Careful What You Wish For
October 18th,
Scott and I sit in Roy Frazner’s office and listen to his pitiful explanation of the plea deal he offered the man that killed our mother. Scott squeezes my hand in a silent reminder that it would be inappropriate to roast Frasner with Hellfire right now.
“My mother is dead, Mr. Frazner,” I say. “He had a blood alcohol level of almost point two. He shouldn’t have been walking down steps without assistance. Let alone behind the wheel of a car.”
“I understand your frustration, Dr. Werlock, but—”
“No. No you don’t understand my frustration. You told us when he didn’t take the original plea deal that you were going to throw everything at this guy to make an example of him. Now I’m supposed to just accept him with time served and five years of communi
