“You know, I’m just a country boy, and maybe I’m missing something here. But, I don’t know what this evidence is that the D.A. is talking about. She seems like a nice lady. And I know she’s just trying to do her job. But what she said about my client is just all wrong.
“And I can promise you this: you will not see the prosecutor presenting any physical evidence against my client. No fingerprints. No DNA. Nothing. And that’s because there ain’t none, folks. None whatsoever.
“And there are no credible witnesses. Unless you count the woman who was driving by, and saw some black man leaving the shop on a bike. A woman whose eyesight is so poor she probably shouldn’t even have a doggone driver’s license.”
“I object, Your Honor,” said Angela Hammerly.
“Objection sustained,” said Judge Ragsdale. “Mr. Serpentine—”
“—I apologize, Your Honor.”
Kyle went on. “Now, we all feel terrible about what happened to Mr. Spokane.” He glanced at Dorothy Spokane, who was sitting in her wheelchair at the back of the courtroom.
“I didn’t know him, but I understand that he was a wonderful man who was well-loved by his community. He sold bicycles, sure. So does Wal-Mart. But he also fixed bikes. And a lot of times he’d fix kids’ bikes for free while they waited.
“And the kids were crazy about him. They liked to hang around the shop with him. And over the years, quite a few of those kids worked for him when they were teenagers. He was a very special man, and will be sorely missed.”
He paused and seemed to be mourning Sam’s death.
“We all want to catch whoever did this horrible thing and prosecute them to the full extent of the law. But ladies and gentlemen, my client, Mr. Jamison, did not commit this despicable act.
“He was at home with his mother,” he pointed to Ella Jamison, “when the crime took place. Now, where I come from it’s plain and simple. Kyle Jamison is innocent of these charges. So, you’ve got to find him ’Not Guilty.’”
The first witness for the prosecution was 83-year-old Arabeth Albertson. She walked to the witness stand with the aid of a cane. Considering how frail she looked, a wheelchair might have been more appropriate.
“Mrs. Albertson, we appreciate you being here today,” said Angela Hammerly in a gentle tone.
“Could you please tell us what you saw on the evening of April 1st as you were driving by Sam’s Bicycle Shop?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was on my way home from prayer group meeting. It was a little after 8:00. And when I was driving by Sam’s shop, I saw a black man run out the door, jump on a bicycle, and ride off. He looked like he was in a big hurry to get away from there.”
“The man you saw running out of Sam’s Bicycle Shop—is he here in the courtroom today?
“Yes. He’s sitting right over there.” Mrs. Albertson pointed directly at Kantrell Jamison. Kantrell’s mother recoiled slightly, and then contorted her face in anger.
After Angela Hammerly sat down, Kyle Serpentine slowly, thoughtfully stood up, and walked over to the witness stand.
“Now, Mrs. Albertson, you say you were coming home from your prayer group meeting?”
“That’s right,” she said with pride, “every Saturday night, from 5:00 to 8:00. We have a lovely dinner at Nancy’s house. Each lady brings a vegetable or salad or desert. Nancy provides the main course. Then we have prayer time, and then fellowship.”
“That’s sounds wonderful.”
Kyle Serpentine acted as though she was the sweet grandmother, and he was the curious grandson. “How many years have you been attending this prayer group meeting?”
“Oh, I don’t know…probably 12 or 13 years I guess.”
“I bet you never miss it.”
“Hardly ever. Not unless I’m sick.”
“Do you go out any other nights of the week? You know—to restaurants or to the movies?”
Mrs. Albertson smiled. “No. Just for my prayer group.”
“Yes, I can understand that. ’Cause it’s kinda hard to see at night, isn’t it?”
“Well—”
“—how many years has it been since your last eye exam, Mrs. Albertson?”
“Uh…I’m not sure…”
Angela Hammerly jumped to her feet. “Your Honor?”
“—your Honor, the defense would like to request that Mrs. Albertson be given an eye exam.”
