Fear will no longer consume me
Death is knocking on my door
~ James Stockton ~
Michael drove to Mr. Stockton’s house while Nigel searched online for a case that had been overturned that was similar to the one that they were about to take on. Technology, it was a wonderful thing, especially when you were on the go, low on funds, and out of time!
“That’s it.” Nigel pointed to a beige duplex on the left.
It wasn’t in a bad neighborhood, didn’t look rundown, and if you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t have a clue that a man inside the walls of the average-looking house was, in fact, fighting for every breath he took and was deteriorating by the minute. Sitting in the car for a moment, gathering their things, each one silently wondered if they were doing the right thing. Was it even their place to get involved? After all, it had been years since anyone had mentioned that night. What if no one even cared? To his relief, his boss eased his fears.
“You know, I have a feeling that, like most stories, there’s more to this story, and it’s about to unravel. It’s probably a good thing that we’re here; the story may never have been heard in its entirety if you hadn’t have pursued this angle on behalf of your friend.”
Nigel put his hand on the car door and started to open it. “Well there’s only one way to find out; let’s do it.”
A pretty lady answered the door, but Nigel discreetly shook his head and averted his eyes, indicating to Michael that this was not Sharon, Mr. Stockton’s daughter.
“Hello.” Nigel politely introduced himself and Michael. “We’re here to see Mr. Stockton and Sharon, his daughter.”
He pointed to his friend and then to himself. “Michael Daniels and Nigel Nichols; they’re expecting us.”
“Can you give me a second, please?”
She half closed the door and walked back down the hallway. Muffled voices could be heard, and another lady appeared at the door.
“Sharon! Good to see you again.” Nigel immediately stuck out his hand.
“Come in, come in! Sorry about that, you know Nancy, the nurse? If not, that was Nancy.” Her smile was warm and her voice welcoming as she stepped out of the way to let them in. “Please, he’s expecting you.”
Nigel hadn’t exaggerated about the smell. The house was small but clean, neat and tidy, and you could tell everything was in its place. But lurking behind the smell of antiseptic and air fresheners was a smell that anyone who had been around a decaying body could recognize. It was a distinctive scent. And despite their best efforts to disguise it, the odor had lingered and penetrated the fabrics, walls, and air of the house. Nothing worse than watching the ones you love dying in front of you, watching them decay from the inside out. Cancer was a terrible disease! Michael felt sick to his stomach but tried his best not to breathe through his nose. Nigel felt sadness for Sharon, who spent each and every day with her father that she could, but likely hadn’t given herself a second thought in a long time. Wishing he could tell her how much he admired her, but knowing that now wasn’t the time, he recognized they had to move fast. Her father could literally pass at any time. The realization of what ran through his mind prompted him to move swiftly.
“May we speak to your father, please?”
Sharon nodded and pointed toward a bedroom door.
“He just wasn’t up to getting out of bed today; he did try.”
“No worries,” Nigel responded as he pulled out the camera and walked into the room.
Introductions were brief. Nigel set up the video camera and pulled out the document that would eventually become his sworn affidavit.
“When you’re ready, Mr. Stockton.”
“James,” he mumbled. “It’s James, and nice to meet you both.”
“Yes, sir. James.”
Nigel repositioned the microphone.
“I’m going to state the day, date, your name, and location, and you’ll confirm. After that, tell us everything that you can remember from that night. Start from the beginning, and try to recall as many details as you can. Where you were, what day or year, if you can remember, who was there, and most importantly, what exactly happened.”
“Do you have any questions before we get started?” Michael interjected.
James shook his head.
“Once you’ve told us everything you can remember, we’ll question you, if we feel that there are details missed and see if we can jog your memory. Okay?”
He nodded again. “I’m ready.”
Closing his eyes and allowing his mind to drift back to when he was working on the docks, the union, and that night at the pub, the Shamrock. For a second, Nigel thought that between his illness and the medication, James might actually drop back off to sleep. Thankfully after a few moments, which felt much longer, James started to retell his story. The account was ten times more sordid than Nigel had previously heard and he’d heard multiple reports, a few of them hearsay, but from several sources.
“I wished I’d never gone into the Shamrock that night, but like the others, I did.”
Nigel, pen in hand, took notes and continually made sure the video was recording as James spoke.
“You already know the part about your brother, Nathan, being shot earlier that week.”
Nigel nodded, and though Michael didn’t say a word, he reached over and patted Nigel on the back. James took two deep breaths with his oxygen mask placed firmly over his mouth before he continued.
