Offensive Charge

OFFENSIVE

Charge

Even good-girls are capable

of doing bad things

Stephanie Hartung

Relax. Read. Repeat.

OFFENSIVE CHARGE by Stephanie Hartung

Published by TouchPoint Press

Brookland, AR 72417

www.touchpointpress.com

Copyright © 2018 Stephanie Hartung

All rights reserved.

eBook Edition

PRINT ISBN-10: 1-946920-52-5

PRINT ISBN-13: 978-1-946920-52-2

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. If any of these terms are used, no endorsement is implied. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book, in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation. Address permissions and review inquiries to media@touchpointpress.com.

Editor: Melody Quinn

Cover Design: TouchPoint Press

First Edition

To my parents, Sandra & Calvin, Aunt Pat, Grandma Parish, my sister Jennifer and all the other dream supporters out there. Thank you for carrying the torch for me when I felt lost in the darkness.

Chapter 1: The Arrest

Chapter 2: The Arraignment

Chapter 3: The Inspiration

Chapter 4: The Heartbreak

Chapter 5: The Cellmate

Chapter 6: Sunny San Diego

Chapter 7: Team Night

Chapter 8: The Hospital

Chapter 9: The Nightmares

Chapter 10: The Offer

Chapter 11: Twenty Percent

Chapter 12: The Evaluation

Chapter 13: The Warehouse

Chapter 14: The Breakthrough

Chapter 15: The First Buy

Chapter 16: The Connection

Chapter 17: Higgins

Chapter 18: Enough is Enough

Chapter 19: The Motion Hearing

Chapter 20: Words to Live By

Chapter 21: Second Chances

Chapter 22: The Pretrial

Chapter 23: The Adams Residence

Chapter 24: The Trial

Chapter 25: The Waiting Game

Chapter 26: The Verdict

Chapter 27: Sentencing

Chapter 28: Love and Purpose

Acknowledgements

My husband Luke and daughters Jossalynn, Gabrielle, and Natalie for their patience, love, and support while I committed myself to this project. TouchPoint Press for taking a chance on me as a debut author, my extremely patient and scrupulous editor Melody Miller whose critiques transformed the quality of this book tremendously, and my brother-in-law Clint for nailing the title.

Chapter 1: The Arrest

k

nock, knock, knock, knock, ding dong, ding dong….

Mrs. Williams, we have an arrest warrant for your daughter, Tatum L. Williams. We are authorized to take her into custody immediately.

The casserole dish shattered the silence that followed the announcement as it slipped from Mrs. Williams’ shaking hands and crashed onto the Ivory Italian tile in the otherwise welcoming entryway. The broken glass crunched underfoot as the two officers forced their way inside.

Honey? What’s going on? Derek Williams, halted his six-foot frame in shock as he rounded the curved hallway lined with family photos and observed his petite wife scooping her famous chicken and peppers casserole into her linen apron as she shooed away Thumpers, the family’s obnoxious and overfed tabby. He reached toward the floor attempting to grab one of the larger pieces of broken glass, but was forced upright, an unexpected shoulder check caused him to stumble back several feet.  Derek’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened while he fought to reclaim his footing, Can I help you, officers?

Dad, Tatum’s cheating. She beat me, like, thirty to two. I’m never playing basketball with her again. The house shuttered as Tommy Williams slammed the sliding glass door closed. Dad? Where are you? I don’t get girls. Tatum is being super weird.

Not now, son.

Hey! What gives? Tommy asked as the officers pushed him aside to exit the shaking sliding glass door. Tatum froze in the middle of her parents’ homemade backyard basketball court. The senior was the Chelsea High point-guard and varsity team captain. She had led her team to three state titles and was hoping to maintain her winning streak for her final year and earn a full scholarship to the State College. The Lady Bulldogs were just three weeks into the season, and the entire town was eagerly awaiting the season opener Friday night.

Tatum forgot about the ball. She stood stone-faced and paralyzed as it rolled over to the smaller officer’s foot. I don’t think you’ll be holding one of these again for a while, he said with a smirk. Maybe you can head up the women’s correctional facility league.

The officers approached flaunting a pair of handcuffs. Tatum tried to create some distance but tripped and collapsed to her knees. Dizzy and gasping for air, she fell further, too weak to fight off the immense fear flooding her body and capturing her breath.

