by Matt Coyle
“Have you received any discovery from the D.A. yet?” I asked.
Discovery is the process where the defense learns about the prosecution’s case. They’re supposed to get copies of the arresting officers’ reports and statements made by prosecution witnesses and examine evidence that the prosecution proposes to introduce at trial. It’s an ongoing process and less than scrupulous prosecutors are sometimes slow or forgetful with their evidence.
“Just the arrest report. We won’t see any discovery until after the preliminary hearing. Why?”
“Ask for the autopsy. They must have it by now and would have no reason to hold it back. Do your indignant protector of the little guy bit and threaten to go to the press.”
“Why? What are you hoping to find out?” His voice had a squint in it.
“I’d like to know Shay’s stomach contents.”
“Why? She wasn’t poisoned. She was strangled.”
“Both Turk and Kris told me Shay rarely drank and was an extremely healthy eater.” Our food arrived and I waited for the waiter’s outline to recede into the gray background. “But she bought a chocolate cake and expensive champagne after she met with, presumably, Keenan Powell at La Valencia the night before she died. That’s her celebration food.”
“Presumably Keenan Powell? I thought you said that’s who she met with.”
“I’m pretty sure it was, but Moira hasn’t confirmed the photo is the same man she saw with Shay yet.”
“Why not? That information would be helpful.”
“She only surveilled Shay Sommers for Turk because I vouched for him. She had an infidelity case last year where the husband murdered his wife, then committed suicide. Moira vowed never to do an infidelity case again until I convinced her Turk was a good, stable man. She’s pretty broken up. And mad. So, she’s not talking to me right now.”
“Doctor Donnelly?”
“Yeah.”
“I remember that. Horrible. And now Moira thinks Turk’s guilty.” It wasn’t a question and he didn’t sound disappointed or surprised. Probably because he had come to the same conclusion.
Fenton could self-righteously declare that he didn’t think in terms of guilt or innocence, that protecting his client’s rights and giving him as vigorous a defense as possible were his only concerns, but he was human. And we humans can pretend we have control over all the thoughts and conclusions that pop into our heads, but we don’t. Not even lawyers. But that didn’t mean Fenton wouldn’t do his best to defend Turk. It just meant he’d be able to sleep at night if his best wasn’t good enough.
I wouldn’t.
“Yes. Right now, she thinks he’s guilty.” I still hadn’t given up on changing Moira’s mind. When she decided to start talking to me again.
“Good to know. She’ll undoubtedly be a prosecution witness.”
“What about me? I was more or less Moira’s partner.”
“No. The prosecution won’t want anything to do with you. I might, though.”
I dug into my turkey burger and Elk did the same. Tasty. I’d skipped breakfast before Turk’s arraignment and the first bite reminded me how hungry I was. I didn’t say another word until I was finished, which only took a few minutes. Elk was in the same mode.
Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff” suddenly sounded from the middle of Fenton’s torso. Movement from his right arm into his chest and the song stopped.
“Shit.” I’d never heard him swear before. “It’s my ex-wife. I’d better call her back. Could be something about the girls. I have to go hide in the bathroom. I can’t talk to her in a public setting.”
“No problem.” Divorce. With kids.
Elk’s outline rose and a squeak came from his chair being pushed back. I watched him disappear into the gray background. His gait not as loose as when I saw him approach me at the Sunglass Hut.
I waited while the chatter of conversations and the aroma of food and scent of the ocean floated around me.
Then I smelled it. Under all the other scents, it was there. Hiding. Dove deodorant. Right behind me. Hovering, like it had when I sat in Moira’s car last week.
The Invisible Man.
He was right behind me. Staring at me. Mocking me. He thought he could follow me, enter my space, and peak over my shoulder with impunity because I couldn’t see him. A blind mark.
I shoved my chair back against his legs, shot straight up, and spun around to face my invisible tormentor. A short, thin outline stumbled backward and groaned.