“That seems reasonable, Mrs. Hammerly,” said Judge Ragsdale. “Let’s get Mrs. Albertson to the eye doctor this afternoon. We will adjourn until tomorrow at 9:00 AM”
Angela Hammerly did not think it was reasonable. But she knew better than to argue with Judge Rayburn Ragsdale.
It was only 11:30 AM, and the jury was done for the day. What would Greg do with a free afternoon? Free of money—since he had already cancelled all of his lessons. Maybe he’d drop by First State Bank, and visit a certain vice president. That could lead to banker gossip, though. Greg wondered whether banker gossip was as bad as church member gossip. He decided he didn’t care.
He could not get Cynthia Blockerman off his mind.
8 - CYNTHIA
Greg ordered a turkey sandwich at Jane’s Diner and tried his best to block out all the conversation of the lunch crowd. Surely they knew Greg was on the jury. And they knew he was not supposed to be listening to anything about the trial. But they didn’t seem to care.
It was not so difficult to ignore them, as he thought about Cynthia. When he finished his lunch, he should have gone to his office, and taken care of some overdue bookkeeping.
Instead, he headed toward First State Bank.
Greg was on some kind of high as he walked toward the bank. It couldn’t be love. He barely knew her. Besides—she was married. But it can be intoxicating, to know you’re about to do something crazy, yet be determined to do it anyway.
As he entered the bank, he thought the guard looked at him with suspicion. He didn’t have an account at First State Bank and didn’t intend to open one. He tried to look like he knew what he was doing, and where he was going. That way, nobody would ask the dreaded question, ‘May I help you?’
He found a hallway of offices, and walked down it looking confident, he hoped. He checked the name on each door out of the corner of his eye. Where was her office? It had to be there. Unless he was in the wrong bank.
One of the bankers was standing in his doorway, saying goodbye to a client. Greg ignored them, and kept walking. There was one more office. If it wasn’t Cynthia’s, he would have to turn around. Then he might be asked the question for which he had no answer.
But there it was: Cynthia Blockerman, Vice President. The door was open. He peeked into her office.
“Hi, Cynthia. I need to talk to you.”
She seemed less than thrilled to see him. He knew she had been concerned about co-workers learning of the abuse. But, they would not have to know why Greg was there. He stepped in, and started to close the door. Then he spotted him. Sitting in a chair next to the wall was Troy Blockerman.
“Hey, Tenorly—what are you doing here?”
Greg needed to swallow, but he didn’t want to gulp.
“Need a loan so you can buy some more of that Bach music, or whatever it is you teach?”
“Uh…yeah, something like that.”
Cynthia jumped in. “Mr. Tenorly is thinking about buying his own building.”
“Wow. There must be a lot of mommas making their kids take piano. Good for you, Teny.”
Had Troy Blockerman just accidentally misspoken his name? Or had he decided to coin a derogatory nickname for him. Teny or Tin-ee or ‘tin ear’: one who has a bad ear for music. Was Troy even smart enough to come up with that?
“Okay, I’ve gotta go demolish a house.” The grin on Troy’s face looked like that of a devious five-year-old about to put a frog down his sister’s dress. “I love my job! See you tonight, Honey. Later, Teny.”
And Troy was gone—without showing the least bit of concern about leaving Greg
alone in the room with his beautiful wife. Greg didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted. As soon as Troy was out of the hallway, Greg closed the door.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” She seemed only mildly upset with Greg.
“I know, but I had to see you.” He had to see her because yesterday she had made him feel like a teenager, and he really wanted that feeling again.
“It’s okay, I was going to call you anyway. Troy is planning to bulldoze the rest of the jury into seeing things his way. Just like he rips a house apart or knocks over trees with his heavy equipment. He’s going to force the jury into a quick guilty verdict.”
“But we haven’t even heard all of the testimony yet.” For the moment, Greg was forgetting he was not supposed to discuss the trial with anyone. “He can’t do that.”
“Oh yes he can. He’s always bullying people to get his way. The last time we bought a new car he had the salesman in tears.”
