Sudden Death

by David Rosenfelt

  That’s my feeling as well, but like Kevin, I’m well aware that I could be wrong.

  As Judge Harrison is about to come into court, I go to turn my cell phone off. It’s something I do every day, to save myself the embarrassment of his confiscating it if it should ring during the court session. I see that there is a text message on the phone from Sam, asking me to call him and identifying it as “important.” The cell phone probably didn’t get reception in the anteroom where I met with Kenny.

  I’m worried about what Sam might have discovered, but I have no time to call him now. I also have to switch my mental focus to Dylan’s first witness, Captain Dessens. As the lead investigator and arresting officer, Dylan will use him to sum up his case.

  In truth, Dessens has little to add to the facts of the case. The jury has already heard about the blood evidence, Kenny’s actions the day of the arrest at his house, and the discovery of Preston’s body in the closet. Those are the main facts, and all Dessens does is repeat and embellish them. It is almost as if Dessens is giving Dylan’s closing argument for him.

  Dylan is painstaking in his questioning, and he doesn’t turn the witness over to me until almost noon. Harrison decides to take the lunch break before I cross Dessens, and as soon as I can get to where I can talk privately, I call Sam.

  “What have you got, Sam?” I ask.

  “Nothing good. I’ve got Schilling within seventy-five miles of six of the eight deaths at the time they happened. I’ve cleared him on one, and I’m still working on the eighth.”

  “Shit,” I say, once again displaying my characteristic rhetorical flourish.

  “Andy, these deaths took place all over the country. The odds against Kenny being in each of these places at those particular times are astronomical. Beyond coincidence. Way beyond.”

  “I know,” I say, because I do know, and there’s nothing to be gained by my first choice, which would be to remain in denial. I make arrangements to see Sam after court is over, and go to find Kevin. His reaction is the same as Sam’s, and we agree to figure out tonight just how we are going to deal with this.

  Dessens gets back on the stand, no doubt prepped by Dylan for a full-blown cross-examination covering everything. He’s not going to get it; I’ve made whatever points I’ve had to make with previous witnesses. Instead, I’m going to use this cross to start presenting the defense’s case.

  “Captain Dessens, you testified that Mr. Schilling became the focus of your investigation early on. I believe you said that within twelve hours he was your prime suspect.”

  He nods. “That’s correct.”

  “Who were your less-than-prime suspects?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Let me try to be even clearer. Who were on your list of suspects; who were the people you crossed off that list when you decided Mr. Schilling was your man?”

  “There were no specific names; it was early in the process, and we hadn’t had a chance to go deep into our investigation.”

  “So Mr. Schilling was your only suspect as well as your prime one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Generally, in a murder investigation, when the prime suspect doesn’t jump out at you so fast, is it fair to say you have a large list of suspects and then you pare them down?”

  “Generally, but every case is different.”

  “But you never prepared such a list for this case? You stopped looking after Mr. Schilling was arrested?”

  He shakes his head. “We continued our thorough investigation, but we had our man.”

  “Did your ‘thorough’ investigation uncover the fact that the victim was dealing drugs?”

  Dylan jumps out of his chair to object that this is not within the scope of his direct examination, but I argue that it is, since Dylan had Dessens talking about his investigation. Harrison agrees with me and allows Dessens to answer.

  “We had indications of that, yes. Nothing that has been proven.”

  “In the same way that Mr. Schilling’s guilt in this case hasn’t been proven, since the jury has not yet returned a verdict?”

  Dylan objects that this is argumentative, and Harrison sustains.

  I push on. “Did you learn where Mr. Preston got the drugs he was selling?” I ask.

  “Not with enough certainty that I can name anyone here today.”

  I nod. “Fair enough. I’ll name some people, and you tell me if they were possible drug suppliers to Mr. Preston. Here goes… Albert Schweitzer? Pope John Paul? The queen of England?”

  Dylan objects again, calling my questions “frivolous,” which is not exactly a news event. Again Harrison sustains.

  “Captain Dessens,” I ask, “is it your experience that drug suppliers are dangerous people, who often employ other dangerous people?”

  He agrees to that but little else. I let him off the stand having basically made my point: Troy Preston associated with people who seem a lot more credible in the role of killer than does Kenny Schilling.

  As Dylan rests the prosecution’s case, I believe I have a slight but real chance of convincing the jury that Kenny doesn’t fit the bill as the killer of Troy Preston.

  That’s because they don’t know what I know.

  SAM LAYS OUT THE information he has learned in a straightforward, serious way. He doesn’t even song-talk, such is his understanding of the implications of this material. Sam is a numbers guy, and he understands the laws of probability. These facts do not obey those laws.

  The question is what to do now. I do not see how we can ever bring any of this before Judge Harrison. If we determine the best, that Kenny has no culpability, then that is the end of it. If we determine the worst, that Kenny has committed a series of bizarre murders, we are prohibited from revealing it. Anything in between, if there can be anything in between, would likewise be privileged.

