by P J Parrish
Susan was there, dressed in clingy red silk, leaning against the wall as she struggled to put on her high heels.
Oh man . . .
He tried not to stare as she came forward. She was cramming stuff in a small black purse and it was a moment before she looked up at Louis.
“What?” she asked, frowning.
“Nothing . . . nothing,” he said.
“Well, let’s go,” she said, heading out the door.
Louis glanced back at Benjamin.
“Sure looks like a date to me,” Benjamin muttered.
La Veranda was a candle-lit womb of a place on the water. Someone was playing “Fly Me To the Moon” on the piano as Louis followed Susan and the maitre d’ to a table near the window. It wasn’t until he heard the singer’s voice that Louis turned to look at the man seated at the piano.
Fuck a duck. It was Mobley.
Louis looked over at Susan. She was staring at Mobley too.
“I can’t believe it,” Susan said.
“I know,” Louis said.
“No, I mean, I can’t believe he’s good.”
Suddenly, Mobley spotted them. He didn’t miss a beat as he finished and then leaned into the mike.
“Okay, here’s a special song for two special friends of mine,” he said. He launched into “Hello Young Lovers Wherever You Are.”
Louis was watching Mobley, trying not to let his gaze drift over to Susan. On the ride down from Fort Myers, they had talked only about the two cases, bouncing things off each other in a mad tango of ideas. They had made a commitment to back each other up in front of Mobley. For the first time, they were on the same track.
But now, the heat of the work talk had tapered off, and they were left with only the votive candle flickering between them.
Louis looked over at Susan. How had she managed to do her hair up like that so quickly?
She felt his eyes on her and looked at him.
“You look really pretty,” he said.
She blinked several times, like she hadn’t heard him. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Mobley finished singing. He announced he was taking a short break, rose and came to their table.
“Well, if it isn’t the Lone Ranger and Tonto,” he said. “What are you two doing here?”
“We’re here just for you, Lance,” Louis said.
“How’d you find out I was here?”
Louis pulled out a chair. “Hard to keep a talent like yours secret for long,” he said.
Mobley looked at Susan, who was grinning. Finally, he sat down and a waiter immediately appeared with a scotch and water. Mobley glanced at the table, and seeing their empty glasses, motioned toward the waiter to fill them up. When he was gone, Mobley took a drink, then sat back.
“Didn’t know you moonlighted,” Susan said.
“It pays for all the piano lessons my mom made me take,” Mobley said. He looked at Louis. “I thought it was us against the lawyers, Kincaid,” he said.
Louis could feel Susan’s eyes on him. “I had to tell Susan. She’s Cade’s lawyer.”
Mobley took a drink of his scotch. “Forget it. Just tell me what you found out. Did the second sample match or not?”
“It didn’t match. It was AB-negative.”
“Any chance Ronnie Cade did it?”
“Nope. I checked his blood type. He’s O-positive, just like his father.”
“Son of a fucking bitch,” Mobley whispered. “I guess I will have to go pull Cade’s old defense file out of my evidence room.”
“You don’t have it,” Louis said.
“What?”
“You never had it. Whoever killed Duvall took it.”
Mobley leaned back in the chair. In the flicker of the candle, Louis could see something pass over Mobley’s eyes, like the sheriff was watching his whole career go down the toilet. Mobley reached up and, with a hard tug, undid his black bow tie.
“Lance,” Louis said quietly. “We can’t put this back in the box. You’ve got to reopen Kitty’s homicide.”
Mobley looked at Susan. “I hate lawyers,” he said. “I fucking hate lawyers.”
Susan glanced at Louis but said nothing.
Mobley got slowly to his feet. “I’ve got to do my second set. Order whatever you want, dinner’s on me.”
He drained his scotch and set the glass down hard. “Goddamn, I liked being sheriff,” he muttered, walking away.
Susan looked at Louis. “Is he going to reopen?”
