From the Eyes of a Juror

  Chapter 49 – Dead Heads and Love Letters

  Thursday afternoon June 12, 2008 – 1:00 PM

  The aroma that came wafting out of the open doorway of the John Breslin murder trial deliberation room was a savory potpourri of lunchtime comfort food staples, and as such, after a grueling morning of testimony from the affecting Tracy Stone, the mere scent of the sandwiches had fifteen of our benevolent jurors salivating like a bunch of Pavlov’s dogs. However, while the rest of his colleagues were enjoying their free meals, Frank Newlan didn’t even bother unwrapping his turkey-melt sandwich; instead he just sat there like a bump on a log staring blankly at the walls.

  “Aren’t you hungry Frank?” wondered Yong, the good-natured Korean woman.

  “No, I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite,” Newlan sighed, and then under his breath he proceeded to mutter an addendum to his explanation regarding the not so sudden malaise which had overtaken him; “I swear to God I feel like I’m in the freakin’ Twilight Zone.”

  Newlan’s comments had Mark, the young high tech worker, slightly puzzled; although, based on the impish smile plastered across his face, you could glean that he was rather amused by his sulky cohort’s latest mood swing.

  “What’s the problem Frank?” tentatively asked Mark, even though he wasn’t altogether sure whether he really wanted to know what was troubling Newlan this time around.

  “You’re not gonna believe this, but you know how Tracy mentioned that Fred copied down the lyrics from the Grateful Dead song “Built to Last” on the first page of the letter he sent to her? Well I was listening to that CD this very morning. Now tell me, is that eerie or what?” demanded a perplexed Newlan in a vocal tone that hinted at hysteria. But interestingly enough, his manic revelation triggered more curiosity amongst his colleagues than it did concern.

  “Are you a Grateful Dead fan?” wondered an intrigued Natalie, while at the same time she conveniently ignored Newlan’s dramatic aside regarding his ever-increasingly improbable encounters with fortuity.

  “Yeah…well, I like all kinds of music, but I’d have to say that the Dead are right up there at the top of my list of favorite bands,” replied Newlan rather unenthusiastically (but then again, his dour attitude is a bit more understandable when the circumstances surrounding his latest funk are taken into consideration).

  Of course, if there was one surefire way to get Newlan’s troubles off of his mind, it was to steer the conversation towards the topic of music; whether it was a discussion geared towards collecting records and CD’s, attending concerts, musical trivia, songwriting, or just playing the guitar, you name the topic, and his disposition was bound to improve.

  “Are you a Dead Head?” earnestly chimed in Jim, the telecom employee who had lived through his own share of haphazard adventures in his younger days, including a couple of memorable, drug-enhanced, psychedelic Grateful Dead concerts.

  “Well I never followed them around the country in VW bus or anything like that, but I’ve seen them in concert at least 30 times,” proudly exclaimed the vagabond that resided within Newlan’s heart.

  “Wow...30 times! Were their concerts really as wild as everyone says?” inquisitively added Ron the banker, seeing as how he himself had never gotten caught up in the rock & roll scene.

  “Oh they were wild all right…” Newlan gushed, and suddenly he found that he was rather enjoying being the center of attention. But then, just as suddenly, he recalled how the topic of the Grateful Dead had come up in the first place, and he fell back to Earth in the blink of an eye.

  “…but wait a minute, weren’t we just discussing the eerie little coincidence of me listening to an obscure song in my car this morning, a song that none of you have probably ever even heard of, and then Tracy mentions that same song in court today. Doesn’t anyone else think that’s bizarre? Because I gotta tell you the truth…I’m really freaked out about it.”

  “So you’re saying it was the exact same song that you were listening to…today?” questioned a skeptical Jane…and Newlan immediately picked up on the suspicion in her voice as he lashed out at his nemesis.

  “Let’s go to my car right now. I’ll show you the CD in my glove box. I swear I’m not making this you know what up.”

  “Oh no, I believe you,” assured Jane and truth be told, when she accompanied a large group the jurors for a walk around the outdoor garage during Annie’s daily cigarette break sabbatical, she was somewhat sympathetic to Newlan’s plight, although she still wasn’t totally convinced that he wasn’t off his rocker.

  “I admit…it is kind of a weird oddity that Frank was listening to the same song that was mentioned in court this morning, but my God, what does he want us to believe? That he’s a psychic or something crazy like that,” gestured Jane as her colleagues intently listened in.

  Meanwhile, Newlan was spending his quiet ‘alone’ time back in the deliberation room fervently meditating…and within minutes of launching his ruminative endeavor, he got himself all wrapped up in a desperate contemplation regarding the untapped reservoir of the human mind; all in an attempt to come to grips with his uncanny knack for being able to conjure up these unpredictable serendipitous scenarios when he least expected it. However, just when he thought his search for a meaning was about to approach an alpha-state, he was distracted by the sound of boisterous laughter coming from the hallway, where a majority of the jurors were returning from their outdoor excursion; their giddiness stemming around the pleasure they seemed to be receiving from discussing the shortcomings of one Ms. Tracy Stone.

