Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8

CHAPTER 36

  CLOSING ARGUMENTS

  Peter wiggled in his chair and with a deadly serious look on his face began. "Shortly after World War II two veterans and their fishing guide were out on Possum Kingdom Lake fishing near Cactus Island. It was late afternoon and the men were about to call it a day when a terrible wind came up, creating monstrous waves that nearly capsized their boat. They held on for dear life as the small bass boat was tossed up and down by the waves and spun around by gale force winds. Then the sky got very dark and they saw blue lightning in the distance and heard a noise so shrill it nearly busted their eardrums.

  "They held their ears trying to protect them from the noise, but it didn't help. Finally, the noise died down and they noticed the blue lightning coming closer and closer. They wondered what was causing it as they'd never seen anything like it before. They watched it until it was directly overhead.

  "Then they realized the blue lightning was coming from a huge spaceship the size of a football field. Both of the men had seen some pretty strange things while fighting in the war, but nothing like this alien spacecraft that was hovering over Cactus Island. As they watched in sheer terror the spaceship began to drop lower and lower until it had landed on the island.

  "Although they desperately wanted to stay and watch the spacecraft, they feared for their lives so they tried to start the outboard engine and get away as fast as they could. Unfortunately, the motor wouldn't start and they found themselves dead in the water. Lucky for them the aliens paid no attention to them and went on about their business.

  "As the two fishermen watched, the spacecraft's huge side doors opened and out came what seemed like ten thousand huge frogmen. They looked like humans except for their pale green colored skin and webbed hands and feet. The frogmen, each over six feet tall, dived into the lake and began to feed.

  "The fishermen were panicked now with swarms of frogmen all around them, swimming, diving, jumping, and churning the water like a beater in a mixing bowl. It was all the men could do just to keep the small boat afloat.

  "Finally, the frogmen began to move away from the island as the schools of fish around it began to flee from their new predators. With the frogmen gone the fishermen decided to go ashore and take a closer look at the spacecraft. They didn't think anyone was on the ship, but before they reached the shore they saw people running around the spacecraft like mechanics or pilots checking out the condition of the ship. The men all wore a dark blue uniform with a yellow triangle on their chest. There was some kind of writing within the triangle but it was not a language the fishermen had ever seen.

  "The fishermen hid behind some rocks and watched the aliens at work. When they appeared to be finished with their preparations, a giant drill dropped from the belly of the ship and began to turn and drill deep into the island. The men watched in wonder until they heard the frogmen returning. The fishermen jumped into their boat, got it started, and made their escape. From a distance they watched the huge spacecraft take off, flashing its blue lights over the landscape as it glided toward them.

  "When the big ship passed over them and they were engulfed by the blue light, a strange thing happened. The fishermen forgot what they'd seen and only had a vague recollection that something unusual had transpired that day. Within a few weeks it all just seemed like a bad dream, except one odd thing they remembered, not a single fish was caught in the lake for weeks after that fateful day.

  "Even though the blue lightning made it difficult for people to remember what they'd seen, over the years the spaceship returned many times and people began to piece together what was happening at Cactus Island. When the fish quit biting for a week or more, they knew they had been visited by the alien spacecraft. The fishermen called it the Blue Tide.

  "Many believe that the big drill that came from the belly of the spaceship created a shaft down to a cave that lies under the lake and surfaces on dry land. Some believe the aliens wander around at night looking for women and children to kidnap and take back to their dying planet. Some say the frogmen, if the fish don't satisfy them, will come on land at dusk and feed on dogs and small children."

  "Objection, Your Honor!" Simms protested. "This is—"

  "Okay, okay," Judge Applegate said. "I think that's enough. Objection sustained. Thank you, Peter. That was quite a story, but I think we get the picture."

  Peter shrugged. "Yes, sir."

  "Do you have any further questions, Mr. Turner?"

  "No, Your Honor."

  "Ms. Simms. Would you like to cross?"

  Simms gave Peter a hard look. "Peter. Do you believe that what you just told us about is true?"

  Peter thought for a moment. "No, I guess not. I've never seen the aliens so I can't say that they exist."

  Simms smiled. "Pass the witness."

  "Redirect?" the Judge asked.

  "Yes," I said. "Peter, you say you don't believe the stories about Cactus Island, but when you are at Camp Comfort do you or the other scouts ever keep an eye out for the frogmen or look up in the sky hoping to see the spaceship?"

  "Yes. All the time. That's the best part of coming to Possum Kingdom Lake—to hunt for frogmen and humanoids."

  "Have any of the other scouts told you they believe in the Cactus Island landings?"

  "Sure. Lots of them do."

