by Ray Flynt
“Just the tea, thank you,” Amanda said. “Nothing else for me.”
“I’ll have two eggs over easy, and whole-wheat toast,” Brad ordered. “Do you have any orange marmalade?”
The waitress shook her head. “Grape jelly or strawberry jam.”
“Strawberry.”
Brad unrolled the napkin from his silverware and laid it on his lap. “A lot may hinge on how much the judge sees this case as a family matter.”
“It’s all a family matter,” Amanda whined.
Brad nodded. “After the events of Monday night, I’m concerned that Denton’s attorney may try to argue our investigation is responsible for a second death in this community.”
“I can’t imagine the judge blaming you,” Sharon said.
Brad wasn’t sure.
Returning to the family issue, Brad said, “Denton’s emotions are raw in this case, and I’m hoping the judge will recognize that.”
A few minutes later the waitress returned, deposited Brad’s breakfast in front of him and refilled the coffee. “More hot water, ma’am?” she asked.
“No. This is fine,” Amanda said.
“Will there be anything else?” the waitress asked.
Brad shook his head.
“Here’s the check.”
Brad grabbed the bill in mid-air as Amanda tried to reach for it. The waitress moved cheerfully along to the next table.
As they finished their breakfast Brad turned the conversation to topics other than the impending hearing, hoping to pull Amanda out of her funk. He asked if any of her works were carried by a Philadelphia gallery, and she shook her head. He thought about a shop in the Society Hill neighborhood of Philly that specialized in quality arts and crafts. He and his family had patronized them for years.
“I might be able to arrange for a gallery to contact you,” he said, which made Amanda smile. It was the first one he’d seen from her in days.
Brad found a parking spot across the street from the courthouse, and Amanda pulled into the empty space behind him. As they exited their cars, Brad watched as Sharon maneuvered to walk alongside Amanda occasionally reaching over to touch her back and share her support.
As Josh Miller had alerted him, the courthouse was undergoing extensive renovation, and they made their way under plastic-lined scaffolding past the marriage license bureau and behind the main staircase as hand-lettered signs pointed the way to the temporary courtroom.
Brad found Ben Slatpin already there chatting with a woman in the hallway.
Amanda piped up. “Good morning, Ben. I see you’re getting acquainted with Diane.” For the first time that morning Amanda sounded chipper, which encouraged Brad. Turning to the woman Amanda said, “Diane, I want you to meet Brad Frame from Philadelphia and his associate Sharon Porter.”
To Brad she said, “This is Diane Gursten, my friend and attorney.”
Diane was about Amanda’s age, but thinner and with more severe features. She had tight curls in a mostly salt shade, brown eyes and a fair complexion. Her navy blue suit was paired with a beige blouse and accented by a scarf around her neck.
“Mr. Frame’s counsel and I have been collaborating on our approach to the case,” Diane explained to Amanda. “Even though you are named separately in the complaint, we believe it’s helpful if we have a mutual strategy.”
“And that strategy is?” Brad inquired, more than a little concerned that the hearing not turn into a disaster.
“As the plaintiff, Mr. Cooley will present his case for Denton Carothers,” Diane explained. “After we see his line of attack, we can better supply our own points. Mr. Slatpin suggested presenting our case as co-counsel, with him acting in the lead and me assisting. It’ll show a united front.”
Brad liked that idea, since he envisioned Denton Jr. wanting to drive a wedge between them.
“I would like a moment with my client,” Slatpin said, motioning Brad to join him in a private corner of the hallway.
“The use of Ms. Gursten as co-counsel may nullify the concerns I expressed the other day about her adjusting to the eccentricities of a different jurisdiction,” Ben explained. “I’ve given her a crash course on Judge Lindsey. We will sit at the table on the right, with me closest to the center aisle, followed by you, Mrs. Carothers, and her counsel.” Slatpin grasped Brad’s arm. “Now this is very important. If you need to communicate with me during the hearing, use the note pad in front of you. Tell Mrs. Carothers the same thing. Judge Lindsey does not tolerate whispered conversations in her courtroom. It’s one of those little details the local attorneys know.”
