The Death of Alan Chandler (The Red Lake Series Book 1)

by Rich Foster

  That afternoon he drove out to the impound yard and signed in to inspect the vehicle. He could not open the crushed passenger door, but looking through the opening where the window once was he saw the proof that would exonerate Lilly. He tried to call the District Attorney. She did not take his call so he tried Calvin Boil. When he finally reached Boil, he was cut off before he could even speak.

  “Look, Maddox, we don’t need your help anymore. Joyce is going to the mat with this case. Be a good boy and don’t bother us! Just show up and give your testimony when we call you.”

  Boil’s arrogance and condescension got under Maddox’s skin. For a better man he would have persisted, but for Boil and Dennison he decided to let it go. Instead of calling back, he picked up the phone and dialed a different number.

  The next morning court convened promptly. Judge Ashe gave each side ninety minutes for opening statements. By nine-fifteen Joyce Dennison was making her case. She drew a quick outline of the case, introducing motive, which was postulated as either greed for needed insurance money or a desire to be free to marry her wealthy lover. These two motives were self-contradictory and the D.A. did not commit definitely to either one. The lies that Lilly told to the police were listed. Her secret lover remained un-named but mentioned. The fact that she was arrested for jumping bail was alluded to. Joyce was an excellent public speaker. She wove an intriguing tale and easily held the attention of all who sat in court. By ten forty-five she concluded by stating that the evidence would prove that Lilly Chandler murdered her husband beyond any reasonable doubt. Joyce was pleased with her performance. Oh, parts could have been better, she thought, but overall it had been excellent. Her only regret was that it was wasted on a judge rather than given to a jury.

  Channing Webster stood and said, “My client is guilty!” A gasp swept through the court. “Guilty of telling some lies, guilty of not knowing what happened to her husband. Guilty perhaps of having a lover! But we will surely prove she is not guilty in Alan Chandler’s disappearance. And should the State someday prove Alan Chandler is dead, facts will show that Lilly Chandler had nothing to do with his death! Thank you, Your Honor.”

  He sat down at the defense table next to Lilly who was smartly dressed in a well-cut, but not too costly, suit. She wore enough make-up to be attractive but not so much as to appear to be a vamp. Channing smiled at Lilly and patted her hand. To the court the message was clear, “I like this woman and she is certainly not a dangerous threat.”

  The brevity of Webster’s opening statement left Joyce Dennison completely off pace. “Just one minute?” she asked herself, “Was the man mad?” She had expected the opening statements to take the whole morning. Hoping to gain time, she asked for a brief recess but Judge Ashe said he saw no reason to break and that the prosecution should commence with their case.

  Over the next few days, Joyce’s hopes for a prolonged high profile trial rapidly disappeared. Systematically she called witnesses and introduced evidence. Time and again Webster declined to give any substantial cross-examination. Of Mrs. Chan’s testimony on the night of the fight he simply asked, “Did you see Lilly Chandler or anyone leave that Sunday night?” Mrs. Chan seemed disappointed to have to answer “No.”

  Items that Joyce was certain would cause evidentiary challenges and delays went unchallenged by the defense. Of the bloody plates Webster simply asked, “Did Mrs. Chandler attempt to hide or deny you access to these plates?” Maddox, who was on the stand, also answered, “No.” Even the blood evidence was not challenged. Webster said the defense was willing to stipulate that the blood was Alan Chandler’s. Joyce found the defense’s actions maddening. It was like trying to box with someone who refused to fight yet effortlessly avoided all of one’s best jabs.

  On the strength of Channing’s reputation the cable channel “Legal Brief” had sent a crew to provide gavel-to-gavel coverage. However, the commentator’s discussions proved to be less about Lilly Chandler and more about Webster’s courtroom technique. There was endless speculation as to his defense strategy and if it would work. Conventional wisdom concluded that either Webster had some evidence that would be a knock out blow to the prosecution or that he was incompetent. And he was certainly not the latter!