  Simm's didn't have any more questions, so Peter stepped down. As he walked down the aisle of the courtroom many spectators smiled and whispered. "Great story, Peter. . . . Way to go, boy. . . . Thank you, Peter. . . . That was far out." Peter basked a moment in the limelight and then his grandfather escorted him out of the courtroom. The judge asked me to call my next witness.

  "The defense calls Carl Loftus," I said.

  Carl Loftus took the stand, was sworn in, and told the jury he had been hired to analyze all the evidence at hand and then prepare a video recreating the accident. I asked him if he would play the video.

  "Certainly," Carl said and pushed a button on the remote. The big TV came to life and a roadway where the accident took place came into view. The camera angle was from above and far enough away so the jury could see exactly what happened. An animated Jeep suddenly came around the corner traveling very fast. An object passed overhead and the driver's head moved to follow it. Instead of turning with the curve, the Jeep slipped off the pavement. The driver looked ahead again and tried to bring the Jeep back onto the roadway, but the Jeep sailed over the side of the cliff. Just as the rear tires left the pavement, the left driver's door flew open and the driver jumped out.

  The scene faded, and when it reappeared the camera angle was from the bottom of the mountain. On the right side the driver was seen hitting the ground and rolling to a stop while the Jeep sailed over the cliff, landed on its front tires, flipped over vertically, hit a rock and rolled over and over on its side. Just before it reached the lake, it exploded into a fiery inferno and finally came to rest in three feet of water.

  People in the gallery moaned and groaned during the video. A lady screamed. The judge looked at her, but didn't bang his gavel. When the smoke and steam had cleared, the scene faded away. Carl played the video again, this time in slow motion, then he went into a scientific explanation of the dynamics of the accident.

  "Now, you're aware that the prosecution contends that Steven Caldwell intentionally took the Jeep over the cliff and bailed out just as it plummeted down the mountain, right?" I said.

  "Yes, that's what I understand."

  "How risky a strategy would that have been?"

  "Very risky. You saw the video. It's a miracle that Steven Caldwell is alive today."

  "So, in your opinion was this an accident or did Steven Caldwell intentionally cause the Jeep to go off the road?"

  "Everything I saw was consistent with an accident. Jumping out of that Jeep had to be an act of desperation. Intentionally driving it over the cliff and jumping out of it would be tantamount to committing suicide."

  "Thank you, Mr. Loftus. Pass the witness."

&nbsp
; The judge said, "Ms. Simms. Cross?"

  "Yes, Your Honor," Simms said, rising slowly from her seat. "Mr. Loftus, is there anything in your investigation that would categorically disprove the prosecutions contention that Steven Caldwell intentionally drove the Jeep off the cliff?"

  Loftus shrugged and replied, "No. It's possible he did it intentionally."

  "And, in fact, teenagers often don't think through what they plan to do, wouldn't you agree?"

  "True."

  "And teenagers often don't appreciate the danger they routinely put themselves into—i.e., driving on a mountain road at an excessive speed?"

  "Uh huh."

  "So, although, to you or me, jumping out of that Jeep may have been suicidal, to Steven Caldwell it may not have seemed like such a big a deal?"

  "I suppose that's true, but I—"

  "No further questions, Your Honor."

  My next witness was a gamble. I planned to call Robert Swanson. I doubted he would admit to anything, but I needed to set him up and then hope Adam Peterson or Carl Brooks would tell the truth and contradict him. If not, the whole thing could be perceived as an act of desperation and hurt our case. I noticed Carl Brooks sitting in the gallery and I didn't want him to hear my direct examination of Robert Swanson, so I stood up and said, "Your Honor, I'm invoking the rule and request that Carl Brooks be removed from the courtroom." The rule I was referring to was the option of either prosecution or defense to object to any potential witness hearing another witness' testimony. If I wanted Brooks to contradict Swanson's story, I didn't want him to know how Swanson had testified.

  "Bailiff. Please escort Mr. Brooks outside until we need him," the judge said.

  "Thank you, Your Honor," I said. "The defense calls Robert Swanson."

  Simms stood up. "Your Honor. I see another person on Mr. Turner's witness list in the courtroom—Rose Brewer. I'd ask that she be removed as well."

  "Very well," the Judge said. "Ms. Brewer, you'll need to go with the bailiff too."

  Rose stood up. I hadn't even noticed her in the courtroom. She was on our witness list but I hadn't planned on calling her unless it was absolutely necessary. She had been very open and helpful in the investigation, so I didn't want her to lose her job for testifying against her boss. We made eye contact, but she didn't give me that big smile that she had in the past. There was an anxious look on her face and I knew instantly something was wrong. As she left the courtroom, I noticed she had a tight grip on a rolled-up magazine. She held it against her bosom like she was afraid someone might try to take it from her.

  "All right, Mr. Swanson. Please raise your right hand," the Judge said. "Do you swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help you God."

  "I do," Swanson said.