Brad spotted Denton Carothers Jr., dressed in civilian clothes, his wife, Sarah, and the man he assumed was Attorney Jeb Cooley approaching the entrance. Brad pivoted to see how Amanda would react to the first sight of her son since the filing of the court suit. She saw him coming, and Brad heard him offer a polite, “Good morning, Mother.” Amanda turned her back on him and resumed her conversation with Sharon and Diane. Good for her, Brad thought. In the meantime, ignoring Denton Jr. seemed good for Amanda’s psyche, as she exchanged nods and smiles with Diane and Sharon.
Meanwhile, her gesture unnerved Denton as he tried to speak and couldn’t find the words. He dropped back beside his wife, whispered to her, and finally shrugged his shoulders before entering the courtroom.
To Slatpin, Brad said, “I had hoped to solve this case by now, and make the hearing unnecessary.”
“Don’t worry, everything will be fine,” Slatpin assured him, a glint in his eye. “Even if you are a failure at detective work, there is no reason why you should lose this court case too.”
Brad found himself doing a double-take as Ben grinned.
Slatpin looked at his watch, and signaled it was time to take their places in the courtroom. Once seated at the defendant’s table, Brad looked back at Sharon who sat in the visitors’ section directly behind him. She offered a smile and thumbs up.
There were only a half-dozen persons in the courtroom besides the principals in the case and court personnel. These included Josh Miller of the Beaufort County Sheriff’s Office, and a guy who carried a stenographers pad and looked like he could be a reporter. The attorneys slung their briefcases onto the simulated-wood Formica folding tables available for their use and pulled out yellow legal pads and sheaves of papers.
Makeshift wasn’t descriptive enough for the cheaply paneled room which served as the county’s temporary temple of justice. A wooden desk elevated two steps on a folding riser served as the Judge’s bench, while the court clerk and stenographer worked at temporary tables set up in front of the bench. The witness stand consisted of a wooden chair on its own riser angled to provide the best view of both the judge and the litigants. Behind the bench were the US flag and the palmetto decorated flag of South Carolina. In addition to the flags, the only other thing identifying it as a courtroom was a high backed leather chair behind the judge’s bench. It had apparently been moved from the regular courtroom. Everyone else had to sit on metal folding chairs.
At precisely 10:02 a.m., the court clerk intoned, “All rise.” The judge made her way indecorously into the room using the same entrance as the rest of them had.
Roberta Howell Lindsey was a lot younger than Brad expected, probably in her mid-forties. Shoulder-length brown hair blended nicely with her tanned features.
Judge Lindsey banged the gavel to open the hearing and in a firm voice said, “The court will come to order. I’ll remind everyone that while our quaint quarters may not look much like a courtroom, this is still a court of law. We will observe decorum in spite of the casual nature of the surroundings. Is counsel for the plaintiff ready to present their arguments?”
“Jeb Cooley for the plaintiff. I’m ready, your Honor.”
“Are counsel for the defendants ready?” the judge asked.
Ben rose to his feet. “Ben Slatpin and co-counsel Diane Gursten for the defendants are ready, your Honor.”
Judge Lindsey began, �
�The clerk will read the complaint—”
“If it please the court,” Ben said, “defendants waive a reading of the complaint.”
“Mr. Cooley?”
“No objection, your Honor,” Cooley replied.
“Very well, counsel for the plaintiff, you may call your first witness.”
“We call Detective Josh Miller.”
Josh strolled to the witness stand like a veteran testifier, Brad thought. If he had any butterflies they weren’t evident. He paused briefly in front of the witness chair to raise his right hand for the swearing-in.
The clerk held out the Bible on which Josh placed his left hand. “Do you swear the evidence you will give in this case is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“For the record,” the clerk said, as Josh seated himself, “state your full name and address.”