“Why the fuck are you following me?” I advanced toward the shaky shadow, fists clenched at my sides. Ready. For anything.
“What’s wrong with you?” Older woman’s voice coming out of a round shape next to the outline of the Invisible Man. She was taller and wider than him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, son.” Scared, shaky, geriatric voice from the skinny shadow.
The outline and voice surprised me. Why was some old guy following me? And with his wife? But I was still in defend and attack mode.
I whipped out my phone and pointed it at the thin outline and commanded it to take a photo. I wanted a picture of this guy to show to Moira. Maybe she’d seen him the day the Invisible Man followed us.
“Why were you hovering over me?” I barked.
“We weren’t hovering over you. We were ordering drinks at the bar, minding our own business,” the woman’s blob said as she moved in front of the old man. “And then you assaulted my husband.”
Uh-oh.
“Folks!” Elk’s shadow appeared. “Pardon my friend. He lost his eyesight recently and is still figuring out how to move around in public.”
“Well, he assaulted my husband.” The outline of the woman’s arms went to her midsection. Her hands on her hips. Posturing for confrontation. Of course, I’d given her the right. “I don’t care if he’s blind. He pushed my husband and threatened him.”
“I didn’t push him. I accidently bumped him with my chair when I stood up.” Maybe not so accidently.
“I apologize again.” Elk. The good everyman. “Let me pay for your lunch.”
“Well, we just ordered some drinks and then we’re going to eat. In the Med.” The Med was the most expensive restaurant in the hotel. The wife knew a leverage opportunity when she saw one.
“Rick, why don’t you wait outside while I pay our bill and take care of these nice folks?” He leaned over the table, then stuck his arm out to me. “Here’s your cane.”
I took the cane and unfolded it.
“Hey, I know who you are.” The woman. I’d heard that phrase spoken to me countless times over the last fifteen years. It was never the precursor to a good outcome. “You’re a friend of the man who murdered that beautiful girl.” A loud intake of air. “And you’re the lawyer who’s defending that monster. Have you no shame?”
I felt all the remaining eyes that weren’t already on us snap in our direction. I tapped my way to the exit and saw human outlines scatter out of my way.
There were benefits to being the blind best friend of a murderer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I CANED ALONG with Elk on our walk to his car. The sun had burned through the marine layer and haloed my vision even through my sunglasses.
“Did you have to buy them lunch?” I asked.
“No. They took their pound of flesh in a cash settlement.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollars.” He chuckled. “I got them to agree on video on my phone that the husband, Phil Humphrey, sustained no injuries when you accidently grazed him with your chair.”
“I owe you.” I’d have to, considering my financial situation.
“No, you don’t. You were in the restaurant on business and you gave me some important information.” A pause, then his voice regressed to the teenage kid. “But you could explain to me what happened back there. I came out of the bathroom after listening to my ex harangue me for five minutes and saw you ready to attack an old man.”
I hadn’t told Elk about the Invisible Man. Yet. I hadn’t sensed his presence for a week. Moira had half convinced me that he was a character from my imagination and the confrontation with the man in La Sala gave her judgement even more credence. I just needed one more nudge to abandon the theory myself. But Elk deserved an explanation. Especially since he’d just saved me from possible litigation.
I told him about the footsteps and Dove deodorant scent on Prospect Street the morning Moira and I met with Turk the first time. Then the two encounters that night. The last night of Shay’s life. Three encounters with the man on the day before Shay was murdered, then no more. Until today.
“Did Moira see this person?”
“No.”
“Dove deodorant is a pretty common product. A lot of men use it.”
“I know what you’re intimating, but it’s not just the scent of the deodorant.” My cadence quickened. Like Elk wasn’t the only person I was trying to convince. “It’s that smell mixed with individual human musk. It’s a unique smell. The same scent I smelled three times the day before Shay was murdered. There’s your alternative suspect.”
