Waiting for Morning (33 page)

“Sometimes I think I’m mad at everybody.” She studied him. “Everyone but you and Carol. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you two.”

“Jenny’s pulling for you, too.”

Hannah huffed softly. “She has a fine way of showing it.”

“May I say something?”

Hannah sighed. “What?”

“Be careful. Don’t let her think this trial … anything … is more important than she is to you.”

“It’s not that. She has to understand—”

“Hannah.” Matt’s interruption was gentle. “Long after this trial is over, whether we win a conviction or not, there will be you and Jenny. Don’t lose sight of that.”

“We
will
win a conviction.” Hannah crossed her arms.

“If it isn’t God’s will, it won’t happen.”

Hannah sighed and looked skyward. “Please. Don’t start talking about God’s will. If it was his will to allow Tom and Alicia to die, then certainly it would be his will to allow Brian Wesley to go to prison for the rest of his life.”

“Not necessarily.”

A pang of doubt hit Hannah. “Matt … is there something you’re not telling me?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I feel confident about winning a conviction.” His gentle eyes scanned her face. “I just don’t want us to put all our hope in that. The true hope comes from knowing that you and Jenny will be all right, that God has a plan for your life long after this trial is over and forgotten.”

She bit her tongue to hold back the bitter retorts she could have said. Matt was her friend and he didn’t deserve her anger. Instead, she directed the conversation back to the trial, asking Matt how he thought the day had gone and what they could expect in the weeks to come.

He answered her questions, but she could see in his eyes that he knew what she was doing. And she was grateful to him for letting her get away with it.

The day had gone too well. She simply couldn’t bear to have it—or her time with Matt—ruined by talk of a God Hannah could no longer trust.

By the time Hannah got home it was dark, and the lights in the house were out. She tiptoed up to Jenny’s room and opened the door. The girl was asleep in bed.

Jenny doesn’t need me
.

Hannah was hit by a sudden, powerful urge to kiss her little girl, to brush her blond bangs off her forehead and pray over her as she had done all her life before the collision. But everything had changed now. Jenny didn’t want to be kissed, didn’t like her mother touching her forehead. And Hannah knew better than to pray.

She sighed, shut the door, and made her way to her bedroom. Jenny didn’t need anyone. She had survived one of the worst traffic collisions in the history of the San Fernando Valley. Certainly she would survive another few weeks without
Hannah’s undivided attention.

Before turning off the light, Hannah spotted Tom’s old, leather Bible, still sitting atop his dresser. Nearly a year had gone by, and Hannah had packed away most of Tom’s and Alicia’s belongings. But Tom’s Bible had been so dear to him, his faithful companion each morning in the early hours, long before Hannah or the girls were awake. Other than photographs, Tom’s Bible was the only reminder that he once had lived there, once had shared a room and a life with Hannah.

The worn Bible called to her at times like this, times when the echoes of another endless, lonely night ricocheted off her bedroom wall making it nearly impossible to sleep.

Back in the days when she could sing “Great is Thy Faithfulness” and mean every word, back when she and Tom shared and lived their beliefs, she would occasionally pick up his Bible and scan the pages, enjoying the notations he’d written in the margins.

But Scripture held no hope for Hannah now. She turned her back so that the Bible was out of view, and fell asleep dreaming of the way things used to be.

Twenty-seven

He drew his bow and made me the target for his arrows
.

L
AMENTATIONS
3:12

After her mother left for court Monday morning, Jenny dressed, pulled her mountain bike from the garage, and set out for the cemetery. It was four miles away, but Jenny knew a shortcut. With school out and the verdict still two weeks away, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. She hopped on her bike and set out.

Twenty minutes later she pulled up to the spot where Dad’s and Alicia’s tombstones lay on a grassy knoll. Jenny climbed off her bike and dropped down crosslegged next to the stones.

“Hi, Dad. Hi, Lecia.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. A warm, summer breeze drifted through the nearby trees, and Jenny wondered if she should have worn sunscreen. She planned to be here all day.

“I can’t believe it’s been almost a year. Gosh … if you guys only knew how much I miss you.”

