Scottie scowled. “I have thought about this long and hard for the past seven-and-a-half years, and my best bet is Ashley’s brother, Brent Whitmore. He knew she was mad at me. She may have even planned the 911 call with him. He has always been a manipulative fucker, and he lived very close to our house.”
“You see, their parents were wealthy cattle ranchers. They owned almost ten thousand acres. After our marriage, Ashley’s parents built our house on their property. They built her brother and his wife a house on the same property. Their place was not that far, and he regularly drove his four-wheeler over to visit us. It would only take him about five minutes or so. If he left his house shortly after they hung up, he would have arrived about the time I left. He could have killed her and gotten away. That way, he takes out both his sister and me for her half of their inheritance. He could get it all, especially if he ended up being Gabriel’s guardian, which he has become since all this happened.”
“Interesting theory, Gabriel is your son right?” Steve said. “Anyone else you think could have done it?”
“Yes, he is my son. And, no I can’t think of anyone else, I am sure it was her brother,” Scottie said.
“All right, well, thank you for being honest with us. We are going to go talk to Walters and Whitmore. We’ll be back in a few weeks to let you know what we find out,” Steve said as he stood up and pushed the button to let the guards know the visit was over.
Scottie stood and walked toward the locked door. As he waited for the click of the deadbolt sliding open, he pleaded to Steve, “Please don’t tell anyone about Heather. She is still with her husband—they have two kids now. I don’t want any more lives ruined by Ashley’s murder.”
“I won’t,” Steve promised. “Even if I wanted to, I’m bound by attorney-client confidentiality, and Booger is bound by similar rules of ethics for investigators.”
“Thank you.” Scottie’s eyes teared up as he reached his arms out to hug Steve. “Thank you for believing in me. This is the first time since I got here six years ago that I have felt like I might not die in this godforsaken place with a needle in my arm. Scottie released his hug but held one hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Thank you.”
After they got into the car and out of earshot from any prison guards, Booger turned to face Steve. “The more I think about it, the more I am certain he didn’t tell us the whole truth about what happened that morning. I think he has been telling the same lie for so long that even he believes it, which makes it more difficult for me to figure out what is and isn’t true.”
“I still believe he didn’t kill her, though,” Steve said.
“I don’t think he killed her, either, but I also don’t think he told us everything. I believe everything he told us is true, but I guarantee you, he left something out of the story. Regardless, like you told him, we need to go talk to everyone involved in this thing. Starting with Whitmore and Walters. I’m ready to get moving on this ASAP. I’ve got stuff at the shop the rest of the week, but do you have time to go to Claremore with me on Saturday?”
“I will make time,” was Steve’s only response as he grabbed his office cell phone to check for messages.
CHAPTER 17
Steve decided it would be best to reread the portions of the trial transcript containing the testimonies of Whitmore and Walters. He wanted their words fresh in his mind when he met them the next day. Steve pulled out the yellow legal pad with the index he had created previously. He found where he had noted the testimony of Walters.
***
July 24, 2009—Rogers County Courthouse
“For my next witness, I would like to call Heather Walters to the stand.” Ian Battel walked to the rear of the courtroom and opened the small swinging door that separated the gallery seating from where the action happened.
Walters strode through the large oak doors and into the courtroom as if she were a fashion model. She graciously smiled and thanked Battel as she passed him holding open the small door and finished her runway walk to the witness stand. Walters was wearing a blue dress with white polka dots that showed off her toned and well-endowed twenty-three-year-old figure, a dress that was fashionable and yet would have been appropriate for Sunday service. Her blonde hair came down in waves just above her shoulders, and her face reminded people of Charlize Theron with a slightly turned-up nose, a distinct jawline, and a crisp smile. She had classic, small-town beauty and charm that caught the attention of everyone in the courtroom.
Walters sat and smiled at the judge as he swore her in to testify, then she turned to face Battel.
Battel asked, “Could you please state your name for the record?” “Heather Walters,” she responded promptly.
“Could you please tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury your relationship to the victim, Ashley Pinkerton?”
“She was my best… friend.” Her charade of confidence and stoicism cracked halfway through her first line of testimony. She reached for the tissue box near her and began to cry.
Battel approached her and placed his hand on her arm. He comforted her by, speaking in a low voice according to the transcripts, “It’s okay. This won’t take long. Remember, I just have a few questions to ask you, and then this will all be over.”
