Second Chair, A Stan Turner Mystery, Vol.4

  Chapter 10

  Tabloid Trash

   

  When I arrived at the courthouse, I was surprised to see a dozen or so picketers. The message on one sign was, "SEND HER STRAIGHT TO HELL" and another one read "BABY KILLER" on one side and "NO MERCY" on the other. Several of the protestors wore blood spattered T-shirts that read, "Children of Despair." I decided to walk around the back of the Courthouse to avoid a confrontation, but it was too late. One of the newsmen covering the picketing spotted me and started running at me. Before I had time to react, dozens of reporters and picketers had surrounded me.

  "Mr. Turner, do you have any comment about allegations that Sarah Winters is a witch?" the first reporter asked.

  I laughed. "Yes, the story is ridiculous. Complete and utter nonsense."

  "What about her ability to walk through fire?"

  I shook my head in disbelief. "There wasn't anything magical about what she did. She just used her head. She saturated her clothing with water and wrapped a wet blanket around herself for protection. It was quick thinking and she was a brave little girl, but it wasn't witchcraft."

  "Do you think the Judge will set a trial date today?" the first reporter asked.

  "I don't know, he might," I replied.

  "Are you going to claim temporary insanity?" a second reporter yelled.

  "I can't comment on defense strategy."

  "Do you think the DA will seek life imprisonment?"

  "I don't know, ask him," I said as I pushed my way through the crowd and up the steps of the courthouse.

  "Is it true? Your client has skipped town?" a TV reporter asked.

  I turned around angrily, "Where do you get this stuff? She hasn't skipped town. She’ll be in Court this morning. That's all, thank you."

  While I was fighting my way through the crowd, I saw Tom drive up with Greg and Sarah. They must have seen my plight as they drove around the back. I saw them come in the courtroom a few minutes later while I was talking to the Court Coordinator. They stood by the door and waited for me to finish. When I was done, I motioned for them to come forward.

  "Good morning, I guess you saw the mess out front," I said.

  "Luckily we saw them before they saw us," Greg replied.

  "Yeah, I wasn't so lucky."

  "Who are they anyway?" Sarah asked.

  "I don't know, I suspect they're Hudson campaign supporters trying to create a little free publicity for their candidate."

  As we were talking, Howard Hudson entered the courtroom accompanied by Margie Westcott. I excused myself and went over to them.

  "Good morning, Mr. Hudson . . . Margie. Looks like you drummed up a good crowd for a political rally."

  Hudson smiled at me and replied, "I'd like to take the credit, Stan, but I think it was that wonderful article in the National Examiner that got everybody riled up."

  "Of course, you didn't have anything to do with that," I said.

  "Again, I'd like to take the credit, but I can't," Hudson said. "That was someone else's genius."

  "Seriously, I'm worried about this case getting out of hand. All this publicity is going to make it hard for my client to get a fair trial."

  Hudson nodded. "Yes, I'm kind of surprised there is so much interest in this case. We get two or three of these infant murders every year. Usually the press is gone after the first day or two."

  "Well, you obviously need to beef up security," I said. "I don't want my client or anyone in my family getting hurt. It's your duty to make sure everyone associated with the trial is protected."

  "Yes, I heard about Doomsayer. It's shocking that someone would threaten the life of an officer of the court. I understand the Dallas Police are searching for the person responsible for the threats," Hudson said.

  "Yes, they say they are. Who are these picketers anyway? I've never heard of the Children of Despair."

  Hudson picked up a piece of paper, stood up tall and read it quite dramatically, ‘They're a religious organization devoted to protecting innocent children from our increasingly evil society.’ . . . At least that’s what the leaflets they are passing around say. . . . ‘They demand a return to strong religious values, elimination of sex and violence from TV and movies and a return to prayer in the schools.”

  "Right wing vigilantes, huh?" I said.

  "Not at all," Miss Westcott interjected. "They're patriotic Americans who believe in law and order and old-fashioned justice. They're sick and tired of kids getting abandoned, beat up and murdered."

  "How do they feel about violence?"

  "They are totally nonviolent," Miss Westcott said. "They pretty much play by the rules. They've become powerful in this county because they've worked hard, they're well organized and focused on what they want to accomplish. They already have a majority on the school board."

  "Maybe Doomsayer is a renegade," I said.

  "Do you have any evidence that one of them is Doomsayer?" Miss Westcott said.

  "No, it just seems logical."

  "Well Mr. Turner, you're an attorney, you know without evidence you have nothing," Miss Westcott said.

  "I know, forget Doomsayer. I'm not going to let him sidetrack me. When do you want to try this case anyway, sixty days?" I asked.

  "That's fine, we're nearly ready right now," Hudson said. "You sure your client is not interested in our plea offer? She'd get a maximum of twenty years and probably be back on the street in five."

