Reasonable Doubt

by Tracey V. Bateman

  “Keri? Are you sitting down? It’s about Justin Kramer.”

  It had been some years since detective Keri Mahoney had heard her first love’s name, but it had cropped up only too often in recent weeks. Her sister Raven’s phone call got her full attention. “What about him?”

  “I think the Kansas City police are getting close to an arrest. Justin and his lawyer spent the better part of the afternoon in an interrogation room with the detectives working his wife’s homicide.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” Keri breathed, almost to herself.

  “I absolutely don’t believe it,” Raven said emphatically. “Justin Kramer is no killer.”

  “Not when he was fourteen, you mean.” But considering he never bothered to keep in touch after his family’s move, how could Keri really know if he was capable of murder at the ripe old age of twenty-nine?

  The Mahoney Sisters: Fighting for justice and love.

  REASONABLE DOUBT

  SUSPICION OF GUILT

  BETRAYAL OF TRUST

  TRACEY V. BATEMAN

  lives in Missouri with her husband and their four children. She writes full-time and is active in various roles in her home church. She has won several awards for her writing and credits God’s grace and a limited number of entries for each win. To relax, she enjoys long talks with her husband, reading and music and hanging out with her kids, who can finally enjoy movies she likes. Tracey loves to encourage everyone to dream big. She believes she is living proof that, with God, nothing is impossible.

  Reasonable Doubt

  Tracey V. Bateman

  “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

  —Jeremiah 29:11

  Dedicated to my niece Amanda Guidry.

  Thanks for your editorial input and practical,

  commonsense ideas as I put the proposal together

  for this book. You are so talented. I look forward

  to watching as God unfolds your future.

  Dear Reader,

  Is God really a God of second chances? Would Jesus have told His disciples to forgive seventy times seven if He Himself were not willing to do the same?

  These were the questions probing my mind and heart as I worked on Reasonable Doubt. Looking back at the poor choices I’ve made over the years, and particularly in my late teens and early twenties, I am awed and humbled at the grace God has poured into my life to give me a future and a hope that I don’t deserve. His mercies are new and fresh daily. Oh, how grateful I am for that.

  The world is so hopeless, so unforgiving, but we have a message to give that there is hope. As Justin and Keri discovered, although poor choices drove them apart, God saw the end from the beginning and brought them back together in order to use them for His glorious purpose.

  My prayer as I write this, my first letter to Steeple Hill readers, is that God spoke to your heart through this book, that He assured you that you have His plan and His purpose for you—a future and a hope, new mercies every day.

  Until next time, may God bless you and keep you in His care.

  Tracey V. Bateman

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter One

  Justin Kramer knew two things for certain.

  One, he hadn’t murdered his wife.

  Two, the detectives weren’t buying it.

  The four-month-old memory of Amelia’s body lying facedown on the blue living-room carpet was etched as a horrifying image in his mind. An image Justin knew he wouldn’t shake for the rest of his life—which, if the cops had their way, would be spent up the river, without possibility of parole.

  The detectives stood over him like a couple of lions working together to bring down a zebra. Justin’s glare swept them both. “What do you think my wife’s killer is doing while you two are playing good cop/bad cop for the third time?”

  Detective Raney slapped his hands flat on the table and rested his considerable weight on tree trunk-like arms. He leaned forward and stared Justin square in the eye.

  Disgusted, Justin clamped his lips together and shifted backward. The guy’s breath stank of cigarettes and coffee—one or the other was enough to gag a horse. Together they were nothing less than cruel and unusual punishment.

  The detective pressed forward to close the distance caused by Justin’s not-so-subtle retreat. “Just shut your smart mouth and answer the questions.”

  Without even trying to hide his amusement, Justin twisted his lips. “I can’t shut my mouth and answer the questions at the same time.” He knew he sounded like a juvenile delinquent, but he was getting pretty sick of being accused of murder when he’d done nothing worse than allow Amelia to run all over him for years.

  Detective Appling clapped his partner on the shoulder, effectively getting him out of Justin’s immediate air space.

  Appling’s face molded into an amiable expression—one obviously carefully practiced and intended to instill confidence in the would-be criminal. “Come on, Justin. Don’t you think it’s time to tell the truth?”