  “I gotta tell you, I was a little bit disappointed when I first saw Tracy strolling into the courtroom this morning. For some reason, I assumed that she was gonna look like some sort of supermodel,” admitted Jane.

  “Yes, I was expecting a knockout as well,” concurred the usually reserved Lisa.

  “I can’t believe that that’s what all this fuss is about,” emphatically added Newlan’s friend Patty.

  And as it turned out, every single juror on the panel who was of the female persuasion nodded their heads in agreement, while at the same time adding their own choice commentary regarding Tracy Stone’s physical attributes, or lack thereof. But in Newlan’s eyes, the women were piling it on a bit too much, and so he offered up his own review to nobody in particular.

  “I bet that she was really pretty back in her day.”

  “Yeah, in her day…maybe,” replied Jane, once again to nods of agreement amongst the ladies. And in response to the vitriol, Newlan decided to ratchet up the rhetoric a notch or two, broadcasting his own revised assessment of Tracy Stone, loud enough for all to hear.

  “Actually, never mind in her day. She’s still a looker, even now, if you ask me.”

  Newlan’s appraisal was greeted with a sudden silence and a few frowns from the girls, but, boys being boys, not surprisingly, many of the male jurors seconded his emotions.

  However, leave it to the feisty Annie to blurt out what most of the jurors –- both male and female -- were thinking, even though they didn’t dare verbalize their thoughts at the moment.

  “Never mind what she looks like. They should throw her in jail too. When you come right down to it, she’s the one whose actions provoked this entire mess.”

  The anger in Annie’s face was palpable, and she wasn’t quite done with her rant just yet.

  “If she loved this guy so much then why the hell did she keep breaking up with him? Then she goes off and gets married and has three kids…nice people we’re dealing with here.”

  Annie’s pointed comments had the deliberation room buzzing with charged-up emotions and opinions, but for a change, Newlan stay out of the line of fire and he kept his big mouth shut. Although in his mind he found the debate to be rather comical.

  “So much for the jurors not discussing the case…and besides how was Tracy to know her husband was gonna go postal,” internally argued Newlan. But then he caught on to what
he was absentmindedly thinking and once again he corrected himself.

  “Hey, wait a minute…we still don’t know whether Breslin had anything to do with the murder. Damn it, I gotta block these cynical thoughts out of my head or it could wind up subconsciously influencing my decision.”

  As lunch break dragged on, Newlan continued to brood over the alleged culpability of John Breslin, while at the same time he fought off the rush-to-judgment mentality that he loathed in the others. And as the seconds slowly ticked away, he continued to weigh the merits of Tracy Stone’s testimony, while at the same time he fended off her beautiful, lingering countenance, which was endangering his fragile impartiality.

  And while his colleagues digested their meals and patiently waited to be called back into the courtroom, Newlan’s contemplations of Tracy Stone and John Breslin suddenly morphed into thoughts of Marianne Plante and her unknowingly familiar husband; irresistibly foreboding thoughts of ecstasy and horror; fascinatingly alarming thoughts of sex and murder; seductively gloomy thoughts of pleasure and pain.

  In many ways, Newlan’s visions were wonderfully erotic, while in other ways they were hatefully violent. But nonetheless, in his paranormally obsessed psyche, the sum of these divergent parts added up to a disturbing collage of tangled bodies mired in a life-or-death struggle for survival, all of which frightened him to no end. And so, in hopes of garnering a bit of advice, he reluctantly decided to come clean to the forthright Annie.

  “By the way, another thing that’s been on my mind lately, and I know you’re not gonna believe this, but my high school girlfriend called me on the phone the other night for the first time in about 20 years. She’s been going through her own share of marital problems, just like Tracy was…” quietly confessed Newlan, but before he could get much further along in his exposé, Annie shot him a look as if to say that he was crazy…and then she told him as much.

  “Are you nuts? After what we’ve been listening too…be afraid Frank, be very afraid. Do you wanna end up like Fred Miller?”

  “No, no, you’re right Annie. I think I realized all along what I have to do, but I guess I just needed to hear someone else say it,” sheepishly admitted Newlan. However, the indecision which had been tormenting his soul promptly resurfaced, and he stubbornly added, “Of course, you gotta remember, we still don’t know for sure who killed Miller.”

  On the flipside of the equation, the eavesdropping Jane couldn’t believe the dribble that was spewing forth from Newlan’s mouth, and she whispered to her confidante, Lisa, “oh sure…now he’s got women tracking him down after 20 years. What a drama queen…and to think I was starting to feel sorry for him about his song lyric dilemma.”

