Authors: Larry D. Thompson
The door to the grand jury room opened, and Irene, the nurse that was fired from Ridglea Oaks, walked out. When she saw Colby, she walked over to stand in front of her. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Stripling. I just told them the truth about what you said that day.” Before Colby could reply, she turned and walked to the elevator.
The door opened again and the bailiff stepped into the hallway. “Mrs. Colby Stripling,” the bailiff said.
Colby, dressed in a plain, black suit and black pumps rose with Jack. She turned to hug him and followed the bailiff. As the door closed, Jack thought he had never felt more helpless. Joe had called him a few days before to advise that the grand jury had taken up the death of Robert Jones and wanted to interview Colby. It was rare for Jack to lose control, but on this occasion he yelled. “Dammit, Joe. What the hell are you trying to do? After all that Colby’s been through, now are you threatening to indict her?”
“Jack, calm down. I’m staying out of this. I have a young prosecutor working with the grand jury. Both Dr. Winston and the medical examiner agree Jones was murdered. The grand jury is mandated to get to the bottom of what happened.”
“Shit, Joe,” Jack exploded. ‘You know as well as I do that if your prosecutor wants an indictment, he’ll just have to ask the right questions. A grand jury would indict a ham sandwich if the prosecutor leads them into it. And the worst thing is that I can’t be in there with her.”
Joe blew out a breath. “I know, Jack. Believe me, I know. She could take the Fifth Amendment; only then they wouldn’t hear her side of what happened and that would almost surely lead to an indictment. I’ve been doing this as long as you. Colby’s smart. She should be able to handle herself.”
Jack slammed down the phone and cussed the system. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the phone. Deep down, he was worried, worried sick that Colby was caught up in the system that was likely to lead to only one result.
When Colby walked into the grand jury room, she was confronted with twenty men and women, supposedly a cross-section of the county, along with the young prosecutor that Joe had mentioned to Jack. To say she was intimidated would have been an understatement. She looked around, not sure what to do until a gray-haired gentleman, dressed in a conservative suit and tie, beckoned her to come forward.
“”Step up, please, Mrs. Stripling.” He smiled. “I’m William Simmons, a retired school principal and the foreman of this grand jury. We’ll try to make this as painless as possible. If you’ll raise your right hand to be sworn, we’ll get started.”
Colby did as she was directed and took the witness seat where she looked around to see who might be asking questions. Jack had warned her that not only the prosecutor but any one of the grand jurors could pepper her with questions.
“Mrs. Stripling, I’m Sam Elliott, an assistant district attorney assigned to this grand jury.” His demeanor was pleasant and professional, but Jack had warned her to be on her guard. “I understand that you were born and raised in Fort Worth and have lived here your whole life. Could you summarize where you went to school and your various jobs?
Not sure where to look as she responded, she chose the foreman as she described her growing up in Monticello, her high school years, the years at TCU and her employment with Allison Southwest followed by her decision to become a realtor.
“You met your husband, Robert Jones during your employment at Allison, is that correct?” Elliott asked
“Yes, sir.”
“And eventually you were married?”
“Well, not eventually, as you put it. We fell in love and were married three months later.”
“Mrs. Stripling,” Elliott interrupted. “Let’s move this along. After several years of marriage, your husband suffered an aneurysm and was in a coma for ten years.”
Colby dabbed her left eye with a tissue. “Yes, sir.”
“Instead of trying to arrange for Medicaid, you chose to pay for his care?”
Colby straightened her back and glared at the prosecutor. “I certainly did, Mr. Elliott. The amount that Medicaid would allow for his care was ridiculous. The facilities that took those patients were so bad you wouldn’t kennel your dog in them.”
“I understand, Mrs. Stripling, you were paying about $5,000 a month for a better facility. We have your bank records and know that was a constant drain on your finances. Isn’t it true that at the time of his death you were four months behind on your payments to Ridglea Oaks?”
Colby looked around the room for help and found none. Instead, she saw a number of the grand jurors staring at her with skepticism on their faces. “That’s true, Mr. Elliott, but I had gotten behind before and always caught up.”
“Exactly, Mrs. Stripling.” Elliott drove in his point. “It was a constant struggle to provide care to your husband.”