“We’d gone there to have a pint in honor of Nathan, but Hank was already there sitting at the bar. It didn’t seem like he wanted to be bothered, and he never talked much anyway. You could tell he just wanted to be left alone.”
He pulled the oxygen mask down a tad and went on with his version of the story. “That’s about the time he came in, Tom, just mouthing and being his usual loud self, but no one paid him no mind. Well, until he started making a toast for Nathan.”
Nigel interrupted.
“Mr. Stockton, excuse me, James, for the record, who came into the Shamrock that evening?”
“Tom O’Halloran.” He took another hit of his oxygen. “But he didn’t come alone; there was a whole group of his friends, or I should say his followers, with him.” He took a couple of breaths in between his sentences. “They wanted him, Tom, to take Hank’s spot as one of the leaders in our group down on the docks. It wasn’t an official position, but Hank had leadership skills among the workers, and they listened to him.” James drifted off in thought for a second. “Influence, you know, like he could make others see things his way.”
Nigel and Michael nodded.
Coughing and spluttering interrupted the recording session. A sip of water, a five-minute break, and they were able to continue. Sharon stood nervously at the edge of the bed, worrying that the interview was taking too much out of her father.
“Can you go on?” Michael asked. “If not, we’ll stop.”
James was having trouble breathing. Each breath was shorter than the last and all involved were fearful it could be his last. Sharon begged him to slow down.
“Take deep breaths, and your breathing will return to normal. Put your oxygen mask back on for a few minutes.”
James’s monitors started beeping as his blood pressure rose. His heart was beating faster, and his hands were shaking. Stressed. Scared. A panic attack was about to set in. Nigel, worried they wouldn’t get the entire story, backed off.
“Let’s take a few minutes.”
James whispered. “No.”
Anxious and frustrated, he belted out a request.
“I need to tell you something first.” His eyes were full of panic as he repeated his request over and over to start his story at the very end.
“Can I do that? Just in case we don’t finish. In case I croak or something.” He tried to laugh, but no one laughed with him.
“Can I? Can I tell you the last part first? I need to tell you why, because it’s important.”
Having no clue what he talking about and fearing being so upset might actually kill him, Nigel nodded and confirmed.
“Sure, James, no problem. You can tell us whatever you want, okay?”
Nodding, he pointed for his water. Nervously everyone waited as he took a couple of sips. With a shaky, weak voice, James began to speak. It was the first time in over eleven years the truth had been discussed at all, let alone with strangers, and now it felt as if it were indeed part of his last and final confession. His words stunned everyone, including Nigel, who had not heard this part of the story until now.
“We were scared. Scared to death, more like it!” Tears filled his eyes but never toppled the lids. “Me and Lewis were grabbed from the street corner, beat, beat damn near unconscious with sacks over our heads before we were thrown into the back of a truck. I can’t speak for Lewis, but I think I must have passed out because I can’t remember anything but hitting the truck bed. I woke up to find myself in an empty warehouse with Lewis laying at my side.” He took a hit of oxygen. “I didn’t know if he was dead or alive since he wasn’t moving and I couldn’t hardly move myself to check on him. I know now that warehouse was one that no one used on the very docks where we all worked.”
Sharon put a hand over her mouth, sat down on his hospital bed, and held in her cries. The room grew deathly quiet, and every time James moved, the sheets crunching beneath his mattress sounded ten times louder than they were. Placing his hand in hers, she squeezed it, giving him the encouragement to go on.
“A cold, steel pistol was held to our heads.”
You could have heard a pin drop. It sounded like something movie scripts are made up of—kidnapping, beatings, and guns. No one said a word; all eyes and ears were on James.
“Tom’s allies—thugs—wanted him to be the one that the ILWU leaders confided in, and were grooming him to be that person. Really they were anti-union and wanted inside information to use against them to sway the men. Hank, being well liked by everyone, was the ILWU and the men’s go-to guy. He helped with negotiations for both sides; peacemaker, they called him. Tom’s people had a deal, under the table of course, with dirty leaders. They needed their people influencing both sides. Being anti-union, they were only going to appear to work with them.”
Coughing broke out, and Sharon insisted that they all let him take a few minutes to breathe. Fearing he’d forget where he was in the story, Michael begged her to let him finish.
“If he’s up to it, may we continue? Will you ask him?”
Hesitantly she agreed, and the interview went on.
Shaking, James took another sip of water, spilling it down his chest. Embarrassed, he tried to wipe it up, but his hands were too weak.
“I got it. No biggie.” Nigel dabbed the wet spot, acting as if he hadn’t even noticed it at all.