The cold hard metal pinched her wrists. The normally agile athlete flailed about searching for footing as an officer clasped her bound hands and forced her up. The smaller officer was twirling the basketball on his finger unable to hide his amusement. Read em’ before she passes out, the officer physically restraining Tatum said. He was bracing himself as if the five-foot-eleven-inches, blond hair, blue-eyed, straight-A student was suddenly going to overpower him. The threat of Tatum running was ridiculous. She could barely manage to steady her trembling legs let alone give chase to two policemen while handcuffed and cornered in her fenced backyard.

Letting the ball fall to the ground and bounce away, the smaller officer removed a white laminated card from the breast pocket of his uniform and held it inches from his nose.  He cleared his throat and stuck out his chest. Tatum L. Williams, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?

Tatum was silent. Neither officer expected a response. It took both of them to escort her limp body to their patrol car. The red and blue flashing lights had drawn a crowd. A collective gasp escaped the group as the entire neighborhood watched in horror as the town’s star athlete was manhandled like a common thug into the back of a police car. Nothing else to see here folks. Go back inside. The show’s over. The officers waved off the crowd.

Tommy tore himself away from the sliding glass door. What the heck? What’s going on? What are they doing to Tatum? Where are they taking her? Mom, do something! We have to help her! Why aren’t you stopping them? Let’s go! We have to rescue Tatum! His screams could be heard from the street. His mother tried to restrain him, but he struck her in the face and rushed outside. He fell three times before he reached the car. He pounded the window and screamed for his sister. Tatum slowly turned and met his eyes. Her red puffy eyes were nearly swollen shut. Her face was drenched with tears, snot, and vomit.

Tatum! Tommy placed an open palm on the window.

Now, now, son, get off the car before you get handcuffed and stuffed in the back of that car next to your criminal sister, the smaller officer said as he wrapped his chubby arms around Tommy’s waist attempting to separate him from the car.

Let her go! Let my sister go! Tommy screeched. He kicked his legs at the officer, managing to plunge a dirty sneaker deep into the officer’s soft belly. The officer’s eyes widened as a groan escaped his lips. He searched for his thigh holster with one hand while trying to strengthen his grip on Tommy with the other. His fingers tore back the Velcro strap and snatched the Taser gun tethered to his leg. Tommy froze like a deer in headlights when he saw the blue laser dot darting around his leg. He heard a rapid clicking noise and yelped in pain as a jolt of electricity shocked him. The officer dropped the boy’s convulsing body to the ground and rolled him out of the way of the patrol car.

Two of the neighbors that had been standing at the end of the driveway rushed to the boy’s side and helped Derek carry him over to the yard.

Are the rumors true? Jack, the EMT that lived across the street asked while checking Tommy’s vitals.

Derek didn’t speak. His vacant eyes said enough.

Tatum vomited twice in the back of the patrol car on the way to the station. She was still handcuffed and found it difficult to sit upright on the hard plastic seat. A metal cage separated her from her uniformed chauffeurs, but it did nothing to stifle the pungent sour odor of vomit that quickly invaded every inch of breathable air. The smaller officer complained of queasiness and barked at his partner to pull over. Between the sucker punch to his gut and the smell, he could no longer suppress his own need to vomit.

Tatum was unable to delight in his misery. She was thinking about Tommy and how much she regretted embarrassing him earlier. It wasn’t enough for her to beat him, she had to throw the ball at him and mock him when he fell. He didn’t deserve that, and he certainly didn’t deserve to be electrocuted and abandoned in the street.

Where are you taking me? she finally spoke.

To the Chelsea County Jail, the driver said.

What’s going to happen to me?

You’ll be fingerprinted, searched, and given orange coveralls then locked into a cell. He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw that her lip was quivering again. What, orange isn’t your color?

Tatum began to wail.

What’s that all about? the smaller officer asked as he slid back into his seat and wiped his lip with a napkin he’d scavenged from the glove box.

What? You mean waterworks back there? he sneered cocking his head toward Tatum. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time! Right? They both laughed at the tired cliché. The smaller officer’s stomach bubbled resulting in a throaty burp. He stiffened up and pierced his lips. They drove the rest of the way in silence, except for the occasional dry heave from the queasy officer.

