The prosecution's case was nearing its conclusion after nearly a week of countless hours of witness testimony that bolstered their theories that Caleb had abused and kidnapped the boys, they were prepared to call their final witness to hammer the final nail in the coffin for the jurors. Even though Caleb would be relieved to have their part of the trial over with, it would add another nightmare to his ever growing list when he was brutally reminded of the fact that, after Dawn's case was over, the jury would be free to render a verdict based on the plethora of evidence they had been allowed to hear during the last few weeks.
That final morning of the prosecution's case, Caleb walked into the courtroom with a heavy, nervous heart as he allowed the bailiffs to lead him over to the defense table where Dawn calmly sat, reviewing her notes, and making minor adjustments to them.
"Hey," she whispered. "How are you?"
"Crappy," he replied honestly.
It was the beauty of their relationship: he could be feeling like total crap, like he was that morning, and she would hold no compunctions about calling him out on it. Same with him when he would make similar remarks to her. They were completely honest with each other, and in a time of great stress and devastation, it was exactly what Caleb needed from her, as he leaned across the table, trying to read what she was writing in the yellow legal pad paper.
"The prosecution has their final witness today," she began, trying to review everything with him before the start of the proceedings that morning. She had already visited him the night before in jail, and had informed him that the state would be ready to rest that day, after they had called their final witness.
"I know," he said, scrubbing a tired hand over his sore, exhausted eyes. A product of suffering through little to no sleep the previous night. "Who is it going to be? Or don't you know?"
It could be anyone, and their testimony would be what the jurors heard in their minds when they were in the deliberation room. It was sickening to realize that the prosecution could have very well proved their case already with the witnesses and experts they had paraded onto the stand, and Caleb and Dawn would have no idea until it was too late.
"I don't know," she affirmed. "I tried to find out, but they have it under lock and key."
"Is that good or bad?" he asked, not knowing how he should react to the fact that the prosecution's final witness was being kept such a closely guarded secret, and also not liking the fact that even Dawn, his legal powerhouse of an attorney, couldn't suss it out.
"Neither," she said with a shrug. "It won't matter who it is, we'll still have our chance to discredit everything, especially on cross." It would be her final cross-exam of the prosecution's witnesses, and she was already mentally formulating a plan of attack, and would edit her carefully planned notes with the introduction of the witness.
"You better have a hell of a cross planned," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, as the judge entered the room, and they had to stand.
"Don't worry," she said, as they sat back down.
Trying to take her advice to heart, he heaved a deep sigh, and listened to the judge call the jury into the room. Then, after standing and then sitting back down for them, it was time for the hearing to officially get underway. As predicted, the state formally announced they were resting after calling their final witness. Trying to ignore the almost painful thundering of his heart, he tried to focus on what the prosecutor was saying.
"Who would the state like to call as their final witness?" the judge asked, as he glanced over in the direction of the prosecutor, Mark Williamson.
"Your Honor, the State calls Diane Ward to the stand."
The well-meaning woman from CPS who had spearheaded the sick campaign to rid him of custody of the boys, and had succeeded in her efforts.
"You got to be kidding me," Caleb whispered, not able to disguise the hurt that colored his tone as he watched the perky brunette make her way up to the stand.
She had rubbed him the wrong way when she had flat out accused him of abuse, and she was rubbing him the wrong way now, with her cool and (and even rude) demeanor, as she avoided looking him directly in the eye, clearly either feeling guilty for what she had caused, or satisfaction.
"State your name for the record," the prosecutor said, as he focused on his star witness.
"Diane Ward," she announced clearly, pausing to take a sip from the water bottle the bailiff provided for her.
"And what is your occupation?"
"I am a caseworker for Steele County Child Protective Services."
"And what do your duties encompass?"
"Mainly I am an investigator for the state family services. My duties could mean counseling a family who is in crisis, or it could mean taking preventative measures to make sure one or all of them are safe from danger."
Like me, Caleb thought, trying to keep his thoughts to himself as he forced himself to stare into this woman's face.
"How long have you been working in your current position?"
"Twenty-five years, sir."
A long time to be working in any position, and Caleb knew without anyone telling him, that her credibility would be greatly heightened in the eyes of the jury because of her years of service to the state.
"That's a long time," Mark commented, "so in those years, you've grown accustomed to seeing a lot of different family scenarios, correct?"
"That's correct," she replied.
"What about cases where the children are at a certain disadvantage within the home? And by that, I mean, when you suspect abuse or neglect. What's the process of investigating that, if you could walk us through that."
