The Alligator Man (22 page)

T
he case dominated the evening news in Verona and several cable outlets and was a prominent feature on the major networks as well. The combination of Roy Johnson’s status as a captain of industry and possibly an old drug dealer was too sexy to pass up. Then there were the pythons and the potential for a mystery murderer.

It was the perfect storm where news, entertainment, and drama collided.

Everybody in the courtroom, including the press and the jury, knew that Kevin and the judge were not getting along. Although nobody knew what was being said at the sidebar conferences, their personal conflict was additional fodder for the news stations.

Kevin called his father that night to give him a rundown of the day’s events. Tom had already seen the news.

“It sounds like you and the judge are going at it hot and heavy,” Tom remarked.

“I just asked for a mistrial and for him to get off the case, and he told me I was unethical and threatened to hold me in contempt.”

“Wow!” Tom said. “I can’t believe I’m missing this. How’s Billy holding up?”

“He’s doing okay.”

“Who’s on the stand tomorrow?”

“I think she is going to start the day with Freddie Jenkins.”

“You’ve got to get at him, Kevin. He’s the key to their whole case.”

“I know, Dad. I know.”

T
he crowd outside was larger on Friday morning and it was abuzz with excitement. Conspiracy and murder lingered in the air with stories of pythons swallowing alligators, fireworks in the courtroom, and marijuana smugglers. No soap opera could measure up to this.

Judge Thorpe had obviously watched the news. He was not a happy man as he stormed into the courtroom at exactly nine o’clock.

“Do we have anything to discuss before we bring the jury in?” he said to the lawyers.

“No, Your Honor,” they both replied.

“Bring the jury in,” he told the bailiff.

“Call your first witness, Counsel,” he told Jeanette as soon as the jurors were seated.

Kevin could tell he was ready to explode at any moment.

“The State calls Frederick Jenkins.”

Freddie Jenkins had a jacket and tie on, and he had made an attempt to comb his unruly mop of sandy hair, but none of it had worked. The jacket, a tan corduroy, was too big and the tie was crooked. He looked like a tall, gangly high school kid with a jacket and tie on.

Freddie had taken to heart Carlisle’s admonitions to him after their first meeting. He had written down his statement. He had repeated it at the sheriff’s office. He had reread it many times since then to the point where he knew it verbatim. Jeanette took him through that statement, asking almost the same questions Carlisle had asked.

When she had gone through his entire testimony, Jeanette produced an easel and several blown-up photos of Gladestown Road. She then had Freddie come down from the stand to explain each picture to the jury as she put it on the easel.

“Now this first picture, State’s Exhibit 21A, can you tell the jury what that picture shows?”

“That’s Gladestown Road at the spot where I saw the man from the driver’s seat in my pickup where I was parked in the Chamber of Commerce parking lot—except it’s during the day.”

“Who took that picture?”

“I did. You were there with me. It was last Monday, a week ago.”

“And on the night of April tenth when you witnessed the man getting hit, as you already testified to, was this the exact position you were in?”

“Yes.”

“How far away were you?”

“Twenty or thirty yards.”

“Now let’s look at 21B.” She put another picture on the easel. “Can you tell the jury who took that picture?”

“I did and it’s from the same spot as 21A, except it’s at night.”

“Tell the jury what is in this picture to your knowledge.”

Freddie pointed to the middle of the picture. “This light—you can see it covers the road.” He was talking directly to the jury and doing a very good job. “That’s from car headlights. Ms. Truluc had a car there similar to the one I saw the night of April tenth. The car she had there whose headlights are in this picture was a 1995 gray Toyota Corolla. I even looked at the registration. Now, you can see the car itself over here to the right. It’s pretty dark.”

“Is that what you saw on the night of April tenth?”

“Well, I saw a similar car and the headlights shone just like what is in this picture.”

“What else is in that picture?”

“There’s a man with dark black hair over to your left.”

Jeanette pulled the easel closer to the jury. Kevin stood and walked over to where the jury was sitting so he could see what they were looking at. The man was clearly visible in the car headlights. He had black hair and a light-colored shirt just as Freddie had testified to earlier.

