The Starks Trilogy (Book 1 & 2)

by Nesly Clerge

  Michael Parker made his way toward the jurors.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client, Frederick Starks, went to the Hessinger house solely to confront Mr. Hessinger in front of Mrs. Hessinger so she’d know what was really going on in her life and marriage. Because my client felt she deserved to know that she, too, was being betrayed. That her family, as well, was on the brink of destruction. That’s all my client intended. But Mr. Hessinger, rather than being truly sorry for his wrongdoings, chose to provoke my client, thereby inciting another form of passion: overwhelming frustration and a sense of helplessness to make right what had been made wrong, and this quickly became exacerbated by fear for his life.

  “Today you’ll hear testimony by prosecution’s witnesses that make Mr. Starks appear one way. You’ll also hear testimonies from witnesses for the defense counsel that claim Frederick Starks is known to be a mild-mannered, calm, non-violent individual.

  “The fact is this: Mr. Starks had no harmful intention, no premeditation of an attack regarding Mr. Hessinger, but found himself in a situation where he had no choice but to defend himself.”

  Once Parker was seated, Starks said, “I’m not feeling confident about the jury’s decision-making ability. The prosecutor hammered me.”

  “He’s not the only one with a toolbox.”

  CHAPTER 6

  THE PROSECUTOR CALLED his first witness.

  A thin, angular woman clutching her handbag against her chest, moved with unsteady steps to the witness stand. She smoothed one side of her lank, dull hair before holding up her right hand to be sworn in.

  Parker said in a low voice, “She’s the prosecution’s strongest witness. The longer she stays on the stand the more likely jurors will sympathize with her. That’s problematic but not insurmountable. Don’t let her testimony throw you.”

  Starks nodded and linked his fingers together, squeezing them hard to hide the trembling. He averted his eyes from the woman in the witness stand.

  “Do you affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under the pains and penalties of perjury?”

  “I do.”

  “State your name and relationship to Ozy Hessinger.”

  “Margaret Hessinger. I’m his wife.”

  “Please be seated.”

  The prosecutor asked, “Mrs. Hessinger, do you recognize the defendant?”

  Margaret Hessinger focused her gaze on Starks.

  As much as he wanted to resist, he looked at her.

  Her lips quivered then flattened into a thin line. “Yes. That’s the man who tried to kill my husband.”

  Parker stood and said, “Objection. Witness’s statement calls for a conclusion. Motion to strike the words after the witness identified the defendant.”

  “Sustained.” The judge gave the order to the court reporter.

  Starks’s fingers felt something rough on the narrow front edge of the wooden table. He leaned back to see what it was. Someone had lightly etched a word into the wood: Free. He wondered if whoever had scratched it there had been found not guilty—innocent or not—and set free, or had it been a prayer by someone whose nerves had been as taut as his were now.

  “Please tell the court, to the best of your recollection, what you witnessed and the words you heard exchanged between the defendant and your husband the night of the attack.”

  Margaret Hessinger repeated what she’d seen and heard, briefly halting her testimony while the glass bowl was entered as evidence.

  “Please continue.”

  “There was a gap in what I could hear because I’d gone upstairs to the children. And to call the police, before I returned downstairs.”

  “Why did you return downstairs?”

  “I was terrified for our safety, for all of us. Especially when I stopped hearing my husband’s voice.”

  “Had you ever met Mr. Starks before that night?”

  “No.”

  “Had you ever heard the names Frederick Starks or Kayla Starks mentioned by your husband at any time before that night?”

  “No.”

  “How has this incident affected you and your family?”

  The muscles of her face flickered as she twisted the strap on her handbag. “We’re traumatized. My husband’s in a coma, one he may never come out of. They just don’t know. My children and I are in therapy five days a week.”

  “Your children were traumatized because they heard the violent commotion going on downstairs?”

  “What traumatized them was that, even though I told them to stay hidden in one of the closets, they came downstairs. They saw what he, the defendant,” she pointed at Starks, “was doing to their father. Saw their daddy covered in blood and not moving. My daughter, who’s six, now wets her bed and suffers embarrassment about that. My son is five and now has panic attacks. Any loud noise, anyone knocks at the door, he curls up in the fetal position and stares at nothing.”

  Tears rolled down Margaret Hessinger’s mottled cheeks. She took a tissue from her handbag. “They can’t go to school. They can’t leave my side. It was hell leaving them this morning with their grandmother. They cry day and night for their daddy. And when they can sleep, both of them have nightmares. They wake screaming in terror several times a night. Since the attack happened, we all sleep in my and my husband’s bed. So none of us are getting the rest we need. Our family doctor suggested sleeping pills but I don’t want to get them started on that habit and I don’t want to be knocked out when they need me.”

  Starks rested his head in his hands and choked back a sob. He understood. There was no respite from his nightmares since that night, either.

  Parker nudged him gently and said, “Remember what I told you.”

  Starks blanked his expression as much as possible and stared at his hands.

  “Your witness.” The prosecutor, wearing yet another slight smile, took his seat.

