From the Eyes of a Juror

  Chapter 45 – A Split Second

  Thursday morning June 12, 2008 – 6:48 AM

  Frank Newlan was still in a state of disbelief the morning after coming into auditory contact with the voice of his high school sweetheart for the first time in nearly 20 years.

  Newlan was in fact so stunned he almost convinced himself that he had dreamed up the entire episode. But a quick check of the caller ID on his telephone’s handset provided him with evidence to the contrary, and a shiver flared through him as he suddenly recalled the ominous warning that he actually did receive from Fred Miller’s spirit in the presaging dream he had succumb to last evening.

  “No freakin’ way I’m gonna end up like Fred Miller, that’s for damn sure,” resolutely muttered Newlan while he mindlessly shaved the stubble off his face in preparation for another grueling day of courtroom drama, and as the electric razor buzzed across his chin, he looked to the man in the mirror for some semblance of direction.

  “All these years, I don’t hear a peep from Marianne, and now she decides to drop me a line while I’m caught up in the middle of the hit-man murder trial. I swear someone upstairs has it in for me. What the fuck did I ever do to deserve this? If I said it once, I’ve said it a million times…man, you can’t make this shit up,” moaned Newlan, and he persistently carried on with his frantic attempts to talk some sense into his reflection as he got himself dressed.

  “She’s a married woman. What the hell does she want from me? For all I know, her husband’s a crazy son of a bitch too. I hope to God she doesn’t call me again. I’m stressed out as it is over this fuckin’ trial. I need Marianne in my life right now like I need a hole in the head,” griped Newlan, and wouldn’t you know it, just like that, the words “hole in the head” lingered on his lips and triggered an unwelcomed flashback to the gruesome photos of poor Fred Miller, laid out on the sterile metal autopsy table.

  Newlan had a sinking feeling that he might never get over these images; Fred Miller bloodied and bruised, slumped over in his car, dead to the world; Fred Miller’s limp body, lying naked on the aforementioned autopsy table; Fred Miller face, garnished with a reddish burn hole scarring his left cheek, no bigger than an oversized pimple. And the more he thought about Fred Miller’s fate, the more he became overwhelmed by a sneaking suspicion that he might never stop wondering how that little pockmark could wreak so much havoc.

  “All of this because of a woman,” Newlan mused, but then he promptly corrected himself. “Wait a minute…what the hell am I thinking? We still don’t know exactly what the fuck happened. Sure, Breslin probably hated Fred Miller’s guts. But the DA’s office still hasn’t presented a God damned bit of proof yet that he was involved in any this.”

  Nonetheless, regardless of who committed the evil act, Newlan couldn’t deny the fact that he had reached a point in the proceedings where he could officially certify that he was now sheepishly unsettled by the blistering memory of the indisputable crime scene photographs, and to make matters even worse, he had a nagging feeling that the graphic images had somehow been permanently stamped into his brain when he wasn’t looking. The same photos that didn’t seem real just a few days ago were now haunting his every move, and the uncertain reality which suggested that a jealous husband may have been the driving force behind the shocking violence being depicted in the morbid snapshots had him shaking in his shoes.

  And yet, despite his mounting fears, Newlan still wondered. He wondered what Marianne Plante looked like after all these years. He wondered why, of all people, she would call him and confess to marital problems. He wondered why she had confided in him; why she conceded that she missed him. He wondered what it would feel like to hold her in his arms again, to kiss her, just as he had dreamed about so many times before. He wondered why his heart still ached for something he wasn’t sure even existed anymore.

  All of these rattling contemplations had Newlan dragging around his condo in slow motion, but after an extended session of self-loathing, he ultimately sucked it up, put his shoes on, and headed on out the door.

  “But first, a trip to the CD collection,” thought the scatterbrained Newlan as he made a sharp u-turn towards his CD closet.

  Newlan was in a Grateful Dead mood this morning, and after a moment of deliberation he decided on their underappreciated album from 1989, “Built to Last”. Luckily for him however, he would have no way of ever knowing for certain, beyond his psychic delusions, that he had picked out the very same CD that Fred Miller was listening to in his car the morning he was murdered; because if he had somehow been made privy to the full story behind Miller’s last moments, he probably would have collapsed into a fetal position and never set foot out of his condo again.

