Vendetta Stone (31 page)

Wolfe’s
fall had been broken, too. Suspended some thirty-five feet above Jackson was the impaled body of Delmore Remus Wolfe. The spear of Athena, the goddess of wisdom and prudent warfare, struck him square in the chest. Shocked eyes registered his final surprise, and lifeless orbs stared as his mouth hung open.

Red reached Jackson first, with me a close second. Bringing up the rear, the two policemen arrived in time to witness his near-fatal plummet.

“
Man, I’m sure glad to see you alive,” Red said.

“Me too,”
Jackson said and passed out. Another ambulance arrived and took him away.

As Chief King and more police cars arrived, I stepped
back unnoticed and then moved to a quiet corner of the downstairs art gallery. I first called my wife to assure her and say I’d be home late, then phoned my city editor, Carrie Sullivan, with the breaking news. She first fired off emails to the publisher and executive editor, telling them of my safety, then ordered every available reporter and photographer to Centennial Park. But editors and reporters read over Carrie’s shoulder while she pounded out my dictation about the final Parley at the Parthenon, as the next morning’s headline trumpeted it.

I composed my thoughts and began.

“Open paragraph. A miracle occurred at the Parthenon on Thursday morning. Period. New paragraph. Less than a week after swearing vengeance against the man who brutally murdered his wife Angela comma Nashville’s Jackson Stone survived a final showdown with an as yet unidentified man who tracked Stone to Centennial Park and tried to add another victim to his bizarre Nashville killing spree. Period. New paragraph. The confrontation in a driving rain ended with Stone surviving a seventy-foot fall through the Parthenon’s new sunroof and his assailant’s death by impalement as he landed on the spear of Athena. Period. New paragraph. Stone comma injured in the fall comma was rushed to a nearby hospital. Period. The extent of his injuries is not yet known. Period. New paragraph. Check back at TenneScene Today Dot Com for updates. Period. Close.”

“Incredible! Great job,
Gerry,” said Carrie, breathless and giddy at the same time. “Help’s on the way. Call back when you’ve got an update.”

Jack
son Stone’s ordeal was almost over, but mine had just begun. That’s how newspapers work. I had interviews to conduct, facts to gather, deadlines to meet. It would be a long year.

It’s Monday, February 13, 2012, and Jackson Stone’s trial ended last Friday at ten fifteen a.m., following four days of testimony and one overnight of deliberations. Yes, there was a trial following the Showdown at the Parthenon, as it came to be called. Some people didn’t think there should have been a prosecution. They thought Jackson was a hero. But law enforcement couldn’t—or wouldn’t—let a man go around making threats about getting vengeance.

I spent the rest of Friday talking to witnesses, lawyers, poli
cemen, and jurors, then headed to the office. Our comprehensive coverage for the Saturday paper included a mainbar from me, sidebars from Shelley Finklestein and Tony Smith, columnist Cheryl Hanson’s perspective, a breaking news editorial, six color photos, three informational breakouts, and a timeline chart.

After covering the trial for the pap
er, I began organizing all the pieces of the puzzle—all the information, evidence, journal entries of the killer, and charges against Jackson Stone. Like I said earlier, I was just a reporter who got a little too close and became part of the story. Now that story was mine to tell.

Be
low is a recap of the aftermath.

Delmore Wolfe

Wolfe’s identity remained
a mystery at first. His fingerprints were not on file anywhere, and no photographs existed besides the newspaper and the coroner’s.

The old blue Firebird with Arkansas plates was not registered in Wolfe’s real name. Wolfe’s identity was finally revealed following the discovery of his journals, when the Dickerson Pike motel day clerk called police a week after the showdown, after he saw a picture of t
he man in room thirty six on
Ed and Tara
.

Jackson Stone’s Recovery

An ambulance crew stabilized Jackson’s ribs, hip, and leg immediately after the fall and transported him to the emergency room at Centennial Hospital
, just across the street from the park. Surgeons inserted a steel rod into his right leg, broken in three places. The hip easily popped back into place, with no nerve damage. Doctors taped ribs, cleaned up facial cuts, and diagnosed a concussion. Jackson spent a month convalescing at his brother’s house before the hard cast came off, and he wore a walking cast for another month. Then he went to rehab every other day for another three months.

Today, he still walks with a slight limp
.

Charges against Jackson Stone

The investigation continued well into 2011 as the district attorney’s office filled an entire storage room with evidence of atrocities committed by Delmore Wolfe, as well as mounting evidence against Jackson. The DA listened to Jackson’s explanations, along with Allenby’s pleas, and weighed evidence against Jack
son. On October 14, 2011, the district attorney called a press conference to announce formal charges against Jackson Stone. He asked that bail be set at two hundred thousand dollars since Jackson had no prior convictions and did not seem a flight risk. Jackson’s brother posted his bail, set at fifty thousand.

