by Ace Collins
“A maximum sentence, really, any jail term, will mean that this accident hasn’t just cost this community the life of Steven Richards but of James Thomas, too. Mr. Thomas can build on the experience he has been through and, if you allow him to learn from it, those lessons can be applied in the productive life he will lead from this day forth.”
Tidwell took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his tangle of white hair, and glanced back toward Meg. As their eyes met, she suddenly felt like she had the advantage. The attorney’s arrogance and combative style were nowhere in sight. Suddenly he wasn’t challenging Steve or professing the innocence of James Thomas. Simply put, he was admitting that a mistake had been made and was begging for mercy. He was no longer the seasoned attorney; he now sounded more like a father pleading for a son.
Turning his face back to the bench, Tidwell continued, “No jail term will bring the victim back, but a jail term will make a victim out of my client. He doesn’t need a cold, hard cell; he needs the challenges of the world and the understanding of people who love and care for him.
“Please, Your Honor, don’t waste a boy’s life because of this one tragic mistake in judgment. I thank you and this court.”
Truett allowed the attorney to move back to his seat before speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will now dismiss for lunch and will meet again at two o’clock this afternoon when I will then pronounce sentence. I thank you for your time and ask that you return promptly at two.”
The last thing Meg needed or wanted was time for her mind to drum up more nightmares, yet that was what was on her plate. She would now have one hundred and eighty more minutes to dwell on what had happened and what would be done about it.
49
THE NEXT THREE HOURS WERE LONG AND LONELY. MEG DECLINED LUNCH with Cheryl, opting instead to walk through the shops located in the downtown business district. Beyond the tense wait for the judge’s decision, she was still numb from Nancy’s death. And though she’d only known the woman for a short time, she missed her. How she needed to feel Nancy’s compassion and tap into her enthusiasm for life. And now there was no way to do that. Nancy would never tell her anything again.
In an antique mall, Meg searched through old, long-playing, vinyl albums and found the Barbara Mandrell record that had the song playing when Nancy died. Though she didn’t own a record player, she bought the album. Just being able to carry it with her made her feel less alone.
After her purchase at the antique mall, she walked through another half dozen shops and bought nothing. When she ran out of places to window shop, she grabbed a sandwich at a hamburger stand and ate on a park bench. As she finished her lunch, it suddenly dawned on her that she hadn’t gotten sick that morning. Was that passed now? Wouldn’t it be great to get all the bad stuff behind her on the same day?
After lunch, she ambled slowly back toward the courthouse, passing the last forty-five minutes before the sentencing sitting on a bench watching old men play dominos. At five before two, she climbed the well-worn stairs leading to the second floor, strolled down the hall and into the courtroom, and took her regular seat. Her attention should have been riveted on the judge as he entered the room. Strangely though, it was miles away. All she could think about was an empty hospital room numbered 211, an equally empty apartment, and a grave occupied by a man she once dearly loved.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Truett began. “I can’t tell you how many different ways I have tried to look at the case. I have a host of mixed emotions concerning what is right and what is the proper thing to do. And I have fought a war with myself on this matter.
“As a member of a body of officers given the duty of judging the law, I am very troubled with the problems we have concerning the loss of innocent lives by the careless use of alcohol. As Ms. Bednarz so correctly pointed out, more than 12,000 deaths last year alone were caused by people using this drug while driving.”
The officer of the court glanced down at his notes before continuing. This pause allowed Meg time to study Cheryl. She was calm and appeared confident. What a trooper she was! Truett’s words pulled Meg’s attention from her friend and attorney back to the bench.
“I am personally appalled at the way our high school children and college students blatantly and unthinkingly consume liquor as a means of making a social statement. I am equally upset and disturbed that the parents of these children seem to treat this great problem as a mere facet of growing up, a stage that their children will work through. At some point, someone must step in and show the problem in the proper light. Maybe I should be that person.”
Yes, this was what she needed to hear! Meg glanced over at Tidwell and Thomas. Both were pale. The youth actually looked as though he might pass out. This was going well! She couldn’t have scripted it any better.
“I must agree,” Truett continued, “that our laws do not adequately cover the crime of killing by mixing booze and cars. Surely, if the defendant had gotten liquored up, taken a gun, and shot Steven Richards, all of us in this courtroom would think that ten years in prison was far too short a term for such a vile and outrageous act.”
Turning toward Meg, he solemnly said, “I feel for the victim’s pregnant widow. Her life and the hardships that she must surely endure due to this careless action, few, if any of us, can imagine. If I were her I would be bitter and unforgiving.”
Directing his gaze at the defendant, the judge pressed on with his statement. “Still, being a father, I question if prison is the place for a young man. While I must admit that he is clearly in the wrong and his past actions have taught him little about what is right and wrong, I question whether prison will serve to direct him toward a more mature view of the importance of leading a responsible life. In fact, I am more than a bit disappointed I have no power at this time to sentence those who supplied the alcohol—his parents—more specifically his father. I have laid the groundwork for Judge Thomas to appear before the State Bar and explain his actions.”