  The frequency with which Newlan seemed to find himself on the receiving end of these strange, statistically improbable oddities went well beyond his comfort level, and yet his reaction was always the same; unequivocal disbelief. You see, every now and then, out of the blue, he would find himself thinking about an obscure song, and within seconds that song would come on the radio. Every now and then, he would find himself thinking about an old acquaintance, and within minutes that person would call him on the phone. Every now and then, he would find himself thinking about a childhood friend, and the next day they would bump into each other walking down the street. And every single time one of these mystifying events occurred, the utter randomness of the happenstance in his life would leave him dumbfounded and speechless.

  Thankfully for Newlan’s sake, the full extent of the eerie “Built to Last” coincidence was never revealed in open court, and so he was none the wiser. However, the Grateful Dead connection between the two men was like a simmering cauldron of irony which would yet boil over and scare the bejesus out of him.

  But regardless of the ill-tidings which seemed to be racing in his direction like a sailing vessel poised to win the America’s Cup, today as Newlan made his way out the door, he decided to look on the sunny side of life for a change, and the positive outlook did wonders as far as blowing a gusty tailwind into his sagging masthead.

  “Well at least I’m not hung-over this morning, so that alone puts me off to a better start than yesterday,” reasoned Newlan as the elevator vaulted him down to ground zero.

  Newlan offered a spastic wave to Saeed Kahn as he passed through the lobby, but Kahn was lost in one of his radiant meditations, and as such, he never even acknowledged Newlan’s gesture.

  “Jeez, and I thought the doorman was supposed to be a friendly guy. I’m telling you, that fucker’s up to something. He sure has been acting strange lately. I swear my psychic antenna is picking up a vibe,” silently insisted Newlan, and he was still homed in on Kahn as he started up his red Mercury. But with the scent of the fresh morning air blowing in his face, before too long he had dismissed his misgivings, and in keeping to his mood for the day, he laughed off his suspicions.

  “If I believed all of my dreams, I’d be dead a thousand times over by now. If I believed all of my dreams, then that crazy old bastard is gonna blow up the fuckin’ building, and even I don’t think he’s that insane,” mumbled Newlan, and within minutes of his departure, he was placidly merging onto the highway, grooving to the mesmerizing sounds of the Dead. And of course, as always, his disposition was enhanced even further by partaking in his daily morning ritual of puffing on a joint to help ease the strain of the rush-hour commute. However, right off the bat, an appropriately labeled song on the CD entitled “Foolish Heart” turned his vibe from bright to blue in no time flat.

  With the guidance of Jerry Garcia’s airy voice, Newlan launched into a brooding contemplation regarding Marianne Plante’s spousal predicament, and before the first verse had even played itself out, he found himself wondering whether they might both be suffering from foolish hearts.

  Newlan’s automobile, not to mention his mind, was still stuck in the usual morning gridlock when the title song “Built to Last” kicked in,
and the heavy lyrics of the droning tune hit him hard as he sat there stalled in traffic and pondered the words; words which were in fact so chilling, that they triggered a tingle of goose bumps in his limbs as he hummed along; lyrics which were in fact so befitting, it seemed for all the world as if they contained an unforeseen, yet highly empirical message; a foreboding message which sent him drifting off into one of his existential moods, wondering whether he was or wasn’t going to be built to last.

  And so by the time Newlan arrived at the courthouse he was floating gently downstream on a delicately emotional life raft, and on top of that, he was sufficiently stoned to boot.

  After reporting for duty at an unquestionably late hour yesterday morning, Newlan was back to being the first juror to check in for the day, and like clockwork, the elderly Patty soon followed his lead. And with their routine back in place, the neurotic Newlan felt a strange sense of relief come over him, as if some sort of order was being restored to the universe.

  Patty and Newlan chatted amicably, and he was touched by how she had taken to him in such a motherly way. Only a few minutes worth of casual conversation had elapsed before Donny, the equally elderly Court Officer, came waddling into the waiting room, and he joined them for an exchange of what started out as mindless chatter…but ended in painful despair.

  “We missed you the past couple of days,” exclaimed Patty as she warmly greeted her fellow senior citizen, and Newlan nodded his head in agreement while Donny did his best to form a forced smile on his face. He appeared to possess the sad, shattered look of someone who was sick and tired of dealing with life’s travails, and with good reason as it turned out.

  “Unfortunately, I had to drive my wife over to the Leahy Clinic for cancer treatments yesterday. She’s got a rare form of leukemia,” morosely explained Donny who was unaware of the fact that Billy had already filled the jurors in on his family crisis situation.

