From the Eyes of a Juror

  Chapter 50 – To a Man, To a Woman (We All Make Choices in Life)

  Thursday afternoon June 12, 2008 – 2:45 PM

  For what must have seemed like the millionth time on this surrealist of days, the John Breslin murder trial jurors found themselves staring at each other in stunned silence, brought on after heeding hours of sensational testimony, delivered, in various states of emotional distress, by Breslin’s former wife, Ms. Tracy Stone.

  And despite the fact that they had been warned on a daily basis not to discuss the trial amongst themselves, it was almost inevitable that within minutes, these sixteen unique people from sixteen different backgrounds, with not much else in common other than the trial, would breakdown and commence to dissecting Ms. Stone’s deposition in extreme detail.

  Here they were, sixteen strangers haphazardly thrown together into a small room, under adverse conditions, with the expectations that they would bond as one to decide a man’s fate. Here they were, with a man’s very life teetering on a balance that only they could set straight. Here they were, with a man’s very existence swaying back and forth on a pendulum that only they could control. With all of this responsibility weighing on their minds and hearts, it might have almost been seen as aberrant if they didn’t discuss the case…and so, naturally, that’s just what they did.

  To a man, to a woman, all sixteen jurors were itching to get their opinions out on the table, out in the open for all to hear. But who would be the intrepid one that would fire off the starter’s gun? Who would be the impulsive one that would take the bait? Who would be the reckless one that would open up the floodgates?

  Not surprisingly it was left up to Newlan’s rival, the never shy “Jane the Pain”, as he so cloyingly dubbed her, to get the audacious proceedings off to a rousing start. Out of the blue she exclaimed; “Can you believe the gall on that Breslin…to think that he would threaten a man’s life in front of his very own children?”

  Newlan, who was lost in his own otherworldly thoughts at the time of Jane’s bold pronouncement, could hardly believe what he was hearing, never mind what he was thinking, or what Jane was saying, and her denunciation didn’t immediately register in his scattered brain. It was as if the translation of Jane’s words were a garbled collection of undecipherable sounds which distracted his mind from its appointed rounds as it ventured to unlock the mysteries behind the elusive fragments of planetary dust that had suddenly sprinkled his life with such a startling aura of uncertainty. It was as if the interpretation of Jane’s accusation was a humming modulation of distorted tones which disturbed his reality as it attempted the impossible task of comprehending why an immortal cosmic force would want to play such a cruel joke on him; vaulting him into some sort of parallel universe from which there was no escape. And yet, in spite of his inwardly focused meanderings, Jane’s latest allegations slowly washed over him and finally sank in like high tide on a sandy beach, and when it did, he could hardly be expected to let her remarks go by without countering with an assertion or two of his own.

  “And you really believe that Breslin’s gonna casually make threats on a man’s health while his wife is putting on the kids’ pajamas?” incredulously wondered Newlan.

  But not to be outdone, Jane glared back at Newlan with a doubting expression which was just as cynical as his, and she responded in kind.

  “You bet your sweet you know what I believe it! Why would she lie? She’s under oath…I find it hard to imagine that she would be making up stories on the stand.”

  “Well, maybe she might lie because she thinks that her ex-husband was involved in Miller’s murder, but she has no proof. And we know the DA’s office thinks that her ex-husband was involved in Miller’s murder, but so far I haven’t seen or heard any real proof from them either. So naturally, they’d want to make sure that they jam as many innuendos into our heads as possible, and by doing that, maybe they get us to buy into the idea that Breslin was involved in Miller’s murder,” theorized an animated Newlan as an exceedingly sarcastic lilt involuntarily took command of his voice.

  “Oh so you’re telling me that it’s all just one big cover-up to frame poor, misunderstood, John Breslin? Is that what’s going on here?” angrily exclaimed Jane, notching up the sarcasm even further. But Newlan wasn’t ready to go that far, and he calmly clarified his assessment accordingly.

  “No, at this point I’m not saying that Breslin didn’t do it, and I’m not saying that he did do it…and I’m sure that the DA’s office has good reason to believe that Breslin was somehow involved in Miller’s murder. But all I am saying is that maybe the DA’s office is trying to embellish their case in any way that they can by throwing out all kinds of insinuations at us, insinuations that can’t be proven I might add, all in an attempt to chip away at any reasonable doubt that we might still be holding onto. Just like Gleason’s gonna do when it’s his turn. That’s all I’m saying,” insisted Newlan

  But Jane stubbornly held her ground and emphatically replied, “Well fine, that’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it, but I’m not buying it.”

  At that point, Newlan was ready to call a truce, but he couldn’t resist getting in one last shot across the bow.

  “That’s fine with me too…but if he did say it, you can be damned sure he didn’t say it in front of their kids, so it should be inadmissible as far as I’m concerned. And besides the phrase ‘it won’t be good for his health’, what does that really mean anyway? It’s just a figure of speech. How does that translate into Breslin saying that he was gonna have someone kill the poor guy?”

  “Well if you haven’t noticed, the ‘poor guy’ as you called him, is dead, which is why we’re here in the first place,” fired back Jane, and Newlan realized full well that he couldn’t argue that fact so he just nodded his head and agreeably concurred with a two word response; “Point taken.”

  The argument seemed to be running its course after that blunt exchange, but Ron the banker made positively sure that it was definitively over by doling out a gentle reminder; “come on now, cool it you two. You know we aren’t supposed to be talking about the trial.”

  Realizing the error in their ways, Jane and Newlan both apologized, and civility was once again returned to the deliberation room, but not before Annie, the feisty HR clerk, crossly chucked her own two cents into the pot.

  “I still say that Tracy needs to grow up. If they lock up anyone, it should be her. That’s right…I went there. They should throw her in jail for a few years until she stops acting like an immature child. If she had spent more time at home taking care of her kids instead of running around with another man, then maybe we wouldn’t be here. If she wanted a divorce, fine. But for Christ’s sake, at least wait until the ink runs dry before you go whoring around. Believe me, I know her type…she’s bad news.”

  Annie’s forthright comments triggered more than a few jurors’ jaws to drop, Newlan’s amongst them, but somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut. Although, he couldn’t help but muster up a twinge of satisfaction after digesting Annie’s take on things, and he cautiously thought to himself, “Hmmm, maybe, just maybe, there might still be a couple of jurors in the not guilty column after all.”

  But regardless of the jurors’ stances, before long Billy returned and instructed them to line up for their march back into the courtroom, which prompted the usually placid software engineer, Peter, to joke, “My how time flies when you’re having fun.”

  In spite of his all-consuming glumness, Newlan couldn’t help but smile at Peter’s commentary, and in response, Peter returned Newlan’s smile with a meager grin and wink of his own, which Newlan took as a sign that perhaps his soft-spoken colleague’s not guilty vote remained intact as well. Of course, whether that was Peter’s intentions or not was totally irrelevant, for at the moment; all that mattered to Newlan was the simple fact that his fellow juror’s covert action had him feeling a whole lot better about the current state of affairs, and so he c
onvinced his corruptible mind to believe what he wanted it to believe.