“He’s got a light shirt on too as you all can see,” Freddie continued. “And he is walking back toward Gladestown on the left-hand side of the road, facing traffic.”

“How did this picture come about?”

“We went out to Gladestown Road at approximately eleven, eleven thirty at night—you, me, and some other people from the sheriff’s department. I sat in my pickup where I was on the night of April tenth with a radio that you gave me and I told you down on Gladestown Road where the car was and where the man was. And when everything was in the same position as it was on the night of April tenth, I shot the picture.”

“The night this picture was taken, was it any different than the night of April tenth?”

“It was a lot hotter.” Some of the jurors smiled as did Jeanette, and a few brave souls in the gallery actually laughed.

“Other than that?”

“No. They both were clear starry nights like most nights in Gladestown.”

Jeanette put up State’s Exhibit 23C. “Can you tell the jury about this picture?”

“It’s a picture I took the same night from the same place, only it shows the car on the left side of the road about to hit the man walking back to town. His back is to the car. The car had come all the way from the right side to the left side of the road.”

“Is this what you saw on the night of April tenth?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Cross-examination, Mr. Wylie?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Kevin walked to the podium. Jeanette and Freddie had just put on a clinic. Freddie turned out to be a great witness, no doubt with a lot of help from Jeanette. Kevin had to do something to discredit him. Freddie was back in the witness chair.

“Mr. Jenkins, I’m reading the police report here by a Mr. Carlisle Buchanan—do you know who that is?”

“Yes. He’s with the sheriff’s department. He’s the first person who interviewed me.”

“He says that a woman named Rosie heard you talking about Roy Johnson’s death at her restaurant. Do you know Rosie?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been in her restaurant before?”

“Everybody goes to Rosie’s. It’s the only restaurant in town.”

A couple of the jury members chuckled. They liked Freddie.

“It says here in this report that you told some of your friends at Rosie’s that you were in the Chamber of Commerce parking lot necking with Becky Yates on the evening of April tenth, is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“Let’s take it one at a time. Is it true that you told your friends you were necking with Becky Yates in the Chamber of Commerce parking lot on the evening of April tenth at the time you saw this man being hit by the car?”

“Yeah. That’s what I told them.”

“Now, is it true that you were actually necking with Becky Yates in the Chamber of Commerce parking lot on the evening of April tenth?

“No. That’s not true. Becky wasn’t there.”

“So you lied to your friends?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a lie.”

“What would you call it, Mr. Jenkins?”

“It was a story. I didn’t want my friends to ask me why I didn’t do nothing to save the man so I said Becky was there in case they asked. Then I could say she freaked out or something.”

“So you told your friends a story that wasn’t true.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you tell your friends you saw this hit-and-run?”

“Why?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it because it was all over the news and you wanted them to know you were part of it?”

“I guess so.”

“And you made up the story about Becky so you wouldn’t look bad when you told them you were there, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you make up anything else?”

“No.”

“You didn’t make up a story that you saw something that you really didn’t see, did you?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You only made up one story?”

“Yeah.”

“Now, Officer Buchanan came to interview you at your high school on that first occasion, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“I have his report right here. It says that when he first asked you about the hit-and-run on April tenth, you said you didn’t know anything about it. Is that true? Is that what you told Officer Buchanan?”

“Yes. But I told him the truth after Mr. Shay left.”

“Who is Mr. Shay?”

“He’s the principal.”

“And on the day you met with Officer Buchanan, your principal, Mr. Shay, was present, is that correct?”

“He was there for a little bit, but then he left. That’s when I told Officer Buchanan the truth.”

“So when you said you didn’t know anything about the hit-and-run that wasn’t the truth, was it?”

“No.”

“That was just another story you told.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You also told Officer Buchanan that Becky called you that night and told you to meet her at the Chamber of Commerce parking lot, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And then you told him that Becky denied that she ever called you that night, correct?”