“Yeah,” Louis said, watching Mobley resume his place at the piano. “I think he will.”
Louis looked down at his drink, thinking about Jack and Ronnie Cade and what they would do when he told them they would be cleared. This whole thing had kicked up so much mistrust between them, so much bad blood. Twenty years was a long time to wait for the truth, and it might be coming too late to repair the damage that had been done between them. Damage that he himself had helped cause by his accusations.
He looked at Susan. She was stirring her drink, her dark eyes intense with thought.
“Susan, what are Cade’s options now?” he asked.
“It’s going to depend on the investigation, but assuming it favors Cade, a motion for a new trial would be first, I suppose,” she said. “But it’s always a tough road.”
“You can do it.”
Susan looked at him, then played with the swizzle stick in her drink. “Not me, Louis. I never had a case like this one. I’d be in over my head.”
Louis let a moment pass, looking at her in the soft light of the candle. He knew how hard it was for her to admit that. She had fought hard to get the Cade case in the first place, and once the news broke that Kitty Jagger’s case was being reopened, there was a good chance her bosses would take it out of her hands. Innocent man does twenty years for a murder he didn’t commit? The press would be all over it. And Susan would be cut out.
Louis glanced back at Mobley. He was playing “Yesterday.”
“Who would’ve thought,” Susan said softly.
“Thought what?”
“That for twenty years, this whole town looked at Jack Cade like a piece of garbage. And he’s probably innocent.” She shook her head. “I’ll go see Cade the first thing in the morning and give him the news.”
Louis thought about how Cade looked last night, standing in the dark, Issy in his arms, making threats. He thought of the knife Cade had thrown at his feet.
“Do you mind if I tell him?” he asked.
She frowned slightly. “Why?”
He took a drink. “We have some unfinished business,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-One
Louis swung the Mustang into the gravel drive of J.C. Landscaping and stopped. He could see Ronnie and Eric loading plants on the truck. Black clouds were rolling in overhead and he could hear the distant rumble of thunder.
Louis turned off the engine, picking up Cade’s knife from the passenger seat. He got out and started toward the truck.
Ronnie saw him coming and nudged Eric. Both of them stopped working, waiting for Louis to get closer.
“You’ve got no business here,” Ronnie said coldly.
“I need to see your father.”
Ronnie’s eyes dropped to the knife in Louis’s hand. “Why? He fired you.”
Louis hesitated, knowing he needed something to say to Ronnie.
“Look, Ronnie, I owe you an apology. I know you didn’t kill Kitty and I shouldn’t have accused you without cause. Especially in front of your son.”
Ronnie glanced at Eric, and his face softened. He ran an arm across his forehead and pulled off his work gloves.
“Okay. I appreciate that.”
“And I think we can prove your father didn’t kill her either.”
Ronnie’s eyes widened, then he broke into a slow smile. “That’s great,” he said. “I mean, that’s really great. Did you hear that, Eric?”
Eric’s sour expression didn’t change.
“Where
’s your father?” Louis asked.
Ronnie motioned toward the trailer. “He’s over there, on the porch. He’s sick.”
“He’s hung over,” Eric muttered.
Louis headed across the yard toward the front of the trailer. He could see Cade sitting in a plastic chair, his feet propped up on the wooden spool table. Cade took a drink, and set the beer can on his knee, watching Louis approach.
Louis came up to him and stopped. He brought Cade’s knife from his side and stuck it hard into the top of the wooden spool. Cade glanced at it.
“What do you want? I fired you.”
“We need to talk,” Louis said.
Cade’s eyes flicked beyond Louis. Louis turned to see Ronnie and Eric coming up behind him.
“Dad, did he tell you?” Ronnie asked.
“Tell me what?”
“Louis says he can prove neither of us killed Kitty.”
Cade didn’t move.
“Dad?”
Cade slowly pulled his legs off the table and set the beer down next to the knife.
“So now you believe I was set up. Took you long enough.”
