Sweet Vengeance

by Fern Michaels

  “Please, take a seat,” Lee Whitlow said, motioning to a group of chairs surrounding a low table. She had not even noticed the room’s furnishings until now. There was a brown-metal filing cabinet to her right, with a large desk to her left, and folding metal chairs were placed in the center of the room around a low, round table. No windows. Fluorescent lights. Maybe this is the bereavement room, she thought as she sat down. Never having been there, it was hard to say, but whatever the room’s purpose, Tessa knew her reason for being here could be life-changing.

  As soon as she was seated, Steven Kilhefner, a short, stocky man who appeared to be in his early forties, sat beside her and placed a large briefcase on the low table. He removed what appeared to be legal documents, as the files were legal-sized. No, she thought, this cannot be good. Her hands shook, and her mouth was suddenly dry.

  Bethany Young must have read her mind. She placed an unopened bottle of water on the table in front of her and four more close to the edge. “We talk a lot, our mouths need fuel,” she said, smiling, a way of explaining the extra bottles of water. Bethany couldn’t have been a day over twenty-one, Tessa thought as she took the water. Of average size, the woman was dressed in beige slacks with a pale blue blouse and wore a smartly fitted navy blazer. Her sunflower-colored hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, held in place with a tortoiseshell barrette. Tessa quickly glanced at Bethany’s hands, but she wore no jewelry. Girl next door came to mind.

  Whatever the reason for the water, Tessa didn’t care. She opened the water and drank half the bottle, then steadied what was left in the bottle between her knees.

  Sam sat beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder. Again, his touch sent waves of . . . something she didn’t want to put a name to through her. She had not felt a man’s touch in such a very long time. She tried not to focus on the physicality of her situation, the closeness of the man beside her.

  She searched the faces of the people whom she assumed to be the bearers of bad news, and asked, “Could you please just tell me why you’re here, and get it over with? Is it Lara? Has something happened to her?” She turned her gaze to Sam, imploring him to answer her questions.

  “No, Lara is fine. At least she was the last time she came to the office to pick up a check. That was a few weeks ago,” Sam explained. “I keep tabs on her. I’m confident she’s doing just fine.”

  Tessa felt a wave of relief wash over her. While she and Lara weren’t close, she was the only family Tessa had left. If something had happened to her, Tessa would be completely alone in the world. This thought struck her so fast, it took a moment for it to register. She was alone. She would always be alone even though she was surrounded by hundreds of women just like herself. No, she wasn’t like those other women.

  She was not a murderer, she truly was innocent!

  The thought offered little comfort. This was her home now. She had accepted that and learned to live with the court’s decision.

  Tired of waiting, Tessa focused her attention on Mr. Whitlow, asking, “Why are you here?”

  Again, Sam placed his arm around her shoulders. She jerked so quickly the water bottle she had secured with her knees fell to the floor, the water forming a small circle around her slipper-clad feet. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” Whitlow replied. “You’re nervous, and we understand. Bethany, grab a tissue and give Ms. Jamison another bottle of water.”

  The young woman pulled a few tissues from a box on the desk and tossed them onto the small puddle to absorb the liquid, then used a clean tissue to pick up the wet glob and toss it into a garbage can beside the desk.

  “Thank you,” Tessa said. She felt foolish and wasn’t used to having people clean up after her. That was her job. Monday and Wednesday, showers, the nastiest of all jobs. Tuesday and Thursday, the library, a much-coveted job. Fridays were spent doling out prescription medications in the prison’s infirmary/pharmacy. Another much-sought-after position. Tessa did not care much for this particular assignment either, but given her education and background, it was common sense that she be placed at the “pill window,” which was always monitored by guards inside the small area that constituted the prison’s pharmacy and outside the window where inmates lined up for their meds. Prisoners must be observed by a guard while taking medication. Inside, an antibiotic or a pill that couldn’t be purchased over the counter at the commissary was extremely valuable.

  “I know you must be curious why we’re here,” Whitlow said, stating the obvious.

  Tessa nodded, afraid to say anything for fear of the answer.

  “Lee, just tell her. You have kept her in suspense too long,” Sam demanded.

  “The Florida Supreme Court recently ruled that a suspect’s silence can’t be used against them in court.” He paused for effect. “As you know, during your trial, there were several witnesses who stated you remained silent after your arrest—”

  “I told the police,” Tessa interrupted.

  Lee held up a hand. “Let me finish, Ms. Jamison, please. I’m sure you will want to hear what I have to say.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Please go on.”

  Whitlow continued. “Thank you. I have read the transcript of your trial. Michael Chen had it in for you. Of that there is no doubt in my mind.”

  Tessa remembered Assistant District Attorney Michael Chen. She guessed him to have been in his early thirties at the time of her trial. He was smug, she remembered thinking. During the trial, he had done everything he could to draw attention to what he thought of as his brilliant mind, his superiority. That had been her impression even though what he did had little effect on how she felt. She had not really cared one way or another as her life was over whatever the verdict. The trial and Michael Chen’s display of arrogance were merely inconveniences to get through.

