by Robin James
“Thought I was dead, did you?” she said, laughing at her own joke. “Or wished I was?”
“Or course not. I just didn’t think you actively practiced anymore.”
“From time to time,” she said. “When a case is interesting enough. This one surely is. That poor family. Horrifying.”
“It is,” I said.
“Sure do have a lot of opinions around town about what really happened,” she said, baiting me.
“Are you setting up shop here in Waynetown?” I asked. Her appearance listed an address just six blocks from here. As far as I knew, it was a vacant office building.
“I rented a little place,” Elise said. “Just signed the lease yesterday.”
“When were you engaged by the defendant?” I asked. The bigger question was why she waited until today to get a hold of me.
Elise looked at my degree hanging over my shoulder.
“You were something,” she said. “One of the good ones, Montleroy. You know they were scared of you in class.”
“Of me?” I said. “I think they were scared of you.”
“You weren’t though,” she said.
I laughed. “You sure about that?”
“Yes,” she said, deadly serious. “You held back sometimes. I knew you were doing it. Trying to fit in. Trying to pretend you didn’t have things figured out before you ever stepped foot in class. I know how that works. You didn’t want to be seen as a threat. You wanted to have a social life. Your final essay in criminal procedure, though. Better than some Supreme Court opinions I’ve read.”
“How on earth can you remember an exam I wrote more than a dozen years ago?” I asked. “Besides, I thought you were supposed to grade those blind.”
She gave only a guilty smile by way of an answer.
“I remember the good ones,” she then said. “All teachers do.”
“Coming from you,” I said, “I appreciate the compliment.”
“You should,” she said. “I don’t often hand them out. So, how have you been? I have to admit, I caught a little of your story on the news. Jason was also one of the good ones. Look how far he’s gone.”
“All the way to Washington.” I smiled.
“And yet, here you are,” she said.
“Here I am,” I agreed.
“Interesting. I didn’t peg you as cut out for government work.”
“What did you peg me as?” I asked, not sure I wanted the answer.
“Oh, I don’t know. I figured you’d get snapped up by one of the big corporate firms. Big Park Avenue apartment, maybe. I suppose that’s what your mother wanted for you.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I like it here.”
She nodded, then inspected the cuticles on her right hand. “We all make our choices, I guess.”
Anger rose in me. It was a veiled reference to the scandal of my third year in law school. I wouldn’t take the bait.
“Yes,” I said. “We do.”
“Well,” she said. “It’s good to see you, Montleroy. I’m glad you found a way to use your degree. It’s noble. Respectable. And I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“I’ll have your initial discovery couriered over by the end of the day.”
She nodded, rose, and showed herself out of my office. Her heels clacked on the tiles as she made her way down the hall.
I waited until I heard the outer door open before leaving my desk. When I did, Kenya met me in the hallway.
“So, what’s she think you’re offering on Harvey?” Kenya asked.
“You know?” I said. “I’ll be damned. She never even asked me about the case.”
Kenya reared back, surprised. “So what the heck were you talking about?”
“That old shark was just sizing me up,” I said. “I think she’s in this for the long haul, Kenya. Which means so are we.”
“I don’t like her,” Caro said, joining us. “Who the heck does she think she is?”
Smiling, I tapped my hand on my door frame. “She thinks she’s the person who taught me everything I know.”
I left Kenya and Caro staring after me as I went back to my office and shut the door.
15
Three days later, I met Sam at a coffee shop right next to Verde. It was his choice. We sat near the window so I had a view of the pot dispensary that used to be Sutter Bait and General store. There was still a picture of a cartoon walleye painted in the middle of the parking lot, chipped and faded.
“You ready for Tuesday?” Sam asked.
Sipping my coffee, I nodded. “Grand jury convenes at ten. You have everything you need?”
“I have more than everything I need. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I set my coffee down. Sam reached beside him and picked up a red file folder he’d brought with him.
