For the Defense

by M. J. Rodgers

  “Bud, would you happen to have a roster of the guys who played on your team that Fourth of July weekend five years ago?”

  “It’d be in the Chamber files. Why?”

  “I’d like to talk to some of the guys,” Jack said. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell them you sent me.”

  “Give me your e-mail address, and I’ll send the roster to you.”

  Jack wrote out his address and handed it to the man.

  “Did you see Bruce a lot after he joined AA?” Jack asked.

  “A lot more than before, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. When he started to attend meetings regularly, he got real pushy. Began to think he was a hotshot on the softball field, too. He was even trying to challenge me to become captain. And the women! God, one right after another. But at least when he wasn’t drunk, he had the sense to leave the married ones alone. Is any of this helping you with his characterization?”

  Jack smiled. “You have no idea how much.”

  MRS. EDITH LEWANDOWSKI WAS seventy-six, a widow for ten years and cranky as a two-year-old on a rainy day. She had told Diana over the phone that she wasn’t going to be dragged down to the courthouse or some law office for any deposition. If Diana insisted on questioning her, she’d have to come to her.

  Diana assured Mrs. Lewandowski that taking the deposition at her home was no problem. She not only didn’t want to alienate the witness, but she also wanted to get a look at the scene of Bruce’s death from the woman’s viewpoint so she could have a clear understanding of everything that happened that day.

  Mrs. Lewandowski’s living room was full of floral furniture with ball and claw legs, rolled armchairs the color of plum and the musty smell that meant she never opened a window.

  Figurine collectibles on the mantelpiece didn’t look like they’d been touched in years, but the dozen or so books on the shelf near her rocking chair were dust-free and bore the titles of several Pulitzer Prize winners.

  Mrs. Lewandowski scowled through a profusion of gray-white bangs as the court reporter asked her if she were going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  “I’m no liar,” she declared in a voice that carried into the corners of the room, as though the administering of the oath had been a deliberate attack on her veracity. “Never have been. And you won’t get me to lie now.”

  The court reporter wisely accepted that as an affirmative, took a chair in the corner and tried to fade into the flowered wallpaper.

  Diana sat on the settee across from the scowling old woman and smiled. “Thank you very much for seeing me.”

  When the woman didn’t respond, Diana began her questions. “Did you know Bruce Weaton well?”

  “He lived across the street from me for more than six years. Waved when he saw me. Persuaded his nephew to weed my garden when my arthritis got so bad I couldn’t. Bruce was a fine, upstanding young man. His death was an abomination.”

  And Mrs. Lewandowski was still mad about it.

  “Would you please tell me in your own words what you remember of July 27 of last year?”

  “You want to know what I saw the day Bruce was killed.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was sitting right here reading when I heard some shouting across the street.”

  “Do you remember what time that was?”

  “Early afternoon as I recall. I looked out my picture window and saw a car backing out of the driveway. Then the car stopped and started forward. Bruce ran in front of it, waving his hands for the driver to stop. The driver didn’t stop. The car hit him, and he went down.”

  Clear. Precise. Not a wasted word. Diana waited until she was certain that Mrs. Lewandowski wouldn’t be adding any more.

  “Do you mind if I take a look out your window?”

  “Be my guest.”

  The woman’s tone remained brisk, but her scowl had relaxed somewhat in the wake of Diana’s gentle politeness. Most people responded favorably to being listened to and treated with respect. For an older woman—the bulk of whom were generally ignored—this was particularly true.

  As Diana approached Mrs. Lewandowski’s rocking chair, she bent to approximate the woman’s seated height. The view out the window was unobstructed. Diana could not only see the road but also the front and side yards of the house that had been Bruce Weaton’s.

  “Do you wear glasses, Mrs. Lewandowski?”

  She shook her head. “I had cataract surgery three years ago. They implanted prescription lenses in my eyes.”

  “Your corrected eyesight is twenty-twenty?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Could you tell what kind of car hit Bruce?”