A pair of swallows sang out from opposite trees, but otherwise there was silence.

“Mom is so freaked out. All she cares about is the guy who hit us and getting him into prison. She spends all her time on it.”

Jenny examined the tombstones closely. “I’ll be with you guys pretty soon … I’m waiting for the verdict. That way Mom will be finished with everything all at once. The trial, the guy who hit us, and me. I’m only in the way.”

With no other visitors around to bother her, Jenny began to
cry. Her chest convulsed, and she sobbed like she hadn’t done in weeks. Not for her father and sister because she would see them again soon. She cried for her family, for the way they had been before … the way they would never be again. When her sobs slowed, she stretched out along the ground, closed her eyes, and placed one hand on her father’s stone, the other on Alicia’s. She fell asleep that way, tears still drying on her cheeks, reaching out to the only people she knew loved her.

Across town at the Criminal Courts Building, Hannah watched Matt speak with a bailiff and then head toward her. He appeared upbeat and full of energy.

“I’ve reviewed the list of witnesses.” He smiled. “Depending on cross-examination, I should be finished by the end of the week. Finch doesn’t have much. If everything goes right, he’ll be done Wednesday. That could mean a verdict as early as Friday or the following Monday.”

A swarm of butterflies invaded Hannah’s stomach. “That soon?”

Matt nodded and gently squeezed her hand. “In a case like this, the sooner we make our argument the better. Juries get bored with statistics and redundant testimony. Two weeks is perfect.”

She nodded and spoke in a choked whisper. “Go get ’em, Matt.”

The first witness of the day was Sgt. John Miller. He testified about the accident scene, how everything had appeared when he arrived, how badly the Explorer was damaged, and how Brian Wesley had failed two field sobriety tests.

The next witness was Dr. Larry Keeting, head of the crime lab and the person responsible for the results of the blood alcohol test.

Matt immediately took the offensive on the issue of timing and how quickly alcohol absorbs into the bloodstream.

Hannah kept her eyes trained on him, trying to see the scene through the eyes of the jurors.

Dr. Keeting was very clear. Although a person’s blood alcohol level can continue to rise for an hour or more after the beverages are consumed, in Brian Wesley’s case this would not have changed the facts.

“So you’re telling us that it is possible that Mr. Wesley’s blood alcohol level was lower than .24 at the time of the collision?”

“Perhaps. Based on progressive absorption, it is possible his blood alcohol might have been as low as .18 at the time of impact.” Dr. Keeting was dressed in a three-piece suit and spoke with a great deal of authority. Hannah added him to the list of people she would later thank.

Matt turned slightly toward the jury. “So what you’re saying is that even if Mr. Wesley’s blood alcohol level was lower than what it was while taken at the station, the lowest it could have been was .18, or more than twice the legal limit, is that right?”

“Yes.” Dr. Keeting paused. “Of course, there is great possibility that the defendant’s blood alcohol was actually higher at the time of impact. Absorption reaches a certain peak sometime within an hour after consumption. After that, the level begins to decline.”

Matt looked surprised, and Hannah stifled a smile. “So, if that were the case, what would Mr. Wesley’s highest possible blood alcohol level have been, Dr. Keeting?”

The doctor checked a stack of notes in front of him on the witness stand. “According to our projections, the defendant might have had a blood alcohol level as high as .28.”

Finch spent nearly an hour cross-examining Dr. Keeting, but it was like trying to poke holes in a brick wall. Later that afternoon when court adjourned, Matt assured Hannah the testimony had been better than he’d hoped.

“The best is yet to come.” Matt smiled as he and Hannah strolled alongside Carol Cummins toward the elevator.

Hannah looked at him. “The bartender?”

He nodded. “Found something out yesterday that will help a great deal.”

“Good. He’s the last witness, isn’t he?” Hannah pushed the elevator button as they waited with a handful of people.

“Right. Wait ’til you hear him. He’s great.” Matt leaned closer to Hannah and Carol, speaking in a whisper. “Answered prayer.”

Carol nodded.

Oh, brother
. Hannah looked away. “Come on, Matt. Give credit where credit’s due.”

She waited for a retort but it didn’t come.

