Chapter 9: Double Jeopardy

As Thomas had predicted, the landlord rescinded the eviction order and it was modified to July 1^st, not ideal since my three remaining roommates would have to find an alternate place, but better than being tossed out before they had finished the year. Since I would be living at Georgette's place free (she absolutely refused to let me pay rent), I gave my share of the rent for the remaining months to Willie and the boys. It was only fair I didn't penalize them for my good fortune.

The day before I was to meet the Dow man, I got a call from Willie.

"Dude, there's a letter here from the Placer County Attorney's Office for you. You forget to pay a jaywalking ticket or something?"

"No ... I'm guessing it's about the trial of the guy that stabbed me. I'm probably going to have to testify."

"Oh ... well ... good luck with that. I hope they put the son-of-a-bitch away for life. How you feeling, anyway?"

"I'm good, Willie. I'm almost all the way back."

"Good to hear it. You sure hit the jackpot with that fox you're dating."

"Yeah. No doubt about it," I agreed.

I arranged to pick up the letter the next day when Georgette and I were on our way home from school.

"I'll be a witness for the prosecution when this comes to trial," I told her, reading the summons. "Looks like they want me to come in and talk to them about it. When's spring break?" I asked, thinking that would be the time to return to Tahoe.

"March. The middle I think," she said.

"I'll call their office and see if I can come up there then. I don't want to miss any school."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "We can ski while we're up there. It'll be fun, and we'll have the lodge to ourselves. Does that give you any ideas?"

I called the Placer County prosecutor's office when I had a free period Friday and asked them if I could come in during spring break since I was a student. They agreed and we set up an appointment for Tuesday morning, March 16^th. With that taken care of, I called Rex Lyman of Dow Chemical at his cell number and arranged a meeting at three o'clock at the Peninsula Bar in San Francisco International.

I'd spent some time going over my notes and performance projections for my water treatment concept and I was as ready as I was ever going to be to make my presentation to the Filmtec technical representative. Taking nothing for granted, I took the afternoon off from class and was at the Peninsula almost a half-hour early. I didn't order a beer and instead settled for an iced tea while I waited for Rex to arrive. He said I would recognize him by his shirt.

When a fairly stout, middle-aged man, carrying a thick computer bag and wearing a dark blue polo shirt with a Dow diamond logo on it strolled into the bar, I was sure I had found my man. I waved to him and he approached my table.

"Mr. Lyman? I'm John Smith."

"Nice you meet you, John. Pardon the casual wear, but I've finished my scheduled calls for the week and I won't be home until after midnight tonight, so I put comfort before formality."

"Not a problem. Thank you for meeting with me. I was hoping I could get some time to show you my concept and where Dow Filmtec fits in. I have a memory stick with my presentation on it, so you can review it when you have time. I thought I'd give you an overview of the concept and then you could ask any questions you might have."

"Do you have a Non-Disclosure Agreement for me?" he asked.

"Yes ... right here. Nothing special about it. It's pretty straightforward my legal advisor tells me. I've made application for patent in a couple of areas and they are mentioned in the agreement."

"Okay. I'm authorized to sign, so let's have a look at it," he said, first reading, then signing the agreement.

I went through the slides since I knew them by heart and all I needed was a list of the order they were in. At first Rex was paying scant attention to my presentation, but as I got going, I could see him examining my work more closely. By slide number seven, he began asking questions.

When I finished the presentation almost an hour later, he sat back in his chair and looked at me.

"This isn't what I expected at all. This is a much more refined concept than I was led to believe. How long have you been working on this?"

"It started as a high school project and evolved from there. That was four years ago."

"Filmtec is really just a small part of this, but from what I can see, it's going to be a critical part. I'm going to have to look at your expectations for the filter's performance and see if we've got something that will meet your needs. I like the concept. If you can produce something as compact as you are suggesting, I can see a big market for it. Dow is a worldwide corporation and we have representation on almost every continent. That would make your project viable. It would have critical mass, and for us, that's essential."

"What do you need from me next?" I asked.

"Nothing right now. Keep working on it and let me see where we might fit in. I'll bump this up the food chain and see what kind of response it gets. My gut tells me that I'm going to have to tell your story to get them interested, but once they are, it could be big. I'll make sure everyone knows we have a N.D.A. in place. Keep your fingers crossed, John."

"Sure. Thanks for listening to me, Rex. I really appreciate your taking an interest in the project."

"John, you have no idea how many of these individual concepts come our way in the span of a year. This is one of the very few that has genuine potential. I'm glad I had the time to have you present it to us and thanks for thinking of Dow."

I left the bar on a high that didn't require any alcohol. A big step in my concept was accomplished that afternoon and I was really excited by the prospect. It wasn't the only problem to be solved in the development, but if other potential contributors knew that Dow was on board, it would carry a lot of weight with them. I had to hope that Rex could convince his own people.

Georgette and I got away from class on Thursday afternoon, March 12^th, and headed for Tahoe. We planned to ski the weekend and just hang out together until Tuesday when I was scheduled to meet with the Placer County prosecutor. Classes resumed on Thursday, so we would head for home on Wednesday afternoon.

I found I had to take it a bit easier skiing. First, I wasn't fully recovered from what the stabbing had done to my fitness. Second, we were at over six thousand feet altitude on the slopes and that meant less oxygen which exaggerated my lack of fitness. Georgette didn't mind at all and we had a great four days on the slopes and five nights in the bedroom and other rooms, making love.