  I stood and began asking him questions about his background, education, family, and employment. He gave us a complete rundown of his many business enterprises and admitted he owned a majority interest in the Weatherford Airport and the Brazos Country Resort. I asked him how he came to own an airport.

  "I was a pilot in the Navy during the Vietnam War and when I came off active duty, I flew for Braniff Airlines for a few years. As an airline pilot I had a lot of free time and I got involved in several business ventures with other pilots. When the Weatherford Airport came on the market, I was intrigued by the idea of owning an airport, so I put together a limited partnership and bought it."

  I nodded. "So, you must be a very happy man with all the visitors in town and at the lake."

  "Well, we always encourage tourism. It's good for business."

  "I bet. For nearly six months now your businesses have been booming. I bet you're rolling in dough."

  "Well—"

  "It almost makes you wonder if you didn't invite the aliens to Possum Kingdom Lake."

  Laughter broke out in the gallery and the judge frowned. Swanson smiled. "If I'd have known how to contact them, I probably would have invited them."

  "But since you didn't know how to contact them you did the next best thing, right? You staged an alien landing."

  "What?" Swanson chuckled. "How could I do that?"

  "Isn't it true you support the Confederate Air Force?"

  "Yes. I let them use a hangar out at the Weatherford Airport. What of it?"

  "And haven't you had a Lockheed P-38 Lightning parked out there?"

  "Well, yes but—"

  "Would you describe that plane for the court?"

  "Sure, it's an old World War II bomber. It's got a twin fuselage with two propellers."

  "It's a big plane, right?"

  "It's a bomber. Of course it's big."

  "Now, Carl Brooks and Adam Peterson fly that plane, isn't that correct?"

  "Yes."

  "And it just so happens that they work for you, right?"

  "Sure, a lot of people work for me. I own—"

  "Isn't it true you hired them to disguise the P-38 as an alien spacecraft and then fly it over Possum Kingdom Lake so that people would think there had been another landing?"

  The gallery erupted in conversation. The bailiff stood up and glared at the crowd.

  "No. That's ridiculous," Swanson protested. "The P-38 crashed six months ago."

  "Is that right? I must remind you, Mr. Swanson, you're under oath."

  "I know that."

  "So, did you report the crash to the FAA?"

  "No. That wouldn't be my place. I don't get involved in CAF operations. I just let them use my facility because I believe in the importance of preserving history."

  "Would it surprise you to learn that there hasn't been a report of that plane having crashed?"

  He shrugged and said, "I wouldn't know. I'm not really sure what the proper protocol would be for a crash like that." Swanson turned a little pale and swallowed hard. I waited as he twisted uncomfortably in his seat. Finally he said, "You'll have to ask them about that."

  I continued, "Well, actually I won't. There is no such report and I have a witness who took a ride in the P-38 just a few weeks ago. . . . I could call her up here if need be."

  He laughed. "That's not possible. I mean—" Swanson looked up at the judge and forced a smile. "It was my understanding—" Chatter broke out in the courtroom and the judge banged his gavel. "It was my understanding that the plane crashed. I didn't actually go out to the crash site, but I can't believe Adam and Carl would lie to me."

  "So, you deny that you hired them to fly the P-38 Lightning over Possum Kingdom Lake?"

  He laughed. "Yes, absolutely. Why would I fly the P-38 Lightning over the lake? It doesn't look anything like a spaceship."

  "You're right. It doesn't unless you disguised it."

  "Disguised it?"

  "Yes, didn't you stretch canvas between the two fuselages so the plane would appear to be rectangular. In the darkness of a thunderstorm it could be mistaken—"

  "No, that's crazy. That never happened."

  "Do you deny that there are rolls and rolls of canvass in the hangar where the P-38 is kept?"

  "What hangar? What canvas? I don't know what you are talking about."

  "You haven't been to the airport east of Grafford where the P-38 is currently stored?"

  "No. It was my understanding the remains of the P-38 had been taken to Midland."

  I looked at Swanson and shook my head. He was either a good liar or didn't know anything about the fake P-38 crash. It was time to get Peterson and Brooks on the stand so we could get some answers. "Pass the witness," I said.

  Simms took Swanson on cross and he scoffed at my suggestion that a P-38 could be mistaken for a spaceship. She led Swanson through all his community activities, his awards, and other accomplishments. She apologized for my suggestion that he had done something illegal or unethical. When she was done, Swanson sat tall in the witness stand with a smug look on his face.

  "Pass the witness," Simms said.

  "No questions at this time," I replied, "but I may want to recall Mr. Swanson later on in the tr
ial."

  The judge nodded. "Mr. Swanson, you may step down, but please remain in the courthouse in case you're needed later."

  Swanson stood. "Yes, Your Honor," he said and then left the courtroom.

  "Mr. Turner. Call your next witness."

