Burden of Truth (Cass Leary Legal Thriller Series Book 1)

by Robin James

  “Ugh,” Emma said. “Aunt Cass, this stinks.”

  She set the package on the table. The smell hit all three of us at once.

  “Fuck!” Matty said as he scooted away from the table and retched near the sink.

  Joe grabbed the package. It was addressed to me but my name was spelled wrong. “Cassie Leary.” No one ever called me that.

  “I’m going to open this outside,” he said, plugging his nose. I followed him. He took out a pocket knife and opened the package.

  “Ugh!” Joe dropped it to the ground. “It’s dog shit.”

  A postcard fluttered to the ground beside it, landing face up. Written in a scrawling hand with a red sharpie, the note read, “R.I.P. Coach D. Die you piece of shit, bitch.”

  “Lovely,” I said. I grabbed two garbage bags, picked up the offending package with one and shoved it all in the other, then took the thing to the dumpster on the other side of the house.

  When I got back, Joe was pacing in the living room. “This is nuts, Cass. You’ve gotta get out of this. That girl confessed. It’s over.”

  “Joe …”

  “No!” he shouted. “How much more has to happen for you to get it?”

  “Get what?”

  Emma sat on the couch. She grew strangely quiet. Matty came out of the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and his color looked a lot better. Now I just needed to get some water into him.

  “They love that man,” Joe said. “Don’t you get it? There’s no win in this for you, Cass. Even if by some miracle you get that girl off, they’ll crucify you. If she’s convicted, they’ll crucify you. You’ll always be the bitch who defended Coach D’s murderer. He’s a damn saint.”

  My stomach turned. A saint. I wanted so badly to tell him what I knew. I couldn’t. I could never reveal Aubrey’s confidence.

  “It’s more complicated than you think,” I said. “But you have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. And I’m too far in to back out now.”

  “For what? Fifty bucks an hour or whatever shit pay the county hands out? No, you’re not too far in. You can back out. No one will blame you. Hell, they’ll cheer you.”

  “I’ll blame me,” I said. “I’m doing the right thing, even if you can’t see it. He was no saint.” I muttered the last bit under my breath, thinking none of them caught it.

  “Jesus.” Joe shook his head. “What is it with the women in this family?” He shot a look at Emma. She’d gone sheet white.

  It hit me like a ton of bricks. She caught my eye and her color drained even more.

  “Emma,” I said, ignoring my brother for the moment. “What is it?”

  She lifted one shoulder and her gaze went out toward the lake.

  “Emma?” I asked again.

  Joe had finally stopped pacing.

  “Honey,” I said, my heart racing. I felt like she and I were on a different frequency than the other people in this room. “You can tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s just ... I don’t think everyone thought Coach D was a saint, Dad.”

  “What are you talking about?” Joe asked.

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. I just ... you hear stuff. Especially now.”

  “What did you hear?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. He just ... I always thought he was kind of creepy. And I’m not the only one. It’s just ... it’s not the kind of thing anyone would ever say to too many people. You know?”

  “Emma,” I said, sinking down to the seat beside her. “Honey, I think it’s time for you to tell me exactly what you mean.”

  Chapter 21

  Joe spent the weekend on my couch. Matty took the back bedroom and Emma slept in the guest bedroom upstairs by me. By Monday morning, I was no longer just worried about Matty staying on the wagon. Joe tried to keep his anger from me, spending hours at the end of the dock and tinkering with the boat.

  I put on my best navy-blue power suit, stuffed my laptop in my messenger bag and headed out to the end of the dock to join my brother. Matty and Emma were still asleep. Joe watched a group of mallards glide across the lake as he white-knuckled his coffee cup. He didn’t say a word at first as I stood beside him.

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  I had a speech all prepared. Now, as we stood together watching the sun come up, it all just went out of me. I settled for a simple, “No.”

  “Goddammit,” Joe muttered. He threw a stone across the water, getting five perfect skips with an expert flick of his wrist. I could never get it to do that.