  Coverage of Joyce’s prosecutorial performance was slight. When given it was cursory, usually focusing on how her pacing seemed to be completely put out of synch. She was extremely leery of the seeming laxity of the defense. Her hopes of a Justice Department appointment were fading. They were replaced by feelings of dread. There was no possibility that Channing Webster would roll over and let her win. She knew he had a trick up his sleeve. Now, even if she won, his defense was such that it would not gather much praise for her acumen as a prosecutor.

  The County Controller’s fear of a multi-million dollar trial proved to be groundless. Such was the brevity of the defense that four days after Joyce Dennison began her presentation, she rested the prosecution’s case. She sat down filled with an overwhelming sense of doom. Nonetheless, she was as eager as anyone in the court to see what the defense counsel would do. She had studied the defense’s witness list. A few were witnesses they wished to recall to the stand. Others were friends, employees or acquaintances of either Lilly Chandler or Charles Blain. It was a long list and with the speed of the case, Joyce’s office had not been able to have them all vetted. However, she could see no surprises in the list.

  All week, speculation ran rampant through the community. Some said that Webster would produce the missing man at the trial. Other reports stated that “sources” said he would reveal the real killer! Others said Lilly would take the stand and confess and then throw herself on the mercy of the court. One station stated that there was the possibility of Charles Blain’s imminent arrest for accessory to murder.

  On Friday morning, by the time the Bailiff ordered “All rise!” the courtroom had already been packed for an hour! Lilly entered wearing a dress that screamed haute culture. It may have been a Gucci or a Versachi, but the fabric, cut, and style said it would not be found in any store within a thousand miles of Beaumont. Her make-up was perfect. She moved with utter grace and cool composure. When Webster pulled her chair out she gave him a smile that most starlets would envy. If she was worried, there was not a shred of it showing.

  Channing rose. There was a silence as he studied his witness list. Then he spoke.

  “Your Honor, I wish to skip the first forty-two names on my list and call Mr. Anton Shultz.”

  “A smallish, gray-haired man stood up and walked down the aisle. He passed the bar and took the stand. After he was sworn in, he sat down and waited patiently behind thick reading glasses.

  “What is your profession, Mr. Shultz?”

  “I am a forensic crash investigator.”

  There then followed a series of questions establishing the credentials of the man. He had been consulted concerning high profile car crashes including movie stars and European Royalty. His testimony had led to a billion dollar class action settlement against a major auto manufacturer. He had never been successfully refuted in court.

  At nine fifteen, Webster asked him, “Did you inspect the Jeep Cherokee that is currently in the police impound yard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell us what your findings were.”

  “They can be summed up as this. Someone had to be at the wheel of the car when it left the highway. There was no means of operating the car remotely. Any such equipment would have left marks even if it were removed after the crash. Secondly the car dropped at least ninety feet before it made impact. This can be calculated based upon the weight of the car and the degree of distortion in the wheels. All four tires were exploded and the rims bent in a manner that showed the vehicle landed upon all four wheels more or less simultaneously. The struts were bent sufficiently to lock up all four wheels and it would have slid down the hill, much like a skier. On the slope where the vehicle crashed, it would have necessitated the vehicle of moving at a speed of at l
east fifty miles per hour to have sufficient arc to achieve such a vertical drop. No one could have operated the car with any firm expectations of surviving the crash.”

  “Mr. Shultz, this is a photograph of the interior of the Chandler vehicle. It was taken the morning the car was pulled out of the river. This photo identified as exhibit 18-G was introduced into evidence by the prosecution. What did you find significant about this photo?”

  “The keys are in the ignition. They are clearly in the off position!”

  A gasp passed through the court. Whispered conversations bloomed and quickly died as Judge Ashe called for order.

  It was a seemingly minor oversight by the prosecution but their case was destroyed. The car had to be running when it left the road and someone was in the car to turn off the ignition. There followed a series of technical questions and Mr. Shultz’s calculation sheets and analysis were entered into the record.