  “Oh dear, how’s she doing?” inquired a concerned Patty while trying to act surprised.

  “It’s hard to say, some days she seems to be doing pretty good, and other days not so good. I get the feeling that even the doctors don’t know what’s going on,” quietly replied Donny as he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

  Patty’s grim facial expression almost matched Donny’s, and it appeared as if she was about to start crying herself. And based on her response, it was almost surprising that she didn’t shed a tear.

  “I’ll be praying for the both of you. I lost my husband last year…colon cancer. The way he went from a vibrant human being to a shell of a man in a matter of months…it broke my heart,” confessed Patty, and as the two old-timers continued to trade notes regarding hospitals and doctors and illnesses and treatments, Newlan squeamish stomach became twisted in knots.

  Newlan had been forced to deal with his own share of heartaches in recent years, what with the deaths of his mother and father, and listening to Patty and Donny discuss their loved ones was enough of an impetus that it triggered the sad memories to come rushing back into the forefront of his mind like a falcon darting across the sky.

  The only defense mechanism Newlan had ever been able to devise for dealing with death and mourning was simply not to think about such painful reminders of the past. But whenever friends and acquaintances, or even strangers for that matter, opened up to him about their own heartfelt losses, it would temporarily unleash the floodgates of grief in his heart and he would find himself descending into a momentary funk. As such, it wasn’t the least bit surprising to Newlan that Patty and Donny’s morbid topic of conversation for the morning had his emotions yo-yoing every which way, and so he was quite relieved when the rest of the jurors began to make their entrances, and the discussion gradually drifted away from death and dying.

  By 9 AM all of the jurors had reported for duty except for the wheelchair-bound Dan. But of course Dan’s MIA status didn’t stop Billy’s agitated voice from blaring out over Donny’s two-way radio with a request for an update. “Are we ready to go yet, ten four?”

  “Waiting for one more juror, ten four,” replied Donny in an uninterested tone, while in the background, the present-and-accounted-for jurors began to fret about their missing colleague.

  However, just when the anxiety level over Dan’s absence was about to rise over the levee-breaking level, he finally rolled through the door at about ten past nine, and Donny wasted no time in leading the way up to the sixth floor courtroom where Billy was waiting to greet them, and he rushed them along as they piled into the juror deliberation room.

  “Let’s go, let’s go…fill out your lunch menus and be ready to roll in ten minutes. Judge Gershwin is getting very impatient,” ordered Billy while Dan bowed his head and confessed; “Sorry it’s my fault again. I got stuck in traffic.”

  Billy grimaced and shook his head angrily, but he was too good-natured of a guy to stay mad for very long. Within a matter of minutes Billy had reconciled with Dan and he offered him a solution to boot; “Remind me on break to jot down a few shortcuts for you to try out. Granted, this courthouse is on a busy stretch of road, but trust me I know every route you can think of to get here, some that you won’t even find on your GPS systems, so I’m sure that one way or another I can shave a few minutes off of your drive…and it’ll make both of our lives easier.”

  And while Dan intently discussed roadway strategies with Billy, his colleagues queued up in a mad dash to make use of the rest room before the start of the morning session, which was a necessity after their long commutes and morning coffees.

  Yong, the pretty Korean juror, even went so far as to bitterly complain, “They can’t start in ten minutes. We’ll never be ready…and I refuse to participate under such distress”

  Naturally, the stressed-out jurors were all in agreement with Yong, at least in this regard; the court officers would have had a major revolt on their hands had the jurors been forced to march into the courtroom without first being given the chance to take care of nature’s calling. And to make matters worse, Brandon, who was in a chatty mood, came shuffling into the room and also laid claim to a spot at the end of the discomforting bathroom line as well.

  “Good morning folks. I think things are gonna start getting really interesting today. I can’t give you any details of course…but trust me, things are gonna get interesting in a hurry this morning, that’s for sure,” announced Brandon.

  And upon contemplating the burly court officer’s guarantee of a hunch, Newlan replied accordingly; “Start getting interesting? I don’t know about anyone else, but as far as I’m concerned, things started getting interesting a long time ago.”

  For the second time in a matter of minutes, the jurors nodded their heads in unanimous agreement while Brandon nonchalantly added an exclamation point to his prediction, “well then things are gonna get even more interesting…you can bank on it!”