  All this work we are doing is essentially to satisfy our own curiosity, and our energies could be better spent in helping defend our client against the charge he faces, not what he might have done besides that. The only legally ethical justification for our actions is to claim that we are preparing for the remote possibility that Dylan will learn what we are learning, and we will have to defend against his use of that knowledge against Kenny. Having said that, I certainly won’t be charging Kenny for any of the hours we spend on this end of the investigation.

  I ask Laurie to devote herself full-time to learning about these mysterious deaths. I want her to investigate each one individually, much as I did Darryl Anderson’s drowning in the ocean off Asbury Park. Maybe she can clear each case as definitely not a murder, but I doubt it.

  Marcus is going to continue to guard me, since our concerns about Quintana are absolutely real. Quintana may not have killed Preston, but he’s already sent people after me, and Adam’s fate is testimony to his ruthlessness. This is a bad guy, whether our courtroom claims of his involvement in the Preston murder are true or not.

  Lying in bed is when I do some of my best thinking. Tonight Laurie lies next to me, awake, so instead of just rattling around in my head, the words I am thinking come out through my mouth. “The thing that gnaws at me, in a good way, if there can be such a thing as good gnawing…”

  Laurie gets frustrated with my lengthy preamble. “Spit it out, Andy.”

  “Okay. None of these other deaths were ruled murder by the police, not a single one. Assuming the worst, that Kenny killed all of them, why would he have done such a good job covering up his guilt those times, and then with Preston he just about holds up a neon sign saying ‘I’m guilty’? That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “So maybe someone else did them all, including Preston.”

  “That fails the same logic test,” I say. “Whoever it was that did it, why would they make all of the others not look like murder and this one so obvious? To frame Kenny? They could have done that just by killing Preston. Why kill all the others?”

  “Somehow the Preston killing is different,” she say
s. “If it wasn’t Kenny that did it, but instead somebody trying to frame him, the other killings weren’t part of that plan. Don’t forget, if Adam didn’t happen to notice them, we’d think Preston was the only death in the case.”

  I’m just about to fall asleep when something makes me think of Bobby Pollard, the wheelchair-bound trainer who has known Kenny since high school. Pollard was in a terrible accident, one that cost him his ability to walk. It clearly could have cost him his life but did not. Should he be on our list as well? Was he supposed to be another victim?

  It’s eleven-thirty at night, but the Pollards told me I could call on them at any time, so I take that literally and dial their number. Teri answers, and I explain that I need to talk to her husband. My plan is to meet with them after court tomorrow, but such is their eagerness to help that they give me the option of coming over tonight. They apologetically say that they can’t come to me because their son is asleep and it takes Bobby time to get dressed and become fully mobile.

  I’m wound up too tight to sleep, so I figure I might as well go over there. I wake Laurie and tell her where I’m going so that she won’t be worried again. She offers to go with me, but I tell her I’m fine on my own, and she seems quite happy to accept that and go back to sleep.

  I leave the house, glancing around for Marcus on the way to my car. I don’t see him, but I know he’s there. I hope he’s there.

  Twenty minutes later the Pollards are serving me coffee and cinnamon cake in their dining room. “Bobby, I want to talk to you about your accident” is how I start.

  His face reflects an understandable confusion. “My accident? I thought this was about Kenny.”

  “There’s a great deal I can’t tell you, including how the various pieces come together. I just ask that you answer my questions as best you can, and reserve any questions of your own until the time I can answer them.”

  Bobby looks over at Teri, and she nods her assent, which I think is the only reason he lets this continue. “What about my accident?”

  “Tell me how it happened.”

  “I already did. I was driving in Spain, and I went off the road. The car rolled over, and I never walked again.” His voice is angry, as if I shouldn’t be making him go through this. He’s right; I shouldn’t.

  “What caused you to go off the road?” I ask.

  “Another car went out of its lane. I tried to avoid it, give it room, but I ran out of room myself.”

  “Who was driving the other car?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t stop. I don’t even know if they saw what happened to me.”

  “Do you think they did what they did intentionally?”

  “I never have, no. Do you know something I don’t?”

  I ignore the question, trying to get through this. “Who was with you on the trip to Europe?”

  He thinks and names four male friends, unfortunately including Kenny. Then, “Teri and I had just gotten married a few months before; it was sort of a last fling with the guys.” He looks at her. “Not that kind of fling… you know what I mean.”

  She smiles her understanding, not particularly jealous of anything that might have happened almost a decade ago, before her husband was paralyzed. Then she turns to me. “I was pregnant, so we got married. We were only eighteen.”

  I ask Bobby, “Why weren’t your friends with you when you went for the drive?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t remember. They probably went to the beach.”

  I’m learning more than I need to know, so I apologize for bothering them and leave without answering their questions. What I did was not fair to them, but it provided me with another piece of information. The list of tragically unlucky friends and acquaintances of Kenny Schilling’s now includes Bobby Pollard.

  Heading to court for the first day of the defense’s case, I can’t remember ever being a part of a situation like this. I’m defending my client against a murder charge while at the same time leading an investigation to determine whether or not he is a serial murderer. And whether I win or lose the trial, I can never reveal the results of that investigation.