“It was a struggle, Mr. Elliott.” Colby raised her voice. “But I did it, and I expected to continue to do it as long as he lived.”
Two of the women grand jurors nodded their understanding of what Colby had gone through and how she had handled such a devastating problem thrust on a young woman.
“And a half a million dollars would have solved a bunch of financial issues with you, right, Mrs. Stripling?” Elliott asked. “You had only sold two houses in the past two years, one in Rivercrest and one tract home where you made a $3,000 commission.”
Colby saw where Elliott was headed and didn’t like it.
Why couldn’t Jack be here
, she thought. “Mr. Elliott, I resent your insinuation. You know my husband and I had taken out mutual life insurance polices on each other shortly after we got married. The premiums were only twenty-five dollars a month. You’re suggesting I wanted him dead. I had spent ten years keeping him alive.”
Elliott was not bothered by her outburst. In fact he expected it. “Now, Mrs. Stripling, the medical examiner has determined that Mr. Jones died somewhere between eight and nine on the night in question. Can you account for your whereabouts during that time?”
Colby tried to control her anger. “I saw my husband earlier that evening and was back at the house by about seven.”
“But, between eight and nine was anyone there with you?”
“No, Mr. Elliott, not until about nine thirty when Jack got home.”
Hard looks greeted her from several of the grand jurors. They clearly weren’t buying her story.
“Home is actually the Rivercrest home of Jackson Bryant?” Foreman Simmons interjected.
“It is, Mr. Simmons. Jack Bryant is a friend of mine. The records before you should reflect that I’ve had several attempts to kill me, including one where my house was destroyed.”
“But, Mrs. Stripling, you moved into Mr. Bryant’s house before your house was burned, and haven’t you been seen about town and at TCU football games with Mr. Bryant. You even shared a suite with him in New Orleans at the Sugar Bowl,” Elliott added. “Seems from all outward appearances that you were more concerned with your relationship with him than with your husband.”
Colby lost it. “Mr. Elliott, you’re a heartless bastard! It’s clear you’ve already decided to charge me with a crime I didn’t do. It doesn’t matter what the truth is about my very platonic relationship with Jack Bryant. Do whatever you damn well please. I’ll deal with it. Now, can I be excused?”
A few days later Jack received a call from Joe Sherrod. “Jack, Joe here. We need to talk. Can I drop by in about fifteen minutes?”
“Sure. It’s one of the few times that the RV’s empty.” Putting down the phone he suspected he knew why Joe was coming. If the grand jury had no-billed Colby, a phone call would have sufficed. Ten minutes later Jack heard a car door slam and Joe entered the RV.
“Come on in. I just made a fresh pot of coffee.” Jack poured two cups and beckoned Joe to sit at the table.
Joe sipped his coffee and set it down. “I don’t like to be doing this. I better just lay it all out on the table.”
“Shoot,” Jack said, now worried about what was coming.
“The grand jury is going to indict Colby.”
“What charge?”
“First degree murder.”
“First degree? Joe, are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“Calm down, will you? I wasn’t involved in any of it, and I’ll have nothing to do with the prosecution. Here’s what the cops say they have.” Joe laid out the grand jury findings.
“No, Joe,” Jack yelled. “Have you forgotten that Rob once worked for Allison Southwest? We’re going to trial in a few weeks, and I think I’ll prove that Allison had about eighteen of his former employees killed to collect on insurance policies. Rob has to be his latest. Your damn cops ought to be looking at him.”
“Jack, calm down. Don’t kill the messenger. Cops here are like cops everywhere. They pick a likely suspect. Rule of thumb is start with the spouse. They built a damn good circumstantial evidence case, and are not about to dismantle it by looking elsewhere. I’m sorry, Jack.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped and his hand trembled as he brought his coffee cup to his lips. Resigned to the inevitable, he asked, “Okay, what do you want me to do?”
“First, Jack, you better win that case and prove just what you’ve said. You do that, and I’ll see that the charges are dropped. Meantime, I need you to bring Colby in. I’ll talk to my assistant who will be handling her case. We’ll make the bond as low as we can without getting criticism from the media. I’ll even call the judge as soon as I get back to the office. With a little luck, she’ll only be in a holding cell for a few hours.”
Jack drove home and found Colby on her computer at the kitchen table. Colby smiled as Jack entered and got up to greet him.
