911: 911. What is your emergency?

Ashley: (crying) My husband just attacked me. I had to claw his eyes just to get him off of me.

911: What is your address?

Ashley: 5260 E. 420 Road, Claremore.

911: Is your husband still in the house?

Ashley: Yes! Hurry, please!

911: Where are you?

Ashley: After I scratched his face. I ran into our bedroom. I’m in here with the door locked. I need help!

911: Okay, stay where you are. Stay on the line. I am dispatching a Rogers County sheriff to your address.

Ashley: (screaming loudly) OH MY GOD! He kicked in the door. Ple—

(End of call)

***

Steve felt chills run down his spine. How can Scottie think anyone would believe he didn’t kill Ashley after listening to this recording?

He ran through the information he got from the recording. The husband and wife were clearly fighting before the call was made. She was audibly upset during the call, and a little more than five minutes after the call terminated, Sheriff Deputy Blackburn found her lying on the living room floor, bleeding to death from multiple stab wounds all over her body.

However, Steve reminded himself of the first rule of jury trials, the plea every good defense attorney always asked of the jury during voir dire or opening statement. It was a simple request:

Each juror should hold off on making any final decisions until all of the evidence has been submitted. Steve knew the state always started with their best evidence to try and convince the jury of guilt before the defense ever got a chance to present evidence. He was now doing exactly what a juror was not supposed to do—making a decision before he heard both sides of the story.

Steve made himself consider the possibility that Scottie hadn’t been the one who stabbed Ashley Pinkerton thirty-eight times. He listened to the tape again.

He sat forward when he finally heard it; or, rather, when he didn’t. If they were in this huge fight, why isn’t Scottie yelling at her? Why wasn’t there a big noise when he kicked in the door?

Steve opened his copy of the transcripts and began reading what occurred at trial after the jury heard the 911 call. The next witness would be Deputy Blackburn. Steve could tell from the Table of Contents that Deputy Blackburn’s testimony was well over three hundred pages. He looked at the clock on his microwave. It read 2:38 a.m. His eyes suddenly grew heavy. He yawned.

As much as he wanted to relive Deputy Blackburn’s testimony, Steve knew there was no way he could finish the entirety of it that night, and it was not something he wanted to read in parts. He closed the transcript and set his pen down on the notepad. The deputy’s story would have to wait until morning.

CHAPTER 13

Steve was startled when he looked over and saw 9:37 on his bedside clock. He rarely set his alarm on the weekend and usually slept in until sometime between 8:00 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. He felt groggy; he brewed a cup of coffee and took it with him as he left for the gym.

A good workout always energized him on days when his mind and body had other ideas. When he returned home, Steve pulled out one of his premade lunches of grilled chicken and asparagus from the refrigerator, poured a glass of orange juice, and sat down at the kitchen table with the trial transcripts. The first line he read was from Battel: “Your Honor, I call Rogers County Sheriff’s Deputy Andrew Blackburn to the stand.”

Seeing the deputy’s name, Steve involuntarily looked up trying to figure out why that name sounded familiar. Then it hit him. Deputy Blackburn was the cop who had killed Dominick Harrison outside of Claremore two days ago.

The shooting caused a nationwide stir. Members of civil rights organizations, alongside their national and community leaders, were on their way to Oklahoma and encouraging others to protest. Some marches and protests had already begun, and press conferences were being held. The small Oklahoma town was heating up and becoming the center of a national debate. Steve turned back to the transcripts.

After Deputy Blackburn was sworn in, he gave his name and testified to his training and experience as a peace officer. Once again, Steve’s imagination took him back in time to the Rogers County courtroom.

***

July 27, 2009—Rogers County Courtroom

Battel stood near the far end of jury looking forward at Deputy Blackburn, again dressed in uniform, on the stand; thereby nonverbally focusing their attention towards the testimony. “Now, please tell us what happened the morning of August 9, 2008,” Battel prompted.

“A call came in from dispatch that there was a possible domestic abuse situation with the perpetrator still in the home,” Deputy Blackburn explained. “At the time, I was sitting in the parking lot of the Racino—the Cherokee Racetrack and Casino. I had just finished up a call where someone was causing a disturbance at the Racino about twenty minutes prior to this dispatch.”