  As it turned out, the jurors were afforded plenty of time to use the facilities because, despite Billy’s annoying prodding, they wouldn’t be ushered into the courtroom for another half hour. But no sooner had they taken their seats in the jury box when they were made aware of what Brandon was referring to with his cryptic prognostication.

  The courtroom was electric with anticipation as DA Lyons informed Judge Gershwin of her intentions regarding how she was planning to kick-start the day into action.

  “Your honor the prosecution calls Ms. Tracy Stone to the stand,” announced Lyons, and no sooner had the words left the churlish DA’s mouth, when all of a sudden a rip-roaring buzz swept through the gallery, while at the same time the audience, almost in unison, rose and craned their necks in an effort to put themselves in a better position to sneak an unobstructed peak of Ms. Stone as she calmly made her way to the witness box.

  Stone was dressed in a dark blue business-like suit, and although she had gained a few pounds over the years, she still possessed a shapely figure, which added a rather sexy touch to her professional at
tire (at least in the mind of one very intrigued juror).

  Stone’s shoulder length strawberry blonde hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating her fair-skinned face, and even though her pastel complexion left her a bit freckled, it only augmented her charm as far as her many suitors were concerned.

  As a matter of fact, despite the hell that she had been through over the course of her life, Tracy Stone was still considered by many to be quite the attractive woman…and now, in a matter of seconds, she had another secret admirer sewn up tight, namely one Mr. Frank Newlan.

  Even though Stone had been traumatized in more ways than most people would think humanly possible over the past two plus years -- two years in which she had spent countless hours fretting over this very day, the day that she would once again be compelled to come face-to-face with her ex-husband -- she didn’t appear to be the least bit nervous as she bolted herself down for what would turn out to be one of the longest days of her life; even rivaling the day that her sweetheart Fred Miller was murdered, and the forever-connected day, precisely one year later, when she overdosed and almost died from a bout of self-inflicted abuse.

  Yes, Stone would be the first to admit that the trial of her children’s father was, at its roots, the main reason behind her failure to keep her tenuous sobriety under wraps. She would be the first to admit that she had to resort to partaking in more than a few drinks last night in an effort to calm her nerves. She would be the first to admit that, despite her cool exterior, deep inside, she was terrified and filled with guilt over her role in this sorry state of affairs. But now, as she took to the stand, she would also be the first to admit that she was as ready as ready could be to face her fears in the form of her ex-husband, and she was ready to face him head-on.

  For his part, Newlan decided that the moment called for him to observe Stone closely. He was curious as to whether she would attempt to steal a glance in the direction of her ex-husband. She didn’t. Conversely, he then glimpsed over in Breslin’s direction in a desperate bid to decipher his reaction regarding viewing his ex-wife’s elegant form for the first time in two years. And true to form, Breslin’s expression never changed; he continued to stare straight ahead, zombie-like, as he had done throughout the course of the trial.

  “I don’t know how the hell Breslin can sit there, day after day, without a hint of a reaction. I guess Gleason’s got him trained well,” thought Newlan as he took a deep breath and strapped himself in for what was shaping up to be one hell of a ride; one hell of a show; one hell of a trippy production.

  Lyons appeared to be unusually wound-up this morning, and it showed in her stage presence; she started out with a grand entrance and she barely took her foot off the gas for the rest of the day. As such, she began the morning’s spectacle by promptly clarifying the matter of Tracy Stone’s marital status.

  “Ms. Stone, for the record, did you previously go by another name?”

  “Yes, Stone is my maiden name, but prior to my divorce being finalized I was using my married name which was Breslin,” matter-of-factly answered Stone while wearing a frown on her face that would rival DA Lyons’ legendary scowl any day of the week.

  “And for the record Ms. Stone, is your ex-husband in this courtroom?” inquired Lyons, and in return, Stone whispered a barely audible affirmative response.

  “Ms. Stone, could you please point him out for the jurors,” requested Lyons, and Stone raised her right arm out and emphatically pointed a fully extended index finger at her ex-husband as she angrily made a verbal identification.

  “That’s him seated over there.”

  Incredibly, her thumb was pointed upwards and her remaining fingers were clenched to her palm like a fist, which transformed her balled-up hand into the unmistakable shape of a pistol.

  Newlan couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and once again he took note of Breslin as he continued to stare straight ahead, seemingly lost in some distant, far-away time-zone. He didn’t even so much as flinch at the sight of his ex-wife, who had seemingly formed the shape of a child-like finger gun to point him out to DA Lyons in front of the packed courtroom.