"Sure," she said effortlessly. "Our department will receive a call from the individual who has noticed or suspected abuse, and then it will go through the appropriate channels before a caseworker is assigned. In this case, that was me, and I set about to make the right calls to organize the investigation."
"And part of your investigation is interviewing the suspect and the alleged victims of the crime, correct?"
"Yes."
Her "interview" with Caleb, had been more like an interrogation where she had lambasted him with the allegations that her department had come up with.
"Did you make contact with Caleb Rivers?"
"Yes."
"And what was his demeanor when you two spoke with each other?"
"Defensive."
"About what?"
"About the charges that he was being accused of."
"Did he verbally deny causing the marks to Dean Winchester?"
"Yes, he did."
"By this time," Mark said, "had you already started your investigation?"
"Yes, we had."
"You informed him that you needed to arrange a meeting with the children. Did he resist the idea of that?"
Like hell he had resisted it, but Caleb had known that if refused to have the boys meet with the woman, the outcome would have been worse on all of them in the end.
"No, not entirely. He wasn't too enthused about the idea, but he never denied me the right to come in and speak with them."
"What conditions did you observe in the home when you first arrived?"
Like they were honestly expecting him to have the boys living in deplorable conditions. It would have been hilarious if the situation hadn't been so serious.
"Everything was clean," she said, "and orderly."
"What about the children? What did you observe on sight?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. They seemed comfortable, and even happy."
"Did they appear to be underweight?"
"No."
Caleb knew those were the only points he had earned. At least in the eyes of this woman, who had so harshly judged him from the second she had laid eyes on him.
"Did you notice the bruise mark on Dean?"
"I did, yes."
"Was he able to move his arm?"
"Yes."
"And were you able to talk to the children?"
"I was."
At that moment, the prosecution asked for the judge to admit into evidence, the audio recordings of her conversation with the boys. Sam was the first one she spoke with, so his interview was played first, and Caleb wished it hadn't. Without meaning to, Sam had made the entire situation worse when he had clammed up during her questioning, and had shed an even brighter spotlight on his family.
How often are you in school? Diane's voice asked.
Caleb could remember listening with Dean in the other room as Sam spoke with her, and he could remember the dread and panic that had settled in both of their veins when he had flubbed the interview.
Not a lot lately, Sam's voice admitted.
Even without physically being in the room with him, Caleb could hear how nervous he had been during the interview, and how he was trying to be honest, but at the same time, adhering to the guidelines that Caleb had given him with which answer the woman.
Why aren't you in school?
Um, Sam said, clearly beginning to clam up, and Caleb hated the fact that this woman was pushing him to make a satisfactory answer to enhance her investigation.
It's okay, you can answer," Diane coaxed.
I'm not supposed to," Sam said, nailing the first nail in the coffin.
It had been basically what Caleb had told him to say, but not exactly in those words, and that was when the investigation had taken on a more serious, ominous turn, with the woman now clearly suspecting that he had been coached.
"When you consider that statement," Mark said, pausing the audio, as he turned to face her again. "What comes to mind, in your experience?"
"He was coached in some way, in what to say to me."
That was exactly what Caleb was afraid of, that they would draw that kind of conclusion that Sam had been coached by him to lie to the CPS worker, when nothing could have been further from the truth. The only reason he had told Sam what to say, was so that he wouldn't end up revealing something about what they did to her.
"What was his behavior when you two were speaking?"
"He was calm, happy when he was talking about his friends and school, but when we got on the subject of his absences and so forth, he became nervous."
"Alright, let's resume the tape."
It took a second for the tape to resume playing, during that time Caleb tried desperately to control the insane nausea that was coursing through his system, as he fought to stay focused on the tape and what was going on around him.
What about your brother? Diane's voice asked, switching to the one topic that had completely unraveled the interview.
Caleb knew that the prosecution was only supposed to show the worst parts of the interview, but he wished that he had showed the part of the interview where Sam had talked eagerly about what a wonderful guardian he was, and how much fun they all had together.
What about him? Sam asked, clearly confused.
I saw those nasty bruises on his arm, Diane said, trying to trap him into pinning the blame on Caleb. Do you know anything about those?
No, Sam said.
Caleb could tell that he was scared, trying not to say anything at all, even though this woman was pushing him for an answer that she wouldn't even understand. It made him sick to know that she had pushed a nine-year-old into confessing something that wasn't even true.
Anything at all? It's important.
And then Sam said the words that had completely blown the case wide open, and it made Caleb's blood boil that she had forced that out of him, and he had folded due, understandably, to his own fears of being cornered like he was.