  CHAPTER 7

  PARKER REMAINED AT the counsel table. “Mrs. Hessinger, when you heard Mr. Starks state that your husband had been unfaithful to you with his wife, what were your thoughts?”

  “I didn’t believe him.” She sat up straight. “I believed my husband.”

  “Do you still believe your husband?”

  She glared at Parker but said nothing.

  “We’ll leave that for now. You were upstairs when the incident in the kitchen occurred?”

  “For part of it. As I said, I was afraid for my husband so went back downstairs and heard them in the kitchen.”

  “You just said you couldn’t hear your husband.”

  “I heard him,” she pointed at Starks, “hitting my husband, and his foul language. Obviously, it meant my husband was there.” She focused on Starks, her face contorted. “He—the defendant—was on top of my husband, beating him with his fists, over and over. He wouldn’t stop. My favorite bowl that had been my grandmother’s was on the floor.” Her right hand went to her mouth. She swallowed several times then added, “With my husband’s blood and hair on it.”

  “Did you at any time say anything to either Mr. Starks or your husband to get them to stop the altercation?”

  “I don’t remember. I was in shock. I may have screamed. And,” rage found its voice, “there was no altercation. It was a vicious attack. The man’s an animal. My husband was unconscious, unable to defend himself.”

  “So you have no knowledge of what happened before you went to the kitchen. When you went into the kitchen, did you see a knife where it didn’t belong, say, on the floor or the counter?”

  The prosecutor stood: “Objection. Beyond the scope. Defense counsel cannot ask questions about anything not entered in evidence or not covered in the previous line of questioning.”

  “Yes, counselor,” the judge said. “Defense will refrain from—”

  Parker faced the judge. “Your honor, my client has pleaded not guilty to attempted murder or any premeditation of such. We intend to prove his actions in the kitchen were in self-defense, af
ter Mr. Hessinger grabbed a knife and—”

  The prosecutor shouted, “Objection.”

  “Sustained. Defense counsel will follow the rules. Proceed.”

  “No further questions, your honor.”

  Parker took his seat.

  Starks said, “We’ve got to get them to believe the truth about the knife.”

  “That would be easier if you’d spoken up at the time. However, we still have some good cards in our deck, and I intend to play them.”

  CHAPTER 8

  THE PROSECUTOR CALLED to the stand the primary EMT who had attended to Ozy Hessinger in the back of the ambulance.

  “What was Mr. Hessinger’s condition when you arrived at his home?”

  “Mr. Hessinger’s breathing was shallow and he was unresponsive.”

  “Did the defendant, Mr. Starks, require medical attention?”

  “His hands were swollen, and he had some lacerations and contusions. Mrs. Hessinger told us some of his injuries were received when Mr. Starks attacked her husband and they crashed through the glass door at the front of the house.”

  The prosecutor asked, “Did you provide medical attention to Mr. Starks’s injuries?”

  “The police said they’d see to any medical needs of Mr. Starks. Mr. Hessinger’s condition was critical, so we got him into the ambulance and to the E.R. as quickly as possible.”

  “Did Mr. Hessinger, at any time, regain consciousness from the time you arrived at his home until you released him to emergency room staff?”

  “No.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Parker.”

  Parker kept his head down as he scribbled something on his notepad. “No questions.”

  The E.R. doctor was called to the stand. “The head trauma Mr. Hessinger received has the potential to cause long-term, severe neurological damage, possibly even paralysis. He’s currently in a comatose state.”

  “Is this a medically-induced coma?”

  “He was in a coma when we received him in the E.R.”

  “Can you offer any prognosis?”

  “Not at this time. In situations like this, we have to wait and see. Fluctuations in brainwave activity indicate that consciousness may be possible at some point. But, not as yet.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Parker.”

  “No questions for this witness.”

  The judge raised his gavel. “The court calls a fifteen-minute recess.”

  The sharp crack of the gavel echoed in Starks’s mind, as though the sound itself declared him guilty as charged, without waiting for the full story to be revealed. But he couldn’t get the image of the Hessinger children and their suffering out of his mind. What’s been done by all of us, he thought, has more repercussions than any of us ever bothered to consider.

  He’d only wanted to humiliate Ozy. No, that wasn’t true. He’d hoped to destroy Ozy’s family, just as the man had destroyed his. Just, God, not in this way.

  Now the proverbial Dominoes were tumbling, each one striking the next as they fell. And, it seemed this would continue, until none were left standing.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE TWO POLICE officers who had responded to the nine-one-one call were in the gallery, but only the one who had drawn his weapon at the Hessinger house was called to testify.

  “Tell the court what you found when you arrived.”

  “The defendant and Ozy Hessinger were in the kitchen. Initially, I thought Mr. Hessinger was dead. He wasn’t moving, and there was significant blood on the two men and on the floor, mostly on the floor. There was some blood splatter on the walls and cabinets. When checked, Mr. Hessinger still had a pulse, but it was faint.”

  “The report you filed said you drew your weapon. Why did you do that?”

  “The defendant didn’t respond to repeated orders to cease the attack. I also feared he might assault my fellow officer when he tried to restrain the defendant.”

  The prosecutor walked to the witness box. “Was it difficult to separate the defendant from Mr. Hessinger?”