  “This guy, Drazdowski. He was bad, wasn’t he?”

  I swallowed hard. Joe had sat patiently while Emma tried to explain the vibe she’d always gotten from him. There was nothing overt. But she said she didn’t like the way he looked at her and some of her friends. One day when she was a sophomore, Coach D had come up to her in the hallway and asked her to meet with him during her homeroom. He’d caught wind of the fact she wanted to try out for the track team. She never went though. One of her other friends had quietly told her not to take the meeting but never explained why.

  “I think he might have been, Joe. Yes.”

  Joe worked the muscles of his jaw. His face flushed. “Did he do something to that girl? To Aubrey?”

  I adjusted the strap of my messenger bag on my shoulder. “You know I can’t answer that.”

  He skipped another rock.

  “I would have killed him,” he said quietly. “If that asshole had ever laid a finger on Emma. God. Are you telling me that was what was going on?”

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  He kicked the dock post, making the whole structure sway. “This can’t be happening. Jesus. That’s why she confessed. I mean, if Aubrey didn’t really do this. If Dan Ames found out that fucker was messing with his little girl ... it makes sense, Cass. I would have done the same thing. Except, why the hell is he letting her take the fall for this now?”

  “Joe …”

  He put a hand up. “Yeah. You can’t talk about it. But dammit, as much as I want to know the truth ... as much as I’d want to protect Emma ... I want to protect you too. The people in this town might never believe it. They’ll keep coming after you.”

  “Maybe. But maybe that’s also why I’m here. I don’t know if I believe in fate. But I do know I’m all Aubrey Ames has.”

  As we stood there looking out at the water, I felt like the lake itself was listening.

  “It is going to get worse before it gets better, Joe,” I said. “And it starts today. I’ve got an appointment to meet with Kevin Sydney.”

  Joe took a step back. For a second, he looked gut-punched. “The athletic director. Shit. He’s probably the second biggest hero in this town for hiring that motherfucker, Drazdowski. He’s going to push back.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But like I said. I’m going to go do my job. Wish me luck, brother.”

  I went up on my tiptoes and kissed Joe’s cheek. He felt hard as granite. I loved him. We’d had each other’s backs since the day we were born. It had cost us both plenty. As I turned and walked up the dock to my car, I knew the price of this case was about to get very steep indeed.

  Kevin Sydney had been the Delphi High School athletic director for twenty-eight years. Two away from retiring. He wasn’t from Delphi and a lot of the people in this town held that against him at first. Until Larry Drazdowski started winning basketball state championships.

  The hallway to his office was lined with tournament championship plaques and the pictures of Hall of Fame graduates, almost all members of one of Coach D’s teams. There were no Learys on that wall. No Ameses either. I walked outside Sydney’s office door and cracked a smile. Eric Wray’s senior photo smirked down at me. He’d made it up there for his football prowess and his spiky dark hair screamed mid-nineties cool kid.

  The office door opened and I straightened my back. Sydney’s secretary was about my age. Pretty, with a slim build and wide, doe eyes. Her ID ba
dge read Karen Larsen.

  “He’s got a few minutes for you now,” Karen said. Her tone was cool, not entirely unfriendly, but I knew this visit wasn’t welcome. I had every suspicion the only reason Sydney even agreed to this meeting was because Jack LaForge told him to. Though he’d won the motion to suppress, he wouldn’t want to give Judge Castor a reason for me to bitch that he was impeding discovery.

  Karen led me into the inner sanctum of Kevin Sydney’s office. The eight state championship basketball trophies took up one wall behind a glass case.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” I said, extending a hand to shake Sydney’s. He rose from behind his desk. A former college basketball player himself, Sydney topped six foot five with broad hands and a grip that crushed mine. He had just a few wispy strands of hair combed above his forehead.

  “I don’t have a lot of time,” he said. “I’m not sure what help I can give you. I didn’t really know your client.” He said the word client as if it burned in his mouth.

