Out Lawyered

  Cover image Gavel © Marilyn Nieves

  Cover design copyright © 2016 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2016 by Clair Poulson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  First Printing: August 2016

  ISBN 978-1-52440-157-3

  Prologue

  “You know I can’t do that, Kara. I about faint when Abbie looks at me,” I told my sister for at least the tenth time.

  “She likes you, Saxson. If you ask her, she’ll go out with you. Please. She’s my best friend. Do it for me. You aren’t afraid of me, so you have no reason to be afraid of Abbie,” Kara said with a pleading voice.

  I may be seventeen, and I might be athletic and smart in school, but by my very nature I am afraid of girls. I can’t help it. Shyness around them is just how I am, and Kara knows it. But she won’t let up on me. Finally, after telling her as firmly as I could that I wasn’t going to ask her best friend out on a date, she got that sneaky look in her eyes that warned me that I was about to get blindsided.

  Sure enough. “Then I’ll ask her for you, and when she says yes, you’ll have to take her out,” she said with a grin. “It would be mean if you didn’t. And you are not a mean guy.”

  I opened my mouth to protest once more, but before I could get the words out, she said, “Ollie asked me out, and I’m going with him. We’ll make it a double date. Mom says I should only date if I’m with another couple. You and Abbie, and me and Ollie. That would be perfect.”

  “But . . . but Ollie . . . he’s my best friend. That would be weird. And anyway, he would’ve told me if he’d asked you out. I think you’re fibbing, little sister,” I stammered, but I had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that she wasn’t.

  Kara laughed and threw her head back, her long brown hair flying and her blue eyes sparkling. “Saxson, you aren’t the only one in the Cartwright family that Ollie likes.” Before I could speak again, she said, “I’ll call Abbie right now, and then I’ll call Ollie and let him know our plans.”

  I hate to admit it, but I threw up about an hour before my date with Abbie. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t think she’s cute—because she is. I think she’s the cutest girl in the whole school. I’ve always enjoyed having her around the house with my sister, but that was different. She was almost like a second sister then. I guess it was good that my stomach was empty because when I saw her at her door that evening, she was gorgeous. I stuttered and stammered and generally made a fool of myself. But she didn’t seem to notice.

  Ollie drove his pickup. Kara sat in the front with him, and I was in the backseat with Abbie. It was wonderful and terrible at the same time. Somehow I made it through the movie and dinner. If I said ten words the whole evening, I couldn’t tell you what they were.

  It might seem weird, but Ollie took me home first. That was because Abbie and Kara were spending the night at Abbie’s house. I think when I got out of the truck Abbie said something to me about how much fun she’d had. If I said something in return, I don’t know what it was. Probably just as well. It would have been something really dorky, I’m sure.

  Kara went to the house with me to get her packed bag to take to Abbie’s. She grinned when we went inside and said, “She just told me she hopes you ask her out again. She likes you, Saxson. So you better ask her again.”

  I reminded my little sister that I hadn’t asked the first time, but she just giggled, flipped her hair over her shoulder, and ran upstairs to her room. I went to my own room and sat on my bed, wondering why I had to be such a blubbering idiot. Abbie was cute and sweet, and I think she even liked me, but I was quite sure I’d never go out with her again. I just couldn’t.

  It was almost midnight when I put my pajamas on. I went to bed and couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing Abbie’s smiling face, her dark blonde hair, and sparkling blue eyes. When there was a tap on my door, I looked at my alarm clock. It was a little after one. “Yeah?” I called out.

  It was my dad, and something about his voice scared me. “You need to come to the living room. Bishop Arnold is here and says he needs to talk to us.”

  Something was terribly wrong. I scrambled into my pants and a shirt and hurried to the living room. I felt a chill pass over me when I saw not only the bishop but two deputy sheriffs. Mom was sobbing into Dad’s shoulder, and his broad shoulders were shaking.

  After the men delivered their message, I felt like my whole world had just crashed. I was numb with grief and disbelief.

  My little sister, my best friend, and sweet Abbie were all dead!

  Ten minutes after they left our house, Ollie’s pickup truck was struck head on by a drunk driver in a large truck. The drunk, a man of about thirty, was not badly hurt. I was enraged at the injustice of it all and horrified over the deaths of three special young people.

  Looking back, I know I wasn’t to blame for what happened that night, but for a long time, I blamed myself. If I hadn’t allowed myself to be roped into that date, Abbie, Ollie, and my little sister would still be alive. I cried bitter tears and suffered terrible nightmares for weeks. The loss and the guilt almost consumed me. But with the loving help of my bishop and the support of my grieving parents, I gradually began to heal.

  The other driver was charged with automobile homicide. My parents tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted that I was going to attend every day of his trial. He refused to accept responsibility, but I was assured that he would be convicted and go to prison. Those who assured me couldn’t have been more wrong. The lead officer had made some big mistakes in his investigation. But worse than that, the prosecutor was a total idiot. Despite the officer’s errors, I felt that the prosecutor should have been able to prove the case. But he blew it. I wasn’t the only one that felt that a killer walked free because of the terrible job that man did and the expert job the defense attorney did. Many felt the same way, but that didn’t change the fact that this man got away with killing three innocent people who were very dear to me.