  “Yes, sir. He was obviously enraged and—”

  Parker was on his feet. “Objection. Witness is stating an opinion.”

  The prosecutor said, “Your honor, I’d like to establish that this witness is qualified to state more than an opinion.”

  “Overruled. Proceed.”

  “How did you come to the conclusion that the defendant was enraged?”

  “Twenty years on the job.” The officer looked at the jurors. “I know enraged when I see it.”

  “How long did it take you to restrain the defendant?”

  “At least a few minutes. It was a struggle to get him to the floor so I could cuff him.”

  “Did he try to escape?”

  “Not escape, but…”

  “But what?”

  “He didn’t take his eyes off Mr. Hessinger the entire time. Even while I restrained him, his hands stayed in fists, like he wanted to get back to the fight—not that it was a fair fight.”

  Parker stood. “Objection. Your honor—”

  “Sustained. Strike the entire statement from the record.”

  “If you hadn’t shown up when you did, do you think the defendant would have continued his attack until he killed Mr. Hessinger?”

  Parker leaped up. “Objection. Calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  “I withdraw the question. Did you or the other officer find any weapons in the kitchen?”

  “Not actual weapons, just the heavy glass bowl used to hit Mr. Hessinger.”

  The prosecutor picked up the bowl and brought it to the witness. “Is this the bowl?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know for certain this bowl had been used to strike Mr. Hessinger?”

  “The bowl was on the floor, near the victim and defendant. It had blood and hair on it. Later we determined fingerprints on the bowl were the Hessinger family members’ and the defendant’s.”

  “What color is Mr. Hessinger’s hair?” The prosecutor turned and stared at Starks’s nearly black mop that was months past his regular haircut. The jurors followed his lead.

  “Blond.”

  “Was blond hair the only hair found on the bowl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was DNA on the bowl checked?”

  “It was Mr. Hessinger’s blood and hair.”

  Starks, head down, heard Ozy’s voice in his mind—Are you upset that I did your wife or that sometimes a buddy and I did her at the same time?—then the sound of the knife being pulled from its slot. Felt again the fear followed by rage. What, he wondered, would any person in this room do if they found themselves in the same situation.

  The prosecutor returned the bowl to the evidence table. “Did the defendant at any time mention to you, the other officer, or anyone else anything about a knife?”

  “No. The only thing he said, when he finally decided to talk at the station, was that he wanted his lawyer. He told his attorney about the knife then his attorney told us.”

  “Was this information followed up?”

  “My partner and I returned to the Hessinger house. There was a block of kitchen knives on the counter, but they were all in place. Mrs. Hessinger said that’s exactly how they’d been before and after the incident.”

  The prosecutor faced Parker. “Your witness.”

  CHAPTER 10

  PARKER GOT UP but stayed behind the defense counsel table. “You said that neither you nor the other officer found any weapon in the kitchen.”

  “No weapon other than the bowl, which was used as a weapon.”

  “Did you look for anything else that may have been used as a weapon?”

  “Objection.”

  Parker said, “Your honor, we request leeway to continue this line of questioning.”

  “Objection overruled. Witness will answer the question.”

  The policeman sat forward. “We didn’t look for other possible weapons. The bowl, obviously used in the attack, was in plain sigh
t. Nothing else was out of place. There were no wounds on either man indicating any weapon other than the bowl, and the defendant’s fists, had been used. Each man had small cuts, but we learned those were from when they fought outside the front door and the glass door shattered when the defendant shoved Mr. Hessinger through it. After it was reported a knife had been involved, we went back to the scene. We didn’t run any tests on the knives, because we would have found logical fingerprints on them—the Hessingers’s, I mean—since the defendant said he never touched the knife. And since the knife wasn’t actually used, also according to the defendant, there wouldn’t have been any blood.”

  Starks whispered to Todd, who was on his left, “The knife must have fallen under the island or behind it. I swear he dropped it when I hit him. When I saw he meant to use it on me, I freaked. You can be damn sure Margaret found it later, cleaned it and put it away.”

  The attorney gave one subtle nod of his head.

  Parker was silent for a moment. “No further questions.”

  The prosecutor rose and said, “Your honor, permission for counsel to approach the bench.”

  “Granted.”

  Parker glanced at his law partners; they appeared as concerned as he was. He joined the prosecutor where he stood in front of the judge’s bench. The words spoken couldn’t be overheard but Parker’s posture stiffened. He turned to look at the men at his table; his lips were pressed together.

  The judge picked up the gavel. “The court will take a brief recess to meet with counsel in chambers.”

  Starks asked the other attorneys, “What’s this about?”

  Todd said, “We’ll find out.”

  Everyone at the defense counsel table remained silent as they waited. Tension coiled up Starks’s back and neck. He used his sleeve to wipe at the sweat that beaded on his forehead and wondered what reason there could be for a private discussion. He and the three attorneys watched the chambers door. And waited.

  Fifteen minutes later, the door opened. The expression on Michael Parker’s face made Starks’s stomach flip. Once his attorney was back in his chair, he asked, “What the hell’s going on?”