“Mickey’s lies keep on coming,” he said. He opened the file and slid it across the table to me. He’d added an addendum to his main report on the case. Before me were three new interview summaries.
“Jody Doehler, Chad Carmichael, Sarah Bosch?” I asked.
“Sarah was a friend of Skylar Sutter’s. Well, all three of them knew her. Chad’s her boyfriend. And this Jody is a shirttail relation of the Sutters somehow.”
“You’re right,” I said. “He was out there the other day doing yardwork when I stopped by to talk to Georgette Sutter and her granddaughter.”
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
“Nikki?” I said.
“Well, yes. But Grandma George. I need to go out there myself. There’s been so much loss in that family. Even before this tragedy.”
“I know,” I said. “She’s got practically a shrine to the children she lost. I can’t even imagine it, Sam. If anything like that happened to Will, I don’t think I’d survive it. And for it to happen to her twice. Both kids. Now her grandson. She’s strong. Puts on a brave face. It’s odd to say, maybe, but I almost think Lou Sutter’s mental state is helping her?”
“How so?” he asked.
“Well, for one thing, he’s not really in the grief of this thing. I’m not sure how much of it he’s aware of. That’s a blessing. But caring for him gives that woman a purpose. Distracts her. Nikki’s pretty worried though.”
“It’s a lot on her shoulders,” Sam said. “Nikki, I mean.”
“How well do you know her?” I asked.
Sam sat back. “Not all that well. She’s what, thirty-one, thirty-two? She was just a kid when I was a teenager. Pigtails. Braces. Always getting in the way at the bait shop. Lou and Tom, her dad, had trouble keeping her occupied. She paints? Something arty?”
“Photographer,” I answered. “She’s got her own studio in Seattle. She wants to get back to it, but I think she feels obligated to stick around for her grandparents.”
Sam clicked his tongue. “Rough break on every level.” He looked out the window. His expression turned wistful as he took in Verde. The parking lot was full. In five minutes, we watched at least six people come in and out.
“A gold mine, that,” he said. “Sure ruffled a lot of feathers when they sold it, though. But anybody with half a brain couldn’t blame them. You know I talked to Kevin not long before they sold it. He said business wasn’t anywhere close to what it used to be. I think they were struggling.”
“So the offer from Verde came along at a good time,” I said.
Sam nodded. “I don’t know. It was probably a combination of things. They weren’t selling enough worms to keep the doors open, you know? I don’t think Kevin’s heart was in it after his dad died. Nikki left. C.J. was ... well ... if I’m being honest, he was kind of a jerk. A blowhard. A bully. I never really liked him much. Chris was the one everyone liked.”
“And he had zero financial interest in that store,” I said. “Only Kevin and C.J. benefited from the sale to Verde. Everyone else had been bought out years before.”
“Sure, they’re all kicking themselves for that.”
When the
waitress came by, she topped off our coffees.
“Anyway,” he said. “Chad, Jody, and Sarah’s statements. I think you’re going to want to put one of them on the stand for the grand jury.”
Sam gave me a knowing smile. I looked back at the paperwork. My pulse quickened a bit as I skimmed the highlights. All three witnesses described an incident at the Blue Pony, the very restaurant we’d all been at when we got word of the murders.
“Chad’s the one who called me,” Sam explained. “At Sarah’s urging. Then I got a call from Jody last night.”
“They’ll testify to this?” I said as I scanned the pages. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” he said. “Chad said he and Sarah were out at the Blue Pony and ran into Mickey and Skylar. They can be specific on the date. Sunday night. April Fool’s Day. You know Paula Dudley always has that April Fool’s bash. Mickey and Sky got into some kind of argument. Chad and Sarah both say Mickey got rough with her. Grabbed her. Chased her outside. Sarah made Chad go after them. He’d been drinking a bit.”
“Chad? Great,” I said. “That won’t help me if I put him on the stand.”