  But regardless of Stone’s intentions, the stoic DA ignored the symbolic gesture and carried on.

  “Now, Ms. Stone, could you please tell us approximately when you got married to Mr. Breslin and when you got divorced from him?”

  “We got married in August of 1998 and we were officially divorced in June of 2006.”

  “Ms. Stone, you say that you were officially divorced in June of 2006, but approximately when did you file for divorce?”

  “Actually I filed for divorce twice, once in 2003 and then again in 2005.”

  “Why didn’t the divorce go through in 2003?” wondered Lyons in an inquisitive tone.

  “Well, I hired a divorce lawyer and we legally evicted Johnny from our home. But then almost immediately after he moved out, he started with the harassing phone calls and the emails and the letters…and after a while, I guess I just couldn’t take it. I was physically and emotionally spent…and so I broke down and took him back,” explained Stone, and she sounded weary just talking about the ordeal.

  “But as we know you eventually did end the marriage…so could you please tell the jury what led you to finally go through with your divorce?”

  “Let me see…I re-filed for divorce in June of 2005, but then Johnny started pulling the same old stunts again, and I started having second thoughts, so…”

  “Why did you have second thoughts?” interrupted Lyons.

  “Umm, I don’t really know. I was just confused I guess. I was also exhausted from having to take care of the kids without his help. And I was having financial problems as well…just a lot of things were going through my mind as you might imagine,” whined Stone.

  “And what eventually made you decide to go through with the divorce?” asked Lyons again, this time with a demanding lilt in her voice.

  “After Freddie was killed, I just knew that I had to go through with it. I just felt as if I didn’t even know my own husband anymore. He wasn’t the same man that I married. He was like a stranger to me, and then when he got arrested, that was it…I couldn’t take it anymore,” replied Stone as she began to cry softly into a handkerchief.

  Even though Tracy Stone’s testimony had only just commenced a short while ago, Frank Newlan was already beginning to feel sorry for her as he witnessed her tearing up in front of a courtroom full of mostly unsympathetic observers. And what’s more, he was practically overcome by a powerful urge to vault out of his swivel chair and hug her until the hurt went away. But of course, even if Newlan had somehow summonsed up the nerve to spring into action, the fear of incurring Judge Gershwin’s wrath would have surely kept his impetuous impulses squarely in check.

  “Ms. Stone, I’d like to change the subject if I may. Could you tell us a little about how you became acquainted with Fred Miller?” delicately continued Lyons as Stone whimpered in the wings.

  “Umm, we met back in high school. Fred was a senior and I was a sophomore…and we dated for pretty much the entire year…and we kept in touch even after Fred went off to college at UMass. But then we kind of drifted apart when he decided to transfer to the University of Arizona. Well, I must admit that I did call him a few times while he was out west, but I got the feeling that he wasn’t interested in having a long distance relationship,” explained Stone in between sniffles.

  “Wow, her story is beginning to sound more-and-more like a rough carbon copy of what happened between Marianne and me,” shuddered Newlan, and he wistfully shook his head as exclaimed to himself, “man, you can’t make this shit up.”

  “And what, if anything, happened after Fred Miller got out of college?” added Lyons.

  “After Fred graduated, he came back home and we started dating again…and then within six months we decided to move in together,” pensively recounted Stone.

  “And Ms. Stone, could you tell us ho
w long you and Mr. Miller lived together?”

  “We lived together off and on for a few years from about 1993 to 1995.”

  “And when you say ‘off and on’ what do you mean by that?” wondered Lyons.

  “Fred moved out a few times. I guess you could say we had a rocky relationship back in those days,” confessed Stone with a rueful smile planted on her face.

  “Were you both working during the period that you lived together?”

  “Yes, Fred was already in the insurance business by then, and I worked several different jobs as well. At the time, it would have been tough to make ends meet on one salary so we really needed to depend on each other if we wanted to keep the apartment.”

  “And what happened after 1995 in regards to you and Fred Miller?” continued Lyons. And although Stone was already worn down by the awkwardness of having to expose her personal life in such a public forum, after a deep breath, she soldiered on nonetheless.

  “It’s hard to explain, but to make a long story short, I guess you could say that we mutually decided to stop dating…but despite our differences, we still remained friends and we talked on the phone from time to time.”

  “Now Ms. Stone, didn’t you tell the investigators that you started dating someone else during this time period, and that Fred was involved in an incident with you new boyfriend?”