  The insinuating murmurs continued for the remainder of the lunch break, but at the moment Newlan didn’t have the energy to defend himself from an ant, never mind a swarm of angry bees posing as jurors. The pull-and-tug of Stone’s intense testimony had him strung out and subdued in every way, and while outwardly it appeared that he had composed himself, inwardly he was as confused and devastated as ever by the dynamic drag of this mystical undertow of forces which seemed to surround him wherever he roamed. Forces that perhaps didn’t even exist, and yet forces which were in fact so powerful they had him questioning his own existence.

  But alas, regardless of Frank Newlan’s internal struggles, the wheels of justice never slow down, and the jurors soon found themselves back in the courtroom, pondering more stunning testimony from the indomitable Tracy Stone.

  “Ms. Stone before lunch you mentioned that in June of 2005 you received a letter from Fred Miller isn’t that correct?” reiterated DA Lyons. And although Stone may have been unyielding in her demeanor, she was still sniffling and dabbing her eyes with tissue paper, but nevertheless she managed to reply softly in the affirmative.

  Lyons then placed the neatly typed first page of the letter which contained the Grateful Dead lyrics of the song “Built to Last” onto the overhead projector and politely asked, “Ms. Stone, is this the letter in question?”

  Stone carefully reviewed the text being projected on the screen, and once again she whispered, “Yes,” while at the same time Newlan could only shake his head in disbelief one more time.

  “And what was the significance of the underlined letters?” wondered Lyons, while Stone smiled yearningly and proudly replied, “Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? They spell out the words ‘I love you’.”

  “And did your ex-husband Mr. Breslin somehow become aware of this letter soon after you received it?” continued Lyons.

  “Yes…you see, I have this desk drawer where I keep all of my mementos dating back some twenty five years, and in that drawer was a large envelope packed with all of Freddie’s stuff. You know…cards, letters, pictures, and things like that. Anyways, getting back to your question, well, I thought that maybe I was entitled to a little bit of privacy, but no, Johnny was snooping around as usual. I guess, maybe he saw the letter in the mailbox, I don’t know. But regardless of how he found out, no sooner had I received the letter, when there he was, confronting me about it,” bitterly explained Stone.

  And as Stone continued on with the telling of her sorry tale, Newlan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her; he felt for all the world as if some sort of a magical bond had linked him to her heart, and once again his mind began connecting dots which perhaps didn’t really even exist.

  “Shit, I have a desk drawer full of mementos too. Small potatoes compared to some of the other coincidences, but I swear to God the planets must be aligned in some sort of Frank Newlan eclipse,” muttered our wayward correspondent. Although, luckily for him, he didn’t have much of an opportunity to become too distracted, due to the fact that the pace of Lyons’ questions were picking up a nice rhythm.

  “And what was your response to your husband’s complaints?” inquired Lyons.

  “At that point, I’d had it. I knew I was gonna go through with the divorce, and I just didn’t have the strength to argue with him anymore, so I just let him go on until he tired himself out. And after he went to bed I called Freddie and left him another message,” replied Stone.

  “And did Fred return this message?” wondered Lyons, while Stone thought back to that memorable turning point in her life for a moment, before wistfully replying.

  “Yes, he called me the next day, and just hearing his voice again after all those years…I felt so happy, so alive, so in love…and the tone of his voice told me all that I needed to know…it told me that he still loved me too.”

  “And when did you start to see Fred Miller again?”

  “Well, while we were talking on the phone, we arranged to meet the next night after I got out of work, and after that, we kind of gradually started seeing more of each other.”

  “Where would you meet…where would you go?” queried Lyons in a singsong tone.

  “It was difficult to see each other as often as we would have liked, due to my many other commitments with the kids and all, which I know frustrated Freddie, but sometimes we’d meet at my workplace, or sometimes at night when Johnny was home for visitations, I’d tell him I was going out to do a few errands but I’d secretly meet up with Freddie instead,” nonchalantly replied Stone, much to the dismay of many of the jurors who, as we have come know, didn’t particularly approve of her extramarital relationship.

  “And wasn’t there an incident shortly thereafter, on the Fourth of July to be exact?” continued Lyons in an inquisitive manner.

  “Yes. Freddie and I were going to go watch the fireworks with some of his friends when Johnny called me on my cell phone. He suspected that I was with Fred and he made me feel guilty about abandoning the kids on the holiday. He pretty much reduced me to tears so I told Freddie that I had to go home,” replied Stone who was getting teary-eyed just recounting the incident.

  “Now, a few weeks after the Fourth of July wasn’t there a confrontation between Fred Miller and your ex-husband John Bre
slin?” inquired Lyons, and Stone thought long and hard about this sequence of events before attempting an answer.