Cheryl glanced back at Meg and shrugged.
“So be it assured that I have considered all of these things and considered them long and hard before I decided the proper punishment phase of this case.”
Stopping, Truett nodded toward the defense table, “Will the defendant rise?”
The youth and his attorney slowly pushed their chairs back and stood. Tidwell rested his hands on the table and actually crossed two fingers. Thomas, his eyes cast downward, rocked from side to side.
“James Thomas, it was the finding of this court that you are guilty on all three of the charges that the state had brought against you. On the first judgment of driving under the influence, I will order the state to void your driver’s license and further instruct the state not to issue you a driving permit of any kind until at least your twenty-first birthday.
“On the second count of reckless driving, I am sentencing you to two years’ probation and a five-hundred dollar fine.
“Finally, on the most serious count of vehicular homicide, I sentence you to five years . . .”
Thomas looked from the floor to the judge, his face displaying shock and panic. Meg, while disappointed he hadn’t gotten the full ten, was still pleased. Her pleasure clearly showing in her eyes. Cheryl, her fist clenched, grimly smiled.
After allowing his words to sink in, Truett continued, “Those five years will be a probationary sentence. During this time, the defendant must see an alcohol counselor at least once every two weeks for a minimum of one year and he cannot break any of the stipulations of the first two assessments. He will also be required to do ten hours of weekly community service, service that the local state social services office will assign, for at least a two-year period. And, he will be assessed and must pay a 10,000 fine. If you, Mr. Thomas, violate any of these stipulations, you will serve the full five years in a state prison. Mr. Thomas, report to the social services office Monday afternoon to receive your assignment.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, this court in adjou
rned.”
Pounding his gavel, the judge quickly departed into his chambers.
Meg bolted up right. She was in shock. Grabbing Cheryl by the shoulder, she demanded. “What kind of justice is this?”
The attorney just shook her head.
“What can we do about it?” Meg demanded.
“Not a thing.” Cheryl quietly explained. “It is over now.”
Shifting her focus to the other side of the courtroom, Meg noted Jasper Tidwell vigorously shaking hands with anyone who came near him. Judge Thomas and his wife, obviously relieved, were quietly talking to another couple standing beside them. Meanwhile, Jim Thomas was sitting rock-solid still in his chair, his eyes focused on the surface of the table before him.
Meg, observing that no one was close enough to stop her, walked purposely through the swinging gate separating her from the front of the courtroom and marched to a position directly across the table from the teen. He looked up when he felt her presence, and for several long seconds neither of them spoke. Finally, he broke the silence.
“I’m really sorry,” was all he could manage.
“You don’t know what sorry is,” Meg hissed. “I told you once that I’d meet you in hell. I’ll go one better than that now. I’ll personally deliver you to that destination.”
She pointed a finger toward his face as she continued, “Every time you look over your shoulder, I’ll be there. If the phone rings, check your caller ID. Odds are, it will be me. When you go out riding with your friends, glance out the back window because I’ll be following you.
“I guarantee that prison would have been easier on you than I will be. My vow to my husband and to myself is to make you miserable until the day that you die. I’m your judge and jury now, and don’t expect any mercy from me.”
“Meg,” Cheryl’s whispered as she grabbed her arm. “He’s not worth it. I’ll walk you out.”
“You mark my words,” Meg spat. “The rest of your miserable life is in my hands!”
Then, turning, she and Cheryl dodged reporters and left the room.
50
A RAPID AND HOT RAGE FILLED MEG. IN HER HEART, SHE KNEW THAT JIM Thomas had gotten off scot-free. He had killed her husband and wouldn’t spend a day in prison. None of Cheryl’s words served to calm her down at the courtroom or later, while she sat alone at home dreaming up ways to even the score. A call from her mother only served to anger Meg more.
“Listen, Honey,” Barbara began, “today man’s justice might have seemed light, but God will deal with the boy.”
“Sure, Mom, the same God who let that jerk kill Steve is going to deal with him now. I don’t think so. But I can and I will.” Meg’s words were sharp, vindictive. It was clear she planned to follow through on her promise.
Meg now had no use for sleep. She stayed up, formulating and writing down plans of retribution in a journal. The scenarios she spun were gory and cruel. No longer did she dream of cutting brake lines or mowing him down with bullets, her new plans were much simpler, much less lethal, and were things she could actually accomplish. She wanted to haunt him until she’d driven him over the edge. At the very least, she wanted him to make a mistake and violate his parole. At most, she wanted to drive him so far and so hard that he would actually think about killing himself rather than live in the same world as Meg.
She knew that to accomplish her goal she would have to devote herself to this task like she had never devoted herself to anything in her life. Every waking hour would have to be spent in developing new plans, getting information, doing surveillance, and planning execution. And she was willing to give up everything else in her life in order to make this project a success.
Steve was dead and Nancy was not here to temper her mind-set. There was no one who now could hold a mirror up to her and demand she see what she’d become. Internet searches and message boards kept her up most of the night. They also gave her ideas. And she could begin putting those ideas into action almost immediately.