  I took a breath, knowing my next statement would turn the meeting into something else. “Mr. Sydney, I appreciate your schedule. And I won’t take up much of it. But I’m not actually here to talk about my client. I’m here to talk about Larry Drazdowski.”

  Sydney leaned back, keeping his face a mask. I reached into my bag and handed him a copy of the subpoena I knew his office had already received. I’d asked for a copy of Drazdowski’s detailed personnel file. Sydney’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t look at the paper as he took it from me.

  “What do you want to know?” he said, leaning back in his chair; he hooked his hands behind his head.

  “I want to know about any complaints you might have received. Disciplinary action. That sort of thing.”

  Sydney’s face betrayed nothing. “He was a basketball coach. A great one. Larry dedicated his entire life to kids. Saved a lot of them from wasting their lives at the bottom of a beer bottle.”

  His eyes narrowed and I recognized the dig for what it was, a veiled shot at my father and brothers. I was used to it. I kept my own mask of a smile on my face.

  “I know this is a difficult time for everyone,” I said. “And I also know I’m not the most popular citizen of Delphi right now. But I hope you can appreciate that I’m doing my job, Mr. Sydney.”

  Kevin Sydney’s eyes sparked with rage and he leaned far forward, planting his palms on the top of his desk. “I don’t appreciate anything about you, Miss Leary. I lost a good friend two months ago. A great man. No, he wasn’t a perfect man. None of us are. But I know what you’re trying to do. You think you can dig something up and smear Larry’s name. It’s what all you bottom-feeder defense lawyers do. I don’t have to help you.”

  “No,” I said. “But you do have to cooperate. I can promise you, I’m not trying to smear anyone. I’m just trying to get to the truth.”

  “The truth is that Eastlake-trash client of yours murdered a man I loved like a brother. She admitted it. And yet, here you sit, talking to me about truth and every second that goes by you rack up another billable hour that my tax dollars pay.”

  Eastlake trash. Well, there it was. And it took him less than five minutes to get to it. Sydney started to rise from his chair. As I sat across from him, he towered over me. I craned my neck up and up to meet his eyes. A cold chill went through me. I wasn’t some teenage girl, unsure of herself. And I wasn’t looking for this man’s help. Others had.

  “Be that as it may,” I said, not looking away from him, “I work in a system that benefits all of us. You can call me any name you’d like. Believe me, I’ve faced far worse, Mr. Sydney. And you haven’t answered my question. I asked you if Mr. Drazdowski ever had complaints filed against him or disciplinary action taken.”

  Sydney slowly sat down, but the look of contempt didn’t leave his face. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Whatever else he was, this man had lost someone he considered a friend. To murder. And Aubrey had done everything she could to make this town believe she was guilty. Still, I couldn’t shake the vibe that anyone questing Coach D to him may have met the same cold stare.

  “A few helicopter parents here and there.” Sydney flapped a dismissive hand. “Pissed their precious special son didn’t get more playing time.”

  “That’s all?” I asked. “And what kind of record keeping would have taken place? Do you make a note of anytime a student or parent has an issue? If so, how are those records maintained? Who has custody of them?”

  “I’ll answer your subpoena. But I can tell you, you're wasting your time with this.”

  Again, he hadn’t answered my question.

  “Mr. Sydney, I’m not trying to smear an innocent man.” It was a true statement, but you could be damn sure I’d go after a guilty one. “I’m just trying to get a clear picture of who may have wanted to harm Mr. Drazdowski. You can believe me or not, but I want the person who killed him to get justice just as much as you do.”

  Sydney shook his head. “And you can sit there with a straight face and tell me you don’t think that Ames girl did it.”

  He said “Ames girl” with such contempt it practically stung me. “Like I said, I’m trying to get a clear picture. A complete picture. That’s all.”

  “I’ll have Ms. Larsen copy the damn file. If I find one thing from it splashed over the local paper, I’ll …”

  I snapped a little. “You’ll what?” I asked. It was my turn to lean far forward and get in Kevin Sydney’s face. I could have asked him about Lindsey or Danielle or Chelsea. Something made me hold back. The less he knew about where I was headed, the better. But I knew the next subpoena I would write.