Twenty minutes after rattling around the backseat, two grey towers with a menacing façade came into view soaring above the city and denying the sun. A sky-bridge of questionable construction connected the police station to the public safety building, which housed the jail and the courthouse. Tatum half expected to see a pair of fire-breathing dragons perched atop the towers ready to scorch anyone crazy enough to run. There were no dragons, at least no literal dragons. There wasn’t even a gun tower like she had seen in the movies. There was, however, a twelve-foot fence topped with razor-wire guarding the premises and a sturdy gate limiting access to official vehicles. It rose automatically as they approached. Tatum couldn’t hear the steel arm creak as it lifted, but she imagined it announced their arrival with nerve grating detail. They drove down three levels in the underground garage before finding an empty stall.

Better leave the windows down and call maintenance, the driver instructed while ripping Tatum from the car, her bare legs peeled like a wax strip off the seat. Let’s get her inside before she starts puking again.

Her feet felt like bricks pulling her to the ground. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t will herself forward. The smaller officer kicked her feet and tightened his grip on her hands. Keep moving! he grunted as he yanked her into the elevator. Her stomach flipped as they climbed to street level. The doors had barely parted when she was shoved onto the sidewalk just steps away from the police station. They bypassed the front entrance and made their way to a side door in the alley. One of the officers pushed a red intercom button protruding from the outside wall. Officers Ray and Houghton with a prisoner for booking.

Prisoner. The word echoed in Tatum’s spinning head. She pushed through her heels and tried to steady herself, but it was no use. The sidewalk rippled under her feet, and her blurred vision gave way to darkness. Tatum’s limp body collapsed onto the unforgiving concrete.

***

Roused by insatiable thirst, Tatum gasped at the sight of the baggy and faded orange jumpsuit covering her body. It offered little padding between her stiff, sore body and the cold metal beneath her.

She squinted beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. Her head was throbbing. Hello? Anybody? she asked in a raspy whisper. She needed water. She attempted to lift her hand to apply counter pressure to her head which she was sure was about to explode. She raised her right arm above her waist and toward her face.

What the heck! she said as her arm slammed back down on the gurney. She tried to sit up only to meet more resistance. The brace around her neck allowed just enough movement for her to view the thick leather bracelets that encircled her wrists. They were attached to short metal chains fashioned to the gurney. She was literally handcuffed to the bed. She wiggled blood back into her rigid fingers. They were smudged with black ink.

The door in the far corner of the secluded chamber creaked open. A woman in scrubs and latex gloves entered the room holding a clipboard. She removed a light from her waistband and began examining Tatum’s eyes. How are you feeling, Ms. Williams? she asked.

My head is killing me. What happened? Why am I handcuffed to a bed? Hoarseness choked the words she managed to eke out.

You tried to run from the cops, not a very smart thing to do. You fell and hit your head. We had to give you fifteen stitches. You’ll be fine though. It’s not severe enough to warrant removal from general population.

What does that mean?

It means you don’t need to go to the hospital or be put in solitary confinement. I’m clearing you. You get a cell and a roommate. Lucky you.

Tatum was confused. She didn’t remember running from the cops. What purpose would that serve? No, she was positive that she hadn’t run. She racked her aching brain for another, more plausible, explanation. The last thing she remembered was standing in the alleyway, that red button glaring at her, her rubbery knees buckling under the burden and her eyes seeing double. She must have fainted. It had happened before when she was extremely stressed. She had fainted minutes before her first championship game freshman year. She had been huddled with her teammates around their coach, listening to her pre-game pep talk, when her nerves got the better of her. One moment, she was drying her sweaty palm on the backside of her warm-up pants yet again, and the next her eyes were swimming in her head, and the floor was rushing up to meet her.

Her teammates spared her head from hitting the hardwood. Apparently that was not a courtesy the officers were willing to extend. How nice of them to make sure they didn’t share the responsibility for her injury. She contemplated telling the nurse her side of the story, but the unfriendly woman was already talking into a handheld radio. Inmate 227 clear and ready for transport, over. She opened the door to leave and gave Tatum one last glance. No more stupid tricks, she said as she let the door slam behind her.

It wasn’t opened again until forty-five agonizing minutes later when a guard arrived to escort Tatum to her new home.

Chapter 2: The Arraignment

"

Who are you?" Tatum asked the woman instructing her where to sign.