  Whether Newlan’s rigid beliefs would hold any weight in a court of law remained to be seen, but either way, as the jurors marched back into the courtroom, renowned Defense Attorney R. J. Gleason, who had been patiently waiting to get a crack at one of the prosecution’s star witnesses, his client’s former wife, Ms. Tracy Stone, was rearing to go.

  “Good afternoon Ms. Breslin my name is R. J. Gleason and as you know I represent Mr. Breslin,” courteously began Gleason. But right off the bat, his formal introduction got a rise out of Stone who brusquely cut him off at the pass.

  “Um, excuse me Mr. Gleason but my legal name is Ms. Stone not Ms. Breslin,” sourly chastised the rocky bastion of a witness. And for his part, Gleason took the correction in stride and issued an immediate mea culpa.

  “Yes of course, my mistake, Ms. Stone. I apologize for the misrepresentation.”

  Newlan wasn’t certain whether it was a trick of the light, but he could have sworn that he caught the slightest hint of a smile curling up on Gleason’s face as he offered up his forgiveness.

  “That bastard…I bet he addressed her by her married name on purpose, just to fluster her. And I must admit, it was a brilliant strategy that clearly worked.” conjectured Newlan.

  Of course, whether Gleason’s faux pas was an honest mistake, or whether it was something more sinister, we cannot say for sure. But in any event, the noted barrister decided not to waste any more time on formalities, and he promptly dove into the task of achieving his stated goal which was to sully Stone’s credibility in the eyes of the jurors.

  “Ms. Stone isn’t it true that on the afternoon of January 13th, 2006 you told the investigators that Fred Miller was your one true love, and that you were convinced your estranged husband was somehow involved in Fred’s death?” smoothly inquired Gleason.

  “I believe I told them that Fred was the love of my life,” corrected Stone.

  “Yes of course, and you also told the investigators that when you met Fred in high school you knew right away it was love at first sight, didn’t you?” added Gleason.

  “Absolutely,” declared Stone in an insolent tone.

  “OK, I believe we have clearly established your feelings Ms. Stone,” sedately gibed Gleason before launching a derogatory bombshell. “But didn’t you also tell the investigators that you and Fred Miller were ‘partiers’? Isn’t that the phrase you used, Ms. Stone?”

  Although Gleason’s question was intended to be damaging, Stone didn’t see it that way, and so rather than trying to backtrack from her remarks, she shrugged nonchalantly and she was defiantly unapologetic in her reply.

  “Hey, we grew up in an era where everybody partied, and we went to a high school where everybody partied, I’m the first to admit it.”

  Based on the obstinate tone of her voice, it became obvious that Stone’s boastful response regarding her rebellious upbringing was a point of pride, which prompted the free-spirited Newlan to behold her with even further admiration, and he lustfully concluded, “She really is my kind of woman!”

  However, R. J. Gleason wasn’t quite as impressed with Stone’s partying credentials as Frank Newlan was.

  “And didn’t you tell the investigators that you and Fred had a volatile relationship and that you fought all the time? Isn’t that what you told them, Ms. Stone?” insisted Gleason, and once again Stone wasn’t denying the facts. If anything, she seemed to relish in the tension that was at the core of her relationship with Fred Miller.

  “Yes we fought a lot, but we always got back together. It’s called life, Mr. Gleason. You live and you learn,” rhapsodized Stone. But her philosophical discourse didn’t evince Gleason to miss a beat. On the contrary, he even thanked her for the pep-talk

  “I appreciate the advice Ms. Stone, but let’s stick to the task at hand shall we. Didn’t you tell the investigators that your relationship with Fred Miller repeated the same destructive pattern over and over and over again? You’d date, you’d fight, you’d break up, and then you’d reprise the same old song and dance from the beginning. In fact you described it as silly, didn’t you Ms. Stone?” berated Gleason.

  But Stone wasn’t intimidated in the least. She looked up at the physically imposing defense attorney with steely eyes and coolly replied, “I never used the word destructive. That’s your opinion, so please in the future don’t try to put words in my mouth that I never said.”

  “Fair enough,” acknowledged a slightly distracted Gleason as he excused himself and walked over to the defense table to collect his thoughts and refer to his notes. And while he was at it, he whispered to Breslin; “she’s making herself look much worse than I ever could have hoped to do…unprovoked, I might add.”

  Somewhere during the course of his inquisition, Gleason decided that his list of questions was too voluminous to memorize, so to remedy the situation he lugged his packet of notes over to the podium with him as he resumed his interrogation of Ms. Tracy Stone.

  “Ms. Stone, didn’t you also tell the investigators that when you were in high school, Fred Miller would ride by your house on his motorcycle and rev the engine…more or less as a way of letting you know that he was thinking of you?”

  “Yes, I was a couple of years younger than Freddie, and I wasn’t allowed to stay out as late as he was at the time, so we had this secret signal…and I suppose you could say it was his way of letting me know that I was on his mind,” proudly recalled Stone.

  “And didn’t Fred Miller use this exact same tactic in the summer of 2005? Which I might add, on numerous occasion woke your husband up out of a sound sleep when you knew he had to get up for work early in the morning so that he could keep a roof over your head. Isn’t that true Ms. Stone?” retorted Gleason in an aggressive tone.

  “We lived on a busy street and we’d sometimes get woken up by the sound of traffic, but to say it was always Freddie who was the cause of the noise is totally unfair,” rebutted Stone. And although Gleason didn’t agree with Stone assessment of the situation, he had made his point, and he didn’t think it was worth refuting her denial, so he moved on.

  “Ms. Stone isn’t it true that you dated other men while Fred Miller was out in Arizona attending college?”

  “Yes that’s true, but as I mentioned this morning, we had kind of drifted apart during the years that Fred was in college so we weren’t technically dating,” corrected Stone.

  “Very well, but didn’t you also tell us this morning that when Fred got out of college, and returned to Massachusetts, you and he reconnected and eventually moved in to an apartment together?” continued Gleason, and even though Stone wasn’t quite sure what the sly defense attorney was getting at, she admitted to the gist of his question.

  “I don’t remember if those were my exact words, but yes I’d say that’s an accurate statement.”

  “And didn’t you tell the investigators that you kicked Fred Miller out of the apartment you shared with him at least three times…and when you kicked him out for the last time in the summer of 1995, within a couple of weeks, Peter Perry had moved in with you?” demanded Gleason.

  Stone cringed at the mention of Peter Perry’s name, but she begrudgingly acknowledged that Gleason’s statement was correct.

  “And isn’t it also true that you described Peter Perry to the investigators as manipulative and scary?” added Gleason.

  “Yes I did,” quietly confessed Stone.

  “And wasn’t it while you were living with Peter Perry that you first met John Breslin? You confided in him about your problems with Mr. Perry, didn’t you Ms. Stone?”