“Colby, you better sit down. Another shoe has just dropped.”
Jack told her about his conversation with Joe. When he finished, Colby buried her head in her and cried quietly. Jack walked around the table and put his hand on her shoulder. When she composed herself, she looked up. “Jack, I’m not sure how much more I can take. First someone has been trying to kill me. Then my house is torched. Now I’m getting indicted for murder. What am I going to do?”
Jack gently pulled Colby to her feet and put his arms around her. “You’re going to be okay. I told Joe I’d take you down to the police station. I’ll get you out on bond as soon as it’s set. Then, we’re going to win June’s lawsuit. Once I prove Allison is the one behind these murders, Joe said he would drop the charges. You have my word that we’re going to win.” As Jack made the promise, he realized it was one that he might not be able to keep.
Joe had already called the booking desk and alerted them that Colby was coming in. After being fingerprinted and photographed, Colby was escorted to a holding cell adjoining Judge Butler’s courtroom. Jack made his way to the courtroom and waited until Judge Butler called Colby’s name. When she was led from the holding cell to the bench, Jack joined her. A young prosecutor approached and stood on the other side of Colby.
“Your Honor, I’m Jackson Bryant, Ms. Stripling’s lawyer.”
Judge Butler nodded. “Ms. Stripling, the State is charging you with murder in the first degree. Are you prepared to enter a plea at this time or would you prefer to defer?”
“We can enter a plea right now, Judge,” Jack said. “The plea is not guilty.”
“I need to hear that from your client, Mr. Bryant.”
“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Colby said in a quiet monotone.
“Very well.” The judge turned to the prosecutor. “I understand the prosecution has a recommendation as to bail.”
“Yes, Your Honor. We recommend bail be set at $250,000.”
“That’s acceptable to the defendant, Judge. I’ll be putting up a cash bond by wire transfer. I believe I can have it in the district’s clerk’s bank account in no more than two hours.”
“If you’re going to post bond that fast, I’ll permit Ms. Stripling just to wait in my holding cell rather than be returned to the general population. You’re excused, Mr. Bryant, to go to the District Clerk’s office and complete the necessary paperwork. I’ll have the clerk call me when the bail money is transferred.”
When they got home that evening, Colby collapsed on a chair in the living room.
“Now what?” she asked.
“I’ve called Jacob Van Buren. He’s going to appear as co-counsel and will handle anything that comes up until we get through with June’s trial. I don’t want you thinking that I’m abandoning you to take care of June. You understand how important it is that we win her trial, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. If she wins, I win, too. Don’t worry about me. Your plate is full for the next several weeks. I’ll help anyway I can.”
The next day a headline appeared in the city section of the
Star Telegram
. SOCIALITE INDICTED IN MURDER OF HUSBAND. The story described the indictment and facts that led to it. Jack read it and concluded that the details had been leaked by one of the detectives or a prosecutor. Jack considered calling Hampton to put their version in front of the public, but reconsidered, thinking that it would accomplish very little. Far better just let it fade from public attention as most murder cases did until trial approached. That would be six months to a year away. By then he planned to have the charges dropped.
The problem was Colby. She withdrew to her bedroom, coming out only when he and J.D. were talking about June’s case to try to be a member of the team. On one occasion Jack suggested getting professional counseling. Colby shook her head and quietly went back to her room.
On the Monday morning two weeks before trial Jack arrived at an almost deserted parking lot at seven forty-five. For some reason the judge had scheduled the hearing at eight, and there were very few cars in the lot with even fewer people on the street. That, of course, would change in an hour. Jack parked Lucille and grabbed his briefcase and cane. He had decided that it was time to impress the judge with his attire; so he was dressed in the suit he wore when he got his last big verdict in Beaumont and carried his Bat Masterson cane. The light at the corner turned red as he reached the street, and he was thinking about his argument while he waited for it to change.
“Mr. Bryant…”
Jack had tried not to show it, but his nerves had been on edge even before Colby’s murder charge. Now they were taut like the strings on a banjo. He swirled, ready to drop his briefcase and launch an attack with his cane. The man behind him had no visible weapon.
“Cool it, Mr. Bryant, I’m unarmed. I’m here to tell you that you are not welcome to practice law in Fort Worth any more. If you want to stay here, you’ll be better off just watching your son play football. Otherwise, you may regret it.”