  “Yes, after Fred and I broke up, I dated a man by the name of Peter Perry and he eventually moved in with me. But I must admit, it didn’t work out very well…and I had no one else to turn to, so I ended up giving Freddie a call and I asked him for his help in getting Peter out of my life.”

  “Interesting…not much different than Breslin calling in Sammy Fox to sweep Fred Miller out of his life…of course this dude, Peter Perry, didn’t wind up dead…at least I assumed he didn’t,” mused Newlan while Lyons trudged forward.

  “Ms. Stone could you expand upon what happened between Mr. Perry and Mr. Miller,” requested Lyons.

  “Peter only lived with me for a couple of months, and almost from day one I realized that it was a big mistake. But he refused to move out, so I asked Freddie if he wouldn’t mind coming over and having a little talk with Peter. Freddie was hesitant to get involved at first, but he eventually agreed to help out, and as it turned out, on the day he decided to pay us a visit, Peter and I happened to be arguing out in the driveway…and then Peter and Freddie got in each other’s faces…and after that, it was just a big mess. On the plus side though, Peter did end up moving out of my apartment…but unfortunately, because of this incident, Fred also got very upset with me, and I guess you could say we had a major falling out…and after that day I lost touch with him for about 10 years,” sadly replied Stone, and she began to weep again as she recalled that momentous turning point in her life.

  DA Lyons paused ever so briefly out of respect for the crying witness, but then, without hesitation, she jumped right back into the rhythm of her interview.

  “And Ms. Stone did you date anyone else during this time period?” prodded Lyons, and with the million dollar question released into the air with all the subtlety of a game-show host, Stone reflected back in time for a moment before regaining her composure long enough to recount the fortuitous meeting that messed up her life for good.

  “Yes, right before I broke up with Peter Perry which I believe was in August of 1995, I met Johnny.”

  “And for the record when you say Johnny, you are referring to the defendant Mr. John Breslin,” corrected Lyons, and Stone winced as she softly answered, “Yes.”

  “Can you tell us how you met Mr. Breslin?” requested Lyons as she picked the pace back up again.

  “I was waitressing in a restaurant/bar, and Johnny would occasionally come in for a beer after a few rounds of golfing with his friends on the public course which was right down the road from where I worked. I could kind of tell that he took an interest in me right away, and we talked a lot during that period…and after a few weeks he asked me out on a date,” recalled Stone.

  “So what was the outcome of Mr. Breslin’s request?” wondered the tenacious DA.

  And in response to Lyons’ query, Tracy Stone was tempted to reply; “The outcome was that he ruined my fuckin’ life.” But of course, since even she wasn’t that crude, she instead took a deep breath and explained; “At first I said ‘no’. I had already told him all about Fred, and what had happened with Peter, and how, because of my bad experiences, I wasn’t ready for another relationship so soon…but he was persistent, and eventually I agreed to go out with him.”

  “What happened next?” pressed on Lyons, and Stone broke down again as she listlessly replied; “We dated for a few months…and then in October of 1995 I got pregnant.”

  While Tracy Stone paused to regain her composure one more time, Newlan made use of the momentary break in the action to once again take a quick peep over at the defense table where Breslin continued to stare straight ahead, emotionless, as he watched his ex-wife bawl her eyes out at the mere mention of her becoming pregnant with their child. And while Newlan’s gaze was focused in that direction, he also took notice of the fact that renowned Defense Attorney R. J. Gleason was furiously jotting down notes without even bothering to look up at the witness stand.

  Gleason’s dedication to his client was admirable as far as Newlan was concerned. But at the same time, as much as he disliked Lyons’ style, he begrudgingly had to admit that he found her doggedness to be quite impressive as well.

  “And how did Mr. Breslin react to the news of your pregnancy?” continued Lyons.

  “He wanted us to get married and start a family,” replied Stone as the conflicted expression on her face betrayed her emotions.

  Newlan couldn’t determine for sure whether Stone was frowning or smiling, but the longer he sat there, literally yards away from the witness stand, the more he was taken in by her intoxicating aura. But on the other hand, his charge was to serve as an impartial observer, and so with that in mind, he scribbled into his notepad:

  Breslin asked Stone to marry him…Seems like an honorable thing to do.

  And as the day marched on, Newlan found himself becoming irrevocably torn between the unbendable affection he was beginning to feel towards Tracy Stone, as well as the unbreakable connection he already felt towards Fred Miller, and his unrelenting gut feeling that Breslin seemed like a stand-up guy, incapable of being involved in an elaborate murder plot.