“Yeah. She denied it to me.”

“And even though Becky denied ever calling you, you insist that she did, correct?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not just another story?”

“No.”

“The car you saw that night—the one you identified in the pictures here as a 1995 Toyota—is it correct you told Officer Buchanan you thought it was a Honda?”

“That’s true. I don’t know the difference between a Honda and a Toyota. It was a small car and it looked old and gray. It could have been either make.”

“Or it could have been a Kia or a Hyundai or any one of a dozen other models?”

“I guess so.”

“How do you know the car was gray?”

“At the corner of Gladestown Road, there’s a big streetlight. I could see it clearly there.”

“Those streetlights give off kind of a yellowy light at night, don’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know if you can see color under those streetlights?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“I mean, do you know if every car no matter what the color looks gray under those streetlights?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“You didn’t run that experiment the night you were out there taking pictures with the state attorney, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“And you don’t know who was driving that car?”

“No, sir.”

“And you don’t know who the person was who was hit on the road that night?”

“No, sir.”

“You just know it was a man with dark hair wearing a light shirt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Redirect, Ms. Truluc?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”

Jeanette walked to the podium. She knew Kevin had taken a huge chunk out of Freddie Jenkins’s hide. She also knew that the State’s case depended in large part on Freddie’s testimony. She had to rehabilitate him.

“How old are you, Mr. Jenkins?”

“Seventeen.”

“Your friends call you Freddie, is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Freddie, I want you to look at the defendant, William Fuller.” Freddie looked directly at Billy. “Do you know him?” Jeanette asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you have any reason to want to see him convicted of a crime he didn’t commit?”

“No, ma’am.”

“And you realize your testimony here today could convict him of first-degree murder?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you understand how serious that is?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you here today to impress your friends?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Freddie, if you made a mistake, if you really didn’t see anything the night of April tenth—now is the time to tell the truth. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell the jury what you actually saw with your own eyes on Gladestown Road the night of April tenth.”

“I saw a man walking back to town. I saw a car come from the right side of the road over to the left side and strike the man in the back, knocking him into the swamp.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as I’m sitting here.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

Kevin wasn’t sure all the points he had scored on cross-examination had been wiped away, but it was a damn effective redirect. He only had to look at the jury to see that.

“Call your next witness,” Judge Thorpe bellowed.

“The State calls Detective Vern Fleming.”

Vern wore a tan summer suit into the courtroom that morning. He knew enough to leave his flyboy shades at home. Jeanette took him through his work at the Verona Inn, where he established that Billy’s car, a 2000 gray Toyota Corolla, was in the parking lot from April seventh to the eleventh, although he was not registered at the hotel under his own name. However, there was a Tom Jones who paid in cash and produced no identification.

Vern then told the jury how he got Billy’s driver’s license picture, put it in a photo pack with ten other pictures, and showed it to the bartender, George Russo. Russo identified Billy immediately. Jeanette had Vern identify the photo pack, introduced it into evidence, and had no more questions. For some reason, she wanted Vern on and off the witness stand very quickly.

Kevin had a few questions on cross-examination.

“Signing a hotel register with an alias is not a crime, is it, Detective Fleming?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”

“You’ve been a cop for many years, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Worked a lot of different beats besides homicide, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Is it fair to say that people have been signing hotel registers with an alias for years, for a lot of different reasons that might not necessarily be criminal in nature?”

Jeanette was on her feet. “Objection. Relevancy.”

“Overruled.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true anymore. People used to do that when they were having an extramarital affair or something. Now nobody cares. Besides, most hotels only take credit cards.”

“It may not be as common but it still happens?”

“If it does, it would be very infrequent.”

“And the most obvious alias is John Smith, for example, is that correct?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Jones the second most obvious?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“If you have bad credit and you don’t have a credit card, how do you pay for a hotel room?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wouldn’t one way be cash?”

“I suppose.”

“You know from your own investigation that William Fuller had credit problems, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And he lived in St. Albans and he had two children who lived with him and who he was raising, correct?”