  "Thank you, Your Honor," I said. "The defense calls Adam Peterson."

  The bailiff went into the hallway and brought Peterson in. He didn't look thrilled to be a witness. He took the stand and ran his large hands through his thick black hair. Fortunately, he hadn't heard Robert Swanson's testimony about the P-38, so he wouldn't be expecting my line of questioning. I stood and smiled.

  "Mr. Peterson. You work for Robert Swanson, don't you?"

  "Not directly. I work at his auto dealership. It's a corporation, I think."

  "You're also a pilot, right?"

  "Yes, I fly for the Confederate Air Force, sometimes."

  "Have you ever flown a P-38 Lightning?"

  "Sure. That's usually what I fly."

  "When was the last time you flew the Lightning?"

  Peterson swallowed hard. "Ah. . . . It's been quite some time. It crashed a month or two ago and it hasn't been restored yet."

  "When did it crash?"

  "Back in September. I forget the exact date."

  I pulled an envelope out of my briefcase and dumped a pile of photographs on the defense table. Peterson's eyes narrowed.

  "Do you know what I have here?" I asked.

  Peterson shrugged. "No. Can't say that I do."

  "Well, these are photographs of you, Carl Brooks, and a pretty, young lady taking a ride in the P-38 Lightning."

  Peterson squirmed in his seat and ran his hands through his hair again.

  "Do you know when these pictures were taken?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Can I see them?"

  "Absolutely," I replied and gathered them up into a neat pile. I looked at the judge. "May I approach the witness, Your Honor?"

  Simms stood. "I'd like to see those first, Your Honor."

  Without waiting for a response from the judge, I handed the pile of photographs to Simms. She glanced through them and then shook her head. "Your Honor, I object to Mr. Turner showing the witness these photographs. There hasn't been a proper predicate laid."

  "Your Honor," I replied. "I've got three witnesses who can authenticate these photos, but unless Mr. Peterson disputes their authenticity there's no reason to waste time doing that."

  "Objection overruled. The witness may view the photographs."

  I handed the pile to Peterson and his face grew pale as he flipped through the photos one by one. Finally, he looked up and said, "I don't remember this."

  "Do you dispute that you and Carl Brooks are in those pictures?"

  "No. It looks like us. Like I said, I just don't remember when that was."

  "Do you dispute that the plane in the photographs is the P-38 Lightning."

  "Yeah, it is, but those must have been taken before the crash."

  "So, you're going to make me call the three witnesses to testify that those pictures were taken several weeks after the alleged crash?"

  Peterson didn't respond.

  "Did Robert Swanson know about your restoration scam?"

  Peterson frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about?"

  "Do you remember the first day we met? It was after the crash, remember?"

  "Yeah."

  "Didn't you ask me if I wanted to contribute to the fund to restore the P-38?"

  Peterson took a deep breath. He was sweating now and wouldn't make eye contact. The courtroom was quiet as everyone was straining to hear every word.

  "Did you and Carl pocket the money or did you cut Swanson in on the deal?"

  Peterson just looked at me with his mouth half open. "I guess I should take the fifth," he finally said.

  I shrugged. "That is your right, but I doubt it will help much now. If we call up to Midland, I'm pretty sure they'll confirm the P-38 isn't there."

  Peterson drew in a long breath and then sighed. "All right. I guess I'm screwed. . . . No, Swanson didn't know about the scam. It was Carl's stupid idea. I can't believe I let him talk me into it."

  "It was actually quite clever. It was just bad luck that I happened onto it."

  Peterson shrugged.

  "Did Swanson pay you to fly the P-38 over Cactus Island?"

  "No. After we told everybody it had crashed, we kept it out of sight."

  There was no doubt Peterson was telling the truth. He'd have no reason to lie now that he'd admitted in open court to committing a felony. My heart sank as I realized I'd gone down a rabbit trail and now was at a dead end. My gut told me Swanson wasn't the outstanding citizen that Simms had made him out to be, yet I had nothing on him now but suspicions. An old law professor of mine once said good luck was too unpredictable to be relied upon. He said you had to create your own good fortune. I was sure that was the case with Robert Swanson, but what had he done? I had to figure it out—and soon. Time was running out.

  Before I called my next witness, the judge gave the jury a short break. I took that opportunity to find Rose. She was always so upbeat, I figured she'd boost my spirits. She was seated at a bench in the hallway. I walked over and sat next to her.

  "Sorry I had to drag you down here. Hopefully I won't need to call you. I hate for you to get fired."

  She smiled. "It's all right. I understand. If I get fired, I'll probably just go back to school. I was thinking about doing that anyway."

  "Yeah, but–"

  "Don't worry. It's no big deal. How's the trial going?"

  "Terrible," I said. "I thought sure Swanson had hired Peterson and Brooks to fly the P-38 over Cactus Island, but I was wrong."