Greg still remembered how Marvin Manly had unmercifully bullied him in high school. He should have just stood up to Marvin. Why had he let himself be pushed around like that?
Not now, he thought. He would go as a knight into battle against the fire-breathing dragon. A ‘fight to the death’ for the beautiful princess. And, of course, for justice.
“I promise you I will stand up to him. If there’s even a hint of reasonable doubt, I will fight Troy all the way. I will not back down.”
Cynthia smiled.
A warm, electric chill rippled through his body. Yes. He would prevail. Greg said goodbye and walked out of the bank without ever talking to Cynthia about the abuse.
Now he was on a quest.
**********
A couple of hours later, a few blocks away, Arabeth Albertson was with her optometrist.
“According to our records, your last exam was 18 months ago,” Dr. Phillippi said.
“I couldn’t remember. But I knew I was seeing okay.”
“Your vision has not changed at all. You don’t need a stronger prescription. You’re close to 20/20 in both eyes with your current glasses.”
“I thought so. That lawyer tried to make the jury think I couldn’t see well enough to see what I saw. But I can. And I did.”
Moments after Arabeth Albertson drove away from the doctor’s office, Amy Cinderside, a temporary secretary, stepped out the back door for a smoke break and a phone call.
“Yeah, she just left…She passed the eye exam with flying colors…Now, when do I get the rest of my money?”
9 - LONE WITNESS
It was 10:30 pm and Arabeth Albertson was sitting in her favorite chair, watching the local news. More road construction in Longview. She instinctively glanced over at Arty to see his reaction to the story. But Arty wasn’t in his chair, and had not been for some six years. Still, she couldn’t break the habit, and didn’t really want to. She liked to pretend he was still there, grimacing over some political candidate’s remarks or complaining about taxes or the weather.
Arty and Arabeth had only one child, which had been their plan. Arty had wanted that child to be a boy. His heart was set on having a son named Andy. So, when Arabeth found out she was having a girl, she suggested they go with the name Andie. One look at little Andie erased all of Arty’s disappointment. The fact that Andie turned out to be somewhat of a tomboy came as no surprise to anyone, considering all the fishing and athletics Arty had thrust upon her. She always wanted please her daddy, and she always did.
By the time Andie went off to college, she had grown into a very attractive young lady. Arty could not have been prouder. They had tried to hide their devastation when, soon after college, Andie moved to Seattle with her new husband. It was always the highlight of their year when Andie and John and the kids visited at Christmas or during summer vacation. She prayed she would never get Alzheimer’s and lose her wonderful memories. There wouldn’t be much left to live for without them.
If the weatherman was right, tomorrow was going to be a sunny day. A nice day for a drive to the courthouse. A perfect day to make that smart-aleck lawyer look like a fool. She might have been old, but she knew what she had seen that night. And the killer was not going to get away with it!
Sam and Dorothy had been longtime friends to Arty and Arabeth. Andie had a ball working for Sam one summer, learning how to fix bikes. She was 14 years old, and didn’t mind getting her hands greasy.
Arabeth was a member of the Neighborhood Watch group on her street. It was an older neighborhood and most of the citizens were over 65. But if a criminal thought he could take advantage of them just because of their age—he would be sadly mistaken. Most of their homes were equipped with alarm systems. Many carried pepper spray and some even owned a gun. They had a slogan: If you’re not quite ready your Maker to meet, Then don’t come messing ’round Mulberry Street.
Jay Leno started his monologue. She clicked the remote to turn off the TV. Jay Leno and David Letterman were both humorous occasionally, but she preferred reading a book after the news. She was near the end of a good Mary Higgins Clark. Couldn’t wait to find out what was going to happen to the hero.
But, where was Marie? She should have been back at Arabeth’s feet by now. Her old feline friend had a little passageway at the bottom of the kitchen door, so she could go in and out as she pleased. But the cat never stayed out for very long. Arabeth realized that Marie had gone out just as the news was starting at 10:00. Then she heard a faint ‘meow’, which seemed to be coming from the back yard.