“My name is David Joshua Miller. I’m a detective for Beaufort County and can be reached in care of the Sheriff’s office.”
Cooley stood behind his table and straightened his coat. “How long have you been with the Sheriff’s Department?”
“Approximately five years.”
“Do you have any law enforcement training?
“I have a bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice Administration, and South Carolina law enforcement certification.
“Did you investigate the death of Dana Carothers?”
“Yes, I did.”
“When?”
“Four years ago last April 6th.”
“What prompted you to begin an investigation?”
“I responded to a call from James Westin stating that there had been a suicide at 4678 Evergreen Road in Bluffton.”
Cooley moved out from behind the table and began pacing in front of the witness box. “Describe for the court what you found when you arrived at 4678 Evergreen Road.”
“I pulled into the driveway, observed that the garage door was open and Mr. Carothers’ body was lying on the floor of the garage. I immediately checked to see if there was any chance he was still alive.”
Over the next half-hour Josh Miller summarized everything he had already told Brad about his investigation. Brad didn’t notice any variances. When Cooley moved back behind the plaintiff’s table, Brad suspected he was nearing the end of his questioning.
“Now, Detective Miller,” Cooley intoned, “as a trained investigator, when Dr. Phillips ruled the death a suicide due to carbon monoxide asphyxiation, you did not have a problem with that ruling?”
“No.”
“Has anything come to your attention since then, which would call the suicide ruling into question.”
“No.”
Brad saw Denton tug on Jeb Cooley’s coat. Cooley turned and leaned back toward Denton, and they were soon engaged in a whispered conversation.
The judge stared impatiently at the two of them before tapping the handle of the gavel on her desk. “Does counsel for the plaintiff require a recess for a conference?”
“Ah, no, your Honor,” Cooley quickly replied.
“Then please resume your questioning.”
“Your Honor, I have no additional questions of this witness.”
Jeb Cooley scrawled a note and shoved it in front of Denton, perhaps warning his client too late about whispered conversations.
Turning toward the defense table, Judge Lindsey said, “Mr. Slatpin, would you like to cross-examine the witness.”
“Thank you, your Honor. My associate will handle this cross examination.” Ben yielded the floor to Diane.
Diane Gursten stood and walked toward the witness. “Good morning, detective.”
Josh muttered a half-sincere sounding “morning” back.
Brad had found during his own history of testifying in court that attorneys often tried to rattle the witness with an unexpected pleasantry, to which he’d learned to respond full-voiced—especially in front of a jury.
“Do you know the defendant L. Bradford Frame.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know him?”
“He was an instructor of mine at the University of Maryland?”
“An instructor of English or history?” Diane casually asked.
“No, criminal justice.”
“Do you recall the title of the course?”
“Seminar in Advanced Criminal Investigation.”
“Was he a good instructor?”
“Objection, your Honor, calls for an opinion.”
Diane faced the judge. “Your Honor, a few minutes ago my colleague was interested in hearing this witness’s opinion of the medical judgment rendered by Dr. Phillips. I see no reason why he shouldn’t be able to comment on the quality of instruction he received.”
Judge Lindsey nodded. “Objection overruled. The witness may answer the question.”
“He was an excellent instructor.” Josh glanced at Brad as he said it, as if to underscore no hard feelings.
“Is it fair to say, based on your experience in his class, you would value his opinion on matters of criminal investigation?”
“Yes.”
“And if Mr. Frame were able to cite evidence which would cast doubt on the suicide theory, you would be open to such information?”
“Yes.”
“No further questions.”
“The witness may be seated,” the judge said.
Slatpin looked pleased at Gursten’s handling of the cross-examination, and Brad saw him wink at her as she resumed her seat at their table.
Cooley was back on his feet. “Just a minute your Honor, I’d like to ask another question of Detective Miller.”
“Without objection, proceed Mr. Cooley,” the judge said.
