“I don’t drink every day.”
“When did you stop?”
“About a week and half ago.”
“Up until then you were drinking every day?”
“I drank regularly. Maybe not every day.”
Joe moved forward. “Every day you had money to buy it, isn’t that the way it was, Mr. O’Ryan?”
“Sometimes, but now I’m in a recovery program.”
“Recovery program?” Joe acted surprised. “Recovery from what?”
“My drinking problem.”
“Have you told the other people in the program that you have a problem with alcohol?”
“Yes. We have group sessions.”
“Did you tell them you were an alcoholic?”
“Uh, yes.”
“So, now you’ve told two different stories about whether you’re an alcoholic? Which one do you want the jury to believe?”
Harry looked at Mac again with a silent plea for help. Mac stood up. “Objection, Your Honor. He’s being argumentative with the witness.”
“Overruled,” the judge responded. “He has him on cross.”
“He’s trying to crucify him, all right,” David whispered when Mac sat down.
“Answer the question,” the judge said to Harry.
“What was it?” the witness asked.
“I’ll be happy to ask it again,” Joe said. “Mr. O’Ryan, you’ve told two different stories about whether you’re an alcoholic. Which one do you want the jury to believe?”
“I’m trying to get straightened out,” Harry said.
“Or dried out?”
“Yeah.”
“Has Mr. McClain paid you to come here?” Joe asked.
“He is paying for my room and food.”
“And all you wanted to do was help Pete Thomason and return to wherever you came from. Correct?”
“I’m here to tell the truth about the deal with Buster Monroe.”
“Really?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “But you’ve had problems telling the truth in the past, haven’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Joe picked up a sheet of paper from a stack on the corner of the prosecution table.
“Are you the same Harry O’Ryan convicted of issuing a false writing, a bad check, to Southside Convenience Store in Corbin, Kentucky?”
“Yes.”
“Are you the same Harry O’Ryan convicted of issuing a false writing, a bad check, to Westside Pawn Shop in Boiling Springs, Kentucky?”
“Yes.”
Joe flipped through the stack of papers. “Do you know how many false writings are represented by these papers?”
“Are they all on me?” Harry asked.
“Do you want to look them over?”
Harry sighed. “Not really.”
“Would you be surprised to learn that you have written 137 bad checks during the past two and half years?” Joe lifted the stack and let it fall back on the table with a thud.
“I didn’t know it was that many.”
“That’s almost one lie a week, Mr. O’Ryan.”
“I’ve had problems.” Harry coughed.
“Are you aware how many outstanding warrants have been issued for your arrest since you left the Marine Corps?”
“No.”
“I may be off a little, but it appears you’ve been subject to arrest thirteen times in six states. That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“Like I said, I’ve made some mistakes, but I want to make things right.”
“Do you want to add a perjury charge to the list of crimes you call mistakes?”
Mac jumped up. “Objection, Your Honor.”
“Overruled.”
“Answer the question, please.”
“No.”
“Where are you going from here?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t have a job?”
“No.”
Joe stopped. He was having a lot of fun, but a few of the jurors were beginning to look restless. They’d obviously heard enough.
“That’s all,” he said.
Relieved, Harry left the witness stand.
Pete sighed, not sure if his former comrade had done more harm than good.
“Your Honor, the defense recalls Mrs. Sarah Hightower.”
Mac had to do everything in his power to convince the jury of Pete’s innocence—even if it detonated an explosion in what remained of the already fractured Hightower family.
Not as poised as the previous day, Sarah Hightower shifted nervously in the witness chair. She obviously had no idea what was coming.
“Mrs. Hightower, your previous testimony stopped after I asked you about your husband’s brother, Spencer. Let’s pick up where we left off. What contact did Angela have with Spencer?”
“Occasional.”
“How often would that be?”
“A few times a year. Usually over the holidays or at large gatherings for employees of my husband’s companies.”
“Nothing regular?”
“No. She was in school, and we didn’t socialize with Spencer. He had his own life.”
Mac took a deep breath. “Were you aware that Spencer made improper advances toward Angela?”
“Of course not. That’s ridiculous.” Sarah looked at Joe, as if expecting him to object, but all Joe could do was grip the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. Several members of the jury moved closer to the edge of their seats.
“Mrs. Hightower, it is not my intent to upset you, but I have to show you a letter typed by Angela on Joan Brinkley’s computer in April and ask if you received it.” Mac handed her the sheet of paper and stepped back.
Her hands trembling, Sarah read the letter. “No! Oh, no!” Her face contorted with anguish, then she bolted out of the witness chair and left the courtroom. Alex followed her up the aisle.
For several seconds no one moved.
“The court will be in recess for thirty minutes,” Judge Danielson said.
33
Still questioned me the story of my life.
OTHELLO, ACT 1, SCENE 3
The barb was gone from the hook Joe Whetstone was trying to sink into Pete. When everyone reassembled in the courtroom, Sarah Hightower, her face still contorted in anguish, sat in the witness chair. Mac addressed the judge. “Your Honor, the defense has no more questions for Mrs. Hightower.”