  On re-direct, Joyce tried to shake the witness but could not find any leverage to her questions. She tried to question why someone who had just suffered a violent crash would turn off the ignition, but Shultz demurred saying he was not a psychologist, he only knew someone had switched it off! After a few minutes the District Attorney gave up and said she had no further questions.

  At nine-fifty three, the defense rested its case.

  Judge Ashe called for rebuttal. Joyce’s case was in shambles. If someone was driving the car then in all likelihood it was Alan Chandler. She tried to suggest that Alan Chandler’s death may have been completely unrelated to the car, but she knew that the car crash and murder were tied together in the prosecution’s case. Her rebuttal wandered, seemingly aimlessly. Even as she spoke, she knew her chances of a job at Justice were about as likely as a conviction against Lilly. After thirty minutes of summation she realized even Judge Ashe seemed bored. Wishing to put an end to her misery, she finished.

  On the other hand Webster was eloquent. “Who drove the car? That is the real question before the court. If Alan Chandler was laying dead in the back of the Jeep, then who drove off the precipice at fifty miles per hour? It was Alan Chandler’s car. It was Alan Chandler’s blood in the car. I say it was Alan Chandler driving when he either intentionally or unintentionally ran off the road. Is he dead? I don’t know, but I do know that Lilly Chandler did not drive off that cliff, crash, survive bruiseless, climb a slope that necessitated the use of ropes to scale and then return home to report her husband missing. To think otherwise defies both the facts and reason.

  “Lilly Chandler is not on trial for lying. She is not on trial for an extra-marital affair. Lilly Chandler is on trial for murder and of that I say the evidence clearly shows she is innocent.”

  By ten fifteen the case was over. Judge Ashe called a recess until after lunch. He stated court would resume at two o’clock. It was universally assumed that he would give a ruling.

  Lilly had lunch in one of the basement holding cells. Her expectations of leaving the Courthouse by the front steps were far better than many who had found themselves heading for the hanging tree via the rear steps.

  Meanwhile, Channing Webster held court for the reporters on the Courthouse steps. He informed them that he had dinner reservations for Ms. Chandler and himself for that night! He added that he had no reason to believe she would be unable to make it. Several reporters tried to draw him out and criticize the prosecution. He sidestepped and said all jurisdictions do the best they can with what they have to work with. It was worse than direct criticism. It was condescending. He then ambled across the street to the Branding Iron Cafe where he took a booth by the front window. Cameras duly recorded him having a meat and potatoes lunch, washing it down with an ice tea.

  On the second floor of the Courthouse, Joyce Dennison was drinking her lunch. From the conference room she was able to look straight across the street at her nemesis. She had no doubt he had won. In fact, it was a surprise that Ashe had even called a recess, however judicial prudence and decorum probably called for a pretense of deliberation. By the time court reconvened she had to concentrate on her walking. Later the most extensive comment she would make was, “No comment!”

  At two o’clock the court was once again full. But the reality was the suspense was over. Several reporters had already written their reports on the Judge’s as yet, unspoken verdict. The bailiff called, “All rise!” and Judge Ashe entered. He met Channing Webster’s verbal brevity with some of his own, “It is the finding of the Superior Court of Parsons County that Lillith Chandler is Not Guilty! The defendant is released from custody. Court is dismissed.”

  The gavel banged down on the trial. The press scrambled to send off stories, the gallery talked. Lilly smiled a pleasant mixture of relief and charm, which barely avoided appearing smug. But what was missing was any collective joy. People who had come for a pound of flesh, left dissatisfied. In the bars and at family dinner tables in Beaumont, many expressed the doubt that justice had in fact been served.

  Reporters vainly tried to question both Lilly and Joyce Dennison.

  “What will this do to your re-election bid?” one yelled to the District Attorney outside the court.

  “No comment!” Dennison replied and then pushed the microphone away from her face.

  Channing Webster and Lilly passed Maddox at the back of the courthouse. Seeing the sergeant, Lilly said, “I’ll bet you’re sorry,” and then muttered under her breath, “You creep!” Webster gave Lilly a brief look of contempt. He stopped and put his hand out to Maddox. “I could have gotten her off anyway, but it would have taken a lot more time and money. Thanks you, for the tip!”

