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Overview
No one in Cape May Court House, New Jersey, was surprised when Eric Thomas, a popular young local doctor, sued the Ford Motor Company for the wrongful death of his pregnant wife, Tracy. After all, the accident they were involved in was minor, and they were driving a big, powerful Explorer, a family vehicle. Nevertheless, Tracy died in the accident, leaving behind not just her husband but also her cherished young daughter, Alix, whom Eric Thomas would have to raise alone, with the help of Tracy's devoted parents, Doris and Donald Rose.
Backed by the medical examiner's findings, Dr. Thomas's lawsuit claimed that the Explorer's air bag inflated improperly, causing injuries that resulted in Tracy's suffocation. But what starts out as a simple product-liability case rapidly evolves into something altogether different when, after an exhaustive investigation, Ford alleges that Tracy Thomas died not from a defective air bag, but as the result of manual strangulation. Before long, the defendant, the giant automaker Ford, becomes a de facto prosecutor and plaintiff Eric Thomas, who was a passenger in the Explorer, stands accused of the murder of his wife.
Investigative journalist Lawrence Schiller, bestselling author of American Tragedy and Perfect Murder, Perfect Town, now turns his unflinching eye on this unusual case and, as only he can, creates a page-turning suspense story and a gripping legal thriller. Taking us behind the scenes, Schiller exposes the tactics used by the attorneys on both sides of this civil suit and uncovers the lie that eventually torpedoes one party's case.
Was Tracy Thomas killed in a car accident, or was the accident a cover-up for her murder at the hands of her ambitious young husband? In Cape May Court House, Lawrence Schiller gives you more than enough evidence to be judge and jury.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940045093422 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Lawrence |
| Publication date: | 11/17/2012 |
| Sold by: | Smashwords |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 307 KB |
About the Author
Lawrence Schiller ranks among our greatest investigative journalists. In addition to his bestselling books, he has written for the New Yorker and other major publications. For many years he has appeared as an on-air consultant for the ABC and NBC networks. He lives in Los Angeles.
Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
Hand Avenue
Earlier in the evening a light snow had fallen in the small town of Cape May Court House, New Jersey. Some nights, even in the coldest winters, the sea air from the Atlantic Ocean and Delaware Bay warms the barrier islands and the entire cape, so that slush seldom freezes. Tonight, Saturday, February 8, 1997, slush had not frozen.
Dr. Robert Fitzpatrick, a local veterinarian, was just returning home from a party in Wildwood. At forty-five, Fitzpatrick was a strong man with rough hands capable of subduing a rottweiler. On that night, alone in his Chevy Astro, he stopped at the local Wawa convenience store, where he bought a bottle of Gatorade. The time was 1:45 a.m. As he drove away, he noticed that all the other local businesses were closed. Even the volunteer ambulance service building was dark and deserted.
Dr. Fitzpatrick then turned west from North Main Street onto Hand Avenue, the route he usually took to his house. A few seconds later he stopped at a traffic light on the corner of Dias Creek Road and Hand. The night was unusually dark. He noticed that he had the road to himself.
After passing a few houses set in the woods, Fitzpatrick saw some white and red lights up ahead. He thought an SUV had pulled over onto the berm on the other side of the road. As he came closer, however, the odd angle of the vehicle made him take a second look. That was when he noticed some sagging electric wires. Just then a battered white pickup truck approached from the opposite direction and stopped. While Fitzpatrick pulled his own car to a stop, a man got out of the pickup, walked to the SUV, and tried unsuccessfully to openthe driver's door. As Fitzpatrick rolled down his window, the man yelled back to him, "There's people in there."
Instantly, Fitzpatrick reached for his cell phone, punched in 911, and got out of his car. As he reported his location he saw that part of a utility pole was hanging from its wires. That's when he realized the SUV, a Ford Explorer, was in a ditch.
"An officer will be there in minutes," the 911 dispatcher told him as he ran across the road toward the accident. When he reached the rear of the car, the driver of the pickup asked if he had called the police.
Fitzpatrick nodded.
Before he could say another word, the driver said, "Then I'm getting out of here." And within seconds was gone.
The Explorer's left headlight was broken, but the fog lights were still on. Fitzpatrick tried the driver's door. It wouldn't budge, but the rear passenger door on that side opened easily, and the dome light came on. There, staring at him from the backseat, were the wide eyes of a baby, still strapped in its padded car seat. Almost immediately, the baby started to cry. Fitzpatrick then saw a driver and a passenger in the front seats. Neither was moving. The driver's head slumped toward the window, and the passenger's head hung down to the side. Fitzpatrick saw no blood.
Brushing his hand against the baby's face, Fitzpatrick took hold of one of the child's hands. The baby's cheek and fingers were cold. Then he noticed that the air inside the truck was not as cold as the outside air. As he leaned forward between the front seats, he saw that the driver and passenger were, like the baby, African American.
"Hello? Hello?" Fitzpatrick said. He repeated it a third time, and even louder. Neither person moved.
He could tell that the air bags were now deflated and the seat belts were still drawn tightly around the passengers. The man in the passenger seat appeared to be unconscious. His skin was cool when Fitzpatrick reached for his neck to find a pulse and determined that the man had a sluggish, rhythmic heartbeat. Next, Fitzpatrick turned to the woman in the driver's seat. Her leather jacket was open, her neck was exposed, and her skin was cold to the touch. Fitzpatrick probed for a pulse. Nothing. Again, he pushed hard on the carotid artery. Zero.
He stepped out of the car and redialed 911. "I think she's dead," Fitzpatrick said to the dispatcher. "The police had better hurry -- " Then he went back to the Explorer and reached between the front bucket seats to the dashboard. Though the engine was no longer running, he turned off the ignition, fearing the car might catch fire. He took the child's hands again, and managed to quiet it almost immediately. He continued to murmur to the baby as he stepped back outside the car. As he waited for the police, Fitzgerald fought the urge to remove the baby, who he now realized was a girl. He knew better than to try to remove either of the adults in the front. As he stood there, no cars passed on the deserted road.
At 2:01 A.M., just nine minutes after Fitzpatrick's first 911 call, Medic 9 arrived. As the first paramedics, Lisa Schulthies and James Cline, climbed out of their vehicle, a white police cruiser pulled up, its lights flashing. An officer got out and quickly surveyed the inside of the Explorer through its closed windows and called for another ambulance. Then he removed the baby from the backseat.
Fitzpatrick wanted to help, but the officer told him not to touch anything. Just then a second police car arrived.
Schulthies had difficulty getting to the passenger side of the SUV through the bushes and a gully, which was full of water. The ground was swampy. The male passenger, who was leaning against the window, appeared to be unconscious, and Schulthies decided to enter the vehicle through the same rear door from which the baby had been removed. The baby was checked for injuries by a second set of medics, who had just arrived, and then placed in the ambulance...
Cape May Court House. Copyright © by Lawrence Schiller. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.