  The good-cop routine was getting old. Justin leveled his gaze at Appling. “Didn’t you two switch roles? Seems like last time you hauled me in for questioning, you were the heavy.”

  Detective Appling’s eyes glittered hard. His lips tensed and turned down at the corners. He perched on the edge of the table, no longer playing a pal. “Let’s talk about where you were the night your wife was killed. Say…around eleven-thirty.”

  “He’s told you where he was. Repeatedly.” Bob Landau, a friend and the only attorney Justin knew, sat in a chair at the other end of the table, looking a lot more comfortable than he had any right to while Justin’s freedom dangled from a worn-out thread.

  Justin’s call had interrupted a workout, so the lawyer had gunned it over to the police station without bothering to change out of a pair of sweats, running shoes and a sweatshirt. Nor had he bothered to remove his Chicago White Sox baseball cap. In Kansas City Royals territory that act alone was practically criminal.

  Detective Raney sneered at Bob. He snagged a metal chair leg with his booted toes and pulled it out. With a grunt he plopped into the seat. “I’m tired of getting the same answer.”

  Too bad for him. Justin only had one answer to give—the truth. “For the third time, I was at the Victory Mission Men’s Shelter. All night. I didn’t leave until a little after six the next morning.”

  He’d never forget sitting up with Ike Rawlings all night while the alcoholic shook and vomited out his addiction. Only Jesus had gotten them through those horrific hours. In the morning, Ike had surrendered to Christ. Chills still crawled up Justin’s spine at the awe of a life changed. God’s love and glory manifested in one life-changing moment.

  Raney jerked his head at Justin and picked up a manila file folder from the table. He waved it under Justin’s nose like a plate of filet mignon. “Know what I have here?”

  “Not a clue. But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  In one fluid movement, the officer slapped the file open on the table with the flat of his hand, keeping the bottom of the page covered. “Signed testimony from two men who say you left dur
ing the night and came back later.”

  Triumph gleamed in the detective’s eyes. Closing the file, he leaned back, lacing pudgy fingers over his ample gut.

  Unwilling to give Raney the satisfaction of knowing how badly the news had rattled him, Justin forced himself to keep a bland expression. “You’re bluffing.”

  The officer glared over the rim of an enormous coffee mug. He set the cup back down, gathered a long, slow breath and started again. “The cards are stacked against you, Kramer.” He held up his thumb then one finger and another as he counted off the marks against Justin. “A murdered woman, no sign of forced entry and there are witnesses who demolish your alibi. And, I have to tell you, those separate bedrooms don’t exactly speak of marital bliss.”

  Bob shifted forward. “Why don’t you guys give him a break? You haven’t even charged him with a crime.”

  “Yet.”

  The smirk on the cop’s face touched a raw nerve, but Justin knew he had to stay calm—not give in to the goading.

  Detective Appling scrubbed at his bristled face and half sighed, half growled, obviously disappointed not to have rattled him. “You went to the shelter and waited until everyone fell asleep. Then you snuck out, strangled your wife and got back before anyone knew you’d gone. Not bad for a rookie killer.”

  “What makes you think I’m a rookie?” Justin had meant to be flippant—a knee-jerk response to the ridiculous assumptions. Big mistake.

  The officer leaned in, his brow arched. “Is that a confession?”

  “Hey! Objection!” Bob’s hand smacked down hard on the cheap, plastic-veneer tabletop.

  Shifting his gaze to Bob, Appling cut a look that was nothing less than derisive. “Give me a break. This isn’t a courtroom.”

  Bob shot from his chair. “Do you realize that Mr. Kramer’s cooperation is voluntary?”

  “We hear you, Mr. Landau. But we have a good reason for questioning him about his so-called alibi. And like you said, he agreed to the questions, so he might as well answer the right ones, or there’s really no point, is there?”

  “Just watch how you phrase your sentences. I’d hate to slap you with a lawsuit.”

  “Sure you would.” The officer turned his attention back to Justin. “See, one problem with your version of the story is that your drunk can’t be found for questioning.”

  “You know where he is. I already told you.”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  Justin knew they were testing him. Would he give the same story he’d told them twice already? Or would the details change? Carefully, he conjured the memory of Ike’s battle that night.

  “I wanted him to stay for a few weeks to rehabilitate, take some Bible classes, but he insisted. Said he needed to get a job as soon as possible and take care of his family. So I put him on a bus to Chicago.”