  “Yes, about a week or two after the Fourth, Johnny was served with the divorce papers, and he was livid for days. And it was around this time that we were having a big argument in the driveway of our home one evening when Fred happened to drive by on his motorcycle. And when he saw what was going on, he stopped the bike and asked me if there was a problem. Now I’m pretty sure Johnny knew who Freddie was by then, but just the same, he asked him, ‘who the hell are you?’ and Freddie replied, ‘I’m Joe Schmo from Idaho’ which infuriated Johnny. And then they were in each other’s faces, angrily yelling back and forth. But after a few minutes, I step in between them and I politely asked Fred to please leave…and he did. And after Freddie left, Johnny says to me, ‘your friend thinks he’s such a tough guy…well he better hope our paths don’t cross again’.”

  And as Stone recounted her story, a portion of her response once again startled Newlan.

  “Joe Schmo from Idaho…you’ve got to be shittin’ me…I’ve use that expression before,” thought Newlan, and into his head popped the memory of the cold winter night when he got busted almost 30 years ago. Specifically, he vividly recalled the arresting cop, Gary Graves Sr., asking him what his name was, and he remembered like it was yesterday that he responded with the wise-assed remark, “I’m Joe Schmo from Idaho.” The comeback was just another one of the many crude rejoinders in his arsenal of vocabulary, but more importantly it drove home the point that he and Fred Miller shared many of the same character traits, include the release of a sarcastically acerbic tongue at the slightest provocation.

  Newlan was truly beginning to crack up over what, in his mind, was rapidly becoming a long line of dubious similarities between himself and Miller, and once again, but not for the last time, he muttered his favorite commentary on the oft-proven anecdote that the truth is sometimes stranger than fiction; “man, you can’t make this shit up.”

  Meanwhile Defense Attorney R. J. Gleason shot up and complained, “objection, your honor could you please remind Ms. Stone of the rules regarding husband and wife privileges again.”

  DA Lyons was fully expecting the objection, and if anything she was curious as to why Gleason wasn’t objecting to more of Stone’s responses, but she trudged on undeterred.

  “And Ms. Stone do you recall an incident that occurred as you were getting out of work on the night of August 18th, 2005?”

  “Yes, Freddie showed up at my office on his motorcycle, and my coworker Kim Beliveau made us aware of a man who was watching us while snapping photos and talking on a cell phone. We assumed he was a private investigator hired by Johnny, and, as you can imagine, I was very upset…Kim was upset…Freddie was upset. And when Freddie approached the car, the guy eventually drove away.”

  “And what happened when you went home that night?” wondered Lyons.

  “Of course, by then Johnny was well aware of the fact that I was seeing Fred, but I hadn’t told my sister Beth anything about it yet, so when I got home I was surprised to find her at my house…and she confronted me about what was going on. Obviously, Johnny had clued her in on what was happening, so I admitted that I was dating Fred again, and then Johnny jumps in and starts shouting, ‘what the hell does he want with a woman who’s married and has three young kids?’ And then he tore into Freddie, calling him a ‘loser’ amongst over things, because he wasn’t married yet,” replied Stone in a rather wry tone.

  “Now wait freakin’ a minute. Breslin’s hitting a bit too close to home with the ‘loser’ insults,” thought the pushing 50 and still single Newlan. And just like that, he found his thoughts wandering back to a conversation he had recently had with one of his co-workers at Tafts University, Celine Sullivan, from the Central Accounting department.

  The buxom Sullivan was also a married woman who had borne four young children, all of which kept her very busy as well. But regardless of her hectic schedule, for some inexplicable reason she seemed to take a vested interest in Newlan’s love-life from the first day she met him and she never let up. She would constantly be on the lookout for him, keeping him apprised of her single girlfriends and making intricate plans to fix him up on blind dates. But then, when the rubber hit the road, she would never follow up on any of her many proposals.

  In fact, just about a week before the start of Newlan’s jury duty stint, Sullivan had teasingly questioned him about his marital status thusly; “when are you gonna get married? People are gonna start to think that you don’t like women or something.”

  Now, to be clear, Newlan had always been the type of person who could care less about his co-workers personal lives, and he preferred to keep his own love-life off-limits as well, but nevertheless he found Sullivan’s comments rather amusing.

  “What do you mean? You keep telling me about all of your good-looking single girlfriends, but then you never even come through with a phone number. I’m beginning to think that maybe you want me for yourself,” countered Newlan, and his wry observation found Sullivan turning a bright shade of crimson as she lightly slapped his wrist in protest.

  “Don’t say that. My husband treats me so good…he’s like a saint for God’s sake.”

