Chapter 4
The following Monday at work was torturous. My truck was visibly missing from the executive parking lot. My hand had nasty skin abrasions from the air bag, and I walked the halls in a daze, possessed by a combination of shock and denial.
I couldn’t talk to anyone about what had happened, because I didn’t know what had happened. Who was this man, Andrew Thomas? I wondered. Why would he want to lay waste to my thirty-year career? Try as I might, I was unable to believe the surreal change my life had taken.
How could I survive in prison for ten years — or for even one year? I thought. I’m no gangster. Just last week, I’d been fighting to stay awake, and now I’m fighting for my life. No, I’m fighting for my whole family — my wife, my five year old, and my newborn. We’ll lose our home if I go to prison. Surely, this can’t be true. It’s too unbelievable to be true.
I’m the big wage earner in the family, the one with all the college degrees. Becky could never afford to live in Phoenix while supporting two children by herself. And what about my employer? No matter what happens, he might think that I’m a closet drunk and fire me even if I did go to trial and win. For the first time since I was a boy, I felt helpless.
I worried constantly about the woman in the accident. I didn’t know if she had been seriously injured. All I could think about was that there must be a way to help her, but Mr. Ramirez had been quick to tell me that it was a felony for me to contact the woman. She was under the protection of the prosecutor’s office. I hadn’t even been charged with a crime, yet I was already presumed guilty under the law. My God, I asked myself, have I been asleep all these years? What has happened to America?
Mr. Ramirez called me a few days later. He had contacted the investigating police officer. There was troubling news and good news. The troubling news was that a third automobile, and another woman, was involved in the accident. The good news was that the most serious injury was a fractured bone in one woman’s foot. No one was seriously injured. My insurance would pay for everything. Becky was right, I thought. Everything will work out after all.
The next week, I received a letter from the police department with my driver’s license and the women’s names and addresses inside. Both women were young, in their mid twenties. I had to do something to help, but what? To physically help was a trap, so I began a prayer vigil. Each night before going to bed, I would go into the spare room, kneel before a portrait of Jesus that hung on the wall, light two candles on the bookcase, and pray.
“Dear Lord, Please help Judy Moss recover physically, emotionally, and spiritually from the trauma that was caused her by this accident. Please help Samantha Gillespie recover physically, emotionally, and spiritually as well. I ask for your forgiveness and for the forgiveness of these ladies. Lord, I also pray for the families of these women, their mothers, their fathers, and those who love them. I pray for my family too and for an ease to the stress this accident has caused everyone. Please help all of us through this time of worry and distress. Please let these two ladies find room in their heart to know I did not mean for this to happen. Let the injured one know, Lord, that if I were allowed, I would be doing everything that I could to help. And, Lord, help me to understand what happened. Help me, Dear God, to figure it out. In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, I pray, Amen.”
The accident report from the Mesa Police Department and the women’s medical records from my attorney arrived the last week in August. They contained shocking revelations, all of it good news. The third automobile in the accident was a full-sized SUV. The car I collided with was a GEO Tracker. According to the accident report, the Tracker collided with my truck just after a van in front of it swerved into another lane. The Tracker’s driver had, no doubt, not been able to see beyond the back of the van. She didn’t have a chance to swerve.
The Nissan SUV rear ended the stopped Tracker at forty five miles an hour immediately afterward and rammed our two vehicles into each other a second time. The Nissan had left no skid marks. Its driver told the police that she did not apply the brakes before the accident. She had been tailgating and there wasn’t enough time, I thought.
The police found extensive braking skid marks from both my truck and the Tracker that would have slowed the impact speed. The accident report’s wording made it clear that I had caused the first accident, but there had been more than one accident if the Nissan hit the Tracker after it was stopped. There are laws against tailgating. Was I the one who had caused the injury to the Tracker’s driver, or was it the SUV traveling at forty five miles an hour?
The medical report was even more encouraging. The doctors stated that the driver of the Tracker said she was not in severe pain. She told both the rescuers and the ER doctors that she was a heroin addict two months in recovery. She tested positive for narcotics. She was taking the anti-schizophrenia drug Seroquel, whose primary side effect is drowsiness. My hopes began to soar. She was driving under the influence!
It appeared that one of the ER doctors attempted to cover up the evidence of her intoxication and drug use by indicating that the woman had been given a shot of morphine. Yet, her medical report contained no record of any drug, much less a powerful narcotic, administered to her that night. The medical reports I had went into extreme detail about my intoxication, but was there a cover-up regarding the Tracker’s driver? These were mitigating circumstances.
I went to the computer and found the City of Mesa’s zoning website. I wanted to locate the scene of the accident. The accident happened inside the Mesa city limits. Andrew Thomas wouldn’t even be involved. I was saved!
Maybe Mr. Ramirez could get the charges dismissed. Maybe none would be filed. I had a fighting chance to save my career and my family. I was excited beyond words. I stood up from the computer to tell Becky the great news. I felt weak, dizziness engulfed me. Holding the papers in my hand, I leaned against the wall beside the door and began to weep. I let it go, the stress, the horror, the nightmare — It’s almost over. I’m going to survive this after all.
Proceed to Chapter 12.