Louis started to say something but stopped. First, he just didn’t like agreeing with anything Cade said, but there was something else too, pulling at him.
“I’m waiting, Louie. You believe now that somebody stole my tool and threw those panties in my truck?”
Louis ignored him, trying to focus in on what it was that was bothering him. He could accept that the real killer had found Cade’s tool and used it on Kitty. But how could the killer have known the semen on the panties would match Cade’s blood type? He would have had to have been damn sure—or damn lucky—to set Cade up.
Cade was talking about money now, but Louis wasn’t listening. He was seeing Joyce Novick, and hearing how she described Jack Cade.
He looked at me and . . . he touched himself.
“So, Louie. Who can I sue?”
Louis looked back at Cade. He was standing there, scratching his stomach.
“We can sue? I thought you told me we couldn’t,” Ronnie said. “How much can we get?”
“Millions,” Cade said, looking at Louis. “Right?”
“Forget that for now,” Louis said. “I need to talk to you, Cade. Alone. Let’s take a walk.”
Cade followed Louis toward the front gate. When they had gone about halfway, Louis stopped and turned. He was facing the sun and he moved so that he could see Cade’s face clearly.
“So,” Cade said, “what do we have to talk about?”
“The panties in your truck.”
“What about them?”
“How did the semen get on them?”
Cade shrugged. “Well, that’s obvious, ain’t it? That girl’s killer left it, you know, as part of the setup.”
Louis shook his head. “The killer would’ve had to know that those stains would match your blood type. How did he know that, Jack?”
Cade scratched his chest, then looked off across the yard. “You already know the answer, don’t you?” he said.
“I want to hear you say it.”
Cade hesitated. “I found the panties on the floor of the truck in the morning when I was leaving for work. I knew Ronnie had taken the truck out the night before. I figured he just got lucky.”
Louis shook his head. “You said he was a loser around girls, a virgin. Try again, Cade.”
Cade shrugged. “Okay, so he was a horny kid who couldn’t get laid. He found the panties and jacked off in them. He didn’t do nothing wrong.”
Louis stared at Cade. ”You lying sonofabitch. You found those panties that morning and you jacked off in them.”
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Cade wiped his mouth with his arm. “You’re going to believe what you want about me,” he said. “Just like everyone else.”
Louis turned away, walking toward his car. Thunder rolled overhead as shadows from the clouds moved across the ground.
“Hey, Louie,” Cade called. “Who’s going to handle this lawsuit thing for me? That bitch lawyer?”
Louis didn’t turn. He was finished here. “She can’t. Find someone else.”
“I don’t know any fucking lawyers,” Cade hollered, hurrying after him. He grabbed Louis’s arm, spinning him around. “You need to find me someone.”
Louis jerked his arm free. “I don’t need to do anything for you.”
Cade glared at him, then turned, heading back to his trailer. Louis started to get in the Mustang, but paused. He could see Ronnie and Eric over Cade’s shoulder as they tried to load a large potted plant onto the truck. It tipped, scattering dirt at their feet.
Louis shook his head slowly. Damn, he wasn’t finished. He did need to do something.
“Cade!” Louis called out.
Cade turned and waited.
“I’ll find a lawyer,” Louis said. “But for Ronnie and Eric, not you.”
Cade gave him a wave of his hand and kept walking.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Guilty Party was packed with lawyers, a smokey blur of white shirts and loosened ties. Louis spotted Scott Brenner in the back, a pool cue in his hand.
As Louis wove his way through the crowd, Scott saw him and waved him closer. Scott extended a hand, which Louis took.
“Give me a minute here, would you, Louis? I’m about to kick some very expensive ass.”
Louis watched as Scott sank the last of the striped balls, then snapped the eight ball into the side pocket. His opponent, a small man with thin brown hair handed Scott some bills and moved to the bar.
Scott turned toward Louis. “You want to play?”