  But despite Sullivan’s denial, Newlan couldn’t help but pick up on the fact that she became totally flustered by his revealing proclamation. In the end, the conversation concluded in a stalemate. Although, it did leave Newlan with some tempting food for thought; “Hmmm, I think I may have struck a nerve. Maybe Celine’s had a thing for me all along. I’ll definitely have to make a mental note of this development for future reference. You never know…Miss Matchmaker could very well find herself single someday and in search of a little bit of loving.”

  For the umpteenth time since the start of the trial, Newlan was beginning to zone-out again when he should have been focusing in on a witness testimony, this time drifting off into a dangerous fantasy featuring an illicit liaison with the voluptuous Celine Sullivan. But fortunately for him, the turbulent proceedings in the courtroom disrupted his speculative daydream and snapped him back to attention in the blink of an eye.

  “Now Ms. Stone, regarding your divorce papers, what, if any, agreements were made by your attorneys?” inquired Lyons in a voice that was loud enough to send the temporarily distracted Newlan hurtling back to reality with a thud.

  “Well, it was the typical financial stuff. You know, credit card payments…mortgage payments…child support payments…and stuff like that. But I guess what you’re probably referring to was the agreement which stated that Johnny was required to move out of our marital home as of September 2005,” answered Stone as a circumspect look formed on her face.

  “And after Mr. Breslin moved out your home where did he go, and what were the arrangements regarding the children?” continued Lyons along the same vein.

  “When Johnny first moved out he took an apartment, but after a while he moved back home with his mother. And as far as the kids were concerned, he had visitations every Tuesday and Thursday night, as well as every other weekend,” explained a visibly weary Tracy Stone.

  “And what would you do during these visitations? Would you stay home? Would you go out?”

  “I would just about always go out, and I’d usually meet up with Freddie, or if he wasn’t around I’d go visit one of my girlfriends.”

  “Was your husband OK with this?” wondered Lyons in an instigating tone, and Stone thought about the question for a second or two before she boldly answered.

  “He really had no choice in the matter…but he’d constantly be making excuses to call me on my cell phone just the same. He’d always start out by asking me questions about the kids, such as where were their schoolbooks and their homework, and things of that nature. But by the end of the conversation, he’d be harassing me about Freddie every time, which I’m sure was the real reason he kept calling me in the first place. A
nd on top of that, he was just being a real jerk.”

  “Ms. Stone wasn’t there another incident on Saturday September 24th of 2005?” continued Lyons in a solemn tone.

  “Yes, Freddie and I took the kids to a local carnival, and Johnny kept calling me on my cell phone over and over again, for no apparent reason other than to badger me. And finally Freddie got fed up with the constant harassment, and so he grabbed the phone out of my hand and started arguing with Johnny.”

  “And Ms. Stone, in the early morning hours of Monday October 10th, 2005 wasn’t there yet another incident?”

  “Yes, it was Sunday night just after midnight of the Columbus Day long weekend, and Freddie was hanging out over at my place. The kids were asleep and we were just kind of relaxing on the sofa when Johnny called. He knew Fred was there, and he wanted him out of his house. He called about ten times in less than fifteen minutes, and after that, the phone kept ringing, but every time I picked up, no one would answer on the other end…and the caller ID showed an unlisted number. Well, as you can imagine, after a while I got really scared so I called the police.”

  “So what happened when the police came over?”

  “They took my statement, and I gave them Johnny’s number…and just like that, the phone stopped ringing,” explained a hardened Stone, while DA Lyons pressed on in an attempt to show a consistent pattern of intimidation by Breslin.

  “Ms. Stone wasn’t there also an incident on October 21th of 2005?” asked Lyons, and Stone composed herself before replying with another long, sad chapter in the story of a disintegrating marriage.

  “Yes, my daughter Rebecca was in the hospital with a urinary tract infection, and I was planning to spend the night with her. Anyway, at around 7 PM my sister Beth and her husband stopped by for a visit, and shortly thereafter Freddie joined us. Well, no sooner had Freddie entered the room when my phone rings and its Johnny on the other end of the line…he said he was down in the parking lot, and he was pissed-off because he saw Fred coming into the hospital. Johnny was with our sons and he made it clear in no uncertain terms that he wanted Fred out of Rebecca’s room, so I explained the situation to Freddie and I asked him to leave, and he did. But I guess he crossed paths with Johnny and the boys as they were walking in and he was walking out. Apparently, Johnny gave Fred a dirty look, but neither one of them said anything to each other. And then the boys said hello to Freddie, which, according to my sons, made Johnny even more upset than he already was. Then Johnny came sulking into the room carrying a couple of pizzas and everyone dug in, but before I could even grab a slice he said he needed to talk to me alone. So we went into one of the waiting rooms and we got into a loud argument about Freddie being around the kids. Eventually a nurse came barging into the waiting room and told us to quiet down or she was going to call security and have us both thrown out of the hospital. The nurse was very upset and her scolding tone kind of got us to realize that we needed to cool off, so we apologized and went back into Rebecca’s room...but once we got there, we continued to fight, albeit more quietly, for the rest of the night.”

