Beyond Justice (15 page)

After another bruising week in court, something occurred to me.  Dave, the Bible study group, and of course, Rachel, my attorney, all "religious fanatics" whom I had once despised, were now my only friends.

As long as I’d known him, I’d always been curt to Pastor Dave.  But he never even hinted at it.  Not even once.  Now, facing him every day, hat in hand, living in his home made it more difficult.

Each time I approached the subject, he would deflect it.  "We don’t need to revisit it," he said one Sunday morning over breakfast.

"Actually, I do."

"I don’t hold any of it against you."

"Thanks, but I need to just say it once and for all.  Come on, Dave.  You of all people know the value of confession."

He set his mug down, wiped his mouth and sat back.  "If it’s that important to you, go ahead."

"Since we met, I’ve been less than kind to you.  Rude, to be more precise."

"Sam, really—"

"No, let me finish.  You’ve shown me nothing but kindness.  Considering how I’ve treated you...  I owe you an apology," I said, now aware of his earnest gaze.

"You owe me nothing."

"You deserve an explanation."  A boulder had been lifted from my chest. "You, Rachel, the Bible study group, you're not like any Christians I've known.   I thought you were like the rest, judgmental, intolerant, out of touch, I just figured that Jenn had met some decent people who’d eventually disappoint her, given enough time."

"Glad we didn’t."

"Me too.  But don’t expect me to convert, okay?"

Dave let out a hearty laugh. "Sam, have any of us ever tried to push our beliefs on you?"

"No."

"Have we ever made you feel less accepted because of our differences?"

"No.  That’s just it.  What kind of
religion is it
if you don’t go around preaching fire and brimstone,
and guilting everyone?"

"You really want to know?"

"I’m curious, that’s all."

"Got any plans this afternoon?"

"Other than sitting around?" 

"Then why not come and see for yourself?"

"I’m not going to your church."

"Neither am I."

Chapter Twenty-Five

Today’s service was not held within stained glass and hallowed walls.  For Dave, church wasn’t in the actual building, it was where ever its people gathered with a common purpose. 

Along with the members of his church, Dave took me to the Seabreeze projects near Rancho Penasquitos, where single parent families struggled to raise their children, while working two or three jobs just to make ends meet.  Virtually orphaned, many children here saw their parents for only a couple of hours a day.  On weekends, this meant lots of kids, lots of time, and very little in the way of guidance, or just good clean fun.

A sunny winter day in San Diego feels like spring in New York.  Freshly mowed lawns exude a sweet aroma, flowers bloom and sunlight warms your back, giving you a deceptive sense of hope.  But the constant woosh of cars behind Seabreeze Apartments made me think of life passing by these kids at freeway speeds.  In the front, however, a wide grassy area, bordered with white-barked camphor trees, stretched across the common area like a park without playground equipment.

Members of City on a Hill, visited often and had been adopted into this community, often helping families by donating supplies, providing baby-sitting, grocery shopping, homework assistance, and
tutoring.  They also supported local schools by donating much
needed
supplies, volunteering to repaint and refurnish dilapidated classrooms, and even providing counseling for troubled kids.

  On the open lawn, a picnic table covered with red gingham housed a veritable feast.  A generator hummed as it powered the air pump for an
inflatable monster truck jumpy.
It
swayed as kids bounced around inside, laughing with delight, a luxury they’d never otherwise enjoy.  All this, courtesy of City on a Hill.

Fried chicken, vegetables, potato salad, cole slaw, apple pies, and one of Lorraine’s famous casseroles enticed the residents.  I licked my lips at the scent of it all.   I saw the top of Lorraine’s silver head as she sat in a lawn chair surrounded by half a dozen young women.  She was handing out care packages—toiletries, soap, toothpaste and brushes, and even some luxury items like bath oils and makeup like the mother hen she was.

Lorraine smiled and waved me over.  I turned to Dave who simply nodded and went over to talk to Alan and Samantha, who was not quite showing yet, but glowed the way first-time mom’s do when they’re with child.

As I approached the circle of ladies, their smiles faded.  It took me a moment to understand.

"Ladies, this is Sam," said Lorraine.

"Sam?" one woman in the group said, her face pale.  "Sam Hudson?"  Quiet gasps floated into the air.  They looked like a bunch of cats, too spooked to run.

"Now, ladies," Lorraine said.  "Sam is innocent.  It’s just a matter of time before he’s acquitted."

"I...I have to go," a young mom said, her words barely leaving her mouth.   "Think I left something on the stove."

"Me too," another said, nearly tripping over the lawn chair.

Lorraine sighed and threw her hands up.  "Ladies, please.  There’s no need—"

Another one:  "Thanks Lorraine, gotta run."

My stomach clenched.  From their wide-eyed sweeps, scanning the area for their children and an escape route, it was clear what they thought and how they felt about me.  They all got up and slinked away, tails tucked.

"Whatever happened to
innocent
until proven guilty?" Lorraine called out.  None of them so much as turned their head as they plucked their children from the picnic tables and pulled them back behind closed doors.

"I’m sorry, Sam."  Lorraine opened her arms, wiggled her fingers inviting me into a grandmotherly embrace.  "I’m so embarrassed."

I had been following Rachel’s advice—not paying attention to the media and was unprepared for this.  For all those mothers knew, a child-molesting murderer was on the loose.  "Didn’t mean to break up your little meeting."

"Never mind those girls.  I’ll straighten them out."

"Don’t be too hard on them."

She smiled, touched my face.  "Make sure you have some of my casserole before it’s all gone."

