Monday, October 23, 2017
Ricky Heston sat toward the back of the courtroom, palms sweating, his suit jacket absorbing moisture from his armpits. Seeing Jeremy’s victims flash by on the screen made the whole thing seem real again after eighteen months.
He listened to the opening statements while staring at the back of Jeremy’s head, wondering how his nephew had taken such a nasty turn in life. He remembered taking him to so many sporting events as a kid, and seeing Jeremy’s face light up every time they walked up the steps at different stadiums. His nephew had been so happy all the time, full of life, and he ached at the thought of what he had done to all those innocent lives.
Ricky had been informed by the district attorney that he would be the first witness called to the stand.
“I want to set Jeremy’s background with guns right off the bat,” the D.A. had told him over the phone.
It felt like he was working against his nephew, but had no choice. Just answer the questions. And keep those spent shells out of your mind!
Ricky had flown in a week earlier to settle back into town and prepare for his testimony. The high altitude had caused his skin to shrivel up like a raisin after living at sea level for over a year. Despite his itchy flesh, Ricky loved being back in his home city.
He caught up with his brother and sister-in-law, and they filled him in on every detail of the trial—it seemed they might have known more than the lawyers after obsessing over every bit of released information. Despite their morbid fascination with the trial, he thought they seemed almost back to their normal selves, considering the circumstances. Robert thanked him for coming back home to contribute to the trial, even though he was the prosecution’s witness.
The week flew by and Ricky was thankful. Being stuck in the middle of the trial made him want to get away, and he’d planned to catch the first flight back to Florida tomorrow.
He hadn’t dared visit his cabin, wanting to keep it as far out of his mind as possible. The lawyers had never asked about the cabin in the pretrial questionnaires, so he assumed there would be no surprises on the witness stand. Besides, they never presented a warrant of any sort to search his property, meaning they didn’t know about the cabin.
Ricky had no real reason to be nervous for his testimony, but he was. He watched as the judge entered the courtroom again, knowing his number would be called within minutes.
They don’t know about the cabin. The shell is sunk in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
“Mr. Batchelor, your first witness, please,” Judge Zamora said once the jury had settled into their seats. Silence and tension filled the air as everyone awaited the trial’s first witness. Who would it be? What would they say?
The D.A. stood, buttoned his jacket, and said, “The prosecution calls Richard Heston to the stand.”
Ricky stood and felt all eyes in the audience immediately turn to him. The gallery was only eight rows, with an aisle separating the two sides. Jeremy was on Ricky’s left as he approached the bar and pushed open the swinging door. Robert sat in the front row behind Jeremy and nodded to Ricky when their eyes locked. He could see the pain and anxiety in his brother’s brown eyes.
Jeremy had sat up stiffly, Ricky noticed, when his uncle’s name was called. He must not have known I was being called as a witness, Ricky thought.
He walked to the witness stand at the judge’s right, and the bailiff approached him.
“Please raise your right hand,” the bailiff said. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
“I do,” Ricky said and sat down in his chair, adjusting the microphone to his level.
“Please state your full name for the record,” Geoff said from the podium.
“Richard Jeremy Heston.”
“Thank you, Mr. Heston. Can you please tell us how you’re related to the defendant?”
“I’m his uncle. He’s my brother’s son.”
Good, Ricky thought. Stay cool.
“Would you say you’ve been involved in the defendant’s life?”
“Yes, for the most part.”
“What sort of activities would you and your nephew partake in?”
“Mostly sporting events. We’ve been to a lot of Nuggets games, Broncos games, and like to golf as well.”
“Would one of those sports be recreational shooting?”
God damn it.
“Yes, sir.”
“How often did you go shooting with your nephew?”
“We’ve been to the shooting range a couple times together and hunting at least once a year for quite a while.”
“When was the last time you were at a shooting range with your nephew?”
“It was toward the end of 2012, a little before Christmas.”
“And your last hunting trip with him?”
“Would’ve been the same year, in November.”
“Would you say your nephew was a good shot?”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Linda jumped out of her seat, startling Jeremy, who had become entranced at the sight of the uncle he hadn’t seen in years. “Speculation.”
