Waiting for Morning (32 page)

“Tom Ryan was a family man, active in his church, involved in the lives of his daughters. Each summer he and the girls took a camping trip, sort of a summer’s end hurrah. They would fish and hike and boat, but those trips weren’t about the number of trout they caught. They were about building love and relationships. Something at which Tom Ryan was brilliant.”

Matt looked at the photo once more. “Alicia was just fifteen when she died at Brian Wesley’s hands. She was on the verge of everything wonderful in life. She was active in student government, a cheerleader whose smile made an impact on everyone around her.”

Hannah shifted her gaze to the defense attorney. He was busy making notations on a pad of legal paper. Probably trying to appear disinterested in Matt’s statement.

Matt continued. “Dr. Ryan left behind his other daughter, Jenny, a twelve-year-old who has had trouble smiling since the accident. A young girl who will never know the security of having Daddy waiting at home when she goes on a date. A girl whose dad will not be there to walk her down the aisle when she gets married. A very sad, very troubled girl who once was the picture of carefree innocence.”

Hannah could see tears sparkling in the eyes of two female jurors. Matt turned his attention back to Hannah as he crossed the courtroom and passed the photo button back to her. He kept his focus on her as he continued. “And of course there is Hannah Ryan. Tom and Hannah were childhood sweethearts.” He smiled sadly. “In all her life, there has never been—” Matt looked deeper into Hannah’s eyes, and again she felt a connection she couldn’t explain—“probably never will be anyone for her but Tom Ryan.”

“Hannah lost her husband and her best friend, her confidante, the father of her children. The man around whom she had built her life.” Hannah felt a strange tugging at her heart, and she directed her gaze at her wedding ring. Matt was right. There could never be anyone else.

Matt looked at the jurors and strolled toward them again. “I am here to prove to each of you that what happened to the Ryan family was not—absolutely
not
—an accident.”

Matt put one hand on the railing in front of the jury, the other in his pants pocket. He leaned forward, facing the jurors squarely. Then his gaze traveled to Brian Wesley, who sat,
white-faced, his hands on the table before him. When Matt finally spoke, his voice rang with sincerity. “Don’t let Mr. Wesley, or anyone else who chooses to drink and drive, get away with murder.” Matt straightened, nodding to the jury. “Set a standard that other prosecutors can follow. A penalty that will save lives.”

He nodded toward them politely. “Thank you.”

Hannah caught only fragments of Harold Finch’s opening statement. Something about being deeply troubled at the thought of drunk driving being a murder-one offense and how anyone might make such a mistake. She wasn’t really listening. Her thoughts were still swimming from all that Matt had said.

She realized Finch was winding up and sat up straighter in her seat, determined to pay attention. “Mr. Wesley had suffered through a bad morning. He’d been laid off from his job and didn’t know how to tell his wife.” Finch hesitated. “What happened? What happens to a lot of people when they get bad news? He wound up at the bar. He had a few drinks, thought about his troubles, and set out for home.”

Finch stood up straighter and hiked his suit pants back into place. “What happened between the bar and his front door was not something Mr. Wesley intended. So what was it?” He paused. “It was an accident. An
accident.”
Finch’s expression was one of great regret. He shook his head sadly. “Yes, Mr. Wesley made poor decisions. And yes, as a result, there was an accident.”

Finch scratched his forehead absently, as though momentarily lost in thought. His hand fell back to his side and he stared at the jurors. “If you decide that drunk driving is akin to first-degree murder, you must understand that the next person involved in such an accident might be you, or the guy next to you. It might be the PTA mother out with the girls, or maybe the hardworking father sharing a few drinks with his buddies over an afternoon football game.”

Carol shook her head angrily and leaned toward Hannah. “Like that would make it okay?”

Before Hannah could agree, anger filled Finch’s voice. “You and I know the truth, don’t we?
We
don’t need three weeks of evidence. Lumping someone who makes a mistake, someone who drinks and then drives, into the same category as gun-wielding bank robbers and vicious gang members is ludicrous. Utterly ludicrous.”