Joe quickly responded. “No questions. Mrs. Hightower, you may come down.”
Without looking at Pete or Mac, Sarah walked out of the courtroom a second time.
Mac leaned over to Pete. “Are you ready?”
Pete nodded. “Yes.”
Mac turned to the judge. “At this time we call Peter Thomason.”
It was a risk, but the potential benefits made the decision an easy one. The jury needed to hear Pete’s voice, watch him move, share his thoughts, and realize that he was not a cold-blooded name on a murder indictment but a human being who didn’t look or talk like a person capable of taking the life of Angela Hightower. The minds of the jurors might wander during the course of a trial, but when a defendant took the stand, they knew it was their solemn duty to listen carefully to everything that was said.
Pete was ready. Mac and David had conducted three role plays of his testimony with him and taught him when to look at the jury, how to wait before answering Joe Whetstone’s questions, and covered every conceivable topic that might be brought up in court.
Mac didn’t begin with the moment of Pete’s birth, but he opened the door to the life of Pete Thomason soon thereafter. After a few minutes the questioning became more like a conversation between friends with the jury having the opportunity to listen in.
“My dad left home when I was in the first grade and never came back,” Pete said. “After that it was just my mother and me.”
“Tell us about her.”
“My mother worked in the payroll department of an auto parts factory. We l
ived in a one-bedroom apartment, and I slept on the couch in the living room until I was in the seventh grade”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Public schools on the south side of Atlanta. After graduating from high school, I joined the Marine Corps.”
“You’ve heard the two versions of the incident that led to you leaving the military,” Mac said. “What do you want to tell the jury about it?”
Pete looked directly at the jurors in the box. “The only mistake I made was not fighting to clear my name and my record. I panicked under pressure. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I shouldn’t have agreed to a discharge.”
“You didn’t give Sally Tompkins or Patricia Rawlings any Rohypnol?”
“No. I’d never heard of it until I was in the commandant’s office the next day.”
“What did you do after leaving the Marine Corps?”
“I went home and worked in a grocery store for a couple of months. My mother had always wanted me to go to college, but I didn’t think I could handle it. She finally convinced me to apply to Auburn. I was accepted into a work-study program and graduated four years later with a degree in computer science. My mother died suddenly of a brain hemorrhage two months before I graduated.”
As Pete talked, Mac watched the jury out of the corner of his eye. Several faces seemed less hard and unyielding than when the young man took the witness oath.
“Why did you move to Dennison Springs?”
“I didn’t want to go back to Atlanta. Auburn is in a small town, and I liked the small-town atmosphere. I interviewed with Aeromart here in Dennison Springs, and they offered me a job. It was a great opportunity.”
“How did you meet Angela?”
Pete took a deep breath. “It was at a picnic for new professional-level employees of Hightower companies. Angela was there. We started talking and ate our meal at the same table. All I knew was that her name was Angela. After she walked away, one of my coworkers came up and asked me if I knew I’d been talking with Angela Hightower.”
“When did you see her again?”
“The same day. She came over before she left and gave me her phone number. I called her a few days later, and we went to dinner a couple of times before, uh, she died.”
“Was there any romance between you and Angela?”
“No, we were friends. Nothing else had developed.”
Mac asked softly, “Tell the jury about August second, the last day.”
Pete looked at the jurors before answering. “Angela suggested that we go to dinner at an Italian place she knew in Atlanta. I went to her house to pick her up, and she offered to let me drive her Porsche. I thought it would be fun to drive a fancy sports car, so we took her car and arrived at the restaurant in Atlanta around seven-thirty.”
“What happened next?”
Pete’s face clouded. “We ordered our food, but after that I don’t remember anything until I woke up in the hospital the next day with a deputy sheriff in my room, and found out”—Pete bit his lower lip— “that she was dead.”
Mac waited, wanting the jury to remember the look on Pete’s face. It was not the face of a murderer.
“What can you tell the jury about the drugs in your system?” Mac asked after several more seconds passed.
“I never took any drugs, and I never gave Angela any drugs.”
“And the murder?”
Pete glanced at Alex Hightower, who was sitting stone-faced behind the prosecution table. “I never harmed or hurt Angela in any way, and I really hope the police find who killed her.”
Joe began by asking obvious questions to develop a rhythm of response, then moved into the strongest evidence that supported the State’s case.
“You don’t deny that you were with Angela on the evening of August second?”
“No, sir.”
“And you don’t dispute the testimony of the officers who apprehended you near the overlook where Angela and her car were found?”
“No, sir. I don’t remember.”
“Of course, you remember with great detail events from your childhood, but when it comes to the reason for this trial you can’t remember anything that would help this jury decide if you’re telling the truth, can you?”
“I wish I could. But I can’t.”
