My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(80)

House again turned to Dan, confused and disbelieving. A low murmur swept over what remained of the crowd. Meyers silenced it with a single rap of the gavel.

“Our judicial system is premised upon the truth. It is premised upon the participants in that system respecting and providing the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth . . . so help them God. It is the only way our system of justice can properly function. It is the only way we can ensure a fair proceeding for the accused. It is not a perfect system. We cannot control those witnesses who have no regard for the truth, but we can control those who participate in the judicial process—law enforcement officers and the men and women who have taken oaths to practice before this bench.” In one sentence, Meyers had condemned Calloway, Clark, and DeAngelo Finn. “It is not a system without faults, but as my fellow jurist William Blackstone stated, ‘It is better that ten guilty men go free than one innocent man be wrongfully convicted.’

“Mr. House, I do not know whether you are guilty or innocent of the crime of which you were accused, tried, and found guilty. That is not for me to determine. It is my opinion and conclusion, however, based on the evidence presented before me, that serious questions exist as to whether you received a fair trial as is mandated by the Constitution and our forefathers who drafted it. Therefore, it will be my recommendation to the Court of Appeals that they remand this matter to the trial court and that you receive a new trial.”

House had his palms pressed flat on the table. He dropped his chin to his chest and his huge shoulders rose and fell with an enormous sigh.

“I am not na?ve,” Meyers was saying. “I recognize that, during the past twenty years, evidence has gone stale and witness recollections will have likely eroded. The State’s burden will be even greater than it was twenty years ago, but if that be a prejudice, it is a prejudice self-inflicted. That is not my concern.

“It will take some time to prepare my written findings of fact and conclusions of law, and I presume it will take time for the Court of Appeals to review them. I also assume it likely that the State will appeal my decision. There will also be the inevitable delay before the matter can be remanded to this Superior Court for the purpose of conducting a new trial, if that is to occur at all. Mr. House, those are not delays with which you need concern yourself.”

Tracy realized where Meyers was headed. So too did those in the gallery, who continued to whisper and shift in their seats.

“I am, therefore, ordering your release, subject to your being processed at the Cascade County Jail and the imposition of certain conditions upon your freedom. I will not impose bail. Twenty years was more than a sufficient price. I am ordering, however, that you remain within the state, that you check in daily with your probation officer, that you abstain from alcohol and drugs, and that you obey the laws of this state and this nation. Do you understand these terms?”

Edmund House, mute for three days, stood and spoke. “I do, Judge.”





[page]CHAPTER 49





As Judge Meyers rapped his gavel a final time, reporters rushed to the railing, shouting questions at Dan and Edmund House. Dan pacified them as the correctional officers reapplied House’s handcuffs and shackles to escort him out the back door to the Cascade County Jail for processing.

“We’ll be holding a press conference at the jail just as soon as my client is processed,” Dan said.

Finlay Armstrong stepped to Tracy’s side to escort her out of the courtroom. In the midst of the commotion, she looked back over her shoulder, and for a brief moment she flashed back to that moment she had looked through Ben’s truck-cab window and seen Sarah for the last time, standing alone in the rain.

Dan looked up and met her gaze, giving her a small, contented smile.

Finlay ushered Tracy out the courtroom door and down the marble staircase leading to the rotunda. Some of the reporters, perhaps sensing they would not get anything from Dan or House, hurried after her, cameramen rushing ahead to film and take photographs of Tracy descending the interior courthouse steps.

“Do you feel vindicated?”

“This wasn’t about vindication for me,” she said.

“What was it about?”

“It’s always been about Sarah, about finding out what happened to my sister.”

“Will you continue your investigation?”

“I will ask that the investigation into my sister’s murder be reopened.”

“Do you have any idea who killed your sister?”

“If I did, I would bring that to the attention of those who will be investigating.”

“Do you know how your hair got in Edmund House’s truck?”

“Someone put it there,” she said.

“Do you know who?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Do you believe it was Sheriff Calloway?”

“I wouldn’t know for certain.”

“What about the jewelry?” another reporter asked. “Do you know who planted it?”

“I won’t speculate,” she said.

“If Edmund House did not kill your sister, who did?”

“I said I won’t speculate.”

In the marbled rotunda, more cameras and microphones assaulted her. Realizing it was futile to avoid them, she stopped.

“Do you think your sister’s killer will ever be brought to justice?” a reporter asked.