  “A green Dodge Colt. One of my grandkids has one, only his is gray.”

  “And the driver?”

  “I couldn’t see her.”

  “You could tell the driver was a woman?”

  “That became obvious when the deputy pulled her out of the driver’s seat later.”

  “What direction was the car going when it hit Bruce?”

  “West,” Mrs. Lewandowski said as she pointed to the left.

  “Where exactly was the car on the street?”

  “You mean before it hit him?”

  “Did the car change positions as you observed it?”

  She nodded. “It started accelerating on the other side of the street going west like I said. Then when Bruce ran into the street, the car swerved over to this side of the street. That’s when it hit him.”

  Diana kept her excitement from reflecting on her face. This information hadn’t been in the original report. Connie had swerved the car as she said. And cranky Mrs. Lewandowski with the good vision and memory could testify to that fact at the trial.

  Diana straightened. “What happened after Bruce was struck by the car?”

  “Lyle came running across the street toward Bruce. A man who I later learned was their father ran into the house yelling something.”

  “Did you hear what was yelled?”

  “No. I keep my windows closed.”

  “Did you know Lyle Weaton before this?”

  “Lyle is the father of the boy who did my weeding. He’d drop off his son and stop in to see Bruce while the boy worked. Later, he’d take him home.”

  “At the time Lyle came running across the street, where was the car that had hit Bruce?”

  “Stopped on the street.”

  “Engine running?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did you see next?”

  “A light-blue Cadillac Seville pulled in front of the Weaton house. Barbara Weaton jumped out, ran over to Bruce and Lyle.”

  “You knew Judge Weaton?”

  “I’d seen her picture in the newspaper. A minute later, another woman came running down the front steps of Bruce’s house. She yelled at Lyle and his mother.”

  “Do you know who this woman was?”

  “I found out afterward that she was Lyle’s wife, Audrey.”

  “Thank you. Please go on.”

  “Lyle got up, hurried back across the street to his wife. Judge Weaton stayed on the pavement, holding Bruce’s head in her lap. I could see the tears streaming down her face.”

  A devastating scene for a jury to picture.

  “Had the car that hit Bruce moved at all during these events?” Diana asked.

  “No. It was parked right in the middle of the street until the deputy arrived.”

  “When did the deputy arrive?”

  “A few minutes after Lyle disappeared into the house. The deputy talked to Judge Weaton. Then he pulled the woman out of the car, handcuffed her and put her in the back of his patrol car. After that, he moved her car.”

  Diana had read the deputy’s report prepared at the time of Bruce’s death. His explanation for moving the car was to give the ambulance access to Bruce.

  “A couple of minutes later the paramedics came, worked on Bruce a bit then took him away,” Mrs. Lewandowski continued. �
�Another ambulance arrived after that. They carried his father out of the house on a stretcher. I heard he died of a heart attack on the way to the hospital. The prosecutor tells me the case doesn’t qualify for a death penalty. It should. That woman doesn’t deserve to live.”

  The angry words were a blow to Diana’s ears.

  She wished she could explain to this woman what had happened to Connie, but she could say nothing. Not until the trial when all the evidence was presented and her client was acquitted.

  If her client was acquitted. Diana didn’t kid herself. She and Jack had a hell of a lot to do if they were going to make that happen.

  JACK WAS AT THE ENTRANCE when Diana came out of the courthouse late Friday morning. He could have called her, and he told himself the reason he hadn’t was that he had something to show her.

  But when he saw her, he faced the fact that he’d been lying to himself. The moment she’d leaned into him in his kitchen two nights before, he’d known she wanted him. If she hadn’t pulled away—

  Jack extinguished the thought. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the images that came to mind. Even seeking her out now was probably a mistake. Okay, no probably about it. But knowing that wasn’t stopping him.