“And do you know the results of the lie-detector test you agreed to take?”
“Yes, sir.”
Joe raised his voice. “A test that showed deception every time you answered a question about Angela Hightower?”
“I think Mr. Wilcox explained that the test was not performed as it should have been.”
“You’re only saying that because you weren’t able to lie and get away with it, aren’t you?”
“No. I would take another test if the examiner was fair.”
“But the test showed you were lying when you said you didn’t take any drugs, didn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And that you were lying when you said you didn’t give Angela any Rohypnol?” Joe spoke more rapidly.
“Yes, but I didn’t do it.”
“And that you were lying when you said you didn’t harm Angela?”
“Yes.”
“And that you were lying when you said you didn’t kill Angela Hightower?”
“I didn’t harm or kill Angela,” Pete’s voice got louder and his eyes flashed. Mac squirmed in his seat, wanting to give Pete a break from the onslaught, but there was nothing he could do.
“Your attempts to lie didn’t fool the polygraph machine, did they, Mr. Thomason?”
“I told the truth then, and I’m telling the truth now.”
“Just like your friend Harry O’Ryan always tells the truth?”
“I didn’t do anything to the two girls in South Carolina.”
“Or is it that you don’t remember?”
“I remember what I didn’t do,” Pete shot back.
“Do you have what they call selective memory recall?”
“No.”
“Is that why you forgot to mention to the jury your most recent incident of illegal drug usage while you have been a prisoner in the Echota County Jail?”
Mac was on his feet in a flash. “I object and move for a mistrial, Your Honor. The State has improperly placed Mr. Thomason’s character at issue.”
“Overruled and denied. He has him on cross-examination,” Judge Danielson said evenly.
“I didn’t take any illegal drugs,” Pete persisted.
“Would Lieutenant Cochran, the officer in charge at the jail, Officer Bailey, the deputy who took you to the hospital, and Dr. Randolph, the doctor who tested your blood at the hospital, verify your story?”
“Uh, no.” Pete dropped his head.
“So, Mr. Thomason, everybody in the world is out to get you by either lying about you or forcing drugs down your throat against your will. Is that what you expect this jury to believe?”
Pete’s face turned noticeably red. “No.”
“Based on your prior conduct, you may not remember anything tomorrow, but that’s what you’ve told us today, isn’t it?”
“No.”
While Joe was hammering Pete, Mac debated whether to try to rehabilitate his client or let him come down from the witness stand. He decided to attempt a few questions they’d worked out beforehand.
“Pete, is there something more you would like to tell the jury about your inability to remember the events of August second?”
Pete took a deep breath to calm himself down. “For weeks and weeks, I didn’t know why I suffered from amnesia. It was driving me crazy, trying to wrack my brain and understand what had happened the night of Angela’s death. Then, they identified the drug that was in me— GHB. And I knew that there was a chemical reason why I couldn’t remember. It’s still frustrating, but there is nothing I can do about it.”
“Anything else about your testimony on direct or cross-examination that you want to clear up?” Mac asked.
Pete
nodded toward the prosecution table then faced the jury. “I know Mr. Whetstone’s job is to convince you that I’m guilty. He’s a good lawyer, but I did nothing to harm Angela. Nothing.”
Mac checked his notes one last time, then announced, “The defense rests, Your Honor.”
“No further questions,” Joe said. “We’ll refute the defendant’s contentions with our rebuttal witnesses.”
“How long will you take in rebuttal, Mr. Whetstone?”
“No more than two or three hours, Judge.”
“All right. We will adjourn until the morning. Gentlemen, please be prepared to discuss the court’s instructions to the jury and present closing arguments tomorrow immediately upon completion of the evidence.”
The next morning, Joe called Lieutenant Cochran, Officer Bailey, and Dr. Randolph to testify about Pete’s overdose at the Echota County Jail.
“Lieutenant Cochran, was there any indication that someone forced the defendant to take the amphetamines which were found in his system?”
“Of course not,” the officer answered, looking as if he thought the idea was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.
“How did he obtain the drugs?”
“We don’t know. Unfortunately, even the jail is not immune from traffic in illegal drugs if an inmate wants it badly enough.”
Mac walked to a spot about ten feet from the witness stand.
“How long has Mr. Thomason been in jail?” he began.
“About four months.”
“Have there been any other disciplinary problems involving him?”
“No.”
“Was he violent or aggressive the night he was taken to the hospital?”
“No.”
“In fact, he wouldn’t have attracted any attention if he hadn’t become confused and disoriented?”
“I don’t know if that’s true or not. I was in my office downstairs when one of the deputies upstairs called me on an internal phone line.”
“And told you Pete was confused?” Mac asked.
“Yes. He was talking nonsense, and they were concerned something was wrong with him.”
“Is it possible that someone could have put some amphetamines in his food or drink?”
“Anything is possible, but I’ve never had that happen at the jail during the twelve years I’ve been there.”
The Trial Page 29