  I’ve decided to break our defense case into two parts. The first will deal with showing the jury who Kenny Schilling is and how unlikely it is that he would suddenly turn killer. The second phase will be devoted to presenting the jury with other alternatives, other possible killers, and to show them the dangerous world in which Troy Preston lived. Neither of the two parts is likely to carry the day; the overwhelming physical evidence, plus Kenny’s behavior during the siege at his house, are still looking impregnable. We are in very deep trouble.

  Just before the session begins, I call Sam Willis and ask him to add Bobby Pollard to the list of people he is investigating. I tell him not to bother checking whether Kenny had the geographic proximity to have caused the accident, since Bobby has already said that he did. Rather, I want Sam to check into the accident itself, to learn whether the Spanish police considered it a possible attempted murder.

  I spend the day parading a group mostly consisting of professional football players in front of the starstruck jury. Each witness talks of his admiration for Kenny and the total absurdity that anyone could believe Kenny could take another life.

  I would be bored to death if Dylan did not look so uncomfortable. He’s afraid that the jury will buy into what these people are saying just because of who they are, and he spends little time cross-examining so that they’ll leave more quickly. Dylan does get each to say that he has no actual knowledge as to the circumstances of Preston’s death and cannot provide Kenny with any kind of alibi.

  I call off our meeting tonight; I’m well prepared for tomorrow’s witnesses, and I’m better off spending the time trying to extricate myself from my well-deserved depression. It’s not one of our regular sleepover nights, but I ask Laurie to stay, and she does. I barbecue, and in deference to my fragile mental state, she doesn’t even insist on fish.

  We’re just sitting down to eat when Pete Stanton, with characteristic perfect timing, shows up. We invite him to join us, since I always make extra, and he does. At least he didn’t bring his extended family with him.

  Once Pete is finished inhaling his food, he gets around to telling us why he came by. Quintana was released from custody this morning, and the police have heard from informants that he’s going to come after me. Pete wants to make sure that I’m well protected, and Laurie tells him that Marcus and Willie are on the case.

  “But you’re sure it was Quintana that had Adam killed?” I ask.

  Pete nods. “It was Quintana, unless you’ve got some other homicidal maniacs after you. With your mouth it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “So the investigation is closed?”

  He shakes his head. “Unsolved murders are never closed. But this one ain’t getting solved, if that’s what you mean.”

  I know exactly what he means, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fearing for my life. I’m forming the germ of an idea on how to deal with the situation, but I’m not ready to verbalize it yet, and certainly not to Pete.

  “When can I get Adam’s notes?”

  “There weren’t any.”

  “Come on, Pete, of course there were. He took notes on everything.” Pete’s shaking his head, so I ask, “Did you check his hotel room? And his car?”

  “What kind of a moron do you think I am?” he asks. “I’m telling you, there were no notes, zero.”

  Laurie jumps in. “He had them, Pete. Legal pads… lots of them. I watched him take them.”

  Laurie and I look at each other, each knowing what the other is thinking. If whoever killed Adam took his notes, then it may not have been Quintana’s people at all. They would have no use for them. And if it was somebody else, and they wanted those notes, then it’s just possible that I wasn’t the target after all.

  The murderer may have killed exactly whom he intended to kill. Adam may have come upon something that caused his death, somethin
g that he never got a chance to tell me.

  We tell our suspicions to Pete, who cautions us against jumping to quick conclusions. Adam could have done something else with the notes. He could have shipped them back to LA or left them in some storage place we don’t know about.

  I don’t buy it and I tell him so, which causes him concern that we are going to view Quintana as less of a danger. “He’s coming after you, Andy. We know that, whether he killed Adam or not.”

  “Pete, do you know that Quintana is a murderer? I mean, know it for a fact?”

  “Of course.”

  I press him. “I don’t mean know it like you ‘knew’ he killed Adam. I mean absolutely know it beyond any doubt.”

  He nods. “I know it beyond any doubt. And I’m not talking about the people he’s destroyed by selling his drugs. I’m talking about murder. I would flick the switch on him tonight if I could.”

  Pete thinks I’m asking the questions in order to confirm that Quintana is a danger to me, but I’m not.

  I have no intention of telling him why I’m asking.

  I CALL A SEVEN A.M. meeting at my office with Kevin, Laurie, and Sam Willis. Laurie and I lay out our developing theory about Adam’s murder, and Kevin’s excitement is obvious. Not only does he agree with our reasoning, but he makes the point that if someone killed Adam because of what he learned about the deaths of the athletes, then Kenny is innocent. He’s been in jail and is thus the one person with an ironclad alibi for Adam’s murder.

  I ask Sam if it’s possible to go on my computer, the one Adam was using, and retrace where he had been on it.

  “I can’t do it in depth, but I know someone who can. I’ll bring him in right away.”

  “What about the phone records?” I ask. “If he made calls those last couple of days, can you find out who he called?”

  He nods. “That’s easy. And once I’m in there, I can also lower your phone bill if you want.”

  We agree to meet right after court at my house to get an update on Sam and Laurie’s progress. Kevin and I head for court; we’ve got a case to put on and a client to defend. A client who just might well be innocent.