Tears filled Hannah’s eyes and she hung her head. She could see Tom and Alicia and Jenny as they’d loaded the Explorer with sleeping bags and coolers and fishing poles. They’d been so happy, laughing and teasing each other about who was the best fisherman. She remembered hugging them, feeling them in her arms before they pulled away, one at a time, and began the journey that would destroy their family forever.

Brian Wesley
was
an intentional killer, and Hannah wanted to tell that to the jurors before they forgot everything Matt had already said.

Unable to bear it, she wept softly, covering her face with her hands. As Harold Finch took his seat, Carol placed an arm around Hannah and rubbed her back gently. Distantly Hannah heard the judge dismiss the court until later that afternoon. Then before she could collect herself, Hannah heard Matt’s voice … felt his tender hand on her shoulder.

“Hannah …”

She looked up and accepted a tissue from Carol. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Matt removed his hand and stooped down to her level. “Don’t worry, Hannah. Finch didn’t say anything I didn’t expect.” Hannah sighed and adjusted the photo button on her lapel. “Did they get a good look at Tom and Alicia?”

Matt nodded and Hannah saw the sadness in his eyes. “They did.” He hesitated. “Come on. Let’s get a bite to eat. I need to get back in an hour to meet with the first few witnesses.”

As she rose to follow Matt and Carol from the courtroom, Hannah thought about calling Jenny … but there wasn’t time.
Her closest friends in this, her new world, were waiting for her; and so, anchored by their support, she walked past the pay phone without a backward glance.

Twenty-six

Even when I call out or cry for help he shuts out my prayer.
He has barred my way with blocks of stone; he has made my paths
crooked. Like a bear lying in wait, like a lion in hiding, he dragged
me from the path and mangled me and left me without help
.

L
AMENTATIONS
3:8–10

Court resumed at 2
P.M.
and Matt called his first witness.

Rae McDermott, the waitress from Sal’s Diner, took the stand. She related the events that led up to the accident. She told the court how she was getting ready to leave for the day when she spotted a white truck speeding east along Ventura Boulevard, approaching Fallbrook.

“From where you stood, were you able to see the traffic signal, Ms. McDermott?” Matt spoke from a place midway between the jury box and the witness stand. He looked down, apparently checking his notes.

“Yes, I could see the traffic signal clearly.”

He nodded. “What color was it?”

“Red. It was a red light.” Rae glanced disdainfully at Wesley. Hannah could have hugged her.

“So … you watched the defendant, Mr. Wesley, drive his white truck through a red light, is that right?”

Finch was on his feet. “Objection, your honor. Prosecutor is leading the witness. She said the light was red when she looked out, not when the defendant passed through the intersection.”

Judge Horowitz looked bored by the interruption. Hannah could have hugged him, too. “Overruled. Continue Mr. Bronzan.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Matt glanced back at the witness. “What color was the light when the defendant drove his truck through the intersection, Ms. McDermott?”

She jutted her chin out and spoke in a clear, condemning tone. “The light was
red
. It was red as he approached, red when he drove through, and red when he barreled into the Explorer. It was red the whole time.”

She shot Harold Finch a glare, and Hannah almost burst into applause.

“And after the impact?” Matt asked.

“I hurried toward the Explorer and began working with two other motorists to help the victims.” She shook her head, clucking sadly. “That poor little girl—”

“Objection, your honor!” Finch bellowed. “Please ask the witness to confine her answers to the questions asked!”

The judge nodded and looked at Rae kindly. “The witness will please answer the questions and refrain from elaborating.”

Rae smiled up at the judge. “Whatever you say, your honor, sir.” Then she shot another glare at Finch.

Matt stared down at his notes again, and Hannah thought she caught a glimpse of a smile. But when he looked up, he was all business. “At some point did the defendant exit his white truck and make his way toward you and the two motorists?”

“Yes.”

“Did anything about the defendant suggest to you that he’d been drinking?”

Finch jumped up. “Objection! The defendant had just been involved in a severe traffic accident. It would be impossible for a bystander to know whether the defendant had been drinking or whether he was merely injured in the accident.”