  “Yes, I met Johnny while I was still in a relationship with Peter Perry. Johnny had asked me out a few times, but I politely declined. I told him that I was already seeing someone, but eventually it came up in conversation that I was having some issues with Peter, and Johnny offered his advice.”

  “A
nd what advice did Mr. Breslin offer?” wondered Gleason.

  “He basically told me that Peter sounded like bad news and that I should dump him,” recalled Stone.

  “And shortly thereafter, you attempted to evict Mr. Perry from your apartment, but he wouldn’t leave, would he Ms. Stone?” asserted Gleason as a look of fear came over Stone. Clearly the act of being forced to relive this frightening episode was disturbing her in many ways, but somehow she managed to murmur out an answer.

  “He refused to leave and he was becoming abusive as well.”

  “And how did you resolve the situation Ms. Stone?” rhetorically asked Gleason before continuing. “You called upon your reliable old boyfriend, Fred Miller, to assist you in evicting Peter Perry from your apartment and from your life, didn’t you?”

  Despite the fact that the incident had come up during Lyons’ direct examination, Stone was nonetheless caught off guard by Gleason’s detailed recounting of her relationship with Peter Perry. She was unsure how he had gotten his hands on this rather personal information, but she had a bad feeling about where he was headed with his current line of questioning.

  On the other hand, the perceptive Frank Newlan had the riddle already figured out in his head. “Suffice it to say that Gleason got a hold of Peter Perry, and he jumped at the chance to sully his ex-girlfriend’s reputation.”

  However, after surviving the initial shock of the unearthing of what she assumed to be a parcel of long-since-buried confidential material regarding the Peter Perry affair, Stone boldly admitted; “Yes, I asked Freddie to come over and discuss the situation with Peter…and he did just that.”

  “Ah, but Fred Miller did more than just talk to Peter Perry…” boomed Gleason, “…in fact didn’t Fred Miller forcibly eject Peter Perry from your apartment? Didn’t he in fact rough up Peter Perry and in the process BROKE HIS COLLARBONE?”

  Stone had been hoping for the best but expecting the worst, so she wasn’t totally stunned by Gleason’s revelation. She instinctively suspected that if Gleason was going into such extensive detail regarding Peter Perry, then he must have uncovered the whole story, and as such she grasped the fact that she really had no choice but to come clean. But she calculated that she could, at a minimum, qualify her answer without being caught red-handed in an outright lie.

  “Yes, Peter’s collarbone did get broken, but it was totally an accident. Peter refused to leave, so Freddie got him in a headlock and dragged him out the door. And then when they got outside, they got into a scuffle and Freddie fell on top of Peter…and that’s when I heard a loud pop, followed by Peter screaming in pain.”

  “And what did you do?” wondered Gleason.

  “I asked Freddie to leave…and then I drove Peter to the hospital,” replied a now stoic Stone.

  “And wasn’t Fred Miller upset with you over what transpired between himself and Peter Perry?” added Gleason.

  “Yes he was, but I never told him to physically remove Peter from my apartment. I was as upset with Freddie as he was with me. He had resorted to brute force, which as far as I’m concerned is never the answer to any problem,” replied an unapologetic Stone.

  Gleason then went on to rattle off a barrage of questions in a rhythmic cadence.

  “And later that same day didn’t Peter Perry go to the police?”

  “And didn’t he press charges against Fred Miller?

  “And wasn’t Fred Miller issued an arrest warrant because of this incident?”

  “And furthermore, he had to hire a lawyer and go to court to resolve the charges, didn’t he?”

  And in return, Stone managed to disregard the increasingly unpleasant tone in Gleason’s voice and she calmly emitted a “yes” response to each and every question he sent her way.

  “And when Fred Miller’s attorney contacted you regarding the assault charges, you didn’t support him in his criminal case did you Ms. Stone?” demanded Gleason, but in return, Stone just shook her head in disgust, and her voice was choked with emotion as she explained, “I just told the truth…no more, no less.”

  For his part, Newlan, who was hanging on every word from both Gleason and Stone, wondered to himself; “yeah but are you telling the truth today?”

  Meanwhile, Gleason briefly referred to his checklist before proceeding to recite the next set of questions which he had precisely laid out in his notebook.

  “Ms. Stone isn’t it true that following the incident between Peter Perry and Fred Miller, you obtained a restraining order against Perry which forced him to vacate the premises of your apartment and to avoid all contact with you?”

  At this point, Stone had nothing to hide, so she didn’t deny the obvious.

  “Yes, even though, in my opinion, the way that Freddie handled the situation was all wrong, I still wanted Peter out of my life.”

  With Stone’s unburdening admission echoing across the courtroom like a hoot owl in the Grand Canyon, Gleason concluded that the Peter Perry incident had been beaten into the ground like a dead horse, and so he decided to move on in another direction.

  “And didn’t you finally consent to go on a date with John Breslin within days of evicting Peter Perry from your apartment?” inquired Gleason.

  Stone knew full well that the answer was yes, and yet she decided to go with a less specific response.

  “Sorry Mr. Gleason, it was a long time ago, and I can’t really remember exactly how many days went by between when I broke up with Peter and when I went out on my first date with Johnny.”

  “Interesting that her memory is vague all of a sudden, but she recalled precise details whenever the DA asked her similar questions,” deduced both Gleason and Newlan at roughly the same time…but they both pressed on, undeterred.

  “And isn’t it also true that at the conclusion of your first date, you spent the night with Mr. Breslin?” broadcast Gleason in a taunting tone. And in return Stone responded with a simple one word answer to the tenacious defense attorney’s latest inquiry; “unfortunately.”

  It took a volley of insinuating questions and stubborn answers, but Stone’s sexual misgivings slowly came to light like a hazy sunrise, and Newlan had to laugh to himself as he considered the horrified reaction of some of his more prudish fellow jurors; “I’m sure the ladies are gonna be up in arms over this juicy stuff. And I bet poor Annie’s blood pressure must be going through the roof right about now over the way that the foxy Ms. Stone rolls.”

  “Ms. Stone, were you aware of a conversation that Peter Perry had with Fred Miller when they encountered each other at his criminal court case? A conversation where Mr. Perry mockingly informed Mr. Miller that you were pregnant,” soldered on Gleason. But before an offended Stone could even begin to think about formulating a resentful answer, DA Lyons shouted out her own concerns; “objection, hearsay.”

  And although it may have been out of the norm, on this occasion, it didn’t take Judge Gershwin long to sustain Lyons’ objection, but Gleason plodded along with grim determination nonetheless.

  “Ms. Stone, would it be fair to say that the primary reason you and Fred Miller had an irreconcilable falling-out was because of the way you handled the Peter Perry incident. He was bitterly upset that you didn’t support his story while he was sorting through his legal problems, wasn’t he?” demanded Gleason. And without thinking, Stone replied; “I don’t know…you’d have to ask him.” But when she realized the lunacy of her response, she quickly amended her answer accordingly; “Umm, I mean, no, that’s not true.”

