Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
At this juncture, it was almost cruel how deep a pile Sharon was under (though, not cruel to her, because she was a snake), when the prosecution produced Kennedy’s ex-boyfriend, who Kennedy was living with at the time.
He testified that he’d been home the night of Lincoln’s demise, when Jefferson had arrived to have dinner with his sister, because they were going to talk about Lincoln’s visit and the possibility of returning to the lake with him. The boyfriend had eaten dinner with them, hearing this discussion, and testifying that both of them intended to make arrangements to go back to the lake to spend time reconnecting with Lincoln. He left to have drinks with his buddies, because one of them had been promoted, but when he got back a little over an hour later, Jefferson was still there.
And where they lived, neither Kennedy nor Jefferson could have gotten to the hotel, forced arsenic down Lincoln’s throat, and gotten home in time.
Adding insult to injury for Sharon, the prosecutors then called on a woman from Misted Pines who shared she’d not only been retained by Lincoln, but she had also gone to both the big house and the cabin to clean them, as well as stock the big house with food. And the day of his death, Lincoln had arranged payment for her efforts.
He requested this of her because, Lincoln told her, he intended to arrive the next day, and he’d shared, due to his big grocery order, the children would be coming that very weekend.
Not incidentally, she, too, had made it clear she’d been astounded to learn he’d committed suicide. So astounded, she reported her concerns to the local sheriff, but when nothing came of it, she just figured she was wrong.
Information and photographs from the hotel and the autopsy were presented, showing that the bruising around Lincoln’s jaw was consistent with not only the size of the pads of Sharon’s fingers, but the spread of her hand and where those pads would rest on a man’s jaw (this was rebutted, rather well, because it was weak, but the damage had been done).
And an expert testified to what arsenic poisoning would do to a body, and the peaceful manner in which Lincoln had been arranged was not at all indicative of how a body would be found after dying from taking that poison (this was rebutted, poorly, and possibly hurt an already crumbling defense).
And to the vehement objections of said defense, the prosecution was able to enter into evidence Sharon’s activities at the lake when Riggs caught her.
This evidence was provided by Riggs and Bubbles, and even Bubbles, who for some reason dressed all in black—black suit, shirt and tie—and thus it made him look like a member of the mob or an unimaginatively dressed bouncer, delivered damning testimony. Because by that time, Sharon would have no reason ever to be at that lake, definitely not swinging around a metal detector at three in the morning.
Truman surmised in his testimony, and the prosecution bore down on it in their summation, that Sharon had arrived at the hotel to demand to know the whereabouts of the last manuscript, and Lincoln may have taunted her with it, but he didn’t give that information to her even after she drugged him, so she killed him out of obsessive-fan fury.
Sharon had different attorneys during this trial, and she’d either learned to keep her mouth shut and her dramatics under wraps, or her attorney had her on a tight leash, because she sat stoic throughout the proceedings.
It didn’t matter.
This time, it took only thirty minutes of deliberation for the jury to reach their guilty verdict.
For the murder of Lincoln Whitaker, Sharon Swindell was sentenced to life, without the possibility of parole.
I had to admit, I had my doubts about Jefferson.
I believed he was manipulated by Sharon, but it was hard to wrap my head around the idea that Lincoln would be so distraught, he wouldn’t question Sharon’s narrative that night. Of course, the situation was heartbreaking, and on the surface, dire. But to serve seven years in prison when Jefferson hadn’t even shot them? And Jefferson not only not telling his father that, but waiting a further eight years and some change to tell anyone he didn’t do such a thing?
I didn’t know.
And I’d never really know.
But the next twist pushed me to lean the other way.
This was that, from prison, Sharon wrote an identical letter to Dave and Brenda, and Riggs, begging, if we found that manuscript, we’d let her read it.
And by now, it had been testified about frequently in her presence that such a thing didn’t exist.
So, frankly, that was totally unhinged.
Riggs, Dave and Brenda gave the letters to Harry.
And I decided it was likely Jefferson Whitaker was a spoiled brat, but he was also controlled by, and perhaps even terrified of, Sharon Swindell.