I thanked her and went in search of Dave.   When I found him, he gestured for me to follow him to the table where lunch was being served. "Did you meet Lorraine’s group?"

"Uh, well," I frowned.

"Oh, don’t tell me."

"Yeah."

"Man, I’m sorry.  I don’t know what to say." 

Over lunch, I couldn’t help but notice the sidelong glances, the whispering parents huddled together.  When they realized who I was, many of them left with their children in tow.  Despite my discomfort, I kept a cheerful demeanor and pretended not to be bothered.

This seemed to be working fine until a scowling man walked over.  His tight, black tee shirt revealed taut muscles.  He glared at me with volatile eyes.  Dave put himself between us.

The guy said, "I ain’t got no quarrel with you, Pastor Dave." Trying to muscle his way through, he stabbed a finger at me.  "It’s this murdering pervert I got a problem with!"

"Settle down Charlie," Dave said, with a grip on his shoulder.  Charlie pulled away, a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth as he spoke through his teeth.

"Get the hell out of my neighborhood, Hudson.  You wanna rape your daughter, kill your whole family?  That's your problem.  Just keep the hell away from mine."

I tossed my empty plate onto the table and started walking back to the car.  As I passed Charlie, he grunted an obscenity and shoved me.

"You really don’t want to do this," I said, turning slowly to face him, my fist so tight it trembled.

"Oh, you gonna kill me too?" He sneered, his eyes flared.

"Go to hell." I started off again. 

"After you!"  Charlie pushed past Dave and came right at me, fist coiled.  I turned around just as Charlie took a swing at my face.   Before I could react, Dave grabbed Charlie by the wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, sending him to his knees.  Charlie gritted his teeth and moaned.

"Time for you to go home, Charlie Fayne, " Dave said.  "Think things over, okay?"

Charlie couldn’t answer intelligibly, he was too busy straining.  His only reply came in the form of a pathetic series of nods.

"You don’t know a thing about Sam," Dave said.

More nods.  Charlie’s face turned red.  Then Dave released him.  Charlie let out a grunt, fell on his ass and fumbled back to his feet.

"Okay Pastor Dave, I’m going."

Dave grabbed his forearm again.  Charlie winced.  "You forgetting something, man?"

"What?"

"You weren’t particularly courteous to my friend, were you?"  Dave  shoved him over to me.  I took a step back.

"Look man," Charlie said.  "I’m sorry, okay?"

"Forget about it."  Despite the calm in my voice, my heart was pounding.  Charlie spat on the ground then trudged back to his apartment, muttering all the way. 

Dave shrugged an apology in my direction.  "He really is a nice guy, when he remembers to take his meds."

"That boy’s just not right," an old man at the table said, then shoveled a spoonful of Lorraine’s casserole in his mouth.

Dave encouraged me to stick around for the next community project—visiting recovering addicts in a rehab center.  But I just wanted to go home and rest.  That was enough stress for one day.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Each day the trial went on, I found myself inching closer and closer to a conviction.  After a month of the prosecution's case, it finally hit me.  I might actually be found guilty.

Walden had established the elements.  Which were, of course, preposterous.  But tell that to the jury. 

Based on the Medical Examiner’s report, the attack had to have taken place while I was supposedly driving home from the Padres game.  If I’d even been there.  No alibi. 
Opportunity
.

Of course the murder weapons had my prints on them, I’d used the knife earlier that night to help Jenn cut vegetables while she helped avert Aaron’s meltdown and find his Thomas Train toy.  The baseball bat used in his assault only had his own fingerprints, and mine.  Because I held it often to demonstrate a proper swing.  But the prosecution called this proof. 
Means.

The final element was by far the most imaginative.  And the most damaging.  Walden had concocted quite the story with George.  I knew he  was going to block my promotion to partnership.  And later, my employment at the firm fell into jeopardy because of the porn.

But Walden's theory got even more fantastic:  I had recently moved into a fairly expensive house in Rancho Carmelita, where the mortgage pushed the limits of my budget.  The insurance money I’d collect from the deaths of my entire family would total two and a half million dollars.  Plenty to pay off my house, invest and live off the interest.  Add to that the fact that I’d probably been molesting my daughter and it was just a matter of time before she told someone—like her mother.  I’d be ruined. 
Motive.

Like a dead fish tethered to a rock, my approval ratings sank.  Not since Hollywood wife-killer, Matt Kingsley, had there been anyone so infamous, so reviled by the media and the public alike.

Now came the defense phase.  "Your honor," Rachel began.  "In light of the State’s failure to adequately meet their burden, the defense moves for summary judgment, at this time."

"Motion denied."

It didn’t phase her at all.  Rachel called Dave Pendelton as her first witness.  By his testimony, he took me into his own home, offered me employment at his church when no one else would even look at my resume.

"Do you believe that Mr. Hudson is capable of the crimes of which he is accused?" Rachel asked.

"Absolutely not.  I’ve known him to be a loving father and husband.  Protective and caring towards his family."

Rachel thanked him and yielded him to the prosecution for cross examination.

Kenny Dodd did the cross. To my surprise, he emerged from his laid-back surfer persona like a shark.  "Reverend," Dodd said.  "Isn’t it true that prior to the murders, the defendant had barely said a word to you, though you were next door neighbors?"

"Yes.  He wasn’t comfortable—"

"Thank you.  So, is it your testimony that prior to the murders, prior to his moving in with you, that you didn’t really know him well?"

"His wife was a member of my church and our Bible study group, she—"

"I wasn’t asking about the victim, I was asking about your acquaintance with the defendant."