“That elderly gentleman? He had the same musk smell of the man who tailed you on Prospect Street three times in one day a week ago?” He kept his voice modulated so the question didn’t imply that I was out of my mind. But the point was taken. Again.
Did I just smell Dove deodorant today or was the same musky scent I’d smelled multiple times the day before Shay was murdered also mixed in? The scent I thought I smelled. It had been a week. Could I really be sure the scent I smelled today was the same one I smelled on Prospect Street?
“I’m pretty sure it was the same.” Wishful speaking.
“I really have a hard time believing that the little old man whose wife did all the talking for him had the physical capabilities and stamina to follow someone around all day.”
“People can surprise you. Somebody followed us that day. I smelled him.” I realized how ridiculous I sounded too late to stop my mouth.
“You didn’t see him.” Of course, I couldn’t. Cruel? Probably not, but an exclamation point on the discussion. Elk won.
I shut up for the rest of the walk to his car. He punched the ignition and the $70,000 car hummed to life.
“Can you go over to Fay Ave. and head toward La Jolla High?” I asked.
“Sure? What’s at the high school?”
“Nothing. I want to go by a house on the 7300 block of Fay.”
“Do you have the address?”
“I think it’s 7330. A green California Craftsman cottage.”
“Who lives there?”
“Moira.”
Elk didn’t ask why I wanted to see Moira. Maybe he was just happy to get rid of me after the mess in La Sala. Neither of us spoke again until he made a couple turns and finally pulled to a stop.
“7330 Fay. Green Craftsman cottage.”
I looked out the window and saw a mass of rectangle boxes lined up along the street.
“Is there a white Honda Accord parked somewhere near the house?”
Moira’s lot was so small that not only did it not have a garage, it didn’t even have a driveway. Like me, her business mailing address was a P.O. box in La Jolla. She had an office in her house for paperwork and computer searches. She used a friendly lawyer’s office when she met clients face-to-face. I doubted she’d taken on a new case yet. Shay Sommers’ death had shaken her. She’d probably armadilloed and was holed up in her home.
“Yes. A couple cars down.”
“Thanks for the ride.” I opened the door, but stayed seated in the car. “What’s next?”
“The hearing on Tuesday, if you can make it. I’d love to have you backing me up again when I get in front or the press.”
The symbol. The role I’d been made for since Santa Barbara.
“But what can I do between now and then? I don’t want to just sit on the sidelines.”
I stared at the outline of his face, willing myself to see his expression. Did I have a purpose beyond the symbolic? All I saw was gray.
“I already have Dan Coyote working the case, as you know.” His head turned toward the windshield. He didn’t trust his expression even when he knew I couldn’t see it. “I am paying you an hourly for the appearances and the meeting we just had. I value your input.”
But not enough to give me any real responsibilities.
“You don’t have to pay me for supporting Turk.” Although, I did need the money. “I’ll dig around in Blank Slate Capital and Keenan Powell and see if there’s anything hinky there.”
“I insist on paying you for your appearances, but, ah …” A pause. “If you look into Blank Slate Capital and this Keen an Powell fellow, it would be best not to associate yourself with Turk’s defense. At this time.”
My confrontation with the poor old guy in La Sala hadn’t raised Elk’s opinion of me as an investigator.
“Roger.” I got out of the car and shut the door. Hard. Just shy of a slam.
Elk pulled away and I tapped my cane along the cement walkway that split the front lawn in front of Moira’s house. I maneuvered up the two steps onto the porch where Moira and I had gasped for air three years ago after her house was teargassed. On a case she’d helped me with. I missed us working as a team.
I missed Moira, period. I didn’t know when I’d see Leah again. Or what would become of us. I’d been a lone wolf most of my adult life. Mostly by choice. Today, I suddenly missed the pack.
It looked like the drapes on the windows were closed. I could feel the winter sun on my back. Moira didn’t want any part of it.