  She had tried to pay attention to the witnesses, but she had been unable to stop the flow of the images that taunted her, the images of her two daughters and her husband that wracked her brain. She now believed she had been in a state of shock after her arrest, and most likely she had suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder.

  What she did recall about the district attorney was an abundance of perspiration and body odor. He reeked of rotten onions and sour sweat. She wondered how his assistants could stand to be in the same room with him, let alone seated next to him at the prosecution’s table. And the words he’d spouted during his summation were as foul as his body odor. She also recalled that his teeth were crooked and unclean. He made a point of standing next to the defense table when he spoke. Tessa remembered how she would inwardly gag when he stood beside her chair. Short, fat, and smelly summed up this disgusting example of a human being.

  “Michael Chen’s tactics during the trial were brought to my attention by Mr. McQuade.”

  Tessa shot Sam a questioning look.

  “I was a lawyer before I was a CEO,” he explained.

  Somewhat stunned, Tessa replied, “I never knew.” All she really knew about Sam was he’d been friends with Joel during college, and for the past twelve years, he’d been CEO of Jamison Pharmaceuticals. She knew he held a couple of degrees but assumed they were in the medical and pharmacy field. Sam had been older, and she recalled Joel telling her this once.

  “Emory Law,” he explained.

  Lee Whitlow took the file from Steven Kilhefner. He opened the manila folder and removed a stack of papers. “This is a copy of the Florida Supreme Court’s recent ruling. Sam brought this to my attention five months ago, and I agree with the court’s decision.”

  Tessa’s pulse increased, her eyes filled with tears. She knuckled the tears before they had a chance to fall. She had to be strong. Tough. If she were headed to death row, then so be it. Her daily thoughts of how she could end her existence were possibly being answered for her. Taking a deep breath, doing her best to evoke some inner sense of bravery, she said, “I do not understand. What does this mean?” She was sure she was correct in her assumption
.

  “We have asked for a new trial, and our request has been granted,” Lee Whitlow stated. “Your conviction has been overturned on the grounds that your Fifth Amendment rights were violated in your first trial.”

  Feeling as though she had been punched in the gut, Tessa drew in a sharp breath. The room swirled, the fluorescent lights blurred, and a hand reached for her, steadying her as she almost fell from the chair.

  It took a few seconds for her to regain her sense of sight and balance. When she had herself under control, she took one of the unopened bottles of water on the table, opened it, and took a long drink. Her throat was dry and her voice scratchy when she spoke. “I still don’t understand.” A question more than a statement, and she waited for an explanation. “Does Randall know about this?”

  “He does, but he’s asked me to take the lead. I have read your trial transcript numerous times, as have my colleagues. During your trial, the prosecution sought and received testimony from numerous state witnesses who testified that you remained silent following the murder of your twin daughters and your husband after you were placed under arrest. As I’m sure you know, the state reminded the jurors of your silence repeatedly during their closing statement. Mr. Chen argued that the jury could weigh your silence after your arrest as evidence of conscious guilt. The case law, Florida v. Horwitz, was expanded several months ago prohibiting prosecutors from using a defendant’s pre-arrest, pre-Miranda silence as substantive evidence of guilt when a defendant chooses not to testify at trial. Because of the recent change in the law, Mr. Chen’s use of your silence violated your Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination, something all are entitled to under Florida’s constitution as well as the United States Constitution. In simple terms, the facts that you didn’t speak to officers after your arrest, did not testify on your behalf, and the Fifth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution states you had the right to remain silent if you chose to, it should not have been used against you, but it was.” Lee Whitlow dropped the papers on the table.

  Tessa felt all eyes on her. Unsure of how they expected her to react, she remained quiet, trying to absorb the information she had just heard. Never even giving a thought to leaving Florida’s Correctional Center for women, or as some of the other inmates crudely referred to it, Fucking Cockless Institute, she had accepted her sentence as it was ordered: three life sentences to be served consecutively, which was the rest of her natural life. How did one get past this? Shock, she thought as she tried to summon words to express what she was feeling. Stunned, unable to wrap her mind around the attorney’s words, she remained still, silent.

  “Tessa?” Sam asked. “Say something.”

  Shaking her head from side to side, she took another gulp of water, then returned the bottle to the table. “Why? I don’t understand. Why now? Why didn’t they believe me then? I told the detectives at the scene the truth. My . . . truth somehow matters now?”

  “It’s not always about the truth, Ms. Jamison. Right now it’s about your rights, and the law has changed since your conviction.” Steven Kilhefner spoke for the first time. “I’m Mr. Whitlow’s investigator, but I’m also an attorney. I just choose the investigatory side of the law. I’m going to assist you in getting out of this place while we wait and prepare for your new trial. The circumstances won’t be perfect, but they’ll be colossal compared to your current . . . situation.”

  For the second time, the lights blurred, and the room became dimmer. Darkness sought her out, and this time it found her.

