Violence (11 page)

“Jesus Christ!” Anderson fumed, slamming his fist on the table.

“You have to learn to control yourself.” Ward cautioned. “They’re going to paint you as the jealous, raging husband and you’re just making it easy for them. They’re going to try to keep you out of the courtroom throughout the whole trial and you’re the best asset this case has, the surviving father and spouse. Don’t let it be the only time the jury sees you is when you’re making your victim impact statement because by then it’s too late.”

“How can they keep me out of the courtroom?” Anderson asked impatiently.

“First, they’re probably going to claim your presence is prejudicial…” Ward elaborated. “…but the judge is not going to want to look like a total prick to you and will most likely deny their motion to exclude you. But then the defense is going to put you on their witness list and they’re going to claim their constitutional rights are being interfered with, that your testimony will be tainted and materially affected by you hearing the testimony of other witnesses before you yourself testify. The judge will probably allow that and keep you out until you take the stand. Which will be pretty much the whole trial.”

Anderson was crestfallen. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looked around the restaurant to take some of the air out of his roiling resentment.

“And we’re also going to have to be careful from here on out.” Ward added, leaning forward a bit and lowering his voice once again. “We’re going to have to cut our official ties until it’s over, because if the defense finds out about our relationship, they can object and bar me from even informing you about the proceedings.”

Anderson looked back and stared silently at Ward.

“I’m just trying to give you the bad news first.” Ward wheezed as he returned Anderson’s steely-eyed gaze and sat back again.

“Do you have any good news?” Anderson finally asked cynically.

“You have the truth on your side.” Ward stated with unadorned succinctness.

Anderson sneered, pushed his untouched plate of food aside.

“Don’t discount that.” Ward advised, trying to reinforce his words with earnestness. “That’s a big plus. Everybody knows what happened here. Everybody knows they’re scumbags. I’m just telling you how they’re going to play the game. I’m just giving it to you straight.”

“And now what?” Anderson asked.

“Now it comes down to what kind of case the State’s Attorney wants to present and how much they want to pursue it.”

“
’How much they want to pursue it?’
” Anderson repeated incredulously.

“If they aren’t pressed with a political choice, they simply want convictions.” Ward sniffed. “It’s not justice but-”

“
’Not justice
.’” Anderson interjected, reiterating Ward’s words again, this time mockingly and with unrestrained disgust.

“They care about process. It’s just a job.” Ward responded in kind. “What kid comes into this world saying,
when I grow up
I wanna preside over murder and rape cases, I love working every day in the world of violence?”
Ward answered the question himself. “No one.” Then conceded, “It’s a calling for some. A few. They’ll all tell you they’re doing God’s work, but for most of ’em it’s just a paycheck to get themselves somewhere as far away as they can get from you.”

“This is an open and shut case.” Anderson carefully pounded his fist on the edge of the table.

“You got three guys caught and charged with the crime, murder-one and criminal sexual assault.” Ward reminded him, tapping a forefinger on the tabletop as a sort of rejoinder. “Believe me, that’s more than most people get.”

“I want these guys dead!” Anderson seethed again, unable to contain his rage.

“You’re not going to get that!” Ward quickly responded, then added, “The death penalty was abolished here in Illinois anyway, remember?”

“So that’s it?” Anderson threw his hands up with scornful resignation. “They’re going to say my wife invited them back for a party? And the jury is going to believe that?”

“Who knows with juries?” Ward promptly blurted in reply, but he had to take a moment before he answered fully because Anderson surely wasn’t going to like what he had to say. He shoveled in a couple mouthfuls of food then continued. “The first thing a juror says to themselves when they sit in that box is
I don’t want to be here making this decision.
It’s dirty business to right a wrong. A jury should be able to see through their lies if the prosecutors do their job. The problem is you’re asking the jury to get your justice for you. They see these guys cleaned up. They think
I don’t want to hurt another human being
. The defense, if they’re any good either, they’ll create a reasonable doubt even where there isn’t any. Try to find two people to agree on anything let alone twelve. They’ll have the jurors thinking their consideration of the evidence should be based on a standard of
beyond all doubt
. You have to hire me just to make a little sense of this mess. And they get free attorneys to assert their rights.”