  Stone subsequently burst into tears, and in a state of bewildered confusion she repeatedly wailed, “I don’t know, I just don’t know.”

  When Stone’s animated outburst didn’t immediately subside, DA Lyons jumped up out of her seat and objected again. She really had no apparent reason for the grievance whatsoever, other than to attempt to do something, anything, to stop Stone’s incoherent wailing.

  With the courtroom once a
gain edging toward disarray, Judge Gershwin decided to call the attorneys up to her desk for a sidebar, where the obligatory heated discussion promptly ensued, while at the same time poor Tracy Stone continued to sob away in the witness box; clearly an emotional wreck over her regrettable choice of words. She, along with every person in the courtroom, instantly recognized her colossal gaffe. What possessed her to suggest that Gleason should ask a dead man what he was thinking, she would never know. And even though it was of little comfort to her at the moment, she would be neither the first nor last person in the world to suffer a brain cramp when faced with the nerve-wracking strain of being cross-examined by a ruthless attorney.

  However, regardless of Stone’s denial, regardless of DA Lyons’ objection, regardless of Judge Gershwin’s scolding, Gleason was insistent that Stone own up to her role in Fred Miller’s misfortunes, and at the conclusion of the sidebar, he went right back after her with a vengeance.

  “Ms. Stone, wasn’t Fred Miller’s bruised ego even further broken when he found out that you were pregnant…from the mouth of Peter Perry no less? And when you add it all up, wasn’t that why you had a falling out that lasted 10 years?”

  By now Stone was numb to Gleason’s aggressive attack, and she tearfully but vehemently denied his assumption.

  “Absolutely not…there was a lot more to it than that…issues that had built up over the years…but we still love each other.”

  Not surprisingly, the astute Newlan picked up on Stone’s use of the present tense as she claimed “we still love each other” and he thought to himself; “This is one confused woman. Maybe at times she gets a little delusional and thinks that Miller’s still alive.”

  On the other end of the spectrum however, Newlan, who was resorting to oddball humor for the sake of his own sanity, also reminded himself; “But I still think she’s kinda cute…and I don’t care what our female jurors say.”

  And while Tracy Stone’s freckled face may have been cute in Frank Newlan’s mind, her uncontrollable sobbing on the witness stand was eliciting a reaction that was edging closer to pity in the eyes of most everyone else in the courtroom. For his part, Gleason seemed to sense as much, and his inner perceptiveness warned him that he was coming close to crossing some imaginary line, so he decided that he’d better let up momentarily for fear of coming across as a bully in the minds of the jurors.

  Gleason had been through more than his fair share of courtroom battles over the years, some of which included surprisingly shocking verdicts, and so he had long since come to the realization that no one can ever accurately predict what a jury is truly thinking. But he also understood full well that, as a defense attorney, you can never risk even the slightest ill-considered actions which might potentially cause an easily swayable jury to become unsympathetic towards your client.

  Gleason had witnessed as much with his own two eyes; he had encountered plenty of lawyers who had charmed a jury into a favorable verdict; and he had come across many an attractive defendant who had sweet-talked his or her way out of trouble. But Gleason was neither attractive nor charming, so he was at all time conscious of the fact that he had to rely on his skill, his experience, and his instincts; and luckily for Breslin, he was very well equipped in all of those areas.

  And so with the hopes of rehabilitating Breslin’s image, Gleason determined that the time was just about right for him to begin shaping some of his questions into a form that might shed a favorable light on Stone’s ex-husband.

  “Ms. Stone didn’t your husband work at Tex-Ray Defense Systems for 23 years?” inquired Gleason, and since the details of Breslin’s employment were pretty much irrefutable, Stone didn’t attempt to dispute the badgering defense attorney’s claims.

  “I’m not sure exactly how many years he worked for Tex-Ray, but yes I’d say 23 years sounds about right.”

  “And didn’t he also work a second job so that he could bring home an additional paycheck for the family?” added Gleason.

  “He spent most of the money from his part-time job on himself, for his golf league, and buying beers at the bar afterwards,” corrected Stone in a cynical tone.

  “But he worked a second job, yes or no?” reiterated Gleason.

  “Yes, but to support his hobbies, not for any extra family money,” insisted Stone, and her snide commentary was beginning to rankle Gleason, so her turned towards Judge Gershwin and pleaded for assistance.

  “Your honor I beseech that you admonish the witness, and if you could please instruct her on the etiquette regarding cross-examination I would be extremely grateful.”

  As she had done yesterday with the belligerent Kim Beliveau, Judge Gershwin once again went into her spiel regarding the differences between direct examination and cross-examination, including the witness protocol of answering “yes” or “no” under cross-examination whenever possible.

  And no sooner had Judge Gershwin completed the dissemination of her repetitious instructions when Gleason serenely launched back into his withering cross-examination of Ms. Tracy Stone without the least bit of hesitation.

  “Ms. Stone, isn’t it fair to say that any money your husband made on his second job, regardless of how he spent it, would mean that there was more money available for the family from his primary job at Tex-Ray Defense Systems?” queried Gleason with a quizzical look on his face. But Stone still wasn’t buying into his logic and she stubbornly answered, “I’m sorry but I can’t fairly answer that question.”

  “Very well,” acknowledged Gleason in a patient tone, while at the same time he turned his back on Stone.

  And as Gleason slowly trudged back to the podium for a brief review of his notes, Newlan witnessed Stone do something that even he, with his chemically-engineered infatuation for her still bubbling over, considered to be incredibly childish; it was an ever so subtle gesture, but it was clearly a symbol of derision nonetheless.

  For a moment or two Newlan thought that maybe he was imagining things, but as the seconds ticked away he became, beyond a shadow of a doubt, convinced that he had observed Tracy Stone sticking her slithery tongue out at Gleason. He had hardly taken his eyes off of her all afternoon, which left him all the more unwaveringly certain of what had just taken place, and he wondered what kind of person they were dealing with here.

  Newlan made no further mention of the incident to any of his fellow jurors, but he was absolutely positive that Stone’s lap-stroking salute was none other than a silent Bronx cheer.

  Dear reader, as is the case in many criminal hearings these days, the proceedings inside of courtroom 630 of the Middlesex Superior Courthouse were being filmed, day-in and day-out for the duration of the John Breslin murder trial. And if any person or persons had the patience to wade through the tape of Tracy Stone’s testimony, sure enough they would have observed what Frank Newlan witnessed with his own two eyes; sure enough they would have observed Tracy Stone pouting ever so slightly and then quickly darting her tongue in a derogatory fashion towards Gleason; sure enough they would have observed the tip of Tracy Stone’s tongue extend in and out for a fraction of a second, like a lizard casting out for an insect; sure enough they would have observed a woman acting like an infant; sure enough they would have observed a woman who refused to grow up; sure enough they would have observed a woman who still wasn’t fully comprehending the consequences of her actions, in spite of the fact that her high school sweetheart had been shot in the head execution-style, and her ex-husband, the father of her children, faced the possibility of going to prison for the rest of his life.