“Except Sarah went too. They both saw Mickey manhandling Skylar in the parking lot. Couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was alarming enough Chad went over to see if she was all right.”
I flipped through the statements and read along as Sam spoke.
“She had marks on her arms,” I said, finding a line from Sarah’s interview.
“Handprints,” Sam said. “Chad says he saw Mickey shaking her.”
I flipped the page and looked up at him. “Was this an isolated thing? Did you get that sense?”
“No,” he said. “That’s just it. Sarah said she felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Skylar was her friend. She didn’t want to tick her off by telling her she thought her boyfriend was a creep. But take a look at what Jody Doehler says.”
Jody’s statement mirrored Sarah’s and Chad’s. He was at the Blue Pony the same night. He saw Skylar and Mickey arguing. Sam had highlighted a few of the sentences. I read them back.
“I heard him yell at her. You can’t do better than me. You even try, I’ll make you regret it. I’ll bury you. I’ll kill you.”
“Good Lord,” I said, closing the file.
“Same night. Independent witnesses. They all remember because it was the April Fool’s bash. Paula does one-dollar pitchers. Decks the place out. You have to have gone to at least one in your younger days.”
“I’ve always been a mom since I moved to Waynetown, Sam,” I said. “We go to the Pony for the sliders and the kids’ menu, not the pitchers. But Sam …”
“There’s more,” he said. “I got a tip that Skylar Sutter was meeting with a lawyer. Sarah thinks she at one point had her convinced to get a restraining order against Mickey.”
“There was nothing like that in the background check on Mickey,” I said.
“She never filed it,” he said. “I got the lawyer’s name. A Leslie Noble. She did work for Skylar’s parents. I’m going to see if she’ll talk to me. See if it got to the point of Skylar opening up a file with her. I know attorney-client privilege survives death but …”
“Let me know if you need any help with that,” I cut in. “Attorney-client privilege is one thing, but if this woman had credible information that Skylar was in danger, she would have had certain duties to protect her, regardless of confidentiality.”
“I’ll let you know. Sarah didn’t know for sure. It could be a nothing burger.”
“Or it could be the last nail I need to broker a plea deal.”
“About that,” Sam said. “Elise Weaver?”
I raised a brow. “Apparently so.”
Sam let out a low whistle.
“Hey,” I said, feigning offense. He smiled and turned a little red.
“Oh, you’re more than a match, Mara. It’s just ... how the hell is Ed Harvey footing that particular bill? They were foreclosing on his business.”
“I’m getting somewhat of a bigger picture on that. I think Ed Harvey engaged in some creative accounting, shall we say? Hiding assets from his ex-wife.”
“Anything you can use?” he asked.
“Probably not. Ed’s not the one charged with seven murders. It’s enough that Mark O'Brien had a hand in Ed’s so-called downfall. I only need a jury to believe Mickey had a score to settle with Mark.”
Sam considered my words for a moment. He finished his coffee.
“I’ve heard Elise Weaver doesn’t do plea deals.”
“That’s her reputation. But she’s already playing games.” I told him about my visit with her.
“Ah,” he said. “That kind. Well, it will be all that much more fun watching you obliterate her at trial.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
He did something then. An innocent gesture, maybe, but it stirred something in me I hadn’t expected. Sam reached across the table and put a hand over mine.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I felt a flood of warmth straight down to my toes. My heart tripped and my breath went out of me in the best way. It felt ... good. And that was the problem. I did something I instantly regretted. I jerked my hand away and folded it in my lap.
Sam’s eyes flickered, but he deftly recovered, saving what might have been an awkward moment. Something I never wanted with him. Ever.
“Mara,” he said. “Don’t let Elise Weaver get in your head. What’s she got on you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’ve known her a very long time. She was one of my most influential law professors. She. Well. I think she probably likes to think she molded me into what I am today.”