  I couldn’t do anything about that terrible injustice. But when that “not guilty” verdict was returned by the jury, I decided what I would do with my life. I was determined to get a law degree and become a prosecutor. I swore to myself that I would never do the sloppy, lazy job this man had done. I couldn’t get justice for Abbie, Ollie, and Kara, but I could do my best to see to it that others didn’t have to go through what my family and I did.

  One

  Nine years later

  A cold wind swept across the frozen earth, and the sun struggled in vain to spread its warmth on my back as I rode along a barren ridge. I looked at the deep blue sky overhead and thought about how the wind could turn an otherwise beautiful day into one of discomfort. I had experienced it often while growing up on a Wyoming cattle ranch. I pulled gently on the reins, and Midnight, my black Fox Trotter gelding, stopped. I dismounted, stepped up to his head, and rubbed him fondly.

  I looked to the south and spotted my truck and horse trailer, little more than a speck in the distance. I judged that I must have ridden five or six miles. I needed to be getting back or I’d be riding in darkness. I gave Midnight’s broad neck a gentle pat as I moved again to the saddle and swung up. I nudged him gently with my heel and started forward, turning him back toward the south. The March wind picked up. It reminded me of my youth and the rides I’d often taken, moving cows or checking springs and fence lines on my father’s ranch. My life now was very different from what it had been back then. Unbidden, the face of my friend, Ollie Reardon, appeared in my mind. I smiled as I recalled his unruly red hair, dark green eyes, and freckled, constantly smiling face. He and I had ridden together more times than I could remember. His father had owned a ranch just a few miles from the one my father still operated. If we weren’t riding on one ranch, we were riding on the other—or from one to the other. I’d been almost as close to Ollie as to my own brothers.

  The pleasant memory faded, and I saw that face, pale and still, eyes closed, hair neatly combed, hands folded across his chest as he reposed in a dark cherrywood casket. Even now, nine years later, a tear slipped from one eye. I wiped it away with a gloved hand. His face slowly faded, and that of my little sister, just a year younger than me, appeared. I choked back a sob as I thought of her, dead because of a drunk driver. And her best friend, the only girl I’d ever been on a date with, appeared in my mind. I squeezed my eyes tightly, trying to erase that beautiful face from my head as I’d done hundreds of times before. Abbie Pearlman had been Kara’s best friend, and I had secretly admired her every time the girls were together in our home. If I’d ever had a crush on a girl, Abbie was the one.

  Abbie had both frightened and enchanted me. My terrible shyness had kept me from viewing her as anything other than my spunky little sister’s friend. I could see Abbie’s face in my mind as she too lay
in a shiny casket, her dark blonde hair curled around her silent face, her eyes closed to the happy life she’d lived.

  I had often thought I’d forget her, but I had never succeeded in doing so. I didn’t want to forget her or Kara and Ollie, even though their untimely, senseless deaths still haunted me. I opened my eyes and urged Midnight into a smooth trot, hoping to rid myself of the memories that had driven me to the life I now lived.

  Twenty-six years old, I was the youngest of three deputy Duchesne County prosecutors. I had yet to prosecute a case like the one I watched in a Wyoming courtroom following the deaths of three innocent teenagers, but I still held tightly to the determination that I would never fail anyone the way the incompetent, lazy prosecutor in that case had done. He’d allowed the drunk driver to walk with a cocky swagger from the courtroom.

  I urged Midnight to a lope. I had to finish preparing a talk I’d been asked to give in sacrament meeting the next morning. Of all the topics I might have been assigned, the one the bishop requested is a principle I still struggled with: forgiveness. Many times I thought I’d forgiven the man who killed Ollie, Kara, and Abbie. But had I really? How many times had I dreamed of seeing him sitting at the defense table in one of the courtrooms I worked in, the cocky sneer wiped off his face as he was convicted of some crime, any crime, that I prosecuted him for? I had a long way to go, I admitted to myself, as I pulled Midnight to a walk. I’d never seen that man since he walked from that courtroom that had so forcefully set me on the course my life now followed. I had to totally forgive him. Maybe this talk would help me do that.

  I just hoped I wouldn’t see the teenage girl who reminded me so much of Kara or the pretty woman who I’d been told was her Laurel advisor. I saw her in the hallway after church from time to time. Each time I saw her, I was reminded of Abbie, and I’d often thought that had Abbie lived, she might have looked much like Wyanne Grice. On several occasions, her eyes had met mine, and a smile not unlike Abbie’s had lit her face. But each time, I had turned awkwardly and hurried away. Unfortunately, Sister Grice and the young Laurel, Angelica Keen, reminded me enough of Abbie and Kara that just seeing them brought back memories that made the task of forgiveness that much more difficult.