  Chapter 3

  Tessa’s eyes opened as soon as she smelled the ammonia beneath her nose. She was still inside what she had called the bereavement room, but she was on the floor, her upper body leaning against Sam’s chest.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she tried to sit up. Embarrassed, she stood, using the seat of the metal folding chair to hold on to for support.

  Bethany placed an arm around her, helping her back onto the chair she had just fallen out of. “Here, try this,” she said, handing her a chocolate bar. “Sugar helps everything.”

  Tessa took the candy bar, briefly wondering why Bethany carried candy with her.

  “I’m diabetic,” Bethany said as though she had read her mind.

  “I wondered why,” Tessa said softly. “Thank you. This . . . news comes as quite a shock.”

  Sam sat next to her. “Are you okay?”

  Was she? Physically, yes. Emotionally, she didn’t know. Not wanting to upset or humiliate herself by not showing her gratitude to these people who’d made it their mission to help her, she said, “Yes. I am. The news is just so unexpected, to say the least. I had no idea. Randall never mentioned anything.”

  “That was because I asked him not to,” Lee Whitlow offered. “We didn’t want to get your hopes up until we had your conviction overturned.”

  Hope? She had never had any hope, so when one doesn’t have any, there is no chance of losing it. Expect nothing and never be disappointed, a motto she had lived by when she was a young girl, and it had helped her to live her life in prison one day at a time. When she had been accused and convicted of murder, she had picked her earlier self’s motto up again.

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m still shocked,” she explained. “I have never heard of this happening in the ten-plus years I have been here.”

  Whitlow spoke. “That’s because the law has changed. I suspect you won’t be the last . . . person”—he stumbled over the last word—“to receive a new trial after the Florida Supreme Court’s long-overdue decision.”

  Steven Kilhefner cleared his throat. “Ms. Jamison, there is a process we will be going through—”

  “Please call me Tessa,” she interrupted him.

  He nodded. “Tessa, there is a process we’ll go through. I need to know that you understand this.”

  “If you explain, I’m sure I will,” she said.

  “We will go before a judge next week, and he will issue the terms of your release. Bail will be set, and I’m sure it will be seven figures if Judge Crider’s past orders are indicative of his future orders. Sam has assured us that funds for the bail won’t be a problem. From there, once the conditions of your release are met, you will be released into Sam’s custody. Of course, if there is someone else you prefer, we will suggest this to the judge. However, I would advise you to stick to the plan as we do not want to give the court any reason to change his mind. And it can happen, despite the fact a new trial has been ordered. It is very rare that someone charged with three counts of first-degree murder gets released. The Supreme Court’s ruling is in our favor. However, we must follow the law to the letter, or any chance of keeping you out of this . . . place will be gone. Are you okay with Sam as your guardian?”

  “Guardian?” Tessa didn’t understand.

  “It will be in the terms of your release that you have a guardian. If you’re not agreeable to this—”

  “It’s fine by me, as long as Sam is agreeable,” Tessa said.

  “I suggested this, Tessa. I hope you don’t think I was being too forward,” Sam responded.

  She wasn’t sure what she felt about Sam’s offer. Since she was unsure about this entire process, it was going to take time for her to get used to the idea. Tessa had a nagging fear that if she allowed herself to get her hopes up, something horrible would happen.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “I don’t know what to feel. This is all such a shock. I don’t know if I want to chance another trial, another guilty verdict. I have tried to make peace with this”—she motioned to the room around her—“and resigned myself to spending the rest of my life here. What happens if I’m found guilty again?”

  The small room was silent, no one offering an answer to her question.

  “It’s a risk, but we think it’s one you should consider,” Lee Whitlow explained. “You are correct that the mere fact that we have succeeded in having your conviction overturned is no guarantee that you will be found not guilty in another trial. Bu
t if I didn’t think we had a chance at winning you an exoneration, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Tessa knew what it would take for her to be found not guilty at a new trial. “You have new evidence? You have managed to locate Liam?” she asked, her heart racing at the thought. Not that she didn’t want him to suffer, she did. But by her own hand.

  It was then that an idea began to take form.

  “No, we haven’t. I have people working on this. Randall’s lead investigator, well, let’s just say he valued the bottle a bit too much and is out of a job. Has been for three or four years.”

  Tessa was surprised at this news. Randall had always assured her his team of investigators were the best in the business. She was sure there had been more than one man. It didn’t matter at this point.

  “I didn’t know,” was all she could come up with.

  “We do have a possible witness,” Whitlow stated.

  “Who?” Tessa asked, her voice firm. “And why now?” She was angry. Ten, almost eleven years of her life, she had been living in hell. If there was someone out there with knowledge of her family’s murders, she wanted to know why that person was just now coming forward.

  “Calm down, Tessa,” Sam said. “This is good news for you.”

  “So you say. Try spending one damned night in this place, then tell me that’s good news.”

  “If you’re not willing to go through another trial, I think our business here is over,” Steven said. He took the files off the desk and returned them to his briefcase.