He laughed. “Bullcrap. Even I know they don’t teach you how to be a lawyer in law school. Just like they don’t teach you how to be a cop in the academy. You earn that in the trenches.”
“True,” I admitted. “But Elise Weaver can skewer people with a glance. And she judges me for the choices I made. Reminds me of my mother, if you want to know the truth.”
“What could she possibly judge you for?” he asked.
I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe Weaver the Cleaver’s words cut me more than I realized the other day. But I told him.
“You know I met Jason in law school. He was a third year. I was a first year. He graduated first in his class. Got the job with the A.G.’s office right away. It was a big deal. Everyone knew Jason was destined for big things. Anyway, I booked my courses with Weaver.”
“Booked?” he asked.
“When you get the highest grade in a class,” I said, “it brings a certain amount of attention. Expectations. Weaver lined up an interview for me with a big firm in New York. My mother was over the moon about it. I would have probably made my first million in my own right by the time I was twenty-eight.”
“But?” he asked.
“But,” I said, “I got pregnant with Will. Found out a few weeks before I graduated. It changed everything for me. I made a decision. Jason and I got married. I put my career on hold for a little while. Not forever. But New York just didn’t seem as important to me anymore. Elise Weaver wrote me off after that.”
“What business is that of hers? Or anyone’s?” he asked.
“Well, I was her protege. She felt I was throwing my life away for some guy. I took a year off. Then I went to work for the Ohio Civil Rights Commission part time. I liked it there. But then the opportunity came for us to move here to Jason’s hometown. He was already being groomed for the congressional seat he now holds in this district. And Will ... well ... I realized Waynetown would be more his speed than overpriced daycare and nannies in New York.”
“Do you regret it?” he asked.
I met his gaze. “Not for a single second. I’m here because I want to be. Not because I have to be. And I like what I’m doing. A lot.”
Sam’s grin widened. “Good. So do me a favor. Wipe the floor with Elise Weaver.�
��
I picked the red file back up again. “This will help. And now I get the pleasure of seeing her face when I drop it off.”
“Now you're talking,” Sam said. Over my protest, he paid the bill. Then he walked me out to my car.
16
Death hung over Lou and Georgette’s house on the top of a winding hill. Yet somehow when I visited them a few weeks ago, I could still sense the joy there. As if perhaps, someday, on some not-too-distant holiday or birthday celebration, there would be laughter again.
By contrast, when I walked up the steps to Luke Sutter’s home just five miles to the east of the crime scene, I sensed only the weight of the tragedy he suffered. In House #1, Luke had lost both his parents, Chris and Jenny Sutter. He’d lost his sister, Skylar. Now, he faced the knowledge that their deaths and those of the rest of the family had their nexus at his mother’s kitchen table.
Luke greeted me, swinging open the screen door to his modest two-story house. There were toys in the yard. A Big Wheel. A baby pool leaned up against the garage. I stepped over crude drawings in sidewalk chalk.
“Hi,” Luke said. He greeted me in bare feet, wearing track pants and a faded M.S.U. tee shirt.
There were toys all over the floor in the house too. Mail stacked up on a table in the hall. Dishes in the sink. But most alarming was the lack of light. Everything was switched off, and the shades were drawn.
“We have to keep it this way,” he said. “Rachel’s migraines … We can sit out back. I probably should have you pull around, anyway.”
Luke turned on a hallway light so I could at least see my way through the gauntlet of Legos. We made it through the kitchen and out the back sliding door. Not before I saw Rachel Sutter sleeping on the couch in the living room, a cloth over her eyes.
I would have liked to tell him I could come back another time. Or perhaps invite him to my office. But he and Rachel had avoided my calls for days and the grand jury convened tomorrow.
“This is fine,” I said as we stepped out on the deck. I took a seat on one of two green plastic Adirondack chairs. Luke took the other. I could see why they picked this spot to build their home. It abutted the woods. I spotted a deer blind just a few yards in.
