by Scott Pratt
The medical examiner testified that Tester died from blood loss as a result of multiple stab wounds, but on cross she also had to admit that his blood-alcohol level was off the charts. She tried to help the prosecution by pointing out that he’d ingested a date rape drug, but she could offer no testimony as to how the drug entered his body.
An expert from the TBI lab told the jury about the hairs found on Tester’s shirt and explained the DNA identification process to them. On cross he had to admit it was possible that the hairs could have passed from Angel to Tester at the club.
An elderly woman named Ina Mae described for the jury how her cat found Tester’s penis and delivered it to her the morning after the murder. Her testimony provided a brief moment of levity in an otherwise deadly serious trial.
Frankie saved Sarah for last. He would have been better off going outside and shooting himself.
”Would you state your name for the record, ma’am?” Frankie began.
”My name is Sarah Dillard.” She was wearing the orange jumpsuit and was cuffed and shackled. She seemed nervous but determined.
”And where do you reside, Ms. Dillard?”
”At the Washington County Detention Center.”
”So you’re in jail?”
”Yes. I was convicted of theft.”
”Are you familiar with the defendant, Miss Dillard?”
Sarah looked at Angel and nodded. ”She’s in my cell block.”
”And as a matter of fact, you’re her lawyer’s sister, are you not?”
”I am.”
”And did you contact the district attorney’s office and tell someone that you had information regarding the defendant that might be relevant to this case?”
”No.”
”I beg your pardon?”
”I said no. I didn’t contact the district attorney’s office. They came to me.”
”Oh, I see. And who was it that came to see you?”
”That man over there.” She pointed to Landers, who was sitting at the prosecutor’s table.
”And as a result of your visit with Agent Landers, what did you do?”
”Nothing.” Uh-oh. Here we go.
”Nothing? You had a conversation with the defendant, didn’t you?”
”No.”
”This defendant confessed to you that she murdered Reverend Tester, didn’t she?”
”Objection,” I said. ”He’s leading the witness, Judge.”
”Sustained. Move on, Mr. Martin. She answered your question.”
”Can I have a short recess, Your Honor?” Martin said.
”Why?” the judge said.
”I need some time to sort this out. This is a complete surprise to me.”
”That’s quite obvious, Mr. Martin, but I’m not accustomed to stopping murder trials because prosecuting attorneys are surprised. Do you have any more questions for the witness?”
”Permission to treat the witness as hostile, Your Honor.”
”She’s your witness, Mr. Martin.”
”I realize that, but her testimony is not what I was told it would be.”
”You mean you haven’t even interviewed her?”
”Agent Landers interviewed her. He told me what her testimony would be. She signed a statement. He showed it to me.”
”Use the statement, then,” the judge said.
”Permission to treat her as hostile, Your Honor,”
Martin said.
Judge Green waved the back of his hand at Frankie, as though he was shooing him away. ”Go ahead,”
he said, ”but I don’t think it’s going to make a difference.”
Martin straightened himself and turned back to Sarah. ”Isn’t it true, Miss Dillard, that you entered into an agreement with the district attorney’s office to provide truthful testimony in this case?”
”Yes,” Sarah said, ”and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
”Isn’t it true that you told Agent Landers that Angel Christian, the defendant in this case, confessed that she killed Reverend Tester during a conversation you had with her at the jail?”
”No, that isn’t true.”
”Did you not sign a statement to that effect?”
Landers held up a piece of paper I assumed was Sarah’s statement.
”I signed a statement Agent Landers wrote. He’d already written it before he came to see me. It was a lie. I’m sorry I signed it.”
”So you’re now saying you signed a false statement?”
”That’s right.”
”You’re accusing a police officer of drafting a completely false statement which you willingly signed?”
”He drafted the statement. I signed it. He never even asked me any questions. He told me if I signed the statement and testified in court he’d see to it that I got out of jail. I’ve never spoken to the defendant.”
Martin turned and glared at Landers. ”May I have a moment, Your Honor?”
”Make it quick.”
Martin moved to the prosecutor’s table and began to whisper in Landers’s ear. Landers shook his head emphatically and whispered back. The exchange very quickly turned into a heated argument, with both men whispering forcefully back and forth. At one point I heard Landers say, ”Fuck you.” I hoped the jury heard it, too.
Martin went back to the lectern.
”You’re lying, aren’t you, Ms. Dillard? You’re trying to help your brother.”
”No,” Sarah said. ”You guys were the ones who were trying to get me to lie. The agent said it would give me a chance to get back at my brother.”
”Do you expect this jury to believe you, Ms. Dillard?” Martin said. ”You’re a convicted thief and a drug addict, aren’t you?”
”I was a convicted thief and a drug addict when Agent Landers came to the jail. That didn’t seem to bother him when he was trying to get me to lie.”
”This is ridiculous,” Martin said. ”I move to strike her testimony, Your Honor.”
”On what grounds, Mr. Martin? On the grounds that she didn’t testify the way you wanted her to?
