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Six months later...
Blair
“Please place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right so Madam Clerk can swear you in,” the rotund judge in the black robe says from his raised seat beside me.
I do as he said, my hand shaking with nervousness as I raise it.
“Do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” the tiny, young clerk asks from across the room.
“Yes,” I state loud and clear.
This is it.
Today, we’re finally all sitting in a courtroom, and now I’m face-to-face with Brede and Aden’s father for the first time in almost eleven years.
Ben Rawls has, of course, aged significantly while serving a long sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. His dark hair has thinned and turned gray, and his long, salt and pepper beard reminds me so much of Brede the first day we met. He’s still handsome, despite his aging, and right now he’s giving me a smile of encouragement, which I easily return despite the permanent ache in my chest that I know is also in his. Not only did we both lose the woman he loved, but now we’ve lost his son.
“Please state your name and occupation for the record,” the tall and lean attorney says, standing up from her table. Assistant United States Attorney Sharon Burke’s a federal prosecutor, the one who has been helping us get to this point for the last few months.
“My name is Blair Elizabeth Lockhart. I’m a student at Jefferson Community and Technical College in Louisville, Kentucky.”
“Thank you, Miss Lockhart. So let’s start from the beginning for His Honor. You are the daughter of Valerie and Trevor Lockhart, both deceased?”
“Yes,” I answer, the fact that I’m an orphan actually hitting me for the very first time. My palm automatically goes down to caress my swollen stomach where our daughters are growing, silently promising them that they’ll never be without their mother and father.
“And is it true that you were present when your mother was murdered on April 17, 2005?”
“Yes, I was.”
“How old were you?”
“I was eight years old.”
“And at the time, Benjamin Rawls was charged with murder, tried and convicted, yet you never once got on the stand as you are now and testified that he is the man who killed your mother?” she asks.
“Yes, Mr. Rawls was charged. Someone tried to take a statement from me. My, um, my father threatened my life and told me to lie and say it was Ben when asked, so I wrote his name on a sheet of paper, but I never testified in court.”
“And if you had testified, what would you have said under oath?”
“I was scared of my father back then after watching him stab my mother in her stomach and chest over and over again before he threatened me with the same bloody knife. Blood was everywhere. It dripped from his hands onto my dress that he made me change and hide. But Ben Rawls is innocent. He loved my mother. They were planning to be together. My mother had packed our things...” I reach for a tissue from the box in front of me and try to dab at the tears forming in the corner of my eyes before they fall. “When my father found out, he told her we couldn’t leave, that he wouldn’t let us. She told him he couldn’t stop her. That’s when he hit her. I think she was trying to tell him she was pregnant. He said he knew it wasn’t his, and then he stabbed her in the stomach with a kitchen knife.”
I hear Ben’s sniffles from where his face is hidden behind his still cuffed hands, hearing me tell what actually happened for the first time. I can’t imagine how hard it must be on him, losing my mother and their unborn child. I can’t bring them back for him, but hopefully, he won’t be in restraints much longer.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Lockhart, that you witnessed something so awful when you were so young. And Judge Harnett may want to know where you’ve been residing for the majority of the past ten years and seven months.”
“After that day...I wouldn’t speak afterward or eat. I barely slept. They put me in an institution, and I...I escaped right after my eighteenth birthday. I promise you that I am mentally stable now. Back then I was suicidal. I had watched my mother be murdered by my father. I had lied and sent an innocent man to prison for years. There didn’t seem to be anything worth living for...” Until Brede. “But I’m no longer suicidal, and I’m under the care of a psychiatrist, Dr. Amelia Goldman, in Louisville.”
“And Dr. Goldman has provided the court with this letter that says she’s carefully tested and evaluated you to be in good mental health?” Attorney Burke asks, holding up my doctor’s signed statement and showing it to me.
“Yes.”
Setting the paper down, she picks up the small blue dress with dark blood stains that Aden sent to the FBI office here in Charlotte.