  “And Ms. Stone, how did you spend Thanksgiving of 2005?” inquired Lyons, even though she already knew the answer.

  “My sister Beth and her husband invited me and the kids over to their house, and because they didn’t want to upset the kids, they invited Johnny as well. But right from the start, things didn’t go very smoothly. My sister decided that before we ate dinner, we should all go around the room and say a few words about what we were thankful for…but just the idea of it made Johnny bitter. He stormed out of the room and he was muttering under his breath about how he had nothing to be thankful for. We ended up fighting all afternoon, and he basically ruined Thanksgiving dinner for everyone.”

  “And what happened during the Christmas holidays of 2005 Ms. Stone?” continued Lyons in a rhythmically insistent tone

  “Well, I asked Johnny if he wanted to take the kids for the afternoon on Christmas Eve, but he declined, so I spent the day with Freddie and the kids wrapping presents. Then that night, Johnny came over with gifts for the kids, and he ended up staying the night. And then on Christmas Day I decided to go with Johnny and the kids to visit his mother. But while we were there, I felt guilty that I kind of deserted Freddie so I went into the bathroom and called him on my cell phone. Of course, as usual, Johnny was spying on me, and he overheard me talking on the phone. And as you might expect, he got all upset. But after I explained the situation he calmed down a bit. Then, later that night Johnny drove us home, and by the time we got back to the house it was really late and we were all exhausted, so Johnny ended up staying the night again,” replied Stone, her voice trailing off at the mere mention of her estranged husband spending Christmas night at her house.

  “So Ms. Stone, as the New Year arrived, were you still planning on proceeding with your divorce, in light of the fact that you had spent the Christmas holidays with your husband?” asked Lyons by way of clarification.

  “Yes definitely…I made it clear to Johnny that even though the holidays were pleasant…I still intended to go through with the divorce,” emphatically confirmed Stone.

  “Now Ms. Stone, why did you spend the Christmas holidays with your husband?” wondered a puzzled Lyons, knowing full well that every person in the courtroom, particularly the jurors, was probably wondering the same thing.

  “I don’t know. I guess I was just feeling kind of sentimental…and I wanted the kids to be with both their parents for the holiday,” reasoned Stone and then, with a shrug of her shoulders and a crack in her voice, she added, “Maybe it was the wrong thing to do.”

  Lyons continued to wear a puzzled expression on her face as she logically asked; “OK then, but how was your relationship with Fred Miller during this period?”

  And Stone frowned back in kind at Lyons as she admitted to the confusion that her schizophrenic behavior was causing in the lives of both her leading men.

  “Fred and I were arguing quite a bit during the first week of January 2006. He was upset that I was spending so much time with Johnny, and I didn’t blame him for being mad. But by the end of the week we made an attempt to patch things up, and we had plans to go out to for a late afternoon dinner on Sunday, January 8th of 2006.”

  “And did you end up going out to dinner with Fred Miller on the 8th of January?” continued Lyons, and once again Stone lips curled into a bewildering frown as she was forced to reveal her maddening indecision.

  “No, my plans changed when Johnny dropped off the kids a bit earlier than expected, and they were hungry…so I ended up going out to dinner with Johnny and the kids.”

  “So how did you explain this to Fred Miller?”

  “Well, I called Freddie and canceled, and I kind of blamed it on the kids. And then the next day I called him again and I tried to explain what had happened, but he didn’t want to hear it. He said he was really frustrated with the way that things were going between us, and I just didn’t know what to do. I was only trying to be a good mother and do what was best for my kids,” clarified Stone, and when she realized how confusing her answers must have been for the jurors to comprehend, she started crying once again.

  Stone’s sobs lingered for a while, and out of respect for the sniffling witness, DA Lyons went with her somber voice as she asked, “And did something happen on January 11th of 2006?

  And Stone smiled slightly through her tears as she responded; “Yes, by a strange coincidence, I got flower delivered to the house from both Freddie and Johnny on the same day.”

  “Now Ms. Stone could you please run us through the events that took place on the night of January 12th, 2006?” politely inquired Lyons as she strategically forged ahead.

  “Let me see…Johnny had visitations that night, but he called at the last minute and said he was going to be a little late. I guess a squirrel had gotten into his mother’s basement and he had to help her get it out. But when he finally arrive
d, I left and met Freddie at the Wayward Inn where we hung out for a few hours. Nothing too exciting, we had a few drinks and talked to his friend Mike Landers who works at the bar, and at the end of the night Freddie walked me to my car and kissed me goodnight…and that was the last time I ever saw him,” recalled Stone, who of course began to sob uncontrollably just as Miller’s trio of friends before her had done when they recounted their last moments with a living, breathing, Fred Miller.