  Newlan sighed at his own confusion as DA Lyons continued on with her methodical undertaking at prodding Stone into telling the story she wanted the jury to hear.

  “Ms. Stone, how did you reply to Mr. Breslin’s marriage proposal?” curiously inquired Lyons, and even after all these years, Stone was still unable to clearly communicate what was going on in her cranium when it came to her ex-husband, but she gave it a valiant effort nonetheless.

  “I was…very confused…I didn’t know what I wanted. I told Johnny that I needed some time to think it through...” whispered Stone as she shook her head in surrender and sobbed at her inability to verbalize what she was feeling inside her heart.

  Lyons sensed that things were beginning to veer out of control, so she decided to try a broader line of questioning in hopes that Stone would get on a roll.

  “Ms. Stone what, if anything, happened to your relationship with Mr. Breslin in the months leading up to the birth of your first child?” inquired Lyons, and Stone thought back in time as she tried to recall the exact sequence of events before attempting an answer.

  “While I was sorting out my feelings, Johnny and I only saw each other on weekends for a few months. He was still living in Waltham with his parents when I got pregnant, and he was also working at Tex-Ray’s Waltham office at that time as well, so he kept pestering me to move in with him because I lived too far away for him to drive out to see me every night. He had a basement apartment set up in his parents’ house which he insisted would be perfect for us, but I wasn??
?t so sure…and on top of that, I was concerned about my pets. Back then I owned two dogs, two cats, and iguana, but Johnny assured me that I could take them all with me. And so after much hesitation, I reluctantly moved out of my apartment and moved in with Johnny…and a few months later I gave birth to our son John Jr. who we nicknamed JJ.”

  “And what happened after your son’s birth?” continued Lyons.

  “Well, I went back to work within six months because we needed the cash. Granted, I didn’t clear much money since we had to pay for child care…although, I must admit that Johnny’s mother eventually agreed to take care of JJ while I was at work. But regardless, after about ten months of working and being separated from my family and friends, I couldn’t take the boredom and isolation anymore, so one day I gathered up as much of my stuff as I could, and JJ and I moved back home with my own mother. I had talked it over with my sister Beth, and she said that she would support me with whatever I decided to do…and she also said that she would help out with JJ as well,” wearily replied Stone as she broke down into tears again, just as she would do every time one of her answers opened up an unhealed wound from her past.

  “Ms. Stone, could you please expand upon why you moved out?” gingerly requested Lyons as Stone rubbed her moist eyes.

  “I don’t know how to explain it. I felt so trapped, so alone. I hardly ever saw my family and friends anymore. I felt so secluded from everyone, and Johnny was always complaining that he was too tired to go out and do anything fun with me and JJ…I don’t know, I just felt lost,” sobbed Stone as she buried her head in her hands, which sent Billy scurrying over to the witness stand with an offering of tissue paper.

  Stone’s cries also found Newlan clearing his own throat and fidgeting in his swivel chair in an effort to prevent him from tearing up as well. But even in his emotional state, he was nonetheless glued to the riveting testimony that was being delivered by Breslin’s ex-wife.

  “And what happened after you moved out?” gently inquired Lyons.

  “Well, within hours of me moving back in with my mother, Johnny showed up at the house, threatening me, threatening to take the baby,” replied a suddenly steely-eyed Stone.

  “But of course this wasn’t the end of your relationship with Mr. Breslin, was it Ms. Stone?”

  “No, after a few months I ended up moving back in with him. As confused as I was, I swear with all my heart, I just wanted to try and make it work out…for JJ’s sake more than anything else.”

  “And did things improve after you moved back in with Mr. Breslin?”

  “Yeah I guess, at least for a little while they did. The truth of the matter was that every time I’d threaten to move out, Johnny would be extra nice to me…but of course it never lasted.”

  “And yet you end up marrying Mr. Breslin, didn’t you Ms. Stone?”

  “Yes, we got engaged on Christmas Eve 1997, and then we got married in the summer of 1998,” indifferently admitted Stone.

  DA Lyons’ expression turned from a scowl to a frown; it was as if she were wondering in her own mind; “why the hell did you marry this guy?” But then her contortions became solemn as she asked; “And did something else happen in 1998?”

  “Yes…shortly after the wedding my mother passed away unexpectedly,” replied Stone, and the look of anguish on her face was beyond pained; the sobs louder than they had been all day up to this point; the tears glistening in the bright lights of the courtroom as they streamed down her pasty face.