Having taken a week of vacation for the trial, she didn’t have to go back to work until the following Monday. So, on Friday morning, after a few hours of sleep, she began to gather ammunition. Taking a picture of Steve from her desk and obtaining a photo of his car from the insurance company —the photo showing the bloodstained interior—she scanned them into her computer, worked with Photoshop, and printed off one hundred copies of her artwork. She then went to the high school, got past security using her nurse’s ID, purchased an extra yearbook, cut a headshot of Jim Thomas from the book, and took that photo back home. She scanned the image then began designing the page. She placed “WANTED” in big, bold type at the top. On the bottom she added text that read, “This man is guilty of murder. He is probably armed and dangerous and if apprehended see that he is delivered straight to hell.” She then sized and pasted his picture in the middle. She printed out 250 copies of the new poster.
Picking up both stacks of printed work, she got into her car, and drove by Jim Thomas’s home. Seeing an old man mowing the grass in front of the house, she stopped, and through some casual conversation, discovered which of the many windows led to the teenager’s room.
From there, she went back to the high school. Once inside, she cornered a young lady who was walking down the hall between classes and discovered which one of the hall lockers belonged to Thomas. Taking tape from her purse, she taped the two posters she’d made on the locker and left the building.
Fifteen minutes later, while Meg was waiting just outside the building, the final bell rang, and in a few seconds the kids hit the doors and headed toward the parking lot. One by one she scanned their faces, looking for his, wanting to see the shocked expression that she knew her surprise would bring.
Suddenly, walking beside Kristen Jennings, there he was. Unnoticed, she fell in a safe distance behind the two of them in an attempt to overhear what was being said.
“It was just some kid’s idea of a sick joke,” the girl said. “One of your friends is playing with you.”
“I don’t know,” Thomas answered, “that woman said she would haunt me and maybe she’s going to. This might be just the start.”
“Well,” Kristen said, “if she gets on your case, then have your father do something about it. He’s a judge. He’s got the power.”
“No way,” Thomas said, shaking his head to reemphasize the point. “He’s mad about this. He told me I got off light and now, because of the trial, he may lose his job. I’m not going to let him know about this. He’d probably help her. Maybe he’s the one that’s doing it.”
“Oh, you don’t believe that,” Kristen replied.
“No,” the boy admitted, “but he is mad and in big trouble. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
Meg stepped out from behind the two of them and moved behind a van. When they were well up the walk, she hurried back inside the school, waved at the security officer who’d let her pass earlier, stopped and chatted with him about the spring weather, and then moved down the hall. When no one was looking she folded up two more pictures and slipped them into Thomas’s locker through the vents.
As she walked back outside, the pair was driving off in Kristen’s blue Dodge Stratus. She made a mental note of the car before hurrying back to her own apartment. As soon as she got home, she used the Internet to search for anything that might have the boy’s cell number. She was shocked when she found it listed on one of the local sports club websites under “contact information.” Writing it down, she made a trip to five phone stores and purchased several different prepaid cell phones. She registered each in a different name.
Heading back to her apartment, she put the second phase of her plan into operation. Calling Thomas’s cell, she waited for him to answer.
“Hello,” the young man’s voice sounded distant and a little unsteady.
Meg said nothing.
“Hello,” Thomas said again. “Who is this?”
Again, Meg said nothing. When he finally hung up, Meg smiled. S
he waited five minutes and then picked up the next phone.
Again, he answered, and once more she said nothing.
Waiting ten minutes, Meg called again. This time the line was busy. Alternating phones Meg continued to call the number for the rest of the afternoon and each time the result was the same. She knew that for at least one night she had taken Jim Thomas’s phone away from him. But that was just the start.
After dinner, she grabbed the phone book, and once again scanned the numbers until she came to the name Jennings. Stopping when she discovered a number that matched Kristen’s address, she noted it and called.
“Hello,” an older female voice answered.
“Hello, Mrs. Jennings?”
“Yes.”
Meg, using a Texas accent she picked up from being around Cheryl, continued, “I hope that I haven’t disturbed you. My name is Jenny McCall, and I just moved here from Atlanta. Anyway, your daughter, Kristen, is in a couple of my classes and she has been such a big help. I was wondering if I could talk to her a moment about an assignment.”
“I’m afraid she’s out right now,” Mrs. Jennings answered. “Maybe she could call you tomorrow.”
“Oh, no,” Meg replied. “I’ve got to get this research book back to her by then. Goodness. Well, maybe I could catch her somewhere. Do you know where she might have gone?”
“Let me think a second. Of course, she and her boyfriend were going to see that new movie down at the Multiplex tonight. Something about vampires.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. Maybe I can catch her there.”
Meg grabbed the paper and opened to the theater listings. Checking her watch, she grabbed a couple of flyers and headed out the door. When she arrived at the theater, she searched the parking lot, found Kristen’s car, and slipped two more flyers under the driver’s side wiper. Then, taking white shoe polish out of her purse, she wrote the word killer in bold letters over the passenger’s side of the windshield. Returning to her car, she waited for the show to let out.
