods. While Tony appreciated and occasionally dined at these places, he secretly preferred the handful of local restaurants that had been operated by the same families for decades. Marco’s was one of these.
Located on the near west edge of downtown Des Moines, Marco’s was nice without being fancy. The food was delicious and served without fanfare. If you were lucky, Marco, the Marco, would stop by your table and wish you well. Tony had no idea how old Marco was, but the locals said he had to be close to 100. Many people could remember him stopping by their tables when they dined there as children with their parents or grandparents.
In the mode of many shoppers, their chat over dinner included a recap of the day’s successes and failures. As always, Tony had struggled to find something for his mother and eventually had settled for a handmade scarf of Italian wool. It wasn’t enough, but at least the labels convinced him it was genuine. He was much more excited about the gift he’d found for his dad. While perusing the antique shops in Valley Junction, the historical district of old West Des Moines, Tony had found an autographed copy of The Hour Before the Dawn, by W. Somerset Maugham. Tony’s dad collected books, and Tony knew he would love this one. It set him back $300, but Tony knew enough about old books to know it wasn’t a bad deal.
Lisa responded by saying again how much she had enjoyed the tiny shop owned and operated by the young female artist. Every painting and sculpture in the store was the artist’s work, and Lisa had loved it all. She was still debating which piece to buy her father, requiring a return trip to the store tomorrow. As Tony listened, he wound another strand of warm cheese and pasta around his fork and lifted it to his mouth. He began chewing as a door at the side of the main dining room opened and a stream of well-dressed men and women began filing out of a second dining room. It was undoubtedly a room the restaurant used for private parties. Tony could hear all of the usual chatter of a dinner party breaking up, “Lovely evening… Thank you so much…Great to see you…Best of luck to you, Governor…”
Just an expression? Tony wondered, his reporter’s “Spidey sense” beginning to tingle.
Lisa turned her head to see what had grabbed his attention. Together they saw Governor Harry Roskins stop in the doorway to shake hands with the last of the well-wishers.
“Good Lord, Lisa,” Tony said. “That’s the governor.”
“Good call, Clark Kent,” Lisa said dryly. “I can see why you’re in line for investigative reporter of the year.”
Tony smiled, but said with some urgency, “God, what an opportunity. In light of Nelson’s speech last night, I would love to talk to him. Ben would kiss my butt for a week if I got an exclusive reaction to Nelson’s announcement. Do you think I could just go over there and introduce myself?”
“Well,” Lisa began, and then suddenly from across the room:
“Lisa Freed! My dear girl, how are you? You look wonderful.” And suddenly the governor of Iowa was standing next to their table and Tony was spilling his water as he attempted to scramble out of his seat.
“Hello, Governor,” Lisa said, rising graciously and standing on her tiptoes to give him a polite hug. “It’s good to see you too. Allow me to introduce you to my boyfriend. This is Tony Harrington.”
Tony composed himself and held out his hand as the governor took it and said, “Of course, of course. I’ve heard all about you, Tony. You write for the Crier, right?”
“Uh, yes, I mean, it’s an honor to meet you,” Tony managed to say. “I’m surprised you’ve heard about me, sir. Surely you don’t read the Crier.”
“Well, I’m a politician, so I can’t lie to you,” the governor said, and then broke into a loud, deep laugh. “Of course I have read it a few times over the years but no, I’ve heard about you from Lisa’s father. We had breakfast together just last week. I’m trying to get him to chair my fundraising committee in Quincy County, but I think he’s going to decline. Hard to get the old goat to do any real work when Lisa’s around. Some things never change.” The governor laughed again, enjoying his own humor and clearly enjoying seeing Lisa.
By then, every other patron in the restaurant’s main dining room was focused on the exchange at Tony and Lisa’s table. Governor Roskins was a tall, broad-shouldered man with big hands and an even bigger smile. He had silver wavy hair and a rugged complexion accented by laugh lines around the eyes. Except for a nose he had broken as an all-state wrestler in his youth, his appearance was made for the covers of magazines. “Born to be elected to something,” a post-election article had said years earlier after his first victory in a statewide contest. The weekly free paper, a typical, low budget “tell-all,” didn’t like Roskins at all. Despite that, it still named him the “Sexiest Man in Iowa” three years in a row.
The governor continued, clearly accustomed to dominating the conversation, “Lisa, seriously, I want to thank you for your volunteer work on my campaign. I would have sent you a note, but I only just learned about it from your dad. I’m sorry I didn’t spot your name sooner on the routine lists of volunteers.”
“Don’t apologize,” Lisa said cheerfully. “I enjoy helping and I certainly wouldn’t expect you to take the time to write to every volunteer.”
“Well, perhaps,” the governor replied, “but you’re not every volunteer. You’re Lisa Freed for God’s sake!”
He turned to Tony and said, “You should know I’ve known Lisa since she was a baby. Her father and I have been friends since law school. If you ever do anything to hurt her, I’m going to have the state troopers handcuff you and toss you in the Des Moines River.” He laughed again. “I would do anything for this young woman.”
Tony forced a smile. “No need to be concerned, Governor. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt someone as terrific as Lisa.” Lame, lame, lame, he thought, even as he said it.
“Actually, Governor,” Lisa said, “if you mean it…I mean, about doing anything for me, there is one favor that would make my day.”
“Well, anything Lisa. Just name it.” The governor beamed.
“Would you mind giving Tony a comment about Nelson’s announcement last night? It would mean a lot to both of us if we could go back to Orney with a comment for the paper that other reporters weren’t able to get.”
“Well, well,” the governor said, his smile fading a little. “You know how to hit a politician where it hurts, right in the ‘no comment’ zone. Well, what the hell. I wasn’t that crazy about the ‘no comment’ position we took anyway.” H
e turned to Tony. “You may have noticed I prefer talking.” Then he surprised them both by pulling out a third chair at the table and plopping down.
“Sit,” he said, turning his palms face up and spreading his arms as if to say, “I’m all yours.” He turned to an aide and said, “Paul, get Mr. Harrington a pen and paper from your briefcase. We’re going to give this fine young reporter an interview.”
***
That night in the hotel room, after making love, laughing, recapping the day’s unusual turn of events, and making love again, Tony lay exhausted with just a sheet pulled up to his chin.
He thought back about his interview with the governor. Something about it nagged at him. The governor had declined to comment about Nelson’s campaign directly, saying only that democracy required contested elections and he welcomed the opportunity to explain to the people of Iowa why electing Harry Roskins once again would be the people’s best choice. Blah, blah, blah. Tony was willing to bet he could have written these responses before the interview and come pretty close to creating exact quotes.
When Tony had asked the governor about Nelson’s campaign slogan, Roskins again had declined to comment. Again, it was no surprise. However, the look that flashed across the governor’s face was intriguing. Tony could swear it was a smirk, a self-satisfied curl of the lips that was there and then gone an instant later. Tony asked the obvious follow-up question, “As Iowans know, you are a lawyer too, Governor. Will you try to respond to Nelson’s obvious attempt to position himself as better able to protect Iowans because of his record as a prosecutor?”
Burying the Lede Page 12