  As the news of the elder Mrs. Stone’s death hit home, the sentimental Newlan was once again forced to fight back his own tears, and he reflexively glanced over at the defense table where he finally observed what he had been hoping to see since the trial began; John Breslin showing a glimpse of emotion. Even though it was an ever so slightly concealed reaction, Newlan could clearly make out an air of sadness forming on Breslin’s face. Even though it was an ever so understated movement, Newlan could clearly detect Breslin wiping away a tear from his eye. Even though it was an ever so subtle gesture, Newlan could clearly distinguish Breslin bowing his head and making the sign of the cross.

  “The guy’s not a soulless robot after all,” thought a contented Newlan. However, his contentment didn’t last very long, for as Stone’s sobs intensified, he found that he could barely control his own runaway emotions, but luckily for him, Judge Gershwin unwittingly came to the rescue.

  The morning seemed to be flying by, what with the drama that was taking place all around the courtroom, and after Stone’s latest breakdown on the stand, Judge Gershwin, who had been patiently taking in the proceedings just like everyone else, decided that it was about time for a break, which, for some reason, seemed to please Gleason as much as it pleased Newlan.

  Much like Judge Gershwin, Gleason had also been uncharacteristically quiet for much of the morning, not even making a single objection thus far. But he had a plan; and his plan was to let Tracy Stone babble; let her dig a hole for herself, a hole from which he would make sure that she would never be able to crawl out of once his cross-examination got underway.

  Meanwhile, as the jurors were led out of the courtroom to begin their break, for some reason, Newlan was overpowered by an uncontrollable urge to make eye-contact with the defendant Breslin. And despite his vow that he would never make that same mistake again, for a split second their eyes met. For a split second they engaged in a Vulcan mind meld. For a split second the two men could read each other’s thoughts. For a split second Newlan wordlessly communicated his dispatch of encouragement to Breslin.

  Without breathing a sound, Newlan let Breslin know as loudly and clearly as he could that “everything was gonna be alright”, and a split second later Mr. John Breslin responded with an interesting reply.

  A split second later, Breslin’s feedback snapped into Newlan’s brain like a bolt of electricity. A split second later, Breslin’s message was sent crackling across an imaginary telegraph line like a voice over a loud speaker. A split second later, the smirk on Breslin’s face revealed the wordless retort that staggered our all too trusting protagonist like a punch in the jaw; “you’re next Newlan.”

  And then, just like that, the channels of communication were broken. Just like that, Newlan felt a mighty jolt of galvanizing current surge through his entire body. It was as if he had touched a high-voltage live wire, and he stumbled along blindly as he made his way into the juror deliberation room where he collapsed into his chair in a frightened heap.

  For a split second Newlan believed that everything was going to be alright, and then a split second later his whole world was gone…gone in a collage of nightmarish memories. Gone in a jumbled flashback of indecipherable bad dreams…Fred Miller at a Grateful Dead concert…maggots crawling through a dead man’s skull…Marianne Plante back in his life, for better or worse.

  For a split second Newlan looked back, he had to look back, he always looked back, and when he did, he saw his life flash before his very eyes…he saw a gun in his face…he saw Saeed Kahn with his hand on the lever, ready to drop the big one…he saw himself, dead weight tied to an anchor, falling downward like a bird being shot out of the sky.

  In a split second, Frank Newlan saw all of this, as clear as the light of day, he saw all of this and more. In split second he saw that he was next, and that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. In a split second, Newlan saw that he was spiraling out of control, downward through the turbulent rapids of his life, unable to mask the fear on his face…from a jury of his peers.

  …

  Dear reader who among us can predict what the future holds? Who among us can ever feel totally secure negotiating life’s dangerous twists and turns? Who among us can, without a doubt, distinguish fact from fiction?

  But one fact is certain. One fact is undisputable. One fact is beyond debate. From that day forward, Mr. Frank Newlan’s faith was to be severely tested for the remainder of his arduous life. From that da
y forward, Mr. Frank Newlan was to carry with him a heavy burden of repressed hopelessness; a lifetime’s worth of stubborn schooling all boiled into one lesson finally learned (as if he hadn’t learned it already); one indelible lesson cemented in his mind a hundred times over. From that day forward, Mr. Frank Newlan would never again dare to blindly believe…that everything…was going to be…alright.