Waiting for Morning (12 page)

But as he sat at his government-issued desk, in his cramped office at the Criminal Courts Building, Matt Bronzan also felt a deep-rooted surge of excitement. This was the case he’d been waiting for.
The People v Brian Wesley
would change California drunk driving laws forever.

There was a knock at the door, and Sgt. John Miller poked his head inside. “Busy?”

“Hmmm. Come on in.”

Sgt. Miller pulled up a chair and sat opposite the prosecutor, leaning back so that the chair’s front two legs came up off the ground. “Heard you got the Wesley case.”

Matt lifted the stack of paperwork on his desk and let it fall down again. “Right here. Got it this morning.”

“First time you heard about it?”

“No. Read about it in the papers. I asked for it.”

Sgt. Miller crossed his arms and drew a deep breath. “Then there won’t be a plea?”

Matt sat back in his chair and leveled his gaze at the sergeant. “Not a chance.”

There was silence a moment, then Sgt. Miller stood and paced toward the window. He stood staring through the dirty glass.

“I was there, you know. Saw the dead girl. Watched her sister lifted onto a stretcher and placed in an ambulance. Stayed with their father until they took him to the hospital.” Miller remained motionless, his back to Matt. “Mr. Ryan knew he wasn’t going to make it, Matt. Made me promise to tell his wife and girls he loved them.”

With a sigh, Miller spun around. “I don’t want to see Wesley walk.”

Matt glanced down and sorted through the photos on his desk. He found one of Alicia taken at the accident scene, her face bloodied, eyes closed. He thought then of the mother who had lost both her husband and oldest daughter in a single instant. “He’s not going to walk. I can promise you that.”

Sgt. Miller nodded. “I know you’re a believer, Matt. And I know it isn’t politically correct to talk about such things on the job. But the man’s wife, Hannah Ryan, she’s a Christian. The other girl, Jenny, is home now, and social services tells me things aren’t good. Hannah’s turning away help from her
church; she’s bitter and angry and barely notices Jenny. It’s a mess.”

Matt sighed and set the picture down. “It always is. Sometimes the anger kills you.”

Sgt. Miller looked uncomfortable. “I know you’re busy, Matt, but maybe you could give her a call, Hannah Ryan, I mean. Set her up with someone at MADD, give her some direction.”

“Sure. I could do that. Her number’s here somewhere.”

“Good. Well, I gotta run. Let me know if you get a trial on this thing. I’ll testify whenever you need me.”

Matt thanked him and watched him leave. Then he picked up the photo of the girl and studied her face once more. It was there all right. Something about the nose or the cheek bones, maybe the shape of her face. Victoria Stevens all over again. Beautiful, intelligent Victoria—

Matt stopped the train of thought. He refused to dwell on Victoria. Instead he studied Alicia’s picture again and sighed. What would it be like to have a daughter like this? And to lose her? He was forty-one and married to his job, so he’d had no time for relationships. And that sure wouldn’t change now. He needed to stay focused.

Because Brian Wesley was about to help him make history.

In the past, prosecutors had taken cases such as the one against Brian Wesley and been fortunate to win a vehicular manslaughter verdict. But recently, other states had upped the ante. In Louisiana and Tennessee, prosecutors had finally convinced juries that this type of drunk driving was not vehicular manslaughter. It wasn’t even second-degree murder. If a repeat offender deliberately chose to drink and drive, and in doing so caused a victim to die, it was nothing less than first-degree murder.

Matt nodded. There were only a couple cases he knew of where that charge had stuck, but it
had
been done before. The problem was it had never been done in California.

Until now.

Matt looked at the picture once more and wondered about Hannah Ryan. Who was she? And how was she dealing with the death of her family? How did anyone deal with this type of thing? Matt clenched his jaw. He knew how powerful anger could be … how it could kill.

He set the pictures down carefully, then he bowed his head and prayed.
Lord, if you are willing, let this be the case. Let the standard change, and let the people of this state understand that there will be no more tolerance for drunk driving. And Lord, help Hannah Ryan, wherever she is. Help her forgive, help her go on. Don’t let anger win again. Like it did with Victoria
.