“I was sitting in my car, filling out an incident report on my laptop while keeping an eye on the handful of Saturday morning gamblers strolling into the facility. After dispatch gave me the location of the crime, I turned on my lights and drove north as fast as I safely could towards the home.”

“A few minutes later, I arrived at 5260 E. 420 Road. The house itself is about a quarter mile up the driveway from the main road. As I drove up the driveway, I saw a one-story ranch-style home. There was a pink Volkswagen bug parked in the driveway and no other cars in sight. I stopped my vehicle and radioed dispatch to let them know I had arrived at the location.”

“After confirming that I was at the right address, I got out and approached the house. I could see through the storm door that the main front door was open. I knocked loudly on the screen door and yelled, ‘Sheriff’s department, anyone here?’ After a few seconds, I knocked and yelled again. When I heard no response, I cautiously entered the residence.”

“That was when I saw her. In the middle of the living room, I saw a woman, whom I knew to be Ashley Pinkerton, we had gone to high school at about the same time and we both lived in Claremore our whole lives. She was lying on the floor, covered in blood. I immediately radioed dispatch, told them what I saw, and asked for an ambulance and backup. Before I administered any first aid, I drew my gun and quickly searched the home to see if the perpetrator was still in the residence. Based on my training and experience, I knew that I needed to secure the location before I could help her.”

“The only other person in the house was a baby. He was in his crib, crying. I knew it was a boy from the way they had decorated his room. The baby appeared safe, so I went back to the woman on the living room floor. At this point, since I had cleared the house, I holstered my firearm and began performing first aid on the victim. She was bleeding profusely.”

“First, I found some towels in a kitchen drawer and tried to slow the bleeding as best I could. I was hoping to keep her loss of blood down as much as possible. It seemed as if she was bleeding from every part of her body. When I began CPR, each pump I made on her chest pushed blood out from the wounds all over her. I soon realized she was dead, likely gone before I even touched her.”

“I radioed dispatch to let the ambulance driver know she had passed and that the ambulance did not need to rush. I then went to the master bedroom and pulled the duvet cover off the bed and placed it over the victim. During the entire process, I tried to disturb as little of the house as possible because I knew this was now a murder scene. I didn’t want to ruin any evidence that could help later in my investigation.”

“Then why did you place a cover on the victim?” interrupted Battel. “Couldn’t that affect the scene?”

“Yes, it could,” Deputy Blackburn answered. “But the baby was in the house, crying. I had a sense he knew something bad had happened to his mother. Maybe he had heard the fight, the yelling and screaming—the tussle that led to his mom’s death. I don’t know, but whatever it was, my instincts told me that I needed to get that baby out of the house. I didn’t want him to see his mother dead on the floor, so I covered her before I went and got him.”

“I carried him out to the street and held him until child welfare workers from the Department of Human Services arrived. For some reason, holding that baby and keeping him calm made me feel like I was helping his dead mother, despite the fact I wasn’t able to save her life. It still bothers me to this day that I didn’t get there sooner or do something more to save her.”

“The only solace I have is that I brought comfort to that little boy for her.” The deputy began to tear up during this part of his testimony. He stopped talking, took several deep breaths and then continued.

“After several minutes, the ambulance, other officers, and, finally, the Child Protective Services worker arrived. During this time, officers had run the husband through our databases and determined what type of vehicle he drove through registration records. Every officer in the county was looking for his red pickup truck.”

“Shortly after I handed the baby over to the child welfare worker, I received a call that they believed Scottie was in a room at a hotel just east of Claremore. It was the closest hotel between the house and town. Scottie’s car had been spotted in the parking lot. A City of Claremore police officer, Officer Mathews, confirmed with the hotel management that Scottie had rented a room the day before.”

“The jury will hear from Officer Mathews a little bit later in the trial,” Battel said. “Please continue with what you did next.”

“I went back inside and began my investigation. I asked some officers to tape off the outside of the house while I began taking pictures inside.”

Battel held up a stack of photos and asked, “Your Honor, may

I approach the witness?”

“You may,” Judge McClintock responded.

Battel presented the photos to Deputy Blackburn. “Are these the photos you took that day?”

“Yes,” Deputy Blackburn answered.