“And is this the dress you were wearing the day of your mother’s murder?” Attorney Burke asks.
“Yes. My father told me to hide it in the dollhouse in my room, and that’s where I found it after I left the hospital several months ago.”
“Your Honor, DNA tests have been performed and are a positive match to Valerie Lockhart, the report of which was attached as Exhibit D in our joint Motion for Appropriate Relief,” Attorney Burke advises.
“Thank you,” the Judge says with a nod before lowering his head and jotting down notes on the legal pad in front of him.
“And, Miss Lockhart, is it true that your father is now deceased? Murdered by a woman named Nadia Thomas, who is currently incarcerated?”
“Yes,” I answer, hating that bitch for what she did. I wish she were dead, but spending life in prison is the best the courts could do.
“That’s all, Your Honor,” Attorney Burke says. And when she retakes her seat at her table, I let out a sigh of relief.
“Any questions from the defendant?” the judge asks.
Ben’s attorney that we hired for him, Alan Clark, stands up and buttons the front of his suit jacket. “No, sir. The defense would only like to thank Miss Lockhart for her testimony.”
“Very well. You can retake your seat, Miss Lockhart,” the judge turns to tell me. “Court will be in recess for fifteen minutes.”
“All rise. This honorable court now stands in recess,” the United States Marshal standing to my left calls out, and everyone gets to their feet and stays still until the judge leaves the courtroom through the door behind his bench.
Relieved that my part is done, I waddle back to join my fiancé where he’s been watching from the gallery. Trying to stay strong, I refused to even look at him while I was on the stand, knowing the sympathy on his face would be the end of my composure.
“You did great, baby,” he stands up and whispers before wrapping his arms around me and kissing my cheek.
“Thanks,” I reply. And then we sit down together and wait silently during the break, anxious to see how things will play out. Both of us are too nervous to even engage in small talk. Instead, I hold his hand and say a silent prayer that this portion of our shared nightmare may soon end.
My shoulders sag with the weight of all that we’ve lost getting here to this moment. We can’t possibly forget the man we loved and lost six months ago, but we agreed to try and live life to the fullest, finding happiness where we can, because that’s what he would have wanted for us. That’s why he sacrificed his life to save us. I know he’s still watching over us, protecting us, forever our guardian angel.
After what feels like fifteen hours instead of minutes, the U.S. Marshal announces that court is back in session. Our hands clench each other’s tighter as the judge takes his seat.
This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. No, it won’t undo the pain and suffering we’ve endured. But if he finds in Ben’s favor, it’ll go a long way towards finally righting a wrong.
“Having reviewed defense counsel and the prosecutor’s jointly filed, twenty-five page Motion for Appropriate Relief, and after considering the new evidence and testimony of an eyewitness who was not allowed to be questioned by defense during the initial murder trial in state court because of what was clearly a conflict of interest in the originating jurisdiction, I hereby grant the motion. This case and the defendant are formally removed from the State of North Carolina’s jurisdiction. Furthermore, while I cannot make a ruling on the defendant’s guilt or innocence, I can offer him a new trial in the Western District of North Carolina or, if he wishes, he may maintain his guilt, and I will release him immediately from custody based on time served. Would defense counsel like a moment to discuss this with your client?” the judge pauses to ask.
“No, Your Honor. My client has advised me that he will waive his right to a new trial and gladly accept the relief offered,” Ben’s attorney stands up and declares.
Does that mean what I think it does? He’s really going to let him out?
“Is this your informed decision, Mr. Rawls?” the judge asks while I hold my breath.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Ben stands up and replies. “Thank you.”
“Then it is hereby ordered that Benjamin Rawls is released from custody and placed on supervised release for a term of two years. Marshal, please remove Mr. Rawls from his restraints and take him to the probation office so he can begin his supervision. Court is adjourned.”
Our prayers have been answered! All the hurting and misery of the past decade wasn’t for nothing.