  She wore another shapeless business suit with low-heel pumps. Her blouse was crisp white cotton and her long black hair was drawn to the nape of her neck. As usual, no makeup adorned her face.

  She should have looked plain. She could never look plain.

  When he caught her eye, she changed direction and started toward him. He met her halfway.

  “I was going to call you when I got back to the office,” she said.

  “I couldn’t wait to find out if our questionnaire is a go.”

  Her smile told him what her answer would be even before her words.

  “When Staker and I told Judge Gimbrere that we had agreed on the questionnaire, he didn’t even bother reading it, but simply directed his court clerk to send it out with the letter he’d already drafted. We should have the answers back in a couple of weeks.”

  “This calls for a celebration,” Jack said. “Let me take you out to lunch. There’s this intimate little restaurant overlooking the water that’s—”

  Jack stopped himself midsentence when he saw the discomfort spreading across her face.

  Yes, she was attracted to him. But she’d made her intent plain when she left his place so suddenly the other night. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. And she wasn’t going to let herself be led anywhere she wasn’t willing to go.

  “…or better yet,” he said, shifting gears, “we could grab a frozen yogurt at the shop across from the park. Then while we sit on a bench indulging ourselves, we can bring each other up-to-date.”

  Her frown faded. “That’s the place with the fat-free chocolate, right?”

  “That’s the one,” Jack lied, having absolutely no idea. He hadn’t been in there in years.

  “I’d better follow you,” she said. “I’m not sure if I remember where that shop is.”

  Jack nodded as he started toward his car, hoping he remembered where it was.

  THEY LEFT THEIR CARS in the parking lot at the yogurt shop and walked across the street to the park. The temperature was in the seventies and the sky impossibly blue—one of those gorgeous days when the rain-drenched green foliage of western Washington finally got a glimpse of the sun.

  Not even the fact that Jack had fibbed to her about the yogurt shop carrying fat-free chocolate bothered Diana. The fat-free peach was yummy.

  And she wanted to be with him. Damn foolish, but a fact. At least she’d turned down an intimate, romantic restaurant. What could be the harm in eating yogurt in a public park?

  The park was deserted except for a guy throwing a stick for a golden retriever and a mother with her twin toddlers sitting on a blanket, catching some rays.

  Jack and Diana claimed the bench beneath the shade of a lush white pine. As they ate, she told him about her interview with Mrs. Lewandowski and promised to send a copy to him as soon as the court reporter had it ready.

  “You’re right, Diana. There was nothing in the crime scene reports about Connie swerving her car to try to avoid hitting Bruce. Mrs. Lewandowski’s testimony should put a different slant on things.”

  “Especially when it’s coupled with the fact that Connie had come to a complete stop after hitting Bruce. The deputy reported her car was a few feet from where Bruce had fallen. Doesn’t that tell you she had to have been braking at the time she hit him?”

  “Seems logical. Was an outside accident investigation specialist called in to interpret the scene?”

  “Earl Payman didn’t bother—just as he didn’t bother to do anything on Connie’s behalf. All we have is the brief sketch the deputy at the scene drew after he removed Connie’s car.”

  Jack licked his yogurt. “I have a friend in the insurance business who does this kind of accident reconstruction all the time. I’ll give him a copy of the police report and Mrs. Lewandowski’s deposition, then take him out to the scene and see what he comes up with.”

  “Sounds good. The deputy who arrested Connie reported the engine of her car was off. According to Mrs. Lewandowski, no one approached Connie while she was behind the wheel of her car. So Connie had to have been the one to turn off the engine and drop the keys in her lap, even though she doesn’t remember doing so. I believe her subsequent shock also supports her lack of intent to hit Bruce.”

  “What did the coroner’s report say was the cause of Bruce’s death?”

  “He died from the blow to the back of his head that he received when he fell to the pavement. The wounds on his legs from the impact were minimal, again indicating Connie’s slow speed. I’ll include a copy with Mrs. Lewandowski’s deposition.”