Arabeth grabbed her cane and walked through the kitchen to the back door. She could hear Marie clearly now. She turned on the back light and looked out the kitchen door window. She couldn’t see anything but the steps and part of the sidewalk. Maybe she should consider replacing that 40-watt bulb with something brighter. And the window needed to be washed.
She opened the door and could barely see Marie in the distance, near a tree. The cat seemed to be trying to come to Arabeth, but for some reason, she couldn’t. Maybe she had gotten herself tangled in a fallen branch. Arabeth rarely ventured into the back yard at night—but this was an emergency.
She began to make her way very carefully down the stairs with her cane. But when she lifted her left foot to take the second step down, it tripped on something. What was she tripping on—she had studied the stairs for any obstructions before starting down. She tried to catch herself, but it was too late. Down, down she went, as in slow motion. She held her breath, knowing that the impact of the sidewalk below would be bone-crushing. It was.
She felt something pop in her lower back. Her right kneecap disintegrated into the concrete. Somehow, her head had avoided the pavement. A second later, she understood how. Her head had landed on her left arm, which felt like it was broken in several places.
Now what would she do? There was nobody to help her. The neighbors were likely already asleep.
She saw a shadow. Then there was a dark figure leaning over her. The lone source of light, the 40-watt bulb, was at his back. An angel of mercy. She attempted to reach out to him, as though she would have been able to stand up if she just had a helping hand.
But instead of taking her hand, he placed his hands on the sides of her head. What was he doing? Then he pulled her head up off the sidewalk—higher and higher, until she thought her neck would break. He slowly turned her head to the side and then slammed it down on the concrete as hard as he could.
She felt excruciating pain, and then…nothing.
10 - TRIAL DAY TWO
It was Wednesday, 9:05 AM. Greg Tenorly and his eleven fellow jurors were in their places. He tried to forget Troy Blockerman was sitting three seats away. The prosecutor, the Assistant D.A., and the defendant and his attorney were at their respective tables. Everyone was waiting for Judge Ragsdale to appear.
A young woman walked hurriedly into the courtroom and whispered something to Angela Hammerly. By the time the woman made her departure, all eyes were on her.
The bailiff shouted, �
�All rise. Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Rayburn Ragsdale presiding.”
Unlike some judges, who rushed to the bench in an effort to minimize the showiness of their entrance, Judge Ragsdale moved slowly, almost majestically, to the bench.
No sooner than everyone sat down, Angela Hammerly said, “Your Honor, sidebar?”
The judge motioned for the two attorneys to come to the bench. Greg strained his above-average hearing, but only caught bits and pieces, which he could not assemble into anything coherent. Judge Ragsdale seemed very disturbed by whatever Ms. Hammerly was saying.
As the lawyers returned to their seats, the judge said, “The Court is saddened to have to inform you that Arabeth Albertson, who testified in this courtroom yesterday, was found dead this morning in her back yard. A neighbor discovered her body. Apparently she tripped and fell down the stairs sometime last night.”
Kyle Serpentine wasted no time. “Your Honor, with all due respect, in light of the fact that the prosecution’s only witness is not able to complete her testimony, and the fact that her testimony is the only evidence submitted by the District Attorney, I move that all charges against my client be dropped.”
Angela Hammerly was holding up a piece of paper. “Your Honor, we have the report from Mrs. Albertson’s eye exam yesterday. Her corrected vision was excellent. And we know that she was wearing her glasses on the night in question. So, she would have had no problem seeing the defendant.”
Judge Ragsdale said, “Mr. Serpentine, your motion is denied. The jury has already heard the bulk of Mrs. Albertson’s testimony, and—”
“—but, Your Honor, I wanted to do a demonstration for the court to check her vision in low light. Older people have more trouble seeing at night.”
“It’s not a good practice to interrupt me when I’m speaking, counselor. You would do well to remember that.”
Greg Tenorly Suspense Series Boxed Set Page 3