The Judgment of Jackson Stone

The court
convened at 9 a.m., on Monday, February 6, 2012, with Judge Morris Wright presiding. District Attorney Logan Trulowicz studied the eight-man, four-woman jury. He would have preferred an all-male jury for this trial, concerned that women would be more sympathetic to Jackson’s cause of trying to avenge his wife. Three of the men were black, as were two women. A third female juror was Hispanic, and the fourth white.

“Justice is why we’re here,” Trulowicz said. “
Justice
 is what Jackson Stone, in his own words, said he did 
not
 want when he held his press conference on August thirteen of two thousand and ten. He wanted revenge, ladies and gentlemen. 
Not
 justice.

“That, in itself, is a premeditated action, and Mister Stone is fortunate to not have been charged with first degree murder. But he is here on a lesser charge of voluntary manslaughter. Why? The law is not without compassion, and Mister Stone already paid a great price with the loss of his wife, Angela. But that does not . . . that cannot . . . excuse his actions and wanton disregard for the law. You men, you women, today you are the dispensers of justice. Today, you are the defenders of justice.”

The prosecutor explained why they were there, and the stakes.

“The state intends to show that the charge of voluntary manslaughter is the justice that Mister Stone deserves for his actions that morning at Centennial Park. He
must
be held accountable for the death of another individual, no matter how despicable a monster that other person was. Jackson Stone is on trial here today, 
not
Delmore Remus Wolfe. You must keep that in your thoughts at all times.

“
We will prove that Mister Stone knew his actions would be dangerous, and that he acted with reckless disregard, and that his actions resulted in the death of another human being. He plainly stated that desire when he said he wanted revenge for the death of his wife, not justice. He was unwilling to let the police act, to let the court system act, to mete out justice. You must not allow that attitude to prevail. You must cast aside your feelings and your sympathies for the loss of his wife, and act as the impartial arbiters of the law.”

One of four panelists who spoke with the media after the trial ended, Juror number five said he felt troubled by what he perceived as Jackson’s blatant disregard for the law, that he had always instructed his two children daily to abide in the law and practice good citizenship. Now the defense asked the self-employed insurance agent to free a man who stepped outside the law to pursue an admitted course of vengeance. He tried to reconcile those feelings, he said.

Juror number nine, a large black man with an intellectual air
, who wore glasses, was a tenured aerospace professor at Tennessee State University. He wanted to hear all the evidence before making up his mind, doing his best to remain impartial.

Junior number twelve, the
Hispanic woman, stood tall in the closed deliberations despite her diminutive stature. A forty-year-old, fifth grade schoolteacher in Antioch, she said the turning point came at eleven-thirty last Thursday night, when they broke for the night and returned to their hotel rooms to sleep on it. The next morning, after breakfast together, they returned to deliberations and returned a unanimous verdict within an hour.

“Basically, I just reminded (juror number
five) of the defense attorney’s opening remarks,” she said. “He laid his cards on the table and didn’t try to Bee-Ess us none.”

Stan Allenby rose to address the jury, knowing the DA scored some points, but he remained confident that he could sway the panel back toward Jackson. Allenby’s strategy proved effective. The jury seemed impressed with the no-nonsense attorney’s passionate defense of Jackson. Allenby flailed his arms like swatting at flies.

“First, forget any temporary insanity plea. We reject that defense and demand nothing less than twelve verdicts of not guilty.”

He squinted and began his own slow, methodical walk before the jury, looking each member in the eye, sizing them up as he paused in front of each of the twelve.

“Not guilty,” Allenby said righteously to the first one.

“Not guilty,” he indignantly proclaimed to the second and followed with ten more paces and ten more stares.

“Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty.”

When he reached the end of the jury box, he shook a finger at his client, and all eyes followed him.

“We will show why you should set Jackson free,
declaring him not guilty to all the world. We are asking a great deal, I understand, and it is not something we ask of you lightly.

“The alternative to finding Jackson Stone not guilty is to do as the district attorney asks and find Jackson Stone guilty of voluntary manslaughter. The alternative is to send Jackson off to jail, to punish him and put him in shackles for the next several years of his life. Jackson does not deserve that fate, but it is all up to you twelve men and women.

“If after weighing all the facts, you can find Jackson guilty of the crimes for which he has been charged, then Jackson is ready to accept his punishment.”

The attorney straightened his backbone and continued. “But Jackson is a strong man, and while he does not wish to lose his freedom, he will not lose his convictions. His faith sustained him throughout this ordeal, and he convinced me that what he did was with the noblest of intentions. It’s my job to convince you, to
explain
 to you, why Jackson does not deserve prison.”

Allenby smiled and patted his chest.

“Me? I think Jackson deserves a medal and a ticker-tape parade down Broadway. If you want to see insane, let’s focus on the killer this trial is really about. Delmore Remus Wolfe. District Attorney Trulowicz wants you to see this case in black and white, following the letter of the law. He doesn’t want you to think about the devil, Wolfe, no longer on this earth. He doesn’t want you to see the faces of Wolfe’s fifty-plus victims, including Angela Stone, Sarah Fletcher, and Herb Fletcher here in Nashville.