Cooley took his time as he walked to the right of the witness stand and planted his feet so that he faced everyone. He pulled back his coat and hitched his thumbs inside his pants. “Detective Miller, did you have the occasion to cite Mr. Frame recently for violations of the laws of the State of South Carolina?”
“I… ah… I’m not sure,” Josh stuttered.
Brad closed his eyes, recalling that night when Josh had stopped him on the highway after he’d been chased by another car and nearly forced off the road.
Cooley pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “If I might refresh your memory,” he spoke in dramatic fashion with over-sized gestures. “Did you recently issue a citation to the defendant, Mr. Frame, charging him with…” Cooley read from the paper in front of him, “three counts of running a red light, speeding, and reckless driving?”
Josh nodded as if he finally understood the question. “Yes, I did. That was just last week.”
Cooley turned toward Brad’s attorneys with what he could only describe as a shit-eating-grin.
Diane Gursten prepared to stand, but Brad scribbled a note to Ben who announced, “No additional questions at this time.”
“Call your next witness, Mr. Cooley,” the Judge said.
“I call Denton Carothers, Jr. to the stand.”
Denton stared in the direction of his mother on the way to the witness stand, but as Brad had suggested, he found her watching only the judge. Denton was sworn, stated his full name and address, and took his seat.
“Now then, Mr. Carothers, would you please tell the court your occupation,” his attorney asked.
“I’m a Major in the United State Marine Corps.”
“And where are your current duties?”
“I’m assigned to the Marine Basic Training Center at Parris Island.”
“You are the brother of the late Dana Carothers, who died four years ago this past April 6th?”
“Yes.”
“And your mother, Amanda Carothers is one of the defendants in this courtroom?”
“Yes.” Denton looked toward the table where his mother sat and, Brad noticed, still diverted her eyes.
“Could you describe for the court your reasons for requesting this hearing?”
&
nbsp; “I had two reasons. First, I was concerned my mother’s health was at risk by continuing to probe the circumstances of Dana’s death, and I worried that she was being taken in by a charlatan.”
Cooley continued his line of questioning, which appeared aimed, in Brad’s estimation, at letting Denton off the guilt-hook for dragging his mother into court.
Behind him Brad heard a cough which he recognized as Sharon attempting to rouse his attention. Brad turned around and saw that a uniformed deputy sheriff had entered the courtroom and tapped Josh Miller on the shoulder, beckoning him into the hallway. As the door rebounded inward after Josh’s exit, Brad briefly spotted Linda Kepner outside the courtroom carrying a large paper bag. What the hell is that all about?
Brad reached for the tablet as Cooley droned on. “…So, Major Carothers, your motivation was to protect your family rather than any desire to avoid personal embarrassment?”
The question sounded like leading the witness to Brad, but Ben Slatpin did not object, since he was reading the note which Brad had just slid in front of him: “Get a recess!”
No surprise when Denton replied, “Yes, that’s correct.”
Cooley cleared his throat. “Your Honor, I have no more questions of this witness.”
“Cross examination, counsel?” the judge said.
Ben Slatpin rose to speak. “Your Honor, no questions of this witness. We would, however, like to request a short recess.”
“Any objections to a recess Mr. Cooley?” the judge asked.
“None, your Honor.”
“The court will stand in recess for ten minutes,” Judge Lindsey said. Everyone stood until she had retreated from the room.
Brad burst through the doors of the courtroom and into the hall followed closely by Sharon. He accosted a man in the hallway, and asked if the sheriff had an office in the courthouse. “Third floor,” was the reply. Brad tore up two flights of steps, Sharon on his heels, looking for Josh Miller.
Brad finally caught up with Josh as he emerged from a room at the end of another scaffold-filled hallway. “What’s up?” Brad asked.
The detective seemed surprised to see them. “I was just on my way to find you guys. I think your case is over.”
“What did Linda Kepner bring you?”