“Sustained,” the judge barked.
Geoff returned to questioning. “Mr. Heston, can you tell us about your background with firearms?”
“I served in the Marines for ten years as a Gunner. I was responsible for conducting arms-based training.”
“So it’s safe to say you’re experienced with firearms?”
“Very much so.”
“Do you still have any firearms from your days with the Marines?”
Fuck.
“Yes, sir.”
“What kind?”
“I still have my M-16 and a couple of pistols.”
“Did you ever take your M-16 rifle to the shooting range with your nephew?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did your nephew ever shoot your M-16?”
Ricky paused, not wanting to answer the question.
“Mr. Heston?”
“Yes, he has.”
“How many times did your nephew use your M-16?”
“Just once, at our last trip to the range.”
“At the range, you are shooting at a target. How many shots did your nephew successfully hit the target?”
“About half.”
“Not bad for his first time.”
Ricky shrugged his shoulders.
“Would you consider an AR-15 to be similar to an M-16?”
Ricky paused and put on his best thinking face. “They’re similar in build, but in terms of performance are fairly different.”
“Can you elaborate on those differences?”
“Yes. An M-16 is a fully automatic weapon. You can hold the trigger down and it keeps firing rounds until you let go. It’s also much more powerful than an AR-15. An AR-15 is a semiautomatic weapon, meaning you have to pull the trigger for each shot you want to take. In short, an M-16 is designed to kill people, and an AR-15 is a recreational firearm.”
Way to tiptoe around that question.
“Do you know the state of Colorado’s law for the maximum amount of rounds that can be loaded into a firearm?”
“Yes, sir. Ten.”
“Evidence shows that your nephew had not just one, but five magazines, each designed to hold not ten but thirty rounds. These are not sold in this state. Do you know how to obtain one of these magazines?”
“It’s like anything else—you can find them online or for sale on the black market.”
“How much time would it take for you to empty a magazine of thirty rounds with an AR-15?”
Ricky pursed his lips before answering. “Probably just under thirty seconds.”
“No further questions.” Geoff returned to his seat as Linda approached the podium.
“Good morning, Mr. Heston. I have just a few questions for you.”
Ricky nodded nervously.
“Did your nephew ever express an interest in rifles after he used your M-16?”
“Not to me.”
“When was the last time you saw your nephew in person?”
“I actually haven’t seen him since that last trip to the shooting range in 2012.”
“So a little under five years?”
“Correct.”
“It sounds like you and he were pretty close. Why the five-year hiatus?”
“I travel a lot for work. I’m usually gone at least two weeks each month. Once he graduated college and joined the real world he made his own friends and started living his life.”
“You didn’t even see him over the holidays?”
“I’m always on the road for major holidays, so no.”
“You ever speak to him on the phone?”
“A couple times, but mostly by text message, to talk about things happening in the sports world.”
“According to our records, your nephew never visited another shooting range since your last time with him. Did he ever mention anything about going back?”
“No.”
“In your professional opinion, is an AR-15 the sort of weapon that can simply be picked up and learned on the spot?”
“No.”
“Would it require a lot of practice to master?”
“Yes. The rule of thumb is that you need to fire at least a thousand rounds before you can fully learn your firearm.”
“And how many rounds did your nephew fire the day he used your M-16?”
“Only one magazine, so ten rounds.”
“No further questions. Thank you.”
Ricky didn’t know how long he hadn’t been breathing, but he let out a long exhale when Linda returned to her seat.
I’m home free.
“Mr. Heston, you are excused. Thank you for your testimony,” Judge Zamora said.
“Thank you,” he replied, before standing up to exit the witness box. Jeremy stared at him, trying to force eye contact, but Ricky’s eyes locked with Jeremy’s lips instead; he couldn’t bring himself to look his monster of a nephew in the eyes. Jeremy was the reason he could no longer go to his cabin, the reason for him moving all the way across the country this past year.
Jeremy, you stupid motherfucker.
Ricky walked out of the courtroom and decided to head to the airport right away.