James closed his eyes, and the others in the room feared he was drifting off to sleep or worse, but he was forcing himself to go back to the warehouse again. The memory still burned in his mind, haunting him to this day. It was the day he destroyed an innocent man’s life, and shame consumed him. Remembering the look on Hank’s face as James lied in the witness box shattered him. Unable to control the guilt and shame he felt, the tears in his eyes now flowed nonstop down his face. All he could do was apologize over and over again.
“I’m sorry. Sorry. So sorry.”
Nigel spoke carefully and softly.
“We’re going to fix it. Fix this. Hank has a daughter, just like you. And you and Sharon want Hank to have his family back. It can’t make up for lost time, but you can help mend a wrong.” Wrapping his hands around James’, Nigel added, “James, you can help reunite them for good. You can fix this wrongdoing.”
Watching her father so distressed broke Sharon’s heart. She wanted them to take a break, but she fought through, hid her tears and, wanting to hear the truth just like everyone else, she sweetly asked him to continue.
“It’s okay, Daddy, tell us what happened.”
“After the fight, everyone scattered. The police took accounts from a few that were on site, but they all said the same thing.”
“What did they say?” Michael asked.
“Most said that Hank had pushed Tom over the bridge during the fight, but others weren’t clear what had happened, and I think at that point no one knew exactly what had happened, except that it was a terrible accident.”
He hesitated. “Until Tom’s people got involved, got a hold of Lewis and me, and then not only did they have enough witnesses, they had star witnesses, eyewitnesses.”
“Okay. Let’s back up for just a second. Okay. Where were you?” Nigel asked.
“We left, like everyone, ran. Got out of there as fast as possible. We were headed to another pub, local, near the Shamrock, and that’s when we were grabbed.”
He stopped. But everyone could tell he was back in his head, digging for details, wondering if he was retelling the story exactly how it had happened.
“I do remember one of the guys in the warehouse used to go by the name, nickname, Chance.”
“How long after you scattered was it before they grabbed you and Lewis?” Michael asked.
“Not long. An hour maybe, two at the most, the police had accounts from several people who had already done what Tom’s thugs had asked, pointed to the person that they’d been told to identify as the one who pushed Tom over the bridge.”
“And for the record, Mr. Stoddard, James, who did they force you and the others to identify as the person who had pushed Tom O’Halloron over the bridge, that night of the fight, that caused him to drown?”
James never batted an eye. “It was simple, and I’ll never forget those four words because each one came with a smack upside the head with that pistol I was telling you about.” He put the oxygen mask over his mouth and took in three large breaths.
“Four words. Hank Gunner did it. Hank Gunner did it! They hit us. Hank. Hit us. Gunner. Hit us. Did. Hit us. It. Hit us. I think we passed out. And if that wasn’t enough, for a final emphasis, they pulled back the hammer of the pistol and released it four times. We had no idea if the barrel was empty. Hank. Click. Gunner. Click. Did. Click. It. Click. But on the fourth click, they grazed our heads one last time for good measure.”
Trembling hands placed the mask over his face again, and he hung his head in shame.
Nigel patted the top of James’ hand.
“You did good! We’ve just got a few gaps to fill. Okay. Can you go on?”
Nodding, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
Michael walked over and stood by James’s bed. Leaning over, he spoke softly.
“Nigel’s right. You’re doing great and we’re almost done here, but we have to get to the rest of that night. We know why you didn’t tell, understandably, and that Hank was framed. But James, for the record, can you tell us what it is that you haven’t told the court or anyone else since that night?”
James nodded.
“Okay, good. We’re working backward but don’t worry, we’ll still build a case. Okay.” Michael sounded as if he were speaking in code to Nigel.
Nigel knew what he meant and would put things in chronological order when he wrote up his report.
“James, I’m to ask you a question now for the court. Could you please, for the record, tell us who pushed Tom O’Halloron over the bridge or Hank for that matter, the night during the fight?” Michael asked.
Nigel knew the answer. Sharon did not, and Michael had heard it from Nigel. But hearing the truth out of the mouth of someone who was actually there that night was absolutely chilling.
“I did. It was me.”
Sharon gasped.
“It was an accident, but the last hands that touched Tom O’Halloron were mine, and I was the man who pushed him off my body when he fell on me, into Hank, and they both went flying through the cracked top rail of the bridge.”
“We should stop. Take a break.” Sharon insisted, but her father shook his head.
“Finish. Finish it.”
Michael continued working backward.
“For the record, one last time. You were in the Shamrock, Hank was at the bar, and Tom O’Halloron came in with his friends. What started the actual fight? Can you tell me why they threw down in the first place?”