A few seconds later, Walters regained her composure and continued, “We had been best friends since the day we met in fifth grade at Justus-Tiawah Elementary School. We remained friends through high school and were best friends up until the day he killed her.” She pointed her tissue in Scottie’s direction.
“During your friendship, did you have a chance to see her around her husband, the defendant, Scottie Pinkerton?”
“Yes, of course. On several occasions.”
“How would you describe their relationship?”
“In the beginning, it was merely puppy love, two high school kids finding their way. Then, she got pregnant right after we graduated. Of course, they immediately got married. Unfortunately, they lost that child shortly after the wedding. I think both of them regretted getting married, especially Scottie. He always seemed like he wanted something different, like he was stuck with Ashley.”
“Did you ever see him act out violently?”
“Yes, I remember one time, when we were playing this game. I guess you would call it a game. We had a book called The Book of Questions.”
She turned to the jury. “It was exactly what it sounds like. A book containing maybe a hundred or so questions about life, sex, morality, etc. We would go around the room asking each other different questions from the book and talking about our answers. It was a great way to get to know people and discuss deep issues. Anyway, the deal was everyone agreed to answer honestly, otherwise, what was the point of playing? One time, and I don’t even remember the question, Scottie thought Ashley was lying.”
“We were on a ski trip in Colorado, and we were all sitting in the living room of the house we had rented. There were probably ten of us staying there. I was sitting right next to Ashley on the hearth in front of the fireplace. Scottie was sitting across the living room from us, probably fifteen to twenty feet away. Anyway, when she denied lying, he lost all control. He stood up, screaming at her, and threw the book as hard as he could at Ashley’s head. It zinged by my ear, falling behind us. I was scared to death, so I can’t imagine how Ashley felt. She ran out of the room crying. That was the first time I saw him lose his temper. Then, over the years, his responses became more and more abusive and aggressive.”
“Did you ever see him hit her?”
“No, but I imagine he probably did. I saw him yell and berate her and throw other things at her. I would call it abusive treatment. He is a smart man. He wouldn’t hit her in front of anyone, but I can only imagine what he did when no one was around. Like I said, he was not happy with her. He always acted like he wanted something else. I think they got married too young, and he never truly loved her, like he knew she wasn’t the true love of his life.”
“What was your first thought when you heard she had been killed?” Walters sat still, looking off into space for maybe ten seconds, before calmly stating, “That Scottie finally lost it and went too far.”
“Thank you,” Battel said. “I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honor.”
Hixon stood and approached the lectern. “To be clear, you never actually saw my client physically harm Ashley, correct?”
“Well, there was one time when I saw him grab her arms. They were screaming at each other about something, and she began to pound on his chest and maybe even hit him in the face once. He locked his hands around both her wrists and forced her to the ground. She was crying and screaming that he was hurting her. He didn’t seem to care. He just kept her arms pinned to the ground while he lay on top of her.”
“But he was defending himself then, right?”
“I guess you could call it that, but she was five-foot-three and weighed barely over a hundred pounds. He is over six feet tall and weighs more than two hundred. She could have clobbered his chest all day and never literally hurt him.”
“But he was stopping her from hitting him, correct?” Hixon asked.
“Yes,” Walters responded begrudgingly.
“You testified that you think he may have abused her when people weren’t around. If that were true, why would she ever hit him?”
***
Steve grimaced as he read this question. It seemed Hixon had made the classic litigation rookie mistake.
In law school, Steve had learned that one of the first rules of trial practice was to never ask an adverse witness a question to which you didn’t know the answer. It only gave the opposing party room to fill in the blanks with whatever fit their agenda.
***
Walters’ smile was cold. “Probably because it was her one chance to hit him back. She knew he wouldn’t hit her in front of people, so she hit him when I was there because she had been beaten so many times before that she wanted to get him back just once. She was scared and sad. She didn’t think leaving him was an option. Just this one time, she took the opportunity to hit him back. This happened about two weeks before she was killed. I guess he got back at her for trying to hurt him. Wouldn’t you agree?” Walters asked in mocking anger.
“Ma’am,” Judge McClintock interjected. “Please just answer the questions asked of you. You are not allowed to ask questions of the attorneys. Please show that last statement stricken. The jury is ordered not to consider Ms. Walters’ question to Mr. Hixon as evidence.”
“No more questions, Your Honor,” was all Hixon could muster as he slunk back to his chair.