  As Stone blubbered into her handkerchief, Lyons gave her plenty of time to calm herself down before proceeding on to the climax of her testimony.

  “Ms. Stone, could you please take us through the morning and afternoon of Friday January 13th of 2006?” calmly requested Lyons, and Stone did the best she could to hold back the tears as she attempted to articulate the bitter zenith of her traumatic life.

  “When I woke up that morning and went downstairs, I saw that there was a letter from Johnny on the kitchen table. I guess I didn’t notice it the previous evening because it was kind of late when I got home and I was exhausted. Anyway, while I was reading the letter, Freddie called me from the parking garage next to where he worked which wasn’t unusual, and then Johnny called at around 8 AM to say hello to the kids before they left for school which also wasn’t unusual. And then at around 11:30 AM a state trooper and a detective from the Newton Police rang my door and they started asking me all kinds of questions about Freddie, but I think I was probably too confused and scared to be of much help to them. I just wanted to know what was wrong with Freddie, and finally they told me that he was deceased.”

  “What happened next?” continued Lyons, in patient and yet pushy tone.

  “They wanted me to go down to the police station and answer a few questions, but I could barely think straight, never mind talk to them. I remember that as I walked down my front stairs, I felt nauseous, and then I vomited in the driveway, and they could see that I was distraught so they asked me if there was anyone I could call. Luckily I was able to get through to my sister Beth at work and she drove over immediately. The detectives then took the both of us to the local police station where I answered a bunch of questions about Freddie, and then they started asking me about Johnny. I answered their questions as best as I could, and I also gave them the letter that Johnny had left me on the kitchen table,” unsteadily replied the whimpering Stone.

  Lyons held up the letter in question and passed it over to Stone for her review.

  “Ms. Stone, is this the letter that your husband John Breslin left for you on the night of January 12th, 2006?”

  Stone briefly inspected the letter and meekly replied, “Yes.”

  Lyons requested that the letter be marked as the next exhibit, and then she made a request to Stone as well.

  “Ms. Stone could you please read the letter up to the PS section,” asked Lyons, while at the same time Stone held the piece of paper up close to her face and squinted as she began to recite her ex-husband’s desperate plea for reconciliation:

  Dearest Tracy,

  I know things haven’t always gone well between us the past few years, but after the Christmas holidays I truly believe that we can still make this work if we give it another try. For our sake and for the kids sake, we should be together, we belong together, back to being one big happy family the way it use to be.

  The week we spent together between Christmas and New Years was so special, and you seemed so happy, I just don’t understand what I’ve done that is so wrong.

  I know that I’ve made mistakes, and I know that I’m far from perfect, but I promise to try harder to be there for you, to be the doting husband you’ve always wanted me to be, to be a better father to OUR kids, and God willing we can grow old together.

  I know that Fred is a part of your past, but regardless of what happens between us, you need to forget about him. Deep in my heart I know that you are my soul mate, not his, and I know that he’s not right for you. Don’t ask me how I know, but I just do. All you’ve ever done is to try to do right by him, and all he ever does is hurt you. I also know that one way or another, things will end badly between the two of you, just like it did all those years ago, and I don’t want to see you get hurt again, I don’t want the kids to see you get hurt.

  Whether you take me back or not, my one vow is that I’ll be here waiting for you, no matter how long it takes. When Fred is out the picture again (and it’s just a matter of time), you can rest assured that if ever you call my name, I’ll be there for you.

  Love always,

  Johnny

  The letter had the entire courtroom hanging on Tracy’s every word. But as he had done throughout the trial, John Breslin remained stone-faced and emotionally detached while a piece of his heart was exposed out in open court for all to see.

  For what it was worth, Newlan found the letter to be both eloquent and touching. However, most of his colleagues chose to highlight the ominous passage which stated that it was only a matter of time before Fred Miller would be out of Tracy’s life, and DA Lyons wisely let the affects of the missive sink in with all of them before continuing on to clean up a few loose ends.

  “Ms. Stone I’d like to ask you a few more questions if I may. Do you know a woman by the name of Nancy O’Brien?”

  “I’ve heard of her name from Johnny, but I don’t know her and I’ve never even met her,” robotically answered the emotionally drained Stone.

  “Did you know a man by the name of Sammy Fox?” added Lyons.

  “No, I’d never even heard of him until after Freddie was killed,” muttered Stone.

  Next on the list, Lyons asked; “Did you know a man by the name of James Laughlin?” and once again Stone simply replied, “No.”

  “And did you know a man by the name of Charles Mercurio?” added Lyons.

  “Yes, he’s a friend of Johnny’s. I met him a few times, but I didn’t know him very well,” matter-of-factly explained Stone.