  Gleason, on the other hand, was totally unaware of Stone’s scoffing slight, and even if he had noticed her mocking expression out of the corner of his eye he wouldn’t have been offended in the least…and so, staying true to his credo, regardless of outside distractions, he continued on undaunted.

  “Ms. Stone wouldn’t you say that your husband was a reliable provider for your family?” reasoned Gleason, but Stone just star
ed at him impassively and said nothing.

  Stone’s silence brought about a sudden urge in Gleason to grab her by the shoulders and shake her back to reality, but he wisely resisted the temptation, and instead he tranquilly added; “You went on family vacations every summer, didn’t you?”

  And in this instance, even Tracy Stone, for all her venomous hissing, couldn’t deny the fact that she and her husband and their kids did indeed spend a week down on Cape Cod each and every summer. But at the same time she wondered what any of this had to do with the murder of Fred Miller.

  Gleason seemed to sense that some sort of irrational tide was churning in Stone’s mind, and he decided that it was high time he clear up the first of many fabrications she had uttered earlier in the day.

  “Ms. Stone, didn’t your husband routinely bring a pre-paid calling card along with him whenever you went on vacation to locations where cell phone reception was dicey…so that you wouldn’t have to pay those outrageous hotel phone charges?” inquired Gleason while Stone gazed unfocusedly out into space, dumbfounded; she had been caught in a lie…but she wasn’t about to admit it.

  “Come to think of it, I guess we did make use of calling cards when we were away on vacation,” coolly confessed Stone, and Gleason had a sly smile plastered across his face as he tossed out a pointed follow-up.

  “But Ms. Stone, when DA Lyons asked if you recalled whether your husband had ever used a pre-paid phone card, your answer was ‘no, never’, isn’t that true?”

  Of course, as was her modus operandi, regardless of the facts, Stone was defiant in her response.

  “I apologize, but based on everything else that’s been going on, you’ll have to excuse me if something as irrelevant as our so-called family vacations totally slipped my mind. If I may amend my answer, I never saw my ex-husband use a pre-paid phone card other than when we were on vacation.”

  Naturally Gleason was none too pleased with Tracy Stone’s disingenuous games, but nevertheless he was ready to move on. No matter how Stone attempted to qualify her answer, in the end, she had to retract a sworn statement that she had made on the witness stand and that in itself was good enough for him.

  As Gleason made a shorthand note in his pad regarding Stone’s halfhearted admission, he thought to himself “I’ve got to save this for future ammunition, and at the very least I should be able to work her untruths into my closing arguments,” while at the same time he surmised that the moment was ripe for him to build upon the defense’s version of the events which led up to Fred Miller’s murder.

  “Ms. Stone you stated that sometime in mid 2005 you sent Fred Miller a postcard, but you never got a response back from him isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “And shortly thereafter you called Fred Miller on the phone and left him a voice message, but he still didn’t get back to you, isn’t that also correct?” added Gleason, and Stone frowned and answered, “Yes.”

  Gleason paused again momentarily to refer to his notes, and then he proceeded to drive the jagged edge of his point across Tracy Stone’s brow.

  “You were fully aware of the fact that Fred Miller was so upset and bitter towards you that he hadn’t spoken to you in ten years, and yet you still decided to follow up and send him a letter, isn’t that true?” pestered Gleason, and Stone stubbornly admitted as much.

  “Why did you keep trying to contact him? Why didn’t you just leave him alone?” wondered Gleason in pleading tone, as if to say, “If you had just let him be, maybe we wouldn’t all be here today and your husband would be a free man.”

  “Because, as I said this morning, I always felt guilty about the way things ended between us…and if nothing else, I wanted to at least apologize to him, and I was hoping that maybe we could finally be on good terms with each other again,” steadfastly explained Stone.

  “So are you saying your attempts to contact Mr. Miller were never intended to rekindle your relationship?” asked a skeptical Gleason.

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I never said that. Why do you keep trying to put words into my mouth? The truth is that I tried to contact Freddie because I missed him…and I still loved him. It had reached the point where I was having dreams about him. But even if things could never be the same, I wanted him to at least be my friend again, so that’s why I was persistent,” insisted Stone.

  “And after repeated attempts, Mr. Miller finally responded to one of your letters with a letter of his own, didn’t he?” expounded Gleason; and as he delivered the question he strode up to the location of the assistant clerk’s table where the exhibits were being stored, and he held up the infamous letter that Fred Miller had sent to Tracy Stone.

  “Yes he did,” fondly recalled Stone, while at the same time she felt a sudden jolt of incensed fury rush through her body as the thought of Gleason’s hands touching a precious memory of her deceased lover materialized in her mind. But despite her angry glare, Gleason flipped past the page which contained the Grateful Dead lyrics printed on it, and he handed the letter off to her in a huff.

  “Ms. Stone could you please read this letter to the jurors if you would,” requested Gleason, but just the mere act of peering at Fred Miller’s handwriting induced Stone to cry out hysterically, which was all part of the cagey defense attorney’s master plan. He snatched the letter out of her hands just as quickly as he had given it to her, and he made an executive decision that it would be best for all concerned if he read the missive for her.

  “Dear Tracy, I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you, but I really don’t know quite what to say. It’s been a long, long time, and I’m not sure whether I can put what I’m feeling into words. But regardless of how things ended between us, I suppose you at least deserve a response.”

  “If only you knew how I’ve suffered because of the way you treated me. If only you knew how I went into a tailspin that I still haven’t completely come out of. If only you knew how my world fell apart, little-by-little, until it turned into a living hell. Sure I hold down a job and go on with my life as best I can, but I never let anyone else see the tormented soul that I’ve become. I never let anyone else see the lost man who lives inside of me. I never let anyone else see how you FUCKED ME UP so badly,” recited Gleason in a lyrical tone.

  In the unlikely event that any of the jurors’ minds were beginning to wander during Gleason’s theatrical reading of Fred Miller’s sorrowful letter, the act of him throwing out the offensive expletive in a booming voice was bound to snap them back to attention. It certainly worked on Frank Newlan anyway, because despite the fact that he had been hanging on every word, he still nearly jumped out of his seat when Gleason let loose with the f-bomb.

  Newlan snuck a peek towards Judge Gershwin to gauge her reaction, but she just stared impassively ahead. He was expecting the no-nonsense judge to give Gleason a verbal tongue-lashing, but then it dawned on him; “he’s only repeating what’s in the letter so her hands are probably tied.”

  But in spite of his plausible theory, Newlan was still at a loss to explain how the use of such foul language could be considered acceptable courtroom etiquette, and he felt an old-fashioned sense of moralistic embarrassment swell through him at the very thought of his grandmotherly colleagues, namely Annie and Patty, being exposed to such crass terminology in a court of law.

  In the meantime, Gleason paused for affect as just about everyone in the courtroom except for Tracy Stone shifted uncomfortably in their seats over the revealing of the vulgar language.

  Stone herself had already read the letter a million times over, so there was no shock value in it for her, but even she was surprised that Gleason didn’t leave out the profanity.