  “The sheriff’s report said Lyle Weaton also witnessed Bruce’s death.”

  “Yes,” Diana confirmed, “but what he gave the deputy is pretty sketchy. I have a lot of questions.”

  “When will you depose him?”

  “He’s not returning any of my calls. Nor is his wife or Judge Weaton. Technically, they don’t have to talk to me until I have them on the witness stand in the courtroom.”

  “So you have to wait.”

  Diana shook her head. “I can’t afford to. If they’re going to say something damaging against Connie, I have to know so I can be prepared to counteract it. This afternoon I’ve arranged an interview with Bob Zucker, a local TV reporter. The interview will broadcast tonight at six and several more times over the weekend.”

  “How’s that going to help?”

  “Bob is going to ask me how the case is going. I’m going to tell him that in order to learn the truth about Bruce Weaton’s death, I need to talk to the witnesses who have been avoiding me. When he asks me what witnesses, I’m going to name Lyle, Audrey and Judge Barbara Weaton.”

  “Think that will get them to return your calls?”

  “The way Bob will conduct the interview, yes. He’s never been a fan of Barbara Weaton’s politics. When she came out for Staker, that really ticked him off. Bob’s been waiting for an opportunity to take her on.”

  Jack smiled. “And you’re going to give it to him. Very clever.”

  Because his smile and compliment felt too good, Diana forced herself to look away. “One of my biggest concerns is that Mrs. Lewandowski paints a picture of Bruce as a caring, considerate man. Staker, no doubt, will elicit those facts from her on the stand. She’s a credible witness. The jury’s going to like her and believe what she says.”

  “But she only knew Bruce as a casual neighbor. Those who knew him more intimately saw a very different man.”

  Jack told Diana about his conversation with Bud Albright.

  “Bruce joined AA right after the Fourth of July weekend five years ago,” Diana repeated excitedly. “That Sunday, July 5, was when Amy was killed. Could he have been driving drunk that day he hit Amy?”

  “When I realized the significance o
f the dates, I called Jared and asked him to run Bruce’s name through the files to see if he had a criminal record. This is Bruce’s rap sheet.”

  Jack pulled a folded slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. The sheet had two entries—a drunk and disorderly stemming from a bar fight when Bruce was twenty-one and a DUI conviction when he was twenty-three.

  Diana slipped the report into her shoulder bag. “Well, it’s something, but I was hoping he’d have a bunch of drunk driving arrests that were more recent. Bruce was thirty-two at the time of Amy’s hit-and-run. That’s nine years after his DUI.”

  “When I checked with the attendees at his memorial service, a couple turned out to be dorm buddies from college. They told me that Bruce was already drinking heavily when he was twenty-one. He most likely had been an abuser for at least ten years before joining AA.”

  “Ten years,” Diana repeated. “Did getting caught that one time scare him into not driving when he’d been drinking? Or was he simply lucky that he was never caught drunk behind the wheel?”

  “Good questions,” Jack admitted. “Bruce ended up in the E.R. with a broken arm when he got that DUI. I’ll take a look at his medical records and see if there’s anything else to learn.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of the twin toddlers screeching with delight as they rushed past.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Diana caught the grimace on Jack’s face. “Let me guess. Not the father type?”

  “What gave it away? The hemorrhaging from my ears?”

  She chuckled. “Was it fun, being a twin?”

  “You don’t get to ask any more personal questions until you answer some.”

  She turned to look at him more fully. His smile was light with humor, but the rest of his handsome features were set with a determination that she was also beginning to know well.

  “If you don’t like what I ask, you don’t have to answer,” he said. “Now what could be fairer than that?”

  This man knew how to couch his requests so that they were hard to refuse. “Okay, one question,” she said.

  “Tell me about Mel’s…dad.”

  Diana’s eyes returned to the cavorting toddlers, well aware that Jack had phrased his question almost as though he were asking about Mel’s past instead of hers. The guy was clever, all right.