Your motion is denied. Do you have any more questions for her?”
”It wouldn’t do any good,” Martin said as he turned away from the lectern. He seemed to deflate, like a torn balloon. ”She’d just lie.”
He sat down. I debated for a minute whether I should ask Sarah anything. She’d already done plenty of damage, but I couldn’t resist twisting the knife a little, so I stepped to the lectern.
”You are my sister, aren’t you?”
”Yes, I am.”
”And the truth is that you and I haven’t always gotten along well, have we?”
”Not always.”
”As a matter of fact, your most recent conviction was a direct result of my reporting you to the police, wasn’t it?”
”It was.”
”And you were angry with me for doing that, weren’t you?”
”Very angry.”
”How long is your sentence?”
”Six years.”
”And how much of that sentence would you have had to serve if you’d testified the way Mr. Martin expected you to testify?”
”I would have been released immediately.”
”Do you have a copy of the agreement?”
She produced her copy, and I asked the judge to enter it as an exhibit. Martin objected on the grounds of relevance, but the judge overruled him.
”Miss Dillard,” I said, ”would you explain to the jury exactly how this agreement came about?”
”Agent Landers came to see me a couple of months ago and asked me if I’d help them by getting to know Miss Christian. He said he wanted me to talk to her and find out everything I could about her and then tell him everything she said. I told him I wasn’t interested, and he left. Then, a few weeks ago, after I’d been sentenced to six years, he came back.
He said he could offer me two things: a sentence reduced to time served and a chance to get back at you. I asked h
im what he wanted me to do. He said he needed me to sign a statement saying that Angel Christian confessed to the murder of Reverend Tester. He already had the statement written up when he came to the jail. It said during a conversation in the cell block, Miss Christian told me she left the Mouse’s Tail strip club with Mr. Tester after she agreed to have sex with him. She went with him back to his hotel room. It said she went into his room and drugged him, then she killed him and took all of his money. It said she felt no remorse because the man she killed was a pig.”
”A pig? That’s a nice touch. Did Miss Christian say any of those things to you?”
”No. I’ve never even talked to her.” She pointed at Landers. ”He made it all up.”
”Why did you sign it?”
”Because I hated being in jail. Because I was furious at you for having me arrested. I blamed you for everything. But I realize now I was wrong. It wasn’t your fault I was in jail. It was my fault.” She looked directly at the jury. ”I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
”I’m sorry for a lot of things.”
”Thank you, Miss Dillard.”
I thought Judge Green might grant us a judgment of acquittal at the close of the state’s proof. He should have, but ultimately he didn’t have the courage to let a first-degree murder defendant walk out the door without sending the case to the jury.
He looked at me and said, ”Call your first witness.”
I stood up. I had witnesses waiting in the hallway, including Virgil Watterson and Erlene Barlowe, but I didn’t think I needed them.
”The defense rests, Your Honor.”
Martin and I delivered our closing arguments, both of which were brief. The jury retired to deliberate.
It took them less than an hour to come back with a verdict.
I knew Angel was guilty, but the jury didn’t. They set her free.
July 31
4:15 p.m.
As soon as the not-guilty verdict was announced, Frankie Martin and Landers got up and walked out without saying a word. Amid the hugs and the tears and the congratulations, I watched Junior Tester walk stiffly out of the courtroom. I was sure he hated me more than ever. I’d portrayed his dead father as a drunken hypocrite who might have been killed by anyone, and the jury’s verdict had given the portrayal at least some validation. As he disappeared through the doorway, I wondered how he’d feel, or what he might do, if he knew the truth about what happened in the motel room that night. I also wondered how long I’d have to keep looking over my shoulder. He hadn’t made a peep during the trial.
Erlene Barlowe was flitting around the courtroom like a socialite, hugging anyone who’d stand still long enough for her to get her arms around them.
She even hugged one of the bailiffs. When she came up to me, she kissed me on the cheek and whispered a sincere thank-you in my ear. I wanted to tell her what I knew about the Corvette and the blood, but at the time, it just didn’t seem like the thing to do.
Angel hugged me for at least a half a minute and then turned and walked out the door hand in hand with Erlene. My last image of her was of her smiling radiantly, but I knew the smile couldn’t last long.
Life had already been unfair, even cruel, to her. I felt sure the events of the night Tester raped her, plus the knowledge that she’d gotten away with murder, would haunt her. I wondered where she’d go, and what would become of her.
Caroline had decided to come down to watch the trial after I told her what was going to happen with Sarah. She stood just beyond the bar while I slowly packed my files into my briefcase. Besides the two bailiffs, she and I were the only people in the courtroom. I took my time. I wanted to stay there long enough to allow everyone else to leave. The last thing I needed was a confrontation with Junior Tester or Landers.
When I was ready, I closed the briefcase and turned and winked at Caroline. She stepped through the bar and kissed me without saying a word, hooked her elbow around mine, and we walked out together through a side door. We took the back steps down to the ground floor.