  "Maybe not entirely."

  I looked up and saw Robert Swanson looking at us. "Oh, God. There's your boss. I'm sorry. I better leave you alone." I got up.

  "Here," Rose said and then handed me the magazine she'd been holding so tightly. I took it from her and frowned.

  "What's this?"

  "There's an article in there you ought to read."

  Swanson started walking toward us, so I said, "Thanks. I'll check it out."

  Members of the jury were starting to go back into the courtroom, so I knew it was time to go back inside. Paula gave me a funny look when she saw me clutching the magazine as I approached her. "What's that?" she asked.

  "It's a magazine Rose gave me."

  "Why?" Paula asked taking it from me. She started leafing through the pages. The magazine was called Aviation Weekly. The date on the cover was May 11, 1990. Paula let out a gasp. "Oh, my God!"

  "What?" I asked.

  "There's an article in here about Robert Swanson. Check out what he's standing next to."

  I looked at the photograph and suddenly everything started to make sense. When the judge took the bench, I stood.

  "Your Honor, I'd like to recall Robert Swanson."

  The judge nodded. "Very well. Bailiff, bring in Mr. Swanson."

  Swanson looked surprised that he'd been called back to testify again. He reluctantly took the witness stand.

   "Mr. Swanson," I have just a few more questions."

  "Okay," he said.

  "You testified you were a pilot, is that right?"

  "Yes. I've flown for more than twenty years."

  "Are you currently employed as a pilot?"

  Swanson didn't respond. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  "It's a simple question, Mr. Swanson."

  "I know. It's just that I can't answer that question."

  "Your Honor, please instruct the witness to answer the question."

  The judge leaned forward and gave Swanson a hard look. "Mr. Swanson, you will have to answer the question."

  Swanson looked over at the judge, "I can't, Your Honor. What I do is classified."

  "So you are employed as a pilot?" I said.

  Swanson frowned and shook his head. "Okay. Yes, I'm a test pilot. How did you fin
d out about that?"

  I ignored his question and continued. "Tell us about the B-2 Spirit."

  "No. The B-2 program is classified. I can't discuss it."

  "You're under oath, Mr. Swanson. You don't have a choice," I said as I opened the magazine to a photograph of Swanson standing in front of a B-2 Spirit. I asked the judge if I could approach the witness.

  "You may," the judge replied.

  I put the magazine in front of Swanson so he could see the picture. "Is this the B-2 Spirit you flew over Possum Kingdom Lake?"

  Again Swanson didn't respond. He just looked at the photograph then looked away gritting his teeth. I took the magazine back and studied the photograph. "I must say it was a brilliant plan to stage a fake alien landing. The B-2 does look like a spaceship." I held it up so the jury could see it.

  "Objection!" Simms screamed. "That photograph hasn't been admitted into evidence."

  I closed the magazine quickly and set it in front of Swanson. "Sorry, Mr. Swanson, can you identify this photograph. I assume you were there since you're in the picture."

  Laughter broke out in the gallery.

  Swanson glared at me. "Yes, I was there."

  "So, that is a B-2 Spirit—an experimental airplane."

  Swanson nodded.

  "You must have been elated when Jimmy Falk was killed and Steven Caldwell blamed it on a spaceship—your experimental airplane actually. That brought in the tourists by the droves."

  Swanson stiffened, looked at the Judge, and shook his head. "I can't talk about this. I told you the project is classified."

  "Your Honor," I replied. "We don't need any details about the aircraft or Mr. Swanson's assignment. All I want to know is if he flew the B-2 Spirit over Possum Kingdom lake."

  The judge nodded. "Answer the question, Mr. Windsor."

  Swanson twisted in his seat. "Yes, but the flyover was after—" He stopped in mid-sentence, a look of despair on his face.

  "The flyover was after what?" I asked.

  "It was just a joke, for godsakes. I never thought anyone would actually think the Spirit was a spaceship. It certainly had nothing to do with Jimmy Falk's death. I didn't get the idea to fly the Spirit over the lake until after the crash and all the UFO nuts came here looking for an alien spacecraft."

  There were gasps from the gallery, then bedlam. Simms stood up to object but nothing came out of her mouth. Cameras flashed. Reporters ran out of the room. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly but nobody cared. It was several minutes before the room quieted.

  "So, how did you get access to the B-2?"

  "The manufacturer hired Airtran to provide test pilots for the B-2. I'm a part owner in Airtran and one of their test pilots. The plane is still in the experimental stages and they needed pilots to take it up from time to time. On September 24 I happened to be near Possum Kingdom Lake so I did a flyover just for the heck of it."

  "Did you fly the B-2 on September 10, 1990?"

  "No. I told you. I only did it on the 24th."