“So what do I do?” Anderson asked, seeking some course of action.

“Nothing, your hands are tied.” Ward answered straightforwardly and finished the last of his coffee.

“I can’t just sit here.” Anderson declared, expectant that there must be an alternative to Ward’s view that he do “nothing.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Ward stated emphatically and with force. “Problem is you’re in a war. Just no one thought to tell you. War inside your head, your soul. You’re full of hate and anger right now. How long do you think you can maintain that?”

“Forever.” Anderson responded firmly.

Ward grinned ever so slightly at this. He used the back of his hand, wiped a falling bead of sweat from his brow. He was eating too fast. Talking too much. Getting too worked up.

Anderson watched Ward use the clean part of his napkin to soak up the remaining sweat in the forehead spaces on both sides of his particularly prominent widow’s peak. Anderson figured Ward’s rosacea was probably part genetic, part alcohol driven. Anderson also calculated he was probably going to end up looking like Ward at the rate he was going from the sheer volume of alcohol he was consuming. The alcohol, though, for himself was a Godsend. Without it he didn’t know what he would do. It deadened the pain, as it must do for Ward. His job must wear on him. By proximity alone he must pick up at least some of the stress of his client’s problems, carry some of the weight.

“Trial date should be…” Ward pushed the remainder of his breakfast into a pile and talked as he spooned it in heaps into his mouth. “…most likely, 3, 4, 5 years from now, if you’re lucky. You might have a right to a timely disposition of this case but the justice system is designed to wear you down, take away emotion. The defense wants it to be old news. They want witnesses to die, or fall away or question their own memories because everything’s gotten so stretched. Prosecutors always think they have a weak case and will want to secure more evidence. There’ll be dozens of motions and the judge will allow it all because he doesn’t want to be reversed on appeal, or be accused of favoring one side over the other. Hell, you’ve got a business to run. For you this is about closure, meaning of life. These other people, the ones you want to do the right thing by you, they just don’t want to know you.”

“So you’re saying if I’m nice about it, everybody will be nice and I’ll get fucked.” Anderson sourly summarized. “And if I’m not nice, everybody will be an asshole and I’ll get fucked?”

“I’m saying your job is to get through it, and go on with your life.”

“What life? I’m revisited every minute of every day by the memory of my wife and daughter, and what was done to them.”

“And that’s not going to go away, no matter what happens.” Ward had finished with Anderson, with his food, with everything. He picked up the check. “This one’s on me.”

And with that, Ward walked off to pay.

Anderson, reflective, looked out the window.

Father Cannova said he’d
recover
. Ward was saying
forget it, it’s torment forever
. Anderson thought to himself how Ward would make a lousy priest and Cannova would make a lousy private investigator. They were as different as night and day.

CHAPTER 12

         T
he two years that passed felt like the memory loss and “missing time” experiences that are symptomatic to those who claim to have been alien abductees. Anderson didn’t remember sleeping but remembered it was challenging. He hardly remembered being awake either. It was countless the number of times he would be driving and couldn’t remember if the light was red or green in that intersection he just passed through. It scared him how little he cared. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else. Just himself.

Anderson could only label the seasons as: an unrelenting sun-bleached beating - an ever darkening chill - a frigid permanent whiteout - and a fog that never lifted.

He would put in low-bids on his competitors in an attempt to stay busy. He didn’t go to the work sites. Roman was handling that. Anderson wasn’t ready to deal with all the personalities just yet, and he was sure they were just as happy to not have to deal with him also. Actually, Anderson hardly ever went in to the office, either. The few times he did go Joyce found a way to act like the murders never happened and glued herself to her office duties. She was no doubt thankful for his mostly absentee status.

He did remember being in the fetal position quite a bit, having drunk to excess, and wishing God, but more likely Satan would take him – somehow. It was a recurring event which was growing tiresome and made him think maybe he was in hell already.