Judge Horowitz considered that. “Sustained. Rephrase the question, Mr. Bronzan.”

Matt moved closer to the woman on the stand. “What do you remember about the defendant when he approached you after the collision that afternoon?”

“He stunk.”

Rae’s answer brought a few muffled giggles from the jurors. Hannah glanced at the panel.
Good
. They liked Rae McDermott. Matt waited for the court to be silent again. “He … stunk? Can you elaborate for the court, please?”

“Sure.” She flipped her hair back. “I work at a diner, serve drinks to half the people all day long. Heck, done so all my life. The defendant—” she cast another contemptuous glance at Brian—“smelled like booze.”

“Booze
as in alcoholic beverages? Wine …? Beer …? That kind of thing?”

She nodded firmly. “He smelled like beer. In fact, if I were a bettin’ woman, I’d say he’d had himself a case of beer before getting in that truck.”

“Objection!
Your honor, there’s no way this witness can possibly know how much alcohol, if any, the defendant consumed before getting in his truck.”

Judge Horowitz looked slightly amused. “Sustained. The jury will disregard the last part of the witness’s answer.”

Hannah drew a deep breath and felt a wave of exhilaration. The judge’s warning was too late. The jury already had the image in their minds—Brian Wesley stumbling out of his car, reeking of alcohol. There was nothing a judge could say to undo the mental picture.

Matt continued. “Ms. McDermott, can you identify the man you saw that day, the man who drove through the red light, crashed into the Explorer, exited his truck, and then made his way toward you and the two motorists. The man who smelled like beer.”

“Sure thing.” Rae pointed toward Brian Wesley. “He’s sitting right over there.”

“Thank you, no further questions.”

When Finch was through cross-examining, it was four o’clock, and Judge Horowitz dismissed court until Monday. Hannah stood—and suddenly she was surrounded by members
of the media, many whom she recognized from her work with victim impact panels. A chorus of voices vied for her attention.

“Hannah, was there anything that surprised you about the opening statements?”

“Do you have any comments on Harold Finch’s suggestion that a guilty verdict would set a dangerous precedent?”

“Are you happy with the prosecutor’s approach?”

“Do you have any predictions about a verdict?”

She had become a media darling, and she handled their questions like a professional, understanding why they were drawn to her. The media saw her as the beautiful, angry widow with a cause. They liked her, and they played her point of view perfectly in the press. She took time with them gladly and left only when Matt appeared in the distance and motioned for her.

He smiled at her. “Do you have a few minutes?”

She was breathless from speaking before the television cameras, rocked with feelings that ranged from anxious anticipation over the trial, bitter hatred toward Finch and Brian Wesley, and a cavernous sense of loss.

What she should do was go home. Spend time resting … time with Jenny. Still …

Spending time with Matt was extremely appealing. He was safe and kind and on her side. He didn’t fault her for her involvement with victim impact panels, and he didn’t badger her to read Scripture. He was her friend, and now—in the wake of a flood of emotion—she wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place and talk with him.

She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got time, why?”

“I thought we could talk, brainstorm about how the trial might go and how things went today.” He began walking down the corridor, and she fell into step beside him.

“Okay. Let’s go outside though. It’s stuffy in here.”

Matt nodded. “You’re right. We’ll spend enough time inside over the next few weeks.”

They headed for the stairs, and as she had earlier, for a
moment Hannah considered Jenny, home alone, despondent. A nagging voice reminded her that she should go home and try to make amends in their relationship, but she had no patience for Jenny’s self-pity. She was tired of trying and too busy fighting the war for justice. The trial would be over soon enough. There would be time then for mending the bond between them.

“Thinking about Jenny?” Matt gazed down at her as they moved out into the courtyard.

How could a man who barely knew her be so perceptive.
He’s a Christian
. The thought came before she could stop it.
He’s an attorney
, she silently retorted. “Yeah. She should be here.”

“You’re angry with her, aren’t you?” Matt lowered himself onto a graffiti-smattered cement bench, leaving plenty of space for Hannah. She sat at the other end and turned to face him.