  Frustrated, I shook my head and said, "Pass the witness."

  The Judge looked at his watch and then recessed for lunch. Paula put her arm on my shoulder and congratulated me, but I wasn't feeling all that satisfied. Swanson had admitted to faking the second alien landing, but he denied staging the first one. We may have dealt a fatal blow to the myth of the alien landings at Cactus Island, but unless we could prove the B-2 had flown on September 10th, Swanson's admission was irrelevant to Steven's defense.

  Hollow victory or not, the press mobbed Paula and me when we left the courtroom. One reporter asked, "Do you believe Swanson when he says the B-2 didn't fly on September 10?"

  "I don't know and since it's a classified project, we may never know for sure."

  "Why do you suppose Mr. Swanson would admit faking the second landing, but not the first?"

  "Well, perhaps he's worried about some culpability in Jimmy Falk's death," I replied and then continued on through the crowd of reporters. "That's all for now. Thanks."

  Paula and I met Jodie at the Pizza Hut on the outskirts of Mineral Wells. As I was eating my meatball sandwich, I noticed a lot of traffic heading out of town.

  "I guess we ruined the party," I said. "There go the UFO junkies."

  Paula nodded. "Well, it was just a matter of time. I just can't believe Swanson thought he could get away with flying that experimental plane over the lake."

  "Well, he pretty much runs the town, so I'm sure he's used to doing whatever he wants," I replied.

  "I bet he'll take some heat from his employer for taking the plane off course," Jodie said. "Maybe they'll fire his ass."

  "If we could prove the B-2 went up on September 10, do you really think Jimmy's family might have a cause of action against Swanson?" Paula asked.

  "It would be a stretch," I said, "but a creative personal injury attorney could probably come up with a viable theory."

  "Good. I hope that arrogant bastard gets what's coming to him," Paula said.

  "Okay, enough of Swanson. We need to focus on the rest of the trial. Do you think I need to call the two fishermen and Doc Verner?"

  "I thought we were trying not to focus on the alien spaceship." Paula said. "You got the story into evidence with Peter's testimony and everyone has read the newspaper accounts of the landings."

  "True. Okay, we'll scratch them and finish up with Gary Queen."

  "I agree," Jodie said. "I think we have the momentum on our side right now so we should wrap up our case and let it go to the jury."

  The courthouse looked deserted when we returned. The crowd of spectators that had been hanging around all week was gone. Only half the media vans were still parked on the side streets around the town square and we were able to walk into the courthouse without being mobbed by reporters. The spectators in the hallways all had long faces and avoided making eye contact. When we walked into the courtroom, disappointment hung in the air. Although I hadn't been the one who betrayed the people, I was the messenger and could feel the contempt of the crowd. I was afraid this might happen and had counted on Simms using her strikes to get rid of the UFO fanatics on the jury panel. Luckily, she hadn't disappointed me.

  The judge took the bench and I continued questioning Robert Swanson. He claimed he'd gotten the idea to fake a UFO sighting after Jimmy's death and altered his flight plan so he'd fly by the lake. When he got close to the lake, he went off course and flew directly over Cactus Island. Later he blamed the altered course on an instrument malfunction. On cross examination, Simms hammered on the fact that the second UFO sighting was irrelevant and had no bearing on the case at hand and she was right.

  When Swanson stepped down, I called Gary Queen. He explained that he operated an oil rig and had been hired to drill a well near Camp Comfort. It just so happened the drilling was to begin on September 10, 1990. I asked exactly when it started.

  "According to my log, drilling commenced at 4:47 p.m."

  "Were you aware of an accident on the road to Camp Comfort about that same time?"

  "Not then. I've heard about it since."

  "Did you know that the accident was first reported at 4:58 p.m.?"

  "I've heard that, yes."

  "And once you started drilling did it continue all day?"

  "Well, actually, no. Just after we started drilling, a wrench was dropped into the hole and we had to stop and fish it out. "

  "When did you stop drilling?"

  "The log says 4:55 p.m."

  "So, when Steven Caldwell and Jimmy Falk came around the curve just before the entrance to Camp Comfort, they would have heard your drilling rig."

  "Oh, yes. Absolutely."

  "But when Sylvia Bassett came upon the scene at 4:58 p.m. you had stopped drilling and it was quiet except for the wind and the thunder."

  "Yes. That's correct. It was a very windy and stormy day."

  "Mr. Queen, is a drilling rig very noisy?"

  Queen nodded. "Yes. Extremely noisy, almost deafening.
The men have to wear special earplugs to prevent permanent injury to their eardrums."

  "Does that noise carry any distance?"

  "Oh, yes. That's one of our biggest public relations problems. If we drill anywhere near a home or business the occupants are sure to be complaining about the noise."