James knew exactly why the fight went down. Tom wouldn’t leave Hank alone. He just kept pick, pick, picking at him, determined to get on his last nerve. Insulting his friendship with his best friend, whom he’d just lost. Questioning his loyalty to Nathan, but the final straw had put Hank over the edge.
“What, for the record, was the final statement that put Hank over the edge and started the fight?” Michael asked.
“It was after the toast that Tom had made in honor of Nathan. Hank didn’t raise his glass.”
“What happened next?” Michael asked.
“Tom delivered a low blow. Stating Nathan would be alive today if it wasn’t for Hank. That Hank had cost his best friend his life.”
“And, again, for the record, what happened next?”
“Hank got up. Tom got up. They were kinda face-to-face in the middle of the bar. Pete, the owner, was begging them to sit down or go outside.”
“And then what happened?”
“Hank walked toward the door, but they started fighting. Bodies into bodies at first, and then fists flying.”
“Please state for the record who threw the first punch.”
James hesitated. “That I don’t know. I really don’t know. I think I had taken a drink of my pint at that exact time.”
“Okay. No problem. What happened next?” Michael forged ahead.
“They ended up outside. Pete shuffled them toward the doors, and they burst out into the street.”
“Is it true that a large crowd had gathered around them?”
“Yes.”
“Where did the fight end up next?”
James pointed to his water, took a sip, and continued.
“The bridge to the left of the Shamrock. It was cold. And the street was icy. I remember because Hank slid into several of us during the fight.”
“How did they end up over the bridge?”
“People were gathered around them, like you said. They would push them back and forth into the circle as they were fighting if they wandered out. At some point, they landed on me. I pushed Tom, who grabbed hold of Hank; they were holding on to each other. When I pushed Tom off my body so I could breathe, the two fell onto the railing, which was damaged, and it gave way. It was then that they both fell over the bridge.”
Nigel pumped his fist in the air. They had everything they needed. He’d even managed to obtain a signed statement from Lewis, who was in a nursing home due to a debilitating injury but was still of sound mind. Michael congratulated James.
“Congrats, man! You’ve certainly given us the best shot to clear an innocent man’s name. Hopefully, because of time already served, he’ll be out sooner rather than later.”
A feeling of relief swept over James. Knowing that the burden he’d been carrying around with him for all of those years had been lifted, the truth finally out in the open made him feel as if he was the one who had been set free. It was almost too much; sobs overtook him.
“I’m going to die; I know that, but at least now I can die with a clear conscious. Please, please, please, for me, tell Hank and his family that I’m sorry.”
It had taken over five and half hours, in between oxygen breaks, coughing, water breaks, medication being administered, and a few sessions of James dozing off, but they had finally obtained a recorded video account and a signed sworn affidavit. Put that with the signed statement received from Lewis, and Michael believed that anyone would consider overturning Hank’s conviction and releasing him for time already served. A quick text to his colleague, and Michael secured a criminal attorney for their team. Didn’t hurt to have a circle of friends that happened to be lawyers.
As they said their goodbyes, the men knew they would never see James Stockton again. By the time the official filing had been made, the case read, and it actually went before the judge for the hearing, they knew he would be deceased. Never in his life had Nigel felt such a sense of urgency; without James Stockton’s testimony, Hank would have spent several more years in jail. The best years of his life already come and gone, but at least now Hannah had resurfaced. Maybe he couldn’t ever get that time back, but he could start a new life with her from right here and now.
“You weren’t kidding,” Michael stated.
“What’s that?” Nigel asked.
“We were on borrowed time.”
Michael cracked his window, allowing the fresh air to blow over them as he drove. The air in the house had seemed so stale; a reminder of life slipping away. Taking deep breaths, the chilled air burned his lungs. It was a feeling that had a different meaning after that day. Watching James struggle to breathe was an image he couldn’t erase from his mind for quite some time.
“Thanks for making me do this, trusting me enough to bring it to me, and making me see it through. I do believe it’s the right thing to do. And I think your brother would be proud of you.”
Nigel hung his head, grateful for his boss’s words. He thought of his brother, Nathan, and how much he knew that he loved Hank. Nathan was a good man; loved his family, loved Hank, but Hank was a good man too, and Nathan had known that. Nigel thought Michael was right; he would have been pleased.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate that!”
“You know what to do with those, right?”
Michael pointed to Nigel’s satchel on the floor.
“Yes, sir.”
“Great. Let’s get it wrapped up and filed. We’ll start preparing first thing in the morning.”
“I’m on it!”