Matt gained more points the next day. Brian Wesley’s coworkers and former bosses testified about Brian’s alcohol problem and how well he hid it. Next came three people who ran state-sponsored alcohol awareness classes. Each provided the jury with proof that Brian Wesley was indeed aware of his problem and that he’d been counseled about the dangers of drunk driving.

A representative from the state’s parole board brought in documentation signed by Brian stating that he understood that if he drank and drove again someone could very well die. The department of motor vehicles showed proof that Brian was driving without a license at the time of the collision.

The week wore on, and Hannah sometimes found herself tuning the testimony out while she focused on Brian Wesley. What kind of animal was he, anyway? What had he seen in those final moments before driving his truck into her family? She seethed as she stared at him. He was loathsome and worthless, and he deserved life in prison. Now that he was days away from getting it, her hatred toward him was so intense it left her drained, empty, incapable of any other emotion.

Harold Finch, meanwhile, remained relatively quiet. He
objected occasionally, but not nearly as often as he had at first. Hannah figured he probably didn’t want to alienate the jury.

Matt’s final witness was Nick Crabb, the bartender from The Office. In brief and succinct testimony, the bartender told the jury that he’d been bothered by the defendant’s drinking. He had asked him if he’d needed a ride home, but despite the fact that he’d seen Brian drink large quantities of beer and whiskey, it was difficult to determine if the man was dangerously drunk or not.

“Think back, Mr. Crabb.” Matt settled his hands in his pants pocket and gazed thoughtfully at the witness. “Do you remember how many drinks the defendant consumed that afternoon?”

Nick squirmed in his seat nervously. “Well, uh, it’s been almost a year now, and we have a lot of people sit at the bar.”

Matt nodded. “I realize that, Mr. Crabb. I’m asking—to the best of your knowledge—if you can tell this court how many drinks the defendant had?”

Nick nodded. “Okay. Well, after the accident I wrote some notes.”

Finch leaped up
. “Objection
, your honor. We have no way of knowing when the witness actually wrote those notes.”

Hannah’s pulse raced when Judge Horowitz looked intrigued. He turned to the witness. “Did you date your notes, Mr. Crabb?”

“Yes, your honor. I’m a business student at Cal State Northridge … and, well, I guess I write the date on just about everything.”

Judge Horowitz smiled. “And you are willing to testify under oath that you wrote those notes immediately after the accident?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Very well. Objection overruled.”

Hannah turned briefly toward Carol, and the two shared a quick grin. This was why Matt had been looking forward to the bartender’s testimony. The man kept notes!

Matt cleared his throat and continued. “Let me see if I understand this. After the accident, you wrote down the date and some details about the defendant, is that right?”

“Yes, I have it right here.” Nick held up a piece of notebook paper.

“I see.” Matt moved closer to the witness stand and peered at it. “And what prompted you to write these notes?”

Nick swallowed and glanced nervously at Brian Wesley. “I, uh … I read about the accident in the newspaper, and I knew the guy’d been drinking at The Office. I served him. I figured I might have to talk about it one day in court, so I jotted down some details.”

Matt smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Crabb. That was very conscientious of you.”

Hannah saw Harold Finch whisper something to Brian Wesley.

Matt continued. “Now, did you note anywhere on that sheet how many drinks Mr. Wesley consumed on the afternoon in question?”

“Yes … it’s, uh, right here.” Nick studied the piece of paper. “I served Mr. Wesley about six shots of whiskey and eight beers.”

A murmur ran through the courtroom, and Hannah shut her eyes. Fourteen drinks. No wonder Tom and Alicia hadn’t lived long enough to say good-bye.

Matt waited for the crowd to still. “So fourteen drinks altogether, is that right?”

“I’m estimating, but I think so. It could have been more.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, and Hannah saw him glance briefly at the jury. She followed his gaze and saw that they looked stunned. They might drink, they might know someone who drank … but
fourteen
drinks? “Now, Mr. Crabb, did you make any notations about how long Mr. Wesley had been drinking?”

Nick glanced down at his notes again and gulped. “Yes. He came in after lunch sometime, maybe one, one-thirty. And he left after three.”