  However, regardless of Gleason’s lack of decorum, Stone’s sobbing continued unabated as he forged ahead with the reading of the chilling letter from beyond the grave.

  “And now that I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I nearly ended up
in jail because of you, now that you’re married and have a family of your own, now that I’ve almost learned how to forget about you, now that I’ve given up on ever being in another serious relationship, now you come back and tell me that you miss me, now you come back and tell me that you still love me. And like a FUCKIN’ FOOL, I believe you…and believe it or not, I still love you too. What I wouldn’t give to hold you in my arms again. I’d give up my life and then some to wake up next to you one more time. I’m so confused right now that it’s killing me inside. But all I can truly say with any real sense of conviction is this; who knows what tomorrow brings. And no matter what happens in the future, may God give us the courage and the strength to face each day, wherever it may lead us.”

  “We all make choices in life. Choices that we have to live with until the day we die. You’ve made your choices and I’ve made mine. Don’t get me wrong, I realize full well that I’ve made my share of mistakes too, and in the end, who knows whether we can ever undo what’s already been done, but all I can tell you is that I’m willing to try…love Fred,” soliloquized Gleason, his voice rising and falling in rhythmic cadence to Miller’s eloquent wordsmith.

  Gleason then trudged back to the assistant clerk’s desk and dropped the letter from high up above his towering frame, so that it floated like a feather back down onto the table and landed atop of the other exhibits in an almost hypnotic fashion.

  And all the while, as he concentrated intently on Gleason’s interpretation of Miller’s text, Newlan couldn’t help but think about Marianne Plante and the cryptically worded note that she had just sent him. He couldn’t help but think about how Fred Miller’s letter echoed his feelings for Plante, almost down to the word. He couldn’t help but think about his own choices, his own mistakes, and the aimless direction that his life was heading in.

  “What a torture soul this dude Fred Miller was…,” brooded Newlan as he came to a sudden realization, “…just like me.”

  And even though he was sitting in an ice-cold, air conditioned courtroom, Newlan felt a hot sweat come over him as he fought back a river of bitter tears. The emotions of the trial, the emotions of Miller’s gut-wrenching letter, the emotions of his own travails, were all converging to take a heavy toll on him; a toll that left him practically gasping for air.

  Meanwhile, Gleason continued on with his cross-examination of Tracy Stone without so much as another mention of the heartfelt letter; even though it was a dispatch that he wanted so badly for the jurors to hear for themselves.

  “Ms. Stone, shortly after your numerous attempts at correspondence with Fred Miller, you finally talked to him on the phone and then you met him in person didn’t you?” continued Gleason, and again Stone couldn’t deny the already-documented history of the matter.

  “And you attempted to hide the fact that you were secretly seeing Fred Miller from your husband, isn’t that also true Ms. Stone?” insisted Gleason, but Stone appeared to be insulted by his accusation and she countered in kind.

  “I didn’t tell him anything…but I didn’t deliberately try to hide anything from him either.”

  “You were surprised that your husband was aware of the fact that you were with Fred Miller on the Fourth of July 2005, weren’t you?” antagonized Gleason, but Stone wouldn’t take the bait.

  “At that point, he had already started putting two and two together, so I’d have to say, no I wasn’t surprised at all.”

  “Ms. Stone sticking to the summer of 2005, wasn’t there an incident at the Wayward Inn? A quarrel involving Fred Miller and another man erupted into fisticuffs, and it got so bad that the police were called in…and his friend Michael Landers, the bartender, instructed him to leave before the cops showed up?” recounted Gleason in blow-by-blow fashion, while at the same time Newlan wondered why Landers himself was never questioned about the skirmish when he was on the stand.

  “There was an incident,” admitted Stone, “but it was a minor disagreement between Fred and a former associate of his.”

  “Ms. Stone, I’m holding in my hand the police report regarding this incident, and in it, the officer who responded to the scene writes that he interviewed you, and you stated that you didn’t know the suspect. But Mr. Miller was later apprehended and arrested. Isn’t this all true?” demanded Gleason, and again Stone shrugged her shoulders as she rationalized her decision.

  “I cared about him, so I protected him. That’s what people do when they’re in love.”

  “Ms. Stone when you and your husband and your children went on your annual family vacation in the summer of 2005, he asked you whether you had kissed Fred Miller recently, and you replied, ‘I might have’. Is that true, yes or no?” challenged Gleason, and in return Stone shot him a chilling look as if to say that he was deranged while at the same time she hostilely replied, “Yeah…so what.”

  And while the tumultuous battle raged on, Newlan kept himself occupied by busily scribbling away into his notepad, but at the same time he was thinking; “Geez, I know Gleason’s trying to make Fred Miller look bad, but I’m not sure how much it’s helping Breslin’s cause…especially with some of our more inflexible jurors.”

  But of course, even though Newlan was silently questioning Gleason’s strategy, the seasoned trial lawyer continued to attack Stone the only way he knew how.

  “And you told the investigators that your husband was calm when you discussed the kiss? You told them, if anything he was more shocked than upset, didn’t you?”

  “He wasn’t upset at the time, but he made up for it later,” scoffed Stone as Gleason turned his attention towards her relationship with Fred Miller.

  “And Ms. Stone even though you and Fred Miller were dating again after all those years, at times he was still hurt and resentful over the Peter Perry incident, wasn’t he?”

  “I knew from the beginning when we started seeing each other again that there would be some issues to work out, and I think we were moving towards a more mature adult relationship,” skillfully explained the sometimes child-like Tracy Stone.

  “Ms. Stone in the fall of 2005 you were still adamant about going through with your divorce, and you made it clear to your husband that it had nothing to do Fred Miller, isn’t that true?” continued Gleason.

  “Yes that’s true,” hesitantly acknowledged Stone. And Gleason then pointed towards Breslin as if to reiterate the crux of the matter, while he fired away anew.

  “Your husband John Breslin knew perfectly well that your divorce request had nothing to do with Fred Miller. He knew that it had nothing to do with Fred Miller because you made that point loud and clear. He knew that you were going to divorce him regardless of whether you were dating Fred Miller or you weren’t dating Fred Miller. Isn’t that also true Ms. Stone?” insisted Gleason.

  After giving Gleason’s declarations a few seconds to sink in, Stone surmised to herself, “Oh I see where he’s going with this. If I say that Johnny knew it had nothing to do with Freddie, he’s gonna say, ‘then why would Johnny want him dead?’”

  And as this enlightening conclusion echoed through Stone’s head she carefully amended her reply.

  “I told Johnny a million times that our problems had nothing to do with Freddie, but I don’t think he ever really believed me.”

  By now, it seemed that the more Stone babbled on, the more Gleason abhorred her; and the more he loathed her, the more he contemplated going with a brand new strategy, which was to basically ignore most, if not all, of her answers, while at the same time trying to get his side of the story across to the jurors by way of his detail-laden questions.