I knocked on the front door.
No sound from inside the house. I knocked again and rang the bell.
“Go away.” Moira’s voice through the door.
“Just give me a minute,” I said to the closed door. “I need you to look at something, then I’ll leave.”
A swish of air and the rectangle of the door changed to a darker gray. With a small human outline in the middle of it.
“It’s always just a minute, or an hour, or a day.” Each word a jab that landed. “For what you need. Pulling me into your distorted sense of justice. Tangling me up in your illegal schemes. All in the scarred quest of Rick Cahill’s truth. Did you know that I still have nightmares about the man I killed to save your life?”
“No.” But it made sense. I had nightmares after the first one, too. Not anymore. “I’m sorry.”
“You forced me to be a conquering avenger just like you.” She hadn’t wanted an answer. She was on a six-year roll. “And you made me an accessory after the fact to some of the truly evil things you’ve done. Rick Cahill, above the law for the greater good. But that’s bullshit. You’re just a common narcissist. Except you’re more dangerous. People die while you’re chasing the greater good.”
Moira’s outline disappeared and the door slammed in my face. The foundation of the porch shook and the boom rang in my ears.
The pack didn’t want anything to do with me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I TURNED TO leave and the door whipped open again.
“I asked you one simple favor.” Tears in her voice now. “Something that I needed. Finally. Something that you could help me with. One simple question and you failed. Did you think Turk was lying about not going to see Shay? That was it. If you had had even the slightest doubt, I would have staked out Shay’s apartment and stopped Turk from going inside. I don’t think he went over there intending to kill her. He just needed to step back and breathe. Hell, he didn’t even have to know about what we saw that night if you would have just stayed in the car like I asked you to. But you had to be the hero. The blind fucking hero had to save the day. Well, you could have. You could have saved both of them, but you were wrong. You failed.”
“He didn’t kill her.”
“Shut up!” A screech. “You don’t have the right! You were wrong about everything. You convinced
me Turk wouldn’t go see Shay that night and now you’re convinced he didn’t kill her? You’ve been blind for a long time and it’s got nothing to do with your eyesight.”
There was a lot of truth in what Moira said. I followed my own sense of justice. I told myself that it was because I’d seen the real justice system fail too many times. Maybe that was just a convenient rationalization. How I justified and lived with what I’d done. I did drag Moira into some bad situations and made her an accessory after the fact. And I’d do it again to keep evil from ending her life. Or mine.
I had been wrong about Turk. He did go to Shay’s house. But he didn’t kill her. If I was wrong again, he’d spend the rest of his life in prison. If I was right, he might end up there anyway. I couldn’t let that happen or rely on Dan Coyote to find the truth that could save Turk. He just followed orders. I followed the clues wherever they took me. I was just narcissistic enough to believe I could make a difference. And couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.
“I can’t bring Shay back. I’m trying to find her killer. If that’s Turk, so be it. But, I’m going to keep investigating until I find the truth, one way or another.
“Another quest to fill up that emptiness inside you.” She shook her head. “You know what? It’s my fault. I had doubts and I should have followed my own instincts instead of letting you convince me to follow yours. That’s on me. So, I absolve you of responsibility. You can continue on your hero’s journey. Go forth and conquer. You’re a guiltless man, Rick.”
The door started to swing shut, but I stuck my foot out to stop it. Moira’s shadow stood to the side.
“My guilt is the one thing I don’t delude myself about.” I nudged the door with my knee and it crept open another six inches.
“That is true. The long-suffering Rick Cahill. So much of his fucked-up life is due to his own actions.”
“Guilty again.” I leveled with the door-jamb. “But at least I take action. I understand you feel badly about Shay Sommers. So do I. But what if you and the police are wrong? What if there’s evidence out there waiting to be found that points to the real killer and there’s nothing you could have done to stop him? Are you going to stay hidden in here behind the closed curtains for another week or do something about it?”