“No thanks. Like I said when I called, I need to talk to you about Jack Cade.”
“We can talk and play. Just for fun. Let me get you a drink first. Name your poison.”
“Brandy and water.”
Scott handed Louis the billiard rack. “Rack ’em while I’m gone, would you?”
Louis racked the balls and picked up a cue stick, trying to remember the last time he held one. Had to be years. He was chalking it when Scott came back. He set both drinks on the table.
“I like to break,” Scott said. “Do you mind?”
Louis motioned toward the table. “Be my guest.”
Scott broke, sinking the six. He circled the table, looking for another. He paused behind the two ball, eyeing the angles. Louis noticed there was an easier shot with the ten.
Scott gave Louis a grin then took aim at the two. It rolled toward the pocket and stopped short. Scott shook his head, his grin never fading.
“You had a sure thing with the ten,” Louis said.
Scott picked up the chalk. “The victory is sweeter when the odds are greater. Your turn.”
Louis took a shot and missed. Scott started circling again, deciding finally on the fourteen ball. He bent over the table, his arms extended, his stick poised behind the cue ball.
“So, what about Jack Cade?” Scott asked.
“I thought you might be able to do something for his family.”
Scott’s eyes flicked up to Louis, then back to the table.
“And that is?”
“Make a motion for a new trial.”
With a crack, Scott sent both the fourteen and the twelve balls zipping across the table. Both hit their pockets.
Scott came over to Louis, resting the butt of his stick on the floor. “I like a challenge, but I like winning even more. Give me a reason to believe I could.”
“He didn’t rape Kitty Jagger and we can prove it.”
A flick of interest lit up Scott’s eyes and his lips tipped up in a slow smile. He set his cue back in the rack. He picked up his drink and started toward the rear of the bar, nodding for Louis to follow.
Scott slid into a wooden booth, moving aside a small unlit candle. He leaned back, his fingers around his glass, the smile still on his face. Louis slid in across from him.
“You have my attention,” Scott s
aid.
Louis quietly gave Scott the whole story, starting with the AB-negative blood in the report and ending with the theory that whoever killed Kitty shot Spencer Duvall and took the 1967 Redweld in an attempt to protect himself.
Scott reached for his drink, saw that it was empty and set it back down. He sat back, his gaze drifting to some far place of the bar.
“What do you think?” Louis asked.
Scott’s fingers were tapping lightly on the empty glass. “We called him Creepy Cade back then. Everyone did. We all thought he did it.” He paused. “God, twenty years of his life down the drain.”
“Will you consider taking this on?”
“I’m not a criminal attorney, but I can make a motion for a new trial. If it gets that far, I can either pass it off or take on a second chair.”
“The Cades don’t have any money.”
Scott waved his hand. “I wouldn’t expect any for this. Jesus Christ, Louis, there comes a time when you just have to do something human. This poor man wasted twenty years.”
“But there is something you want, right?” Louis asked.
Scott leaned forward, the alcohol shimmering in his eyes. “You know what I want, Louis? I want a shot at lawyers like Spencer Duvall, who treat the legal system like their own personal toilets. And prosecutors who would walk over their mothers’ bodies if they thought they could convict. And the fucking state of Florida that doesn’t give a damn how many innocent men they fry.”
Louis had a feeling it was the potential publicity and not any real sense of altruism that was getting Scott Brenner fired up. But he didn’t care. He knew that Scott Brenner, with his connections and experience, could help Ronnie and Eric.
“Besides,” Scott said, “if we pull this off, I want the civil suit.” He was trying to catch the waitress’s eye. “Lot of potential for big money.”
“What about the chances for a new trial?”
“Before we go any further, can I ask you a question?” Scott said.
“Sure.”
“You want to be in on this?”
Louis took a drink. “Yeah, I do.”
“Okay, this is how it is. The whole key is new evidence,” he said. “The vaginal semen sample you mentioned isn’t new.”
“But it was never submitted in trial.”