  “Ms. Stone, when your husband was forced to move out of the house that he lived in with you and the kids, it was written in the visitation agreement that he was permitted to enter what was now his former home so that he could see the children…a home which would eventually become yours…a home that he paid for, I might add,” reminded Gleason before continuing on with his ram
bling expose. “The divorce court judge agreed that this arrangement would save him a significant amount of time, since he would otherwise have had to drive the kids back and forth from what is now your home in Marlborough to his mother’s house in Waltham…isn’t that true?”

  “Yes that’s true” admitted Stone; she was well aware of the fact that Gleason could pull out the divorce papers at any moment if need be, so there was no use in denying the words of an undisputable legal document.

  “And isn’t it also true that the moment your husband arrived at the house for visitations, you would immediately go out for the night while he would bathe the children, help them with their homework, and put them to bed?” sneered Gleason. And even though Stone hated like poison how Gleason was making her ex-husband out to be some sort of angel, once again she was forced to admit to the facts as he had presented them.

  “And the truth of the matter is that when your husband would call you on your cell phone while you were out on the town, it wasn’t to harass you…but it was because your children wanted to say goodnight, isn’t it?” demanded Gleason.

  “He would use the kids as an excuse, but he would always end up harassing me every chance he got,” countered Stone in a contemptibly bitter tone.

  “And Ms. Stone, on the night that Fred Miller confronted your husband in the driveway of your home, your husband’s home as well at the time I might add, your husband wasn’t upset was he? As a matter of fact, didn’t you tell the investigators that ‘Johnny was surprisingly unflappable’?” scoffed Gleason…and the best that Stone could do was to silently nod her head in the affirmative.

  “And Ms. Stone, isn’t it also true that in early morning hours of Monday October 10th, 2005, the main reason that your husband called you repeatedly was because Fred Miller was in your home while your children were present, in direct violation of a court order?” roared Gleason while at the same time Stone glared back in anger. But this time she said nothing. Her face was crimson and shaking with rage, but when she opened her mouth to speak, not a word came echoing out.

  However, it didn’t really matter what Tracy Stone did or didn’t say, because Gleason was on a roll by now, and he wasn’t waiting for, or even expecting, any answers as he continued with his nonstop barrage of enlightening questions.

  “And when your daughter was in the hospital, Fred Miller was with you in her room, once again in violation of a court order, isn’t that true Ms. Stone?”

  “Over the next few months you and Mr. Miller showed a total disregard for a court order that, through your attorney, you had agreed to abide by, isn’t that also true Ms. Stone?”

  Stone’s outrage was rapidly turning into a state of shock over what she was being coerced into attesting to. But she couldn’t deny any of it, not a single word of it, and so instead she put her head in her hands and lapsed into her 19th nervous breakdown of the day.

  Of course, R. J. Gleason wasn’t about to take his foot off the pedal, not on his life he wasn’t. To the contrary, now that he had her right where he wanted, Gleason lashed out at Stone and he asked her flat out; “Ms. Stone wasn’t there an agreement in your divorce papers which stated that Fred Miller was to stay away from the children until after the divorce was finalized?”

  And in response, Stone let out a muffled, “yes” through her salty tears.

  Now that Gleason had revealed this crucial fact, a fact that DA Lyons had so conveniently left out of the equation when she had petitioned Stone, he decided that the moment of truth had arrived and it was time to finally let the black cat out of the bag. No matter how much it hurt Fred Miller’s family, the entire tale needed to be told, and he intended on making damned sure that the jurors heard the whole story.

  “Ms. Stone, isn’t the reason your husband went through the effort of legally prohibiting you from being in Fred Miller’s company in the presence of your children was that he was concerned about Mr. Miller’s drug use?” forcefully contended Gleason. And in return Tracy Stone just shook her head from side to side and repeatedly sobbed, “No, no, no.”

  For good measure Gleason added a closely related postscript to his query; “And your husband was also concerned about your own drinking and drug problems as well, wasn’t he?”

  And although the truth hurt like hell, through her tears Stone managed to softly reply; “We argued about a lot of topics.”

  “Ms. Stone as a far as you know, other than the encounter in your driveway, your husband and Fred Miller never had another confrontation of any kind, never even saw each other again, isn’t that true?” postulated Gleason in an attempt at corroboration..

  “As far as I know they didn’t,” whispered Stone.

  “And Ms. Stone after your husband moved out of your marital home, it wasn’t unusual for him to call you in the morning. In fact he called just about every morning to say hello to the kids, didn’t he?” contended Gleason as Tracy Stone hung on for dear life.

  All this talk revolving around her children had struck a painful chord in Stone and it caused her to become more emotional than she already was, if that was even humanly possible, and by this point in the proceedings she was barely able to breathe.

  Gleason, along with everyone else who was present in the courtroom, could clearly detect Stone’s discomfort, and since he was nearing the end of his cross-examination anyway, he backed off ever so slightly, but not by much. He was hoping to finish things up with a bang, and he had a hunch that Stone’s weakened condition presented the perfect opportunity to outline the events leading up to the morning of Fred Miller’s murder.

  “Ms. Stone on the afternoon of Friday December 23rd, 2005 didn’t you call your husband and inform him that you were ‘overwhelmed’ by the responsibility of taking care of your children?”

  “Yes,” conceded Stone in a somber tone.

  “And in response to your phone call, didn’t your husband immediately drive over to your home, and there he stayed for eleven straight days and nights? And during that time period, didn’t you and your husband and your children go out to dinner on at least five occasions as a family? You pretty much spent the entire holiday season together and you not only slept together, but YOU WERE SEXUALLY INITIMATE ON ALMOST A NIGHTLY BASIS, ISN’T THAT ALSO TRUE MS. STONE” exploded Gleason in a practically uncontrollable fit of passion. But Stone calmly stared back at him with daggers in her eyes as she responded with yet another one word answer; “regrettably.”

  “And you weren’t sexually intimate with Fred Miller during this period were you?” added Gleason.

  “No, we had made a joint decision to take things slowly,” mumbled Stone.

  “And then on the evening of Saturday January 7th, 2006 you and your husband and the children went out to dinner as a family once again didn’t you?” continued Gleason.

  “Yes,” drawled Stone with a frown on her face.

  “And you had plans to go out on a date with Fred Miller the very next night, but he called you and canceled didn’t he? And you told the investigators that Fred was frustrated and upset with you. He knew that you had spent the holidays with your husband. He knew that you had gone out to dinner the previous night with your husband. And didn’t you even inform the investigators that Fred had gruffly asked you to work out your feeling, and not to call him anymore unless you were 100% sure that it was over between you and your husband? Can you deny any of this?” demanded Gleason.

  Stone struggled to respond, and her silence only added to the drama.

  Meanwhile, Newlan was diligently taking in the grand theatre of Gleason and Stone’s performances with the same attentive furor that he would a Grateful Dead concert…and as their song-and-dance reached its crescendo, a novel reality began to sink into his suddenly infuriated psyche.