  "It was an exceedingly generous offer and if my client were guilty I would most certainly recommend she take it. However, since she's innocent, she'll have to decline and take her chances with the judge and jury."

  "Okay, it's her funeral."

  As Hudson and I continued to verbally joust, the door to the judge's chamber opened and Judge Brooks entered. The bailiff immediately stood up and said, "All rise!"

  "Be seated," the judge said.

  The judge sat and began to study Sarah's file. Judge Brooks had been born and raised in Texas but had attended law school at Stanford University. He was a noted scholar, frequently lecturing and writing legal articles. Despite his educational background, he ran his court in the tradition of most rural Texas courts, loose and laid back. After a minute he looked up and addressed the attorneys.

  "All right, I'll take announcements."

  "Your honor, Howard Hudson and Margie Westcott for the State," Hudson said.

  "Stan Turner, your honor, for the defendant, Sarah Winters."

  "I assume you're not ready to try this case today."

  "No, Your Honor," Hudson said. "The State is close to being ready, however, we need a little more time to complete some lab work and wrap up our factual investigation."

  "Mr. Turner," the Judge said, "when do you think you'll be ready?"

  "We'd like about sixty days your honor. Our client is undergoing a psychological evaluation and we've got some additional discovery to complete."

  "Very well, I'm going to go ahead and set May 11, 1981 as the trial date. If you're going to plead insanity as a defense, I want that disclosed at least fifteen days before trial."

  "Yes, Your Honor."

  "Due to the gravity of this case, the media interest and the right of the defendant to a speedy trial, I'm going to ask both of you to be ready on May 11. This is a special setting and I won't be granting a continuance–absent some major catastrophe."

  "Yes, Your Honor," I replied.

  "Thank you, Your Honor," Hudson said.

  The judge got up and the bailiff yelled, "All rise!"

  After the hearing, I slipped out a side entrance to the Courthouse and walked quickly to the parking lot. When I got to my car my heart sunk. All of the tires had been slashed, the windows broken and someone had scratched a message on the hood that read:

   

  “Ye shall not escape the vengeance of the Lord. Doomsayer."

   

  I couldn't believe it, my beautiful Corvette scratched to hell. As I stood by my car in shock, a news team s
potted me and came over to see what had happened. They immediately began taking pictures and asking me questions.

  "Mr. Turner, who do you think this Doomsayer is?" a reporter asked.

  "I don't know but if I find out I'm going to kick his ass," I replied. "He'll wish he hadn't messed with me. Damn him!"

  "We understand he's threatened your life, is that true?" he said.

  "Yes, I guess he has."

  "Are you afraid?"

  "Of course I'm afraid, whenever there is a chicken shit lunatic out there lurking about I'm not going to feel very safe. But let me tell you this, nothing will deter me from defending my client. I will not succumb to threats and intimidation."

  As my car was being towed off, I calculated in my mind what it was going to cost to fix it. I figured it would be at least two grand. Unfortunately I didn't have comprehensive coverage on it so I'd have to foot the bill myself. When we paid the Corvette off, we dropped the collision and comprehensive to save money. I figured I was a safe driver and if I got in a wreck it would be the other guy’s fault. What a mistake.

  The next morning I went jogging with Beauty as usual and when I returned the newspaper was sitting on the front porch. I picked it up and went inside to have breakfast. I opened the paper and was startled to see my picture on the front page.

  "Rebekah, come look at this!" I yelled.

  Rebekah came into the kitchen quickly and asked, "What's wrong?"

  "Look at the newspaper."

  Rebekah read the headlines out loud, "WINTER'S DEFENSE COUNSEL'S LIFE THREATENED, CAR VANDALIZED."

  Rebekah picked up the newspaper and began reading the article. When she was done, she handed the newspaper back to me, shook her head and said, "What are we going to do? I'm so worried about you."

  "Nothing, he's just trying to scare me. He wouldn't try to hurt me."

  "How can you be so sure? Look what he did to your beautiful car."

  I shrugged. "Anyway, the police are going to start keeping an eye on all of us. Lt. Meadows said he was going to call someone with the Dallas police to arrange it."

  "I hope they do it soon."

  "They will. I’m sure of it."

  As Rebekah and Stan spoke the doorbell rang. Rebekah went to the door and a uniformed police officer was standing on the porch. “Hello, can I help you?"

  "Yes ma'am, I'm Harvey Robards with the Dallas Police Department, I've been ordered to provide some protection for your family until the Sarah Winter's trial is over."

  "Well, come in Officer Robards," Rebekah said. "I'm very grateful that you're going to be watching out for us. Have you had breakfast?"

  "No ma'am, not yet. I was going to grab a donut later."

  "Well sit down. I’ll get you a cup of coffee and some toast."

  "Thank you."

  "Well, I'm glad you all are taking these threats seriously," I said. "I'd die if anything happened to my family."

  "We'll keep a close eye on them, don't worry."