”Lord, it’s hot,” I said as we crossed a one-way street that ran parallel to the courthouse. It was almost a hundred degrees. As we walked towards the parking lot, I saw a figure step out from behind a small hedge at the corner of the building about thirty yards to my right. It was Junior Tester. He was holding his right arm tight against his side. There was something in his hand.
Tester was between us and the building. There was no way to go back inside where there were police officers and bailiffs with guns. I dropped my briefcase, grabbed Caroline’s hand, and began to run.
”What are you doing?” she said.
”Run, Caroline! Tester’s coming. I think he has a gun.”
I looked back over my shoulder and saw him. He was jogging and lifting his right arm.
The parking lot behind the courthouse was about an acre of asphalt. There was room for close to a hundred cars and it was always full. As Caroline and I approached the first line of cars, a gunshot shattered the peacefulness of the summer afternoon in Tennessee’s oldest town. I heard the bullet whiz past in front of me. It ricocheted off the fender of an old Buick and whistled away. Caroline screamed.
”My God, Joe! He’s going to kill us!”
I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her between two rows of cars.
”Get down!” I yelled. ”Stay low.” We ran another fifty feet and I looked back. Junior had stopped. His feet were spread and he was aiming the pistol with both hands. Another shot smashed into the passenger window of the car we were running past. I stopped and crouched beside the front fender. I had to figure out a way to get Caroline out of the line of fire.
”We can’t stay together,” I said. I was already sweating and breathing heavily. Caroline’s eyes were wild with fear. I took her face in my hands.
”Listen to me. I’m going to start running. He’ll follow me—I’m the one he’s after. When he does, you go in the opposite direction. They can probably hear the shots in the courthouse, but just in case, get on your phone and call the cavalry. Get me some help!”
”Joe! No …”
I didn’t wait for her to finish. I came up from behind the car and started sprinting towards the west end of the courthouse. I sprinted for maybe five seconds and looked back. Junior was jogging again, but he was lagging behind me. He raised the gun and fired. High. At least Caroline was safe. I kept running.
When I came to the end of the parking lot, I stopped and crouched beside a pickup. I knew I couldn’t stay still for long, but I was trapped. The parking lot ended at a concrete retaining wall at least ten feet high. I would either have to run across an open space towards Main Street or go back in the direction from which I’d come. If I went back, I could try to stay behind the cars, but Tester would have a much closer shot at me and might be able to cut me off. And I wasn’t sure whether Caroline had made it out of the parking lot. If I went forward, I’d be exposed, but if I could make it to the corner of Main and get around the pharmacy …
I took off for the street.
I saw him in my peripheral vision as I cleared the truck. He was back in his shooting stance. The fourth shot buzzed past my ear and I started to zigzag. A group of tourists was standing on the corner outside the courthouse, pointing and shouting. I thought I saw a flash of khaki. A deputy? Please be a deputy.
Four shots. How many bullets did he have?
I was nearing the small pharmacy on the corner of Main. I thought about ducking inside, but I didn’t want to trap myself and I didn’t want to put anyone else in the line of fire. If I could get around the building, put it between Junior and me, I might be able to find cover or duck into an alley and hide long enough for the police to show up. Just as I was starting to round the corner, the fifth shot ricocheted off of the brick beside me and tore into my left thigh. I didn’t feel any pain, but the impact of the bullet knocked me off balance and I went sprawling face-first onto the brick sidewalk. I lay there dazed for a second and tried to get up. My le
ft leg wouldn’t work. I started to crawl. The bricks were warm beneath my hands.
People were screaming and yelling across the street, and I knew he was getting close. I heard sirens. Please, God, make them hurry. There was a loose brick in the sidewalk. I pried it out with my fingers.
I rolled onto my back just as Junior came around the corner, less than ten feet away. He was holding the gun at arm’s length. He saw me lying on the ground and slowed. Beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead. The corners of his lips curled slightly.
I threw the brick, but it missed him by inches. He took two more steps and was standing over me, just as I’d stood over him the night I went to his house.
I looked at the gun. It was a revolver, six shots. I’d counted five. He had one left.
”Therefore the fathers shall eat the sons in the midst of thee, and the sons shall eat their fathers,”
he said. ”And I will execute judgment upon thee and the whole remnant of thee shall I scatter to the winds …”
I started crawling backwards on my elbows, dragging my bleeding and useless left leg. I stared at Junior, waiting for the shot and the darkness. His eyes were wild and he was still talking, but the words had become nothing more than incoherent babble. He pulled the hammer back with his thumb.
His hand was trembling. I froze.
The next few seconds seemed to run in slow motion. Junior jerked forward as though something had struck him from behind. A puzzled look came over his face, and the gun roared. The bullet screamed past my left ear so close I could feel the shock wave from the velocity. The gun clattered to the bricks by my feet. Suddenly a huge, liver-spotted hand came over the top of Junior’s head and covered his face.
The fingers locked onto his chin and pulled straight up.
Junior went over onto his back. A man mounted him and started spraying something into his eyes.