  They shook hands and Webster hurried off to catch up to Lilly who had realized he was no longer next to her.

  “Why are you talking to that bastard?” she asked.

  “Because” he hissed in her ear, “that bastard got you off!”

  Next to Maddox, Lane had watched their exchange, perplexed.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Justice!” said Maddox.

  “I thought you were hot to bust her?”

  “The only thing I was hot for was to bust a murderer if she was one, but she was innocent. You’ve got to follow the facts, Lane. Gut instincts can help, but if you follow just the facts, then justice usually has a way of working things out.”

  Lilly did not dine with Channing Webster that night. It was doubtful any such reservation was ever made. Reporters who lingered looking for a follow up story later established that seven o’clock that night, Charles Blain and Lilly Chandler had packed their bags and driven away.

  As Lilly and Charles drove off, Beaumont lay behind and ahead of them there was a reserved suite in Denver, followed the next day by two first class tickets on the morning flight to Miami, connecting to Rio de Janeiro. In four day’s time the Queen Mary 2 was scheduled for a port of call. It was in Rio that Charles and Lilly would join the ship for the remainder of its nine-month “Circumnavigation of the World Cruise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The two weeks that passed so slowly for Lilly, while she was in custody and brought to trial, sped by quickly for Alan. Karl proved to be good company. He became the closest thing to a mentor that Alan had known. On another level Karl was a father figure who replaced the weak man who emotionally abandoned him after his mother’s suicide.

  Karl had common sense and enough of it to recognize his own prejudices. He freely admitted to people and things he did or didn’t like, without making apologies for his bias’ nor expecting Alan to agree or disagree, although his objections to people leaned toward those who did not think rather than along class or racial lines. He was a free thinker. In their discussions he forced Alan to stretch his mind. Karl had the ability to take a subject and look at it from a new angle. Without doing it in an overt manner he could peel back the layers of a conversation to arrive at the kernel that was the inner truth of the thought. Alan slowly realized that many things he took for facts were actually biases or popular opi
nion at best. He learned to look inward and take the measure of himself. He realized that much of what he thought of himself was in fact the opinions of others and that much of his unhappiness was driven by the fear of being abandoned.

  But despite Karl’s skill at revealing inner truths, he also knew how to let a subject go. One morning as Alan talked about man being trapped in existence, Karl scoffed. He picked up a small rock that lay nearby, “What’s inside this rock, Alan? Does it contain a crystal? Is it a geode?”

  Alan shrugged. “I don’t know!”

  “Well you can keep turning this rock over and over and you ain’t never going to see inside of it. The only way to see what’s on the inside is to smash it. Life is like that boy. There is no seeing the other side without smashing yourself to get there. Mother Nature will do that soon enough, so why do you keep turning the rock over? Some things you just need to let alone.”

  Alan’s ankle improved. Each day it was easier to walk. He recovered his endurance and his strength increased too. He became more comfortable with himself. And, strangely as that happened, his desire to smoke vanished. The few remaining cigarettes lay in his pack untouched.

  The nights became shorter and the days grew long. The weather was warm. By day, the woods were sticky with humidity and the buzzing of insects. By night, fireflies lit up the night and mosquitoes found his flesh. The summer equinox passed, as the sun mounted to its highest point in the annual sky. Soon the July fire season would begin and they might be taken home. Home, he thought. Why did the idea of returning to Beaumont cause him to feel anxious? He realized that all was not idyllic in his return. He had marriage troubles, work difficulties, and money problems. No wonder he was reluctant to hurry back! Obviously Lilly and he had had a great deal of unfinished business. The anger she had unleashed during their fight still caused Alan to shudder. In many ways his wife remained a mysterious stranger to him. But in others he began to see the similarities of their spirits. They both chafed under life. Alan obsessed about life’s difficulties while Lilly denied their existence. He verbalized his fears, whereas she forced hers down. In many ways they were both frightened children, clutching to each other in the hope that the other held the secret answer to their personal need.