  I motioned to Jodie and she brought up a big boom box and set it in front of the witness. I said, "Did you bring a tape to play to the jury?"

  "Yes, I did," Queen replied.

  "Objection!" Simms said. "This is totally irrelevant."

  "I don't think so, Your Honor. There's been testimony that Steven Caldwell said he'd not only been distracted by an object in the sky, but a loud noise as well. I believe this oil rig was the source of the noise in question."

  "Overruled," the judge said. "Proceed."

  "Thank you, Your Honor. Now, Mr. Queen, would you play the tape for us?"

  "Sure," Queen said and slipped the cassette into the boom box.

  I turned to the jury. "Be prepared to cover your ears. This will be pretty loud."

  Queen pressed the play button and an intense, high-pitched grinding sound filled the courtroom. It was so deafening almost everyone covered their ears immediately. The judged banged his gavel and yelled, "That's enough!" Queen hit the stop button.

  I smiled. "I'm sorry about that. I hope everyone's eardrums are still intact. So, Mr. Queen, is that the sound that would have confronted Steven Caldwell and Jimmy Falk when they come around the curve where the accident took place?"

  "Yes."

  "In your opinion would that sound have distracted them for at least a second or two?"

  "Yes, I think it would have startled them if they hadn't been expecting it."

  "Do you think the sound alone could have caused the accident?"

  "Objection! Mr. Queen is not an expert."

  "True. Withdrawn. Thank you, Mr. Queen. Pass the witness."

   Simm stood up. "Mr. Queen. How far away was the oil rig from the road?"

  "About a hundred yards."

  "Isn't the sound a lot less intense 100 yards away rather than right next to the well site?"

  "A little less intense, I guess, but still pretty loud."

  "Where was this tape made? At the site or near the road?"

  "It was near the site, but I—"

  "No further questions."

  On redirect I asked Queen to finish his answer. He said he didn't think the sound was much less intense a hundred yards away. He said it was common to get complaints from people a mile or two away from the drilling site that they were so distracted by the sound of the drilling they couldn't think, let alone sleep. I was pretty sure the jury had gotten the message.

  If we were going to allow Steven Caldwell to testify in his defense, now was the time. I asked the judge for a short recess to discuss the issue. He granted us ten minutes.

  "What do you think, Paula?"

  "It's too dangerous. Right now we have a good chance of acquittal. If we let Steven testify and for some reason the jury doesn't like him, or Simms tears him up on cross, we'll be sunk."

  "That's what I was thinking, but I just wanted to be sure."

  "Besides, I think you've effectively moved us away from the UFO defense and we don't need Steven muddying the water on that issue."

  "Okay, then. I guess it's time to rest."

  When the judge came back, we rested our case. Then Simms recalled Deputy Freeman Fry and Detective Ben Hayden to dispute our contention that the noise from the oil rig could have been enough to cause the accident. On cross I pointed out that neither of the witnesses was there when the accident happened, so they couldn't possibly know whether the noise was enough of a distraction to cause the vehicle to go out of control. When Simms was done with these two witnesses we both closed and the judge asked for closing arguments. Since Simms had the burden of proof, I gave my closing argument first.

  "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I want to thank you for your patience and attention throughout this long trial. I know it's difficult to sit there day after day doing your civic duty while your own lives have been put on hold. Well now it's time for you to digest what you've seen and heard and render a verdict. Before you start that process I want to remind you that when this trial started, Steven Caldwell was presumed innocent. The burden in this case rests with the prosecution. To win they must prove beyond any reasonable doubt that Steven Caldwell intentionally and knowingly caused the death of Jimmy Falk. Well, let's face it, they haven't met that burden.

  "They've proved there was some animosity between Steven and Jimmy over Susan Weber, sure, but not the hatred and bitterness that would be necessary to drive someone to commit murder. You heard the testimony of Roger Dickens that Steven and Jimmy were laughing and kidding around before they took off in the Jeep. You heard the testimony of Carl Loftus who, after carefully studying the accident scene and preparing a video simulation, concluded that for Steven to intentionally jump out of the Jeep after it left the roadway would have been suicide.

  "The prosecution's case against Steven Caldwell is speculation at best. Sure, there were words between Steven and Jimmy—angry words and empty threats—but nothing sinister or calculating. Steven was frustrated over losing the woman he thought he loved, yet there was testimony that Steven and Susan had been drifting apart before Jimmy came on the scene. Steven's jealousy was normal adolescent behavior and nothing more.