  Sydney set his jaw to the side, considering me. Then he settled back into his chair. “You’re a piece of work, all right. Your client deserves you. If that’s all you need, I’ve got other things to do. Your time is up.”

  “Thank you,” I said, rising. I held out my hand to shake his. Sydney didn’t stand and ignored the gesture. I smiled and turned on my heel.

  As I opened the door, Karen Larsen rose from her desk. She gave me that same bright smile but there was something uncertain about the way she looked at her boss. I wondered how thick the walls were at Delphi High School.

  “All set,” I said, nodding to Karen. She stepped around her desk, tripping as she caught her heel in the plush carpet. I reached out a hand to help her.

  “Oh,” she said. “Thanks.” She reached back and grabbed a ticket from her desk drawer. “You’ll need this to get out of the parking lot.”

  I palmed the ticket and thanked her. Kevin Sydney had stepped around his desk and shut his office door hard. Karen gave it a nervous glance then went back to her own desk.

  Grateful to be getting the hell out of there, I showed myself out. It wasn’t until I got in my car and approached the parking gate that I really looked at the ticket Karen Larsen had given me. On the back of it, there was a tiny square sticky note attached to it. In purple ink, it read, “Look in your own backyard.”

  My heart jumped as the red-and-white striped parking gate opened, beckoning me to leave.

  Chapter 22

  My heart thrummed with both excitement and dread as I drove down Kitchem Lane. My own backyard. Was that note even meant for me? I fumbled with my Bluetooth speaker and dialed Jeanie’s number. She answered on the second ring.

  “How did it go?” she asked by way of hello.

  “Interesting,” I said, then quickly filled her in on the highlights of my meeting with A.D. Sydney.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised. That’s a good ole boys club if ever there was one. What about the principal?”

  “She’s still not returning my calls. Plus, this will only be her second year there. The last one, Rick Sullivan, he was there for over twenty years, but he passed away from colon cancer the summer before last. I did come away with one potential lead though.”

  “Oh?”

  I told Jeanie about the mysterious sticky note. She didn’t say anything for a long b
eat. Then she whistled low on the other end of the phone.

  “You sure it wasn’t just a mistake? Like a note she left for herself that just might have accidentally made it on to your parking ticket?”

  “Sure. It could be. But I don’t know. The woman seemed agitated. Like she kept looking over her shoulder. Maybe wondering whether Sydney was watching her. And I could also just be grasping for straws. Still, it’s worth looking into. I’m going to subpoena Sydney’s schedule for the last five years. I want to know who he met with and when. But my backyard? My literal backyard?”

  “Who knows,” Jeanie said. “I’ll do some picking around on my end too. We’ll figure it out between the two of us. We need a break on this, Cass. You know that, right?”

  We. Such a little word, but it felt good to hear. I hadn’t felt part of a “we” in a very long time.

  “Thanks, Jeanie,” I said. “I’m going to swing by Aubrey’s house before I head home for the night. You feel like coming into the office tomorrow morning? Or, I could come to you.”

  Jeanie covered the fit of coughing that overtook her. “I’m fine,” she said, before I could ask. “And yeah. It would do me some good to …”

  Headlights flashed in my rearview mirror, nearly blinding me as I looked back. Jeanie’s voice trailed off as the car behind me sped up, kicking dirt behind it. I started to move over to the shoulder to let it pass. The thing was big and black, a pickup truck.

  “Cass?” Jeanie’s voice came to me like I was underwater as my body responded to the danger before my head had a chance to catch up. Then she was drowned out by the sickening crunch of metal on metal as the truck rammed me from behind. My wheels spun and locked. I got hit one more time and my car fishtailed wildly as I tried to regain control.

  I don’t remember screaming. I don’t remember the pain as my airbag deployed and I went end over end, landing upside down in the ditch by the side of the road.