  How could I speak on forgiveness if I saw either of those two in church that day? I pulled Midnight to a stop, dismounted, and knelt near a stubby pine tree. I needed help if I was going to exercise the very principle I was assigned to speak on the next morning. After a heavenward plea, I felt a little better, remounted Midnight, and urged him on his way again.

  ***

  I crossed paths with Sister Grice and Angelica on the sidewalk outside the church the next morning. They both said hi as I passed them, and Sister Grice’s face lit up with a gorgeous smile which displayed two cute dimples. It was hard for me to smile back, but I tried. I mumbled something, but I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight. I stopped and looked back at them, their heads huddled as they talked. It was none of my business why they weren’t in their classes, but I heard Angelica thanking Sister Grice for something that they had apparently just retrieved from the teacher’s car. Oh, how her sweet voice reminded me of Kara.

  I choked back a sob, returned to my truck, prayed for help from the Lord, and finally found some solace. I could forgive the man who killed my friends and sister. I committed to the Lord that I would.

  I don’t know how my talk went, but several people complimented me. Perhaps I did okay. If I did, it was because the Lord was changing my heart.

  I saw Sister Grice once more when I was leaving sacrament meeting. Her ward’s meetings had just concluded, and she was standing in the hallway, holding someone’s fussy baby. Angelica was again talking to her, and both of them crooned lovingly to the child. I hurried past the two of them, mumbling again when they both said hi to me. I felt like the idiot that I am. Why did I have such a hard time socializing even briefly with those of the fairer gender? Was it to be my lot in life? Probably.

  It was only after I had entered the classroom that I realized that seeing the two of them and hearing their cheery voices had not caused me to swell with bitterness. The Lord had heard my prayer. With His help, I could do this. I could forgive.

  I entered the Relief Society room where the gospel doctrine class was taught. A couple in their midthirties sat next to me. The woman leaned over and said something to the effect that I should ask that pretty Grice lady out, that she’d heard that Wyanne wished I would.

  I felt my face flush. I was attracted to her. I had to admit that, but there was no way I could ever ask her—or any other woman—on a date. When I didn’t reply, the lady gave me a strange look and said nothing more.

  At least she didn’t say anything else to me, but I heard her whisper to her husband that someone should set me up with Sister Grice. I suppose she didn’t think I’d heard, but I had. And I prayed that it would not happen. If my sister hadn’t set me up with Abbie, that sweet girl would still be alive. I know, long ago I was persuaded that her death wasn’t my fault, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that if someone forced me to go out with Sister Grice, something bad would happen to her.

  I was relieved when class began and my attention was drawn to the lesson.

  Two

  “Saxson, there’s been a fatal accident. The investigating officer asked me to come to the scene as he was certain we’d be prosecuting the driver for auto homicide. But I can’t make it over there. You’re close. The accident is just outside of Duchesne,” my boss, Duchesne County attorney Dave Padrick said. “I’d like you to go in my place. Just observe the scene, but get a good picture in your mind. I’ll need for you to fill me in later.”

  I would rather not have been asked to do it, for I didn’t relish the idea of seeing a terrible accident scene. I knew it would bring back old and haunting memories. But I did as Dave asked, and ten minutes later I parked my red Ford F250 pickup truck and approached the twisted wreckage. A light snow was falling, and it was very chilly.

  Corporal Bardett Kingston of the Utah Highway Patrol spotted me when I drew near to a mangled yellow vehicle. “The EMTs are still trying to get the victim out of the car,” he said. “I think she died instantly. The driver was thrown out, and he’s not badly injured. He reeks of alcohol. I wanted you guys to get a feel for how bad this is. Dave told me he’d send you. Thanks for coming.”

  “Yeah, it looks pretty bad,” I said, my voice husky. I knew what a drunk driver could do.

  “The fatality is a girl from Duchesne. She’s only seventeen. You may know her.”

  “I hope not,” I said earnestly.

  “She was a spectacularly beautiful girl before her date, Jarrod Miano, rolled his flashy yellow Corvette on this curve,” he said bitterly.

  The curve where we were now standing was just a few miles east of Duchesne. The snow was picking up. I knew that early March storms could be terrible. This one was showing signs of being just that. I shivered.

  “I don’t recognize the name of the driver,” I said.

  “He’s not from Duchesne,” Kingston responded. “This is one of those rare cases where someone was saved because of not wearing a seat belt. He wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t been thrown from the car. The ambulance left about ten minutes ago. They’re taking him to the hospital in Roosevelt. I asked them to have blood drawn to determine his alcohol level. I think he was pretty loaded. That might have also been part of what saved him from serious injury.”

  “The girl,” I said, gesturing to where the EMTs were busy with the Jaws of Life, trying to get the body out of the wreckage of the yellow Corvette. “What’s her name?”

  “I haven’t actually seen her up close yet, but a couple of kids who stopped said that the driver, Jarrod Miano, had taken an Angelica Keen out this evening,” Corporal Kingston said.

  That name hit me like a raging bull. “Angelica,” I muttered hoarsely.

  “Beautiful girl,” he said. “So you do know her?”

  All I did was nod. I could see my little sister in her casket. I fought back the urge to scream out.