I arrived at the Placer County courthouse just before nine Tuesday morning and entered the county attorney's office.

"I have an appointment to see Mr. Neville Ferguson. I'm John Smith," I said, handing over the summons I had received in the mail.

I waited less than five minutes before I was ushered into a large office and met by two men.

"I'm Neville Ferguson, Mr. Smith, and this is Lyndon Byers, my assistant. He will be prosecuting the case against Mr. Little. Won't you have a seat?"

I sat in a comfortable leather chair and turned down an offer of coffee. Ferguson explained what he expected to happen at trial and when I would be called. It was important that I had my story straight and didn't deviate from the facts or add information that wasn't already on the record. That was the purpose of this meeting.

We went over the events of the evening that Bradley Little broke into the lodge and I recited my recollection of my actions as best I could remember them.

"That's pretty much exactly what you told the sheriff's department on two occasions, so that's good," Byers said.

We went over what the expectations of the kinds of questions that the defense attorney would ask, trying to break down my story. It would be important to stay calm and not get rattled if he got very aggressive. The trial was still three months away and we would meet again before the trial to go over the testimony one more time. They were being thorough and I appreciated it.

"I'm glad you're taking this seriously, John. It's important that we convict this guy. He's a dangerous person and I'm really upset that he's been granted bail."

"What!" I almost screamed. "Are you kidding me? I was told he was denied bail and that he was still in jail. What the hell is going on?"

"His lawyer appealed the first judge's ruling and got him released on a one million dollar bond," Byers said, looking nervously at his boss.

"Where is he?"

"He's under court order not to leave Placer County," Ferguson said. "As far as we know, he's still here."

"Jesus! I've got Georgette Fulton here with me, his ex-wife. If he finds out she's here, God knows what he'll do. How the hell could this happen?"

"I'm sorry, John, we thought you knew. The sheriff's department was supposed to inform you of his release."

"When did this happen?" I asked, more than just a little upset.

"Late January. I take it by your reaction that no one informed you."

"So he's been running around loose for over six weeks?"

"That's how long he's been out on bail. I don't know what he's been doing. I can check with the sheriff's department and see if they have anything current on him."

"Yeah, well it's a little late now, isn't it? The horse is already out of the barn. I'm going to get Georgette and we're getting the hell out of here pronto. God damn it, I thought we were safe, but I can see that isn't the case. Where can I get a gun permit?"

"Now look, Mr. Smith, taking the law into your own hands isn't going to get you anything but serious trouble," Ferguson said firmly.

"I'm not standing around waiting for him to come and get me or Miss Fulton. He almost killed me once and I don't plan to give him a second chance. Now where do I apply for a permit?"

"See the sheriff's department. Don't do anything stupid, Mr. Smith. I don't want to be prosecuting you for murder or attempted murder."

"Tell that to the judge who let him out on bail," I snapped, storming out of the office.

Within a few minutes I had cooled off enough to change my mind. I went directly back to the lodge, hoping that nothing had happened in my absence. I was relieved when I found her curled up on the sofa, reading a book.

"Grab your things, Georgette, we're getting the hell out of here," I announced as I marched into the great room.

"Why? What's going on, John?"

"Some idiot judge granted Bradley Little bail on appeal. He's been out and on the loose for six weeks."

"Oh my God!" she said, horrified. I didn't have to encourage her to follow me upstairs and begin packing. By eleven o'clock, we were on the road and headed back to San Francisco.

"We'd better let your parents and Nan know," I suggested.

She pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and pressed the speed dial symbol for her parents.

"Father, you aren't going to believe this, but Brad has been granted bail. He's been out for six weeks. We were never informed were we?"

I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but I could guess.

"No ... we got no notification either at the house, John's old apartment or at the lodge. Someone really screwed up. We would never have come up here this week if we had known."

(Pause)

"Okay, let us know what's happening. We are on our way back home. We'll be there by three or so. Thank you, Father."

"He's going to get ahold of Uncle Devon and see what we can do about getting his bail revoked. Knowing how crazy he is, he may just have violated the conditions of his release and we can get him put back in jail. I hope so."

"I can't believe some half-witted judge would grant him bail," I said bitterly. "Someone must have greased the way. He's got four charges against him and three of them involve violence."

"His father has a lot of political clout. I'll bet he's involved. He's the only one who could raise that kind of money that I know of."

"He isn't doing Bradley any favors," I grumbled. "Letting him out to run amok may just seal his fate. I just hope he doesn't try anything with us again."

"Father said he was going to see about hiring some protection for us. We can't just hide in the house until he's found."

I didn't respond, but she was right. We had to go on with our lives, but I sure as hell didn't want to be looking over my shoulder for the next three months.

Devon and Mary were home from Hawaii and he quickly dug into what had transpired that led to Bradley being granted bail. The judge, a man known for his liberal views and reluctance to administer harsh sentences even when warranted, had allowed the appeal. Through some foul-up between the court, the prosecutor's office, and the sheriff's department, neither I nor anyone in the Fulton family had been notified of the action.

The sheriff's department had a record of Bradley's last known address in Tahoe and checked in on him. Fortunately, he was still there and they confirmed that he was living up to the conditions of his bail. That, at least, gave us some comfort that he wasn't running around loose. But it wasn't all good news.

"He fired his lawyer and has applied to the court to act in his own defense," Devon told us. "His father tried to block it, but so far he hasn't been able to. I understand he's now trying to get Bradley declared unfit to stand trial by reason of mental disorder."