try.
“Mrs. Richards, bringing a case like this to trial can be very, very painful. You
can’t begin to imagine what you will have to go through. It could take months and
that means you’d beforced to relive your husband’s death over and over again. The toll it would take
on you could be enormous and the end result would not bring your husband back. When
dealing with a case like this, where a widow is left alone, it might serve your interests
best to cut a deal.”
“A deal?” Meg asked. “I don’t understand.”
Jones took a deep breath as he shifted into a tactic he often used when faced with
a situation like this. It was time to gently present himself in the role of a big
brother. “Mrs. Richards, what I’m going to suggest is for your own good. I can probably
get the driver to plea guilty to a charge that would require him to do some community
service, pay a fine, and serve a long probation. And then, in a separate agreement,
his family would pay you a large settlement.”
Her response was immediate. “I don’t care about money. That won’t bring Steve back.
I want the kid to know the kind of pain he has caused me. I want the satisfaction
of watching him convicted and sent to jail. He has to serve time. He killed my husband!”
It was so much easier when money could buy influence. And a lot of the time it could.
But the tone in this woman’s voice assured him she couldn’t be bought off. Her pain
was too deep, her resolve too strong. So that made things much more complicated. With
the elections coming up in the fall, this case needed to disappear, but it appeared
she wasn’t going to let it. How much money would it take to change her mind? Did she
have a price?
“Mr. Jones, are you still there?”
What to say now? He was far too pragmatic and logical to get emotionally involved
in his cases and he’d never been very good when it came to sympathizing with or understanding
grief. Still, at least for the moment, he had to give the appearance of caring. Find
a safe, noncommittal reply and then, afterhe got the woman off the phone, come up with a game plan that would not include his
going up against the Thomas family.
“Mrs. Richards,” he began, “as I started to say, I had the good fortune to meet your
husband on several occasions and I can’t begin to explain how deeply saddened I was
by his senseless death. It was tragic, simply tragic, and it shouldn’t have happened.”
Surely this was what the woman wanted to hear. Those words would assure her Webb Jones
was a man who wanted justice. After all, he had just indicated how wonderful Steve
had been.
“So, what do we do now?” Meg inquired.
“Well,” Jones quickly answered, maybe now that he was on the familiar turf of law
he could spell out in language the woman would grasp why this case didn’t need to
go to trial. “We are dealing with a juvenile and the initial thing that will have
to be done, if we try him, is have him certified as an adult. If there is no problem
in Justice of the Peace Court, I’ll present the case to a grand jury. If that jury
decides to indict him, then we’ll try the case.”
“Mr. Jones, what do you mean
if
the jury decides to indict?” There was a certain desperation now obvious in the woman’s
tone that grew stronger as she continued. “He was drunk, he killed my husband, and
he is guilty.”
“I agree with you,” Jones answered defensively, “but sometimes justices of the peace
and grand juries have strange ways of looking at things. Still, don’t worry about
that.” Jones paused before coming back with what he considered a small fib. “I want
justice, Mrs. Richards, and I’ll do my best to get justice.”
Jones had figured that his strongly phrased promise would bring the woman the satisfaction
she needed and allow him to end the phone call on a high note. Yet Meg’s next demanding
question quickly convinced him of
“Mrs. Richards, bringing a case like this to trial can be very, very painful. You
can’t begin to imagine what you will have to go through. It could take months and
that means you’d beforced to relive your husband’s death over and over again. The toll it would take
on you could be enormous and the end result would not bring your husband back. When
dealing with a case like this, where a widow is left alone, it might serve your interests
best to cut a deal.”
“A deal?” Meg asked. “I don’t understand.”
Jones took a deep breath as he shifted into a tactic he often used when faced with
a situation like this. It was time to gently present himself in the role of a big
brother. “Mrs. Richards, what I’m going to suggest is for your own good. I can probably
get the driver to plea guilty to a charge that would require him to do some community
service, pay a fine, and serve a long probation. And then, in a separate agreement,
his family would pay you a large settlement.”
Her response was immediate. “I don’t care about money. That won’t bring Steve back.
I want the kid to know the kind of pain he has caused me. I want the satisfaction
of watching him convicted and sent to jail. He has to serve time. He killed my husband!”
It was so much easier when money could buy influence. And a lot of the time it could.
But the tone in this woman’s voice assured him she couldn’t be bought off. Her pain
was too deep, her resolve too strong. So that made things much more complicated. With
the elections coming up in the fall, this case needed to disappear, but it appeared
she wasn’t going to let it. How much money would it take to change her mind? Did she
have a price?
“Mr. Jones, are you still there?”
What to say now? He was far too pragmatic and logical to get emotionally involved
in his cases and he’d never been very good when it came to sympathizing with or understanding
grief. Still, at least for the moment, he had to give the appearance of caring. Find
a safe, noncommittal reply and then, afterhe got the woman off the phone, come up with a game plan that would not include his
going up against the Thomas family.
“Mrs. Richards,” he began, “as I started to say, I had the good fortune to meet your
husband on several occasions and I can’t begin to explain how deeply saddened I was
by his senseless death. It was tragic, simply tragic, and it shouldn’t have happened.”
Surely this was what the woman wanted to hear. Those words would assure her Webb Jones
was a man who wanted justice. After all, he had just indicated how wonderful Steve
had been.
“So, what do we do now?” Meg inquired.
“Well,” Jones quickly answered, maybe now that he was on the familiar turf of law
he could spell out in language the woman would grasp why this case didn’t need to
go to trial. “We are dealing with a juvenile and the initial thing that will have
to be done, if we try him, is have him certified as an adult. If there is no problem
in Justice of the Peace Court, I’ll present the case to a grand jury. If that jury
decides to indict him, then we’ll try the case.”
“Mr. Jones, what do you mean
if
the jury decides to indict?” There was a certain desperation now obvious in the woman’s
tone that grew stronger as she continued. “He was drunk, he killed my husband, and
he is guilty.”
“I agree with you,” Jones answered defensively, “but sometimes justices of the peace
and grand juries have strange ways of looking at things. Still, don’t worry about
that.” Jones paused before coming back with what he considered a small fib. “I want
justice, Mrs. Richards, and I’ll do my best to get justice.”
Jones had figured that his strongly phrased promise would bring the woman the satisfaction
she needed and allow him to end the phone call on a high note. Yet Meg’s next demanding
question quickly convinced him of
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