He looked up and sifted through his rolodex until he found the number for Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. There was one person who could help Hannah survive.

He picked up the telephone and began to dial.

Ten

Is any suffering like my suffering that was inflicted on me, that the
L
ORD
brought on me in the day of his fierce anger?

L
AMENTATIONS
1:12
B

Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table, reading over a small stack of newspaper articles about the accident and events surrounding the arrest of Brian Wesley.

“Drunk Driving Suspected in Crash that Killed Local Father, Daughter,” read the headline of an article that had appeared in the
Los Angeles Times
the day after the accident. A picture of paramedics working around Tom’s mangled Explorer accompanied the article.

The story began, “A West Hills man and his daughter were killed Saturday when the vehicle they were riding in was broadsided by a pickup truck driven by a man suspected of drunk driving. Tom Ryan, 41, and his daughter, Alicia Ryan, 15, were killed in the accident. A second daughter, Jenny Ryan, 13, was taken to Humana West Hills Hospital where she was in stable condition.”

Hannah’s eyes drifted to another article, this one from a few weeks later. “Tests Show Driver in Deadly Accident was Drunk.”

She studied the small black-and-white photograph of Brian Wesley. Her enemy. A predator who had taken aim at her family and destroyed it.
I hate you.
She stared hard at the picture.
Whatever it takes to get you locked up, I’ll do it
.

A Bible verse slipped through her mind as if she were reading it off the newspaper before her. It was Colossians 3:13:
“Forgive, as the Lord forgave you.” Hannah shuddered.
Forgive? Forgive Brian Wesley?
The idea left a rancid taste in her mouth.
Not this time, Lord. No way
.

She blinked away the verse and read the newspaper article. “The driver who rammed his pickup truck into the side of a sports utility vehicle three weeks ago, killing two people and injuring another, was legally drunk at the time of the accident, according to a report released today from the Los Angeles Police Department. The department’s crime lab has determined that Brian Wesley, 28, of Woodland Hills, had a blood alcohol level of .24, three times the legal limit, at the time of the crash, which killed Tom Ryan, 41, his daughter Alicia Ryan, 15, and injured a second daughter, Jenny Ryan, 13.”

Jenny. She’d grown so silent, so angry these last few weeks.…

Hannah shook her head. She couldn’t think about Jenny now. She had to get ready for trial. There would be time for Jenny later. She kept reading. “ ‘There will be no plea bargain in this case. We’re looking to prosecute this case to the fullest extent of the law,’ Deputy District Attorney Matthew J. Bronzan said. ‘Maybe even beyond the fullest extent. This might be the case that changes drunk driving laws in the state of California.’ ”

Hannah considered the prosecutor’s words.
“This might be the case that changes drunk driving laws.”
She set her jaw. This
would
be the case. She read the prosecutor’s name once more: Matthew J. Bronzan. Amidst the horror and shock and grief, she had an ally, a friend. Someone on her side.

She glanced at a sheet of notebook paper beneath the stack of newspaper articles. She’d written Matthew Bronzan’s office number and a list of questions she needed to ask him. What did he mean he was looking to prosecute this case beyond the fullest extent of the law? What was she within her rights to do? How could she help? Was there any chance a plea bargain would be struck? The list went on.

She reached for the phone just as it began to ring. Hannah
stared at it, confused for a moment. The phone used to ring constantly. Now, nearly five weeks after the accident, no one called.

Hannah realized she was partly to blame. She had refused help from her church friends, and finally they had stopped calling. The hospital certainly had no reason to call now with Tom gone, and Jenny’s friends didn’t know what to say so they didn’t call. Hannah couldn’t remember the last time the phone rang.

“Hello.” She no longer recognized her own voice.

“Hannah Ryan?” The woman at the other end sounded pleasant.

“Yes.”

“This is Carol Cummins. I work with Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. Matt Bronzan gave me your number.”

Matt Bronzan. How did
he
get my number?
“Oh … hello.”