  “Ms. Stone in all the years that you were married, do you ever recall your husband John Breslin using a pay phone?” continued Lyons.

  “No, never,” emphatically replied Stone.

  “What about a pre-paid phone card?” wondered Lyons, and once again Stone categorically replied, “no, never.”

  Lyons then changed the subject and asked several questions related to the Breslin’s finances.

  “Ms. Stone did you and your husband file a joint tax return for the year 2005?”

  “Yes,” quietly replied Stone.

  “And did you get a refund?”

  “Yes, between State and Federal, we got about six thousand dollars back.”

  “And did you spend any of this money?”

  “No, I signed the check over to Johnny to pay for some joint bills, and the agreement between our attorneys was that if anything was left over, it would be put into an account for the kids.”

  “Now, after Mr. Breslin moved out of your marital home, did you continue to use any of his credit cards?”

  “No. Based on the agreement made by our divorce attorneys, I was not allowed to use Johnny’s credit cards, and I fully complied with that agreement.”

  Lyons went on to change the subject one last time, this time confirming a change in Stone’s jewelry-wearing habits.

  “Ms. Stone didn’t you tell the investigators that you stopped wearing your wedding ring before you ever reconnected with Fred Miller?”

  “Yes, it was after I filed for divorce in 2005, but before Fred and I started seeing each other again,” meekly recalled Stone.

  Lyons then raised her voice for affect (and of course to make sure she had the jurors attention) as she asked the pivotal question.

  “And Ms. Stone didn’t you also tell the investigators about a threat your husband John Breslin made in the summer of 2005?”

  Stone stared at her ex-husband, and with venom in her voice she caustically replied, “Yes, he said to me that if Fred didn’t stop seeing me, it wouldn’
t be good for his health.”

  This response compelled Gleason into action, but before he had a chance to object, Lyons launched into a follow-up question as if she were a quarterback running a hurry-up offense.

  “Was there anyone else present when your husband made these statements?”

  “Yes, I’ll never forget it, I was getting the kids ready for bed, and Johnny made these threats right in front of his own children,” defiantly proclaimed Stone.

  “And did he say anything else?”

  “Yes. I said to him, ‘Johnny how can you say something like that…please think of the kids before you start spitting out such crazy talk’, but that made him even angrier, and he gloated that they’d never be able to tie it back to him,” resolutely recounted Stone.

  “No further questions,” exclaimed DA Lyons, and as she sauntered back to the prosecutor’s table, she had a look of contentment written across her face which wasn’t lost on Newlan.

  “I can’t believe they’re getting the kids involved in this. But I must say that Lyons ended her direct examination with a memorable exchange. I bet that tactic nudged a few more jurors over into the guilty column. Oh well, as they say, ‘all is fair in love and war’,” Newlan mused, while at the same time Judge Gershwin decided that it was an opportune moment to break for another recess.

  The monotony of being marched in and out of the courtroom countless times a day had long since started wearing thin on all the jurors, but none more so that Frank Newlan, and by this point in the day, he was completely disgusted with what he thought was becoming more of a contest concerning gamesmanship rather than a quest for justice; a game of invention over principle; a competition of cunning over candor; a not so trivial matter of style over substance; potatoes over meat; mind over matter; smoke over heat.

  And in keeping with his theme of the moment, as the jurors were being escorted back into the deliberation room by Billy and Brandon, Newlan was hit with the same urge that had overtaken Tracy Stone during lunch hour; that is to say, the urge to take a sharp right and walk away from it all. Walk away and keep on going. Walk away and let the rest of the world figure it out. Walk away regardless of the consequences. Walk away and never look back.

  But of course, as we know, Frank Newlan couldn’t possibly just walk away and never look back. He had to look back…he always looked back. And furthermore, little did the unwitting Newlan realized it just yet, but just like Fred Miller before him, just like a worm on a hook, just like a mouse in a trap, he was about to become an oblivious participant in a dangerously human chess match; he was about to become an unsuspecting party in a deadly game of chicken; he was about to become a complicit prisoner to an ordeal from which he couldn’t possibly wriggle himself free of.

  As much as Frank Newlan may have wanted to escape his fate, little did he know that he was already too far gone to ever turn the page; little did he know that he was about to become so entangled in the harsh realities of lust and power and jealousy that he might never be the same again.

  Regardless of how often his clairvoyant mind fed him with hazy glimpses of the future, the truth of the situation was that self-proclaimed psychic Frank Newlan was about to become entwined in this tragic story in ways he could never have possibly predicted; he was about to become wrapped up in this tumultuous tale in ways he could never have even begun to imagine; he was about to become embroiled in this tempestuous saga in ways he could never have foreseen, even if they had been scripted…in a forlorn book…of love.