My name is Elizabeth Dalan. I am a public defender, and I represent you today, she responded without looking up from the teetering stack of files before her.

Did my parents hire you?

You don’t hire public defenders. They are appointed to you by the court if you cannot afford to hire your own attorney.

Have you talked to my parents?

I don’t represent your parents. I represent you. Attorney-client privilege prevents me from discussing the details of your case with your parents. Did you sign the Advice of Rights form? She grabbed the form without waiting for an answer.

Counselors, are you ready? asked the woman seated directly beneath the judge’s bench. A stern looking woman sitting at the adjacent table with crates of files nodded her head. A tablet in front of her read Plaintiff. Mrs. Dalan? Are you ready?

I need at least five more minutes, she said while shuffling through papers. The stern looking woman, the plaintiff, sighed heavily.

Give me a break, Eileen, Mrs. Dalan snapped. There are thirty cases on the in-custody docket this morning, and this is the first time I have met most of these defendants, and it’s a Monday. You know how this works.

"You represent all these people?" Tatum asked scanning the sea of orange. The pew-like benches were lined with female prisoners handcuffed to one another. Two prison guards had removed each of them from their cells earlier that morning and linked them together with belted chains that attached to their handcuffs. They were then marched single file to the courthouse. Once inside the courtroom, they were told to have a seat and keep their mouths shut. Mrs. Dalan hurried around the room talking to each one of the bound women.

Tatum had never been inside a courtroom before. She studied her surroundings. The bland room was about the size of the auxiliary theatre at school. Rows of benches parted by an aisle filled the back half of the room. They were divided from the front of the courtroom by a long solid wood fence interrupted by a swinging gate. On the other side of the gate sat two tables each with two chairs. The tables were marked plaintiff and defendant. To their right was a dedicated seating area for the jurors. At the front of the courtroom was the judge’s bench. Positioned to the right of the judge’s chair was a workstation reserved for the clerk. A digital clock with red numbers rested on top of her desk.

To the left of the judge was a chair affectionately called the hot seat since it is where witnesses sat under oath and delivered their testimony. Tatum hoped she’d never have to sit in the hot seat. It looked intimidating. It was positioned in front of the courtroom in view of everyone, providing no escape from prying eyes or judgment, the microphone hanging overhead sure to amplify every word.

Yes, for purposes of today’s hearing, I represent all these people, Mrs. Dalan said.

What’s going to happen today? Tatum asked unable to hide the fear in her voice.

Ugh! Mrs. Dalan groaned. I don’t have time to educate you about the entire process. Didn’t you read the paper I gave you? She waved toward the documents piled on the table. Presumably, everyone had signed one. The form read:

CHELSEA COUNTY SUPERIOR COURT

FOR THE STATE OF WASHINGTON

ADVICE OF RIGHTS

1) You have been brought to court on a felony charge(s). You have the following rights:

a. To plead guilty or not guilty

b. To have a trial by jury or judge

c. To have the assistance of an attorney.

2) If you cannot afford an attorney, you have the right to have one appointed to you at public expense.

3) You have the right to call witnesses, to testify, and the right to remain silent. Your silence cannot be used against you.

4) You have the right see, hear, and examine the evidence against you.

5) You have the right appeal a verdict of guilty within thirty days of the finding.

There are mandatory minimum sentence guidelines for different charges which will be explained by the judge.

______________________________________________

Defendant Signature                     Date

______________________________________________

Defendant Name

______________________________________________

Address

______________________________________________

City, state, zip

All rise! Chelsea County Superior Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Susan Matthews presiding, the court clerk announced. Tatum fumbled with the chains as she rose to her feet. An attractive brunette woman in a long black robe took the judge’s seat.

Please be seated. State, call your first case, the Judge instructed.

Tatum was led back to the benches by an officer as a thirty-something-year-old woman with stringy blond hair and vacant eyes was led to the defendant’s chair. Tatum gasped as she learned the mother of three was accused of poisoning her children’s oatmeal. She didn’t shed a single tear when the Judge read the report, pausing after each child’s name and age. Tatum ached for those babies.

The woman was ordered to remain in custody, and her bond was set at one million dollars. She was potentially facing the death penalty. Mrs. Dalan asked the court to order a competency evaluation. Tatum had already concluded she must be crazy if she killed her three children. The woman sitting beside her was charged with motor vehicle theft and forgery. Another