“Mr. Bronzan tells me there’s a hearing tomorrow. Brian Wesley will be officially charged, and they’ll have to decide whether the case will be settled by plea bargain or whether it will be held over for trial.”

Hannah picked up the article she had just been reading. “The paper said there wasn’t going to be a plea bargain.”

“They still have to go through the motions, hear the arguments from Mr. Wesley’s attorney, and present arguments of their own.”

“But who makes the final decision?” She could hear the panic in her voice.

“Matt Bronzan has the last word. It comes down to what he thinks he can prove in court.” Carol paused. “If he sets the charges high, and Mr. Wesley refuses to plead guilty, there will be a trial.”

“Good. I’d like to see it go to trial.”

The woman paused again. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. It depends on the jury. If they think the charges are unreasonable, there’s a chance Mr. Wesley could walk with no punishment at all.”

Hannah’s rage bubbled closer to the surface. “That could happen?”

“Yes. That’s why these cases end in plea bargains so many times. At least that way the drunk driver gets some kind of punishment.”

“I can’t
believe
that.” Hannah’s hands trembled with rage.

Carol Cummins sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s the way things are in the legal arena of drunk driving cases. Three out of ten jurors identify with the defendant. They listen to the evidence and hear about the violent accidents and needless deaths, and they think, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ ”

“Three out of ten?” This was all new to Hannah, and it made her head spin.

“Surveys are done all the time asking people if they’ve ever driven drunk. Generally thirty percent of Americans have.” She paused. “They look at the guy on trial and see themselves. Usually they decide the guilt is punishment enough, and they convict him on a lesser charge or let him go.”

Hannah stood up and paced across her dining room floor, the cordless phone cradled against her shoulder as she studied the previous day’s article. She focused on the tiny photograph. How could anyone identify with Brian Wesley? Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to see a repeat drunk driver locked up? She exhaled loudly. “What do you mean,
lesser charge?”

“Sometimes a prosecutor will attempt to prove two or three charges at once. If the jury doesn’t feel strongly enough to convict on the more serious charge, they can find a defendant guilty of a lesser charge.”

Hannah stopped pacing. “But if what you said before is true, that three out of ten will identify with him, the jury’s always going to go for the lesser one.”

“Exactly.”

Hannah closed her eyes, struggling against the wave of rage that pushed at her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What’s Mr. Bronzan going to do?”

“I’m not sure. I only talked to him for a few minutes, but he feels very strongly about this one.”

“Meaning?”

“There’s a chance he’ll charge the driver with something very serious and leave it at that.”

Hannah considered the possibilities. “But then there’s a chance Brian Wesley will get off. Go free. Is that right?”

Carol’s voice was quiet. “That’s right.”

Hannah resumed pacing. “Why hasn’t something been done about this?”

“Drunk driving, you mean? We’re trying, Mrs. Ryan. That’s what Mothers Against Drunk Drivers is all about.”

“I want to help.” Hannah’s heart was fluttering about in her chest.
Whatever it takes
. “Tell me what to do.” Hannah paced toward the dining room table and set the articles down.

Carol drew a deep breath. “Well, most of our efforts focus on public awareness. If we can make people more aware of the consequences, we can accomplish several things.”

“I’m listening.”

“We can reduce drunk driving, for one thing. You’ve heard of our campaigns. ‘Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.’ ‘Be a Designated Driver.’ ‘Tie one on,’ which is our red ribbon program.”

“I’ve seen those. Tied around car antennas, you mean?”

“Right. We pass them out at our office and at various storefronts. People tie them on to show a united force in the war against drunk driving.”

“I had no idea … it’s so …”

“Organized? Yes, it has to be.”

“And the key is public awareness?”

“Right. It stops a percentage of drunk drivers, but it also educates the public.”

“The public?”

“Yes. Jurors are chosen from the public.”

The words sank in, and Hannah nodded. Of course. She
scribbled the word juror and underlined it several times. “I get it. The more people who understand, the less likely a jury is to let a drunk driving defendant go free.”

“Exactly.”

Hannah tapped her pen on the notepad. “You say public awareness, and I picture television ads and billboards. I guess I don’t see how I can help.”