Jack turned full face to the man who had long brown hair, a beard and glasses. Clearly not a lawyer, he was dressed in black jeans and a blue western shirt with snaps for buttons.
“Look, you son of a bitch, I don’t know who the fuck you are and don’t care. Whoever told you to deliver your message, you tell him that I’ll practice wherever I damn well please. If he doesn’t like it, shove it. That clear?”
Hawk smiled. “Just delivering the message, Mr. Bryant. You have a good day.”
Jack turned to walk across the street just as the light changed to yellow.
Shit, the stakes can’t get much higher. I’m on my way to try to convince the judge we need the other dead peasant policies, evidence that may get the charges against Colby dismissed and win June’s case. I’m confronted with the guy that matches the sketch done by the New Orleans police department. It can’t be a coincidence. Someone wants me to drop this case and this motion. That narrows it down to one man.
When he got to McDowell’s courtroom, he saw Leyton and beckoned him out into the hall.
“What the fuck are you and Allison trying to do?”
Leyton looked at him with blank eyes. “I don’t have a clue what you are talking about.”
Jack relayed what had just occurred, sparks flying from his eyes.
“Look, I didn’t have anything to do with it, and I can guarantee you that my client didn’t either.” Leyton stared at Jack like he had lost his mind and returned to the courtroom.
Jack entered the courtroom and realized that there were no lawyers present on other matters. For whatever reason, his motion was the only one set. He walked through the gate to the counsel table opposite Leyton and laid his cane on the table. Then he opened his briefcase and took out his motion. When he took his seat, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, requiring him to take a few slow, deep breaths before the thumping disappeared. The judge came out of his chambers without an announcement by the bailiff. Both lawyers rose as McDowell climbed to his bench.
“Mr. Leyton and Mr. Bryant, you may come forward.”
When they approached the bench, Judge McDowell asked, “Mr. Bryant, are you feeling all right? You’re sweating and your face is flushed. Should we wait a few minutes before we hear your matter?”
“No, Judge,” Jack said. “I’m fine. May I proceed?”
McDowell nodded his head.
“Judge, we have filed a motion for production of any dead peasant policies…I apologize, Your Honor…I meant life policies on former employees of Allison Southwest. It’s a simple motion. In fact, I’ll settle for a computer run of the names of the persons insured, the amounts, when the policies were taken out and current status. Should be able to be produced with a few computer strokes.”
“Mr. Leyton?” Judge McDowell said as he turned to face the other lawyer.
“Judge, there are a multitude of problems with this request. First, there are privacy issues with the persons insured and their beneficiaries. Next, what possible relevance could there be about other policies on other Allison Southwest employees? We’re here dealing with who is entitled to the benefits of one policy on William Davis.”
“Judge, if I can explain,” Jack said, his voice rising. “Discovery is permissible in this state if the results of the discovery may potentially lead to relevant evidence. We have pled under the Insurance Code and the Deceptive Trade Practices Act that Allison Southwest has engaged in a pattern and practice that is illegal and can lead to punitive damages. The only way we can prove it is to know the names of other employees who Allison has insured and then discover whether they or their loved ones knew if the policies exist. As to the beneficiaries, we believe that the only beneficiary on all of the policies will be Allison Southwest. We can also determine whether the other employees actually signed these so-called employment agreements as Allison claims that Willie Davis signed. And, of course, we will agree to a confidentiality order, restricting my team from disclosing the names of the employees and any personal information about them until the court approves such disclosure.”
“Mr. Bryant,” the judge said, making no effort to control the volume of his voice. “It looks to me like this is nothing more than a fishing expedition with no hope of ever landing anything other than a couple of minnows. Besides, I promised Mr. Leyton that we would be going to trial in two weeks. If I grant this motion, all it will lead to will be more discovery and a delay in the trial. That’s not going to happen. Your motion is overruled. Good day, counsel.”
Jack knew when he was beat. It suddenly hit him that Leyton had set up this early morning hearing with the judge to avoid other lawyers and litigants from hearing the discussion about the dead peasant policies. Was it also set up at this time so that he could be threatened on the street without anyone overhearing? He turned on his cane, went to counsel table where he loaded his briefcase, and banged the railing gate as he left the courtroom.