You wouldn't understand?
What wouldn't I understand?
Caleb said I'm not supposed to say anything.
Caleb bowed his head, fighting back tears. The implication of what Sam had told her was staggering. It didn't look bad, it was bad. This, to an outsider, looked increasingly like he had been taught to say those words to that lady, and they wouldn't have any other basis to go on.
"When you consider that statement," the prosecutor said, turning to the lady. "Does that look like he was coached to say those words?"
"Basically, yes."
"No further questions."
After the lunch break, Dawn got her chance to deliver her cross-exam of the witness. The pressure was on her that afternoon, and she knew it. This would be her final chance to blow holes in the prosecution's ridiculous theories, and she knew that it would end with this lady.
"Mrs. Ward," Dawn said, "I would like to play parts of the interview that counsel neglected to play, if I may, your Honor?"
"Yes," the judge said, nodding. "Be careful, though."
"Thank you."
Turning to the television as she played the tape of the interview, she played the other parts of the interview that the prosecution had omitted when they had been trying to paint her client in the worst possible light.
What about Caleb? Diane asked, her voice floating across the courtroom. Is he a good guardian?
Sam's reply was instantaneous, without hesitation. Yes. He's amazing.
"Does that," Dawn said, pausing the tape. "Sound like a child that has been coached to say something like that? Or has been abused, for that matter?"
"No," Diane admitted.
"And what was his demeanor when you two spoke about Caleb? Was he nervous or scared?"
"No."
"Was he excited and eager to talk about what a good guardian my client was?"
"Yes, he was."
After that, Dawn switched the tapes around to play Dean's interview. The prosecution's interrogation of Diane Ward had consisted of playing only Sam's portion of the interview, but Dawn was curious what her take of Dean's interview would be.
For most of the interview, she and Dean talked amiably about sports and Sam, which Dean discussed with apparent ease. When the inevitable questions about school and his numerous absences came up, Dean waved off the concern to being sick, and to losing their dear guardian a few months previously. It was when the conversation turned to Caleb that Dean started to get defensive, and that was the portion that Dawn wanted the jury to hear for themselves, and what would prove to be crucial for them to absorb, especially in deliberations.
Are you afraid? Diane asked, switching to the one topic that Sam had messed up so badly on.
No! Dean said forcefully, his indignation shining clearly through the audio as he defended his guardian and confidante. If I'm afraid of anyone, it's you!
Why would you be afraid of me?
For trying to do what you're trying to do!
And what's that?
Taking us from Caleb!
At that juncture, Dawn stopped the audio. It was clear she had gotten from the tape, what she had wanted to get from it.
"Does that appear to you like someone who is afraid of the defendant?"
"Looks can be deceiving," the woman replied coolly.
"Well," Dawn said, "what this looks like to me, is a kid who is scared to death of being separated from him, and doing everything in his power to defend someone he loves with all his heart."
"Well," Diane said, shaking her head. "I can only base my opinion on what I observed from the children."
"And did they show any fear of my client when you saw them together before the interview?"
"No."
"They didn't shy away from him or act like they wanted to get away, correct?"
"Correct."
"I want to play this for you to hear," Dawn said, as she played the other part of the audio recording of Dean's interview.
I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to your arm, Diane said, diving into the source of their investigation in the first place.
Nothing.
Nothing? She repeated incredulously.
I believe that's what I said.
When there are marks of that size and severity, we need to investigate and ask why they didn't receive medical attention.
I was out playing with my friends. I slipped and banged my arm on the cement, and I hid it.
At that point, Dawn stopped the interview.
"He had a valid reason for what happened to his arm," Dawn said, turning her attention to the woman again. "Why didn't that suffice for your office and your investigation?"
"Because the marks on his arm were consistent with being hit or grabbed, and children can lie about abuse for a variety of reasons."
"Those marks could have come from anywhere, and you have the alleged victim, telling you what happened, and why they didn't receive attention. It was entirely possible, correct?"
"It would have been plausible had there not been any other factors."
Caleb shook his head; this woman had been on his case from the get-go, and she was still going after him all those months later in court. He wanted to jump up and demand to know what it was about him that attracted so much unwanted attention, but he wisely refrained.
"And what were those factors?" Dawn asked, her patience clearly wearing thin with this woman.
"The absences, and the marks. We had a medical expert examine the photographs, and they came up with the same conclusion that we did."
"But in your own personal observations, you never personally witnessed anything to suggest abuse, correct?"
"Yes."
"No further questions."