He did also remember consciously trying to push away all thoughts of Karen and Tristan actually being murdered. The guilt would be overwhelming as the images tried to bang through his defenses. Even the slightest mental reconstruction of their slaughter would turn him homicidal with rage.

CHAPTER 13

         “A
ll rise! The Superior Court for the County of Cook, State of Illinois, is now in session, the Honorable Harold R. Marr presiding! Whoever has business before this court will now be heard! God save the United States and this honorable court!“

It was the People of Illinois
            v.
            Derek Lysander
            Gabriel Lysander
            And Ruben Roney

And the shopping list of charges ranged in the indictments from two counts each of first-degree murder, home invasion, aggravated discharge of a firearm, possession of a controlled substance and aggravated criminal sexual assault for both Lysanders (except there was no firearm charge in Gabriel or Ruben’s case), all the way to two counts of first-degree murder, home invasion, and attempted aggravated criminal sexual assault for Ruben Roney.

The reason Ruben was also up on the murder charges, even though he was outside at the time Tristan’s “accident” occurred and when the fatal shot that killed Karen was fired, was due to the “Felony Murder Rule” which states that if you are committing a felony (in this case rape) and someone dies during the commission of the crime, whether accidentally or intentionally, you can also be charged with the murder even though you may not have even been present or had any intent or reason to believe someone would be killed during the course of the offense. It’s a bit controversial but it is the law in Illinois, nonetheless.

Bonds were set at a million each for Derek and Gabriel, $500,000 for Ruben. None of the three were ever released on bail before the trial.

Prosecutors were hoping the sheer weight of the charges would compel them to all cop to a plea, which did not occur. They offered reduced second-degree murder charges, which is considered an intentional killing but where there is no premeditation. It is more a heat of the moment murder and prosecutors were selling it as
“it was understandable that you were fired from your job earlier in the day and you went to the home of the person who you thought caused it and things just got out of hand.”

Derek and the others were lucky to begin with that the gun was not theirs, but considering the rape evidence and the Felony Murder Rule, prosecutors brought a first-degree murder charge which carries a minimum sentence of 20 years in prison to a maximum of life behind bars. There are no “good time” provisions. It’s a Class X felony. The entire sentence must be served. Coupled with the home invasion, the forcible felony of sexual assault, and with “extended term” provisions for “exceptionally brutal or heinous behavior indicative of wanton behavior,” they were looking at a minimum of 30 years each.

If they took the deal, second-degree murder is a Class 1 felony which carries a sentence of 4 to 20 years (with even probation an option for up to 4 years), and prosecutors dangled prison terms of 19 years each for the Lysanders and 15 years for Roney. This was important. Sentences of 20 years or more would send them to a maximum security prison. These lesser terms, anything from an 8 to 19 year sentence, could be served at a medium security facility (and sentences of 7 years or less are usually served at a minimum security prison). It would make a difference. They were also given hope that they’d get out before they were really old men.

Roney was already climbing the walls. He didn’t want to do any more time. Most inmates get “turned-out” on the inside, forced into homosexual relationships, but Roney, unlike the Lysanders, was on the receiving end of the attacks, that is he had been penetrated and was therefore considered a “boy,” not a “man.” This meant he would be sold for sex, and was a pass around punk-ass bitch for a wolf or predator. He was the recipient of a “Covered Wagon” party his first night in the Cook County Correctional Center several years back for his other offenses and luckily had been avoiding the same fate on this go-around, so far. But only because of his association with the Lysanders.

A Covered Wagon is an assault where prisoners drape blankets over the bunk beds to obstruct the view of guards and then assault another inmate, usually a “newbie,” by knocking all their teeth out and forcing them to perform fellatio for everyone. It also includes being sodomized to the point that blood will literally pour from your anus. Roney never wanted to experience that again. He had been trying to prove his manhood ever since and that was how he began to hang around the Lysanders, meeting them in a bar one night, where all three of them had a gang-bang with a cocktail waitress. He just hoped to get their cast-offs.