man’s blood sample, finally determining that he had been driving with a blood alcohol level of .24—three times the legal limit.
Since Hannah was not praying, she filled her mind the only way she knew how. She remembered. Nights were the worst. She missed Tom so much it threatened to kill her.
She physically ached to touch him once more, to hold him and kiss him and tuck her feet under his legs as she had always done before falling asleep. She would toss and turn in the empty queen-size bed, finding solace only by drifting back to the beginning. Tom at nine years old, shooting baskets in his driveway; she and Tom racing their bikes down the street, the wind in their hair on some endless, golden summer day; Tom alive and young and handsome at his graduation party, seeing her in a dress for the first time; Tom making her heart beat funny every time he was near.…
It was the same every night, one memory after another, as if by remembering, she could somehow bring him home to her. Back where he belonged.
Where he had always belonged.
Nine
Her people fell into enemy hands, there was no one to help her .
L AMENTATIONS 1:7 B
Drunk driving laws in the state of California were clear. If a person had a blood alcohol level of .08 or higher, he would be charged with drunk driving. What wasn’t clear was the punishment exacted for the offense. A drunk driver could face anything from a one hundred dollar fine to several years in prison, depending on a list of variables. That list included whether the person had prior convictions, and especially whether the drunk driver was involved in an accident that resulted in the death or serious injuries of others.
Los Angeles Deputy District Attorney Matthew J. Bronzan was assigned the case against Brian Wesley more than four weeks after the accident that killed Tom and Alicia Ryan. Drunk driving was his specialty, and he had requested this case. Now, on this October morning as he mulled over a stack of documents and crime scene photos, he was beset by a range of conflicting emotions. He grieved for the family who had been shattered by this man’s selfish actions. Brian Wesley was a convicted drunk driver, a man with a history of getting behind the wheel and driving intoxicated. This angered the prosecutor greatly. Dealing with the senselessness of drunk driving deaths always did.
But as he sat at his government-issued desk, in his cramped office at the Criminal Courts Building, Matt Bronzan also felt a deep-rooted surge of excitement. This was the case he’d been waiting for. The People v Brian Wesley would change California drunk driving laws forever.
There was a knock at the door, and Sgt. John Miller poked his head inside. “Busy?”
“Hmmm. Come on in.”
Sgt. Miller pulled up a chair and sat opposite the prosecutor, leaning back so that the chair’s front two legs came up off the ground. “Heard you got the Wesley case.”
Matt lifted the stack of paperwork on his desk and let it fall down again. “Right here. Got it this morning.”
“First time you heard about it?”
“No. Read about it in the papers. I asked for it.”
Sgt. Miller crossed his arms and drew a deep breath. “Then there won’t be a plea?”
Matt sat back in his chair and leveled his gaze at the sergeant. “Not a chance.”
There was silence a moment, then Sgt. Miller stood and paced toward the window. He stood staring through the dirty glass.
“I was there, you know. Saw the dead girl. Watched her sister lifted onto a stretcher and placed in an ambulance. Stayed with their father until they took him to the hospital.” Miller remained motionless, his back to Matt. “Mr. Ryan knew he wasn’t going to make it, Matt. Made me promise to tell his wife and girls he loved them.”
With a sigh, Miller spun around. “I don’t want to see Wesley walk.”
Matt glanced down and sorted through the photos on his desk. He found one of Alicia taken at the accident scene, her face bloodied, eyes closed.
Since Hannah was not praying, she filled her mind the only way she knew how. She remembered. Nights were the worst. She missed Tom so much it threatened to kill her.
She physically ached to touch him once more, to hold him and kiss him and tuck her feet under his legs as she had always done before falling asleep. She would toss and turn in the empty queen-size bed, finding solace only by drifting back to the beginning. Tom at nine years old, shooting baskets in his driveway; she and Tom racing their bikes down the street, the wind in their hair on some endless, golden summer day; Tom alive and young and handsome at his graduation party, seeing her in a dress for the first time; Tom making her heart beat funny every time he was near.…
It was the same every night, one memory after another, as if by remembering, she could somehow bring him home to her. Back where he belonged.
Where he had always belonged.
Nine
Her people fell into enemy hands, there was no one to help her .
L AMENTATIONS 1:7 B
Drunk driving laws in the state of California were clear. If a person had a blood alcohol level of .08 or higher, he would be charged with drunk driving. What wasn’t clear was the punishment exacted for the offense. A drunk driver could face anything from a one hundred dollar fine to several years in prison, depending on a list of variables. That list included whether the person had prior convictions, and especially whether the drunk driver was involved in an accident that resulted in the death or serious injuries of others.
Los Angeles Deputy District Attorney Matthew J. Bronzan was assigned the case against Brian Wesley more than four weeks after the accident that killed Tom and Alicia Ryan. Drunk driving was his specialty, and he had requested this case. Now, on this October morning as he mulled over a stack of documents and crime scene photos, he was beset by a range of conflicting emotions. He grieved for the family who had been shattered by this man’s selfish actions. Brian Wesley was a convicted drunk driver, a man with a history of getting behind the wheel and driving intoxicated. This angered the prosecutor greatly. Dealing with the senselessness of drunk driving deaths always did.
But as he sat at his government-issued desk, in his cramped office at the Criminal Courts Building, Matt Bronzan also felt a deep-rooted surge of excitement. This was the case he’d been waiting for. The People v Brian Wesley would change California drunk driving laws forever.
There was a knock at the door, and Sgt. John Miller poked his head inside. “Busy?”
“Hmmm. Come on in.”
Sgt. Miller pulled up a chair and sat opposite the prosecutor, leaning back so that the chair’s front two legs came up off the ground. “Heard you got the Wesley case.”
Matt lifted the stack of paperwork on his desk and let it fall down again. “Right here. Got it this morning.”
“First time you heard about it?”
“No. Read about it in the papers. I asked for it.”
Sgt. Miller crossed his arms and drew a deep breath. “Then there won’t be a plea?”
Matt sat back in his chair and leveled his gaze at the sergeant. “Not a chance.”
There was silence a moment, then Sgt. Miller stood and paced toward the window. He stood staring through the dirty glass.
“I was there, you know. Saw the dead girl. Watched her sister lifted onto a stretcher and placed in an ambulance. Stayed with their father until they took him to the hospital.” Miller remained motionless, his back to Matt. “Mr. Ryan knew he wasn’t going to make it, Matt. Made me promise to tell his wife and girls he loved them.”
With a sigh, Miller spun around. “I don’t want to see Wesley walk.”
Matt glanced down and sorted through the photos on his desk. He found one of Alicia taken at the accident scene, her face bloodied, eyes closed.
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