  “This dude Miller doesn’t sound like he was much of a threat to Breslin. As a matter of fact, I feel bad for Miller and Breslin. This bitch…this luscious fuckin’ bitch had them both wrapped around her finger
, and I know just where they’re coming from. It’s no fuckin’ fun being so hung up on a woman who takes you for granted as if you were a pair of old fuckin’ shoes.”

  Newlan’s mind was about to wander even further astray, but luckily for him, Gleason’s high-pitched antics restored his attention before he had even the slightest chance of lapsing too deeply into the abyss.

  “But you called Fred Miller anyway. Even though you hadn’t worked out your feelings, even though it wasn’t truly over between you and your husband, you called Fred Miller and you were hell-bent on screwing up his life again, weren’t you Ms. Stone?” clamored Gleason. But Stone, who sobbing had intensified to its highest level of the entire day, screamed back just as loudly, wailing out at the top of her lungs; “that’s not true…it’s not true…it’s just not true.”

  However, regardless of how strongly Stone voiced her denial, Gleason simply ignored her and resolutely continued on.

  “Ms. Stone didn’t you receive a present from your husband, delivered right to your doorstep on the afternoon of Wednesday January 11th, 2006?”

  “Yes, he sent me a dozen roses…but I told him that it was too late for flowers,” sniffled Stone.

  “And Ms. Stone on the night of January 12th, 2006 your husband was due at your home for his visitation with the children, but he was delayed because of a problem with a rodent in his mother’s basement. And this delay caused you to be late for a date with Fred Miller which annoyed you, didn’t it?” inquired Gleason in a tormenting manner.

  “No, we were just meeting for a drink so it didn’t matter if I was running a little late,” tearfully reasoned Stone.

  “Ms. Stone didn’t you call your husband…and you told him to hurry up and get his ass over there because you had plans for the evening?” insisted Gleason.

  “No, I don’t remember using those words,” replied and equally insistent Stone.

  “And didn’t you tell the investigators that as you were getting ready to leave the house for the evening on the night of January 12th, your husband said to you, ‘you look good, you smell good, so I guess I know where you’re going tonight’?” continued Gleason.

  “I don’t remember his exact words, but it was something to that affect,” coldly replied Stone.

  “And when you got home that evening, your husband wanted to talk to you, but you were too drunk, and you just wanted to go to bed, isn’t that true Ms. Stone?” scolded Gleason.

  “No, not at all…it was late and I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but I told Johnny to call me when he got home, and I waited up until he did, because I didn’t want to go to bed without knowing that he had made it home safely,” recounted Stone.

  “And on the morning of Friday January 13th, 2006 you found a letter from your husband on the kitchen table, which you read to us earlier today?” chronicled Gleason.

  “Yes,” shrugged Stone.

  “And didn’t the PS of that letter, which the prosecution so conveniently omitted from its presentation, read, ‘I love you Tracy and I will always love you. All I want in life is to see you happy’?” inquired Gleason, and again Stone responded with an uninterested, “yes.”

  Gleason was just about ready to wrap things up, but he was determined to end the day with something that the jury would vividly remember, and in his mind he had the perfect scenario.

  “Ms. Stone, two months after the murder of Fred Miller, didn’t you go out to dinner with your husband and didn’t you even hint at rekindling your relationship?”

  “Yes…I mean no…I mean yes, we did go out to dinner, but no, I absolutely did not mention anything about resuming our relationship,” stammered Stone.

  “So you went out to dinner with your husband even though you thought he had something to do with the death of the so-called love of your life, is that what you’re telling this jury, Ms. Stone?” boomed Gleason.

  “He’s still the father of my children,” countered a weary Stone.

  “Weren’t you afraid that he might murder you too?” mocked Gleason.

  “I won’t even dignify that with an answer,” shot back a disgusted Stone.

  And as the combatants dueled, Newlan busily scribbled Stone’s testimony into his notepad almost word for word, but he also took the time to add his own bits of commentary as well, such as the following aside:

  As heartless as it sounds, Gleason makes a good point: why the hell would Stone be going out to dinner with Breslin if she thinks he’s a murderer??!!

  “Ms. Stone is it fair to say that you blame your husband for Fred Miller’s death?” continued Gleason.

  “Absolutely,” nodded Stone.

  “And you hate him because of it?” assumed Gleason.

  “No I don’t hate him,” sourly insisted Stone. “Hating him would consume my life, and I’m not going to let that happen. Hatred is what killed Fred…senseless hatred.”

  By this late hour in the day, the rhythmic back and forth sparring between Gleason and Stone had long since engulfed the entire courtroom in intrigue and hurtled it into a spellbound state. However, as much as Newlan and his fellow jurors were mesmerized by the day’s events, they were utterly exhausted as well.

  Newlan for one was aghast to discover that when he looked up at the clock, it was already five minutes to five, and Judge Gershwin must have had the same reaction because she stopped Gleason in mid-sentence and offered him one of two options.

  “Mr. Gleason, it’s getting late so unless you are just about ready to wrap up your cross-examination of the witness, I’d like to break for the day,” declared Judge Gershwin, and Gleason thought about it for no more than two second before deciding on the latter alternative.

  “Your honor I’d like to conclude my interview of Ms. Stone in the morning,” unflinchingly announced Gleason.

  “Very well,” replied Judge Gershwin, and with that, another day in the murder trial of John Breslin was done. However, for Tracy Stone the nightmare was just beginning, and she winced ruefully at the very thought of having to travel back to the courthouse in the morning for another round of torture at the hands of R. J. Gleason. DA Lyons had estimated that her testimony would last no more than one day, so this came as an unexpected bit of bad news to Stone. But she didn’t have much choice in the matter except to show up again tomorrow as requested, or break the terms of her subpoena.

  After the usual parting instructions directed towards the jurors, cautioning them not to discuss the case with anyone, Judge Gershwin decreed that court was adjourned for the day. It had been a brutally long eight hours, but Newlan and his colleagues were finally free to go home at last. However, in their hearts and minds they were not free at all, not by a long shot.

  To a man, to a woman, each of the sixteen jurors was being held prisoner to an overwhelming responsibility which fate had bestowed upon them.

  To a man, to a woman, their civic duty had long since metastasized into a debilitating, cancerous growth; their compelling nobility had long since spread into an oppressive burden; their moral obligation had long since grown into a thousand pound gorilla.

  To a man, to a woman, the crushing millstone of conjecture which had long since been dropped on them like a dead weight that grew heavier with each passing day, bound them to each other.

  To a man, to a woman, sleep would not come easy for our dogged seekers of veracity.

  To a man, to a woman, our sixteen brave soldiers were acquiring an unwanted understanding of the dangers that lurk behind every door.

  To a man, to a woman, our sixteen shrewd arbitrators were developing a surreal perception of depth, a lingering concept of time and space, an unreal vision of such fine filament that it was almost blinding.

  To a man, to a woman, our sixteen noble magistrates were at long last beginning to comprehend that the truth, as it were, can only ever be seen…from the eyes of a juror.