“But I say to you, remember each and every victim. Don’t you dare forget them, and don’t let Jackson Stone become the final victim of Delmore Remus Wolfe. Here’s why Jackson Stone should be allowed to go free.”

For effect, Allenby counted off the reasons for “not guilty” votes on each finger.

“One, Jackson Stone did not stalk Delmore Wolfe. Jackson didn’t even know the killer’s identity when Delmore Wolfe tracked him to the Parthenon that morning.

“Two, Jackson Stone acted in a responsible manner, invoking his right to make a citizen’s arrest when no police were around. Delmore Wolfe had attacked another innocent woman inside the Parthenon, and only Jackson Stone could prevent his escape.

“Three, the gun with Jackson’s fingerprints on it was a war relic he brought along for protection. His wife and neighbors had been murdered, so it seemed reasonable to think his life might be in danger. And that gun, in fact, saved Jackson’s life when used to block the killing knife blow that Wolfe aimed for Jackson’s midsection.

“Four, Jackson Stone did
not
kill Delmore Wolfe. Wolfe did that to himself atop the Parthenon while trying to crush Jackson’s head with his steel-toed boot. He missed and broke the sunroof, causing Jackson to plunge seventy feet, dislocate his hip, and break his leg in three places. The exhibit, Athena’s spear, broke Delmore Wolfe’s fall, and he died—a shame for those of us seeking justice, because 
he’s
 the one who should be on trial here, not Jackson Stone.”

The emotional lawyer wound it down, bringing his knees together and putting his hands together as if praying, speaking quietly.

“I humbly ask you for an acquittal of Jackson Stone. Let him try to rebuild his life the way doctors rebuilt his shattered leg. Send him home with his family and friends. Stand up, and strike a blow for justice. Thank you.”

District Attorney Trulowicz called Chief King, Sergeant Whitfield, and several other material witnesses to the stand. On cross-examination, Allenby would hammer at his own strategy, suggesting self-defense without calling it such. The last exchange with Chief King proved another turning point.

“Chief King, would you call Jackson Stone’s behavior criminal?” Allenby asked.

“Yes sir . . . and no sir,” the large policeman said, squirming in the tight witness box. The answer made the DA squirm, too. He had counted on Chief King to help nail down a conviction.

“I find that a bit confusing, sir. Can you clarify your answer for us?”

“Jackson Stone’s words were inflammatory, divisive, and threatening on several levels,” King said. “I warned him personally, and at my own press conference that the law is the law, and that he must obey it like anyone else. I
warned that any actions on his part could result in charges like the ones he is facing. It concerned me that his actions would impel others to follow his lead, and the streets of Nashville would become a bigger shooting gallery than they already are.”

In this shrewd game of high-stakes poker with Jackson’s life on the line, Allenby played his ace in the hole. “Chief King, would you call Jackson Stone a criminal?”

“No sir,” the police chief answered, refusing to look at the glaring district attorney.

Allenby did not vis
ibly smile, but his eyes sparkled as he faced the jury.

“What, Chief King, would you call Jack?”

This time the police chief spoke to the glaring prosecutor, matching him stare for stare.

“I would call him a hero.”

If Trulowicz felt concerned, he didn’t show it as the prosecution rested its case.

The defense attorney took over, and called a number of character witnesses, including
Doctor Erica Karnoff, Reverend Armstrong, Jimmy (Big Red) Boyle, Patrick and Sheila Stone, and Louie the bartender.

They all testified to the mental state of Jackson Stone during that period, that nothing they did or said could sway Jackson from pursuing the course of action that he did, and how much they loved, admired, and respected him for what he’d done.

Then, to the surprise of many, Allenby called Jackson Stone to the stand.

Allenby breezed through his portion, asking Jackson to clarify several points about how he wrestled with his faith when he decided to go down that road, and whether he ever intended to carry out his stated goal of vengeance.

“That’s a tough one to answer, but I’ll try to explain. It wasn’t that I thought the police couldn’t find Angela’s killer, or that I could do their job better. I just wanted to make something happen. She deserved that much, if I wanted to live with myself.”

“How did you try to lure Angela’s murderer out into the open, Jack?”
 

Jackson fidgeted like Chief King in the witness box, knowing he must make the DA,
the judge, the jury, and fellow Nashvillians understand his going public with a professed vendetta.

“Simply, I made myself a target,” Jackson said. “The murderer had killed and gone into hiding, and I just tried to flush him out.”

He went on to explain hunting trips with his father and the lessons his father taught him.

“My dad and I were out one fall Saturday hunting in northwest Davidson County when I was ten or eleven,” Jackson recounted. “We heard a couple of shots, and a few minutes later we came across two hunters standing over a big buck that one bagged with his rifle. My dad saw the salt block used to lure the deer into the open.”