  "What happened on September 10 was simply a tragic accident, an unfortunate twist of fate that neither Steven nor Jimmy could have done anything to avoid. It was a dark, stormy day with lightning, thunder and strong winds. You can imagine what happened as Steven sped around the sharp curve in the open Jeep. First he saw a strange object in the sky and then was jolted by the piercing screams of an oil rig. You heard the testimony that the scouts talked incessantly about the landings on Cactus Island, the frogmen and the humanoids. They spent hours looking, watching, waiting for signs of the alien visitors. Certainly you can understand how Steven could have mistakenly believed he'd seen the long-anticipated spacecraft when he rounded that curve. There was a strange object in the sky, the wind, the darkness, the lighting, and the piercing noise—all the elements of the story that had been told over and over again year after year.

  "In that split-second of wonder, he lost control of the Jeep and Jimmy Falk died. It was a tragic accident that will haunt Steven for the rest of his life, but it wasn't murder. You've heard witness after witness characterize Steven as a hard-working, honest, decent young man. No one has come forward with any evidence to the contrary, not even Susan Weber or Sammy Falk who had good reason to be angry with Steven. No one has shown us any evidence that Steven Caldwell is the kind of person who could commit murder.

  "So, again. The prosecution has the burden of proof and it simply hasn't met that burden. Therefore, you must find Steven Caldwell not guilty. Thank you and may God be with you as you decide the fate of Steven Caldwell."

  "Thank you, Mr. Turner," Judge Applegate said. "Ms. Simms. You may proceed."

  I took my seat much relieved that my job was over. Jodie gave me a thumbs up from the gallery and Paula whispered congratulations. Then I noticed two of the jurors looking at me and smiling. I wondered what it meant, if anything.

  "Yes, Your Honor," Simms said. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the State too thanks you for your diligence in acting as jurors in this very important trial. I've watched you carefully this last week and have been impressed with the close attention you have been giving to me and Mr. Turner. I am confident that you will do what's right here today.

  "It is true the State has the burden of proof in this case and I think you will agree we have more than met that burden. The defense admits that Steven was angry with Jimmy over taking Susan Weber away from him. It is undisputed that Steven made threats to get even, to make Jimmy pay for stealing the woman he loved.

  "I can't tell you exactly when Steven began to concoct his murderous plot, but
you probably remember Sammy Falk testifying that Steven had called over to their house to make sure Jimmy was going to be at the camp out. Why did he want to know if Jimmy was going to be there? Because he was making plans to kill him.

  "Recall the scene in the mess hall when it was discovered supplies were needed. You heard the testimony that everyone volunteered to go to town with Steven, but Steven picked Jimmy. Why was that? I think you know.

  "Think back to the testimony of Peter Turner when he heard a banging noise coming from the parking lot and ran into Steven Caldwell there with a tool box. What was he doing in the parking lot? I think you know. He was hammering on the seatbelt to damage it so Jimmy wouldn't be able to open it quickly enough to jump from the Jeep.

  "Then he came up with the story of the alien spacecraft. That was quite an effective tactic as you all have observed these past few weeks. He knew the focus of this trial would be shifted away from him, to the larger picture, the age-old question: Is there intelligent life in outer space?

  “Now I’ve got to hand it to Mr. Turner. He is a master at deception. He carefully unraveled Robert Swanson’s plot to make everything think there had been a second visit by the alien spacecraft. He would like you to believe that Mr. Swanson was also responsible for the alleged September 10th flyover. But as you will note he could never prove this was the case. Mr. Swanson vehemently denied it and there is no proof to the contrary. Accordingly, Mr. Swanson’s fraud on the citizens of Palo Pinto County, as reprehensible as it was, has no relevance to this case. Steven Caldwell’s defense that he was distracted by an alien spacecraft is still as ridiculous as it was the night he first concocted it.

  "Finally, the last crushing blow to Steven Caldwell’s defense, that nobody has talked about yet but is common knowledge to anyone following this trial, is that while out on bail Steven Caldwell made plans to flee the country. What does that tell you? It tells you he's knows he's guilty. It's tantamount to an admission of guilt.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, don't fall victim to Steven Caldwell's tricks. He is a highly intelligent young man who was insanely jealous and angry over the loss of Susan Weber. In order to exact revenge he very cleverly plotted and planned the murder of Jimmy Falk and executed that plan with precision and cold calculation. Please don't let Steven Caldwell get away with his heinous crime. Look beneath that calm, collected veneer. See him for what he is and find him guilty of murder. Make him pay for his crimes against Jimmy Falk and people of the State of Texas. Thank you."

  The judge thanked Simms and then gave his instructions to the jury. He answered their questions, wished them good luck, and asked them to retire to the jury room to deliberate. After the court deputy had escorted them out, the judge recessed the trial for the duration of jury deliberations. Steven looked scared as the bailiff cuffed him and took him back to the county jail. I offered him words of encouragement, but they didn't seem to lift his spirits much. I think he sensed that it was a close case and the jury could go either way. A huge sense of relief washed over me as my responsibility was over. Now it was just a matter of waiting, hoping, and praying that Steven would be found innocent and the jury would set him free.