  “So you said, but we can’t find any Ike Rawlings in Chicago.”

  Justin shrugged. “It’s my fault you’re not much of a detective?”

  The detective’s lips curled into a sneer. “Watch yourself, Kramer. At the very least, the Chicago PD should be able to find him. But so far, no phone listing, no electric bills issued to Ike Rawlings. As a matter of fact, we’ve checked every Rawlings in the Chicago area, and nada.”

  “He could have been using a phony name, I guess. Lots of the men who come to the mission do that.” It was a thin suggestion, Justin knew, and the detective’s short laugh proved it.

  “Okay, sure…phony name, and the guy conveniently left town so that there’s no tracing him. Not much of an alibi to refute our witnesses.”

  “You keep talking about witnesses, but I didn’t see any signatures.”

  “And you’re not going to.”

  Bob grabbed his briefcase from the floor next to his vacated chair. “I think you’ve taken enough of Mr. Kramer’s time today, so unless you plan to arrest him, we’re going to walk out of here now.”

  The detectives exchanged looks that clearly revealed their reluctance to let him go. Justin’s stomach churned.

  A scowl twisted Detective Raney’s fat face. “Get out of here,” he snarled, his breath assaulting Justin’s air space once more.

  Justin balled his fists to keep his hands from trembling. “I’m free to go?”

  “For now.”

  Feeling his bravado crumbling, Justin rose on shaky legs and followed Bob, praying to God he wouldn’t pass out before he made it through the door.

  They walked shoulder to shoulder down the long hallway. A blast of cold air shot into the building as Bob opened the heavy glass doors. In the parking lot, Justin expelled a pent-up breath. He shook his head. “I don’t get why anyone would say I left the center that night, when I didn’t. Do you think it’s a case of mistaken identity?”

  “No,” Bob replied in a flat, hard tone. “I think someone is setting you up. There’s no telling what evidence has been planted the police haven’t run across yet. But eventually, they’re going to find a convenient piece of proof that you killed Amelia.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “You and I know that. And whoever killed her knows it, but that won’t convince a jury. Eyewitnesses and circumstantial evidence convince juries. The cops have those things. We have nothing.”

  Deputy Keri Mahoney opened her mouth wide to take a bite of her on-the-go burger when her cell phone rang to the tune of “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” She jumped, and ketchup escaped the bun, globbing onto her uniform before she could stop it. “Great.” Why had she ever allowed Dad’s southern-belle fiancée to program that stupid song into the phone? It nearly sent her through the roof every time it rang.

  Negotiating the hamburger to prevent another glob of ketchup from plopping onto her clothes, she tried to snatch her cell at the same time. Impossible. With a growl, she pulled into the nearest parking lot and located the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “Kere?”

  Swiping at the ketchup stain on her tan slacks, Keri scowled.

  “Who else?” she barked.

  “Sheesh. Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed or what?” Her sister Raven’s voice only irritated her more, but she fought to keep her temper in check.

  “What’s up, Rave?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “Yeah, I’m in the Jeep.”

  “It’s about Justin Kramer.”

  She stopped swiping and gave Raven her full attention. “What about him?”

  “I think the KC police are getting close to an arrest.”

  Swallowing past the sudden thickness in her throat, Keri managed to croak, “How do you know?”

  “Eugene. Who else?” Raven’s contact at the Kansas City PD. A dispatcher with a crush on the annoyingly gorgeous TV reporter.

  “Is it still off the record?”

  “Yeah, for now. But he said Justin and his lawyer spent the better part of the afternoon in an interrogation room with the detectives working his wife’s homicide.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” she breathed, almost to herself.

  No longer in the mood for lunch, Keri wrapped her barely eaten sandwich and stuffed it back in the bag.

  “I absolutely don’t believe it,” Raven said emphatically. “Justin Kramer is no killer.”

  “Not when he was fourteen, you mean.” But considering he’d never bothered to come back as he’d said he would, how could she really know if he was capable of murder at the ripe old age of twenty-nine?

  “She can’t make you go. It’s not fair.”

  Fourteen-year-old Keri Mahoney sat on the bank overlooking Bennett Lake and swiped at the tears on her freckled cheeks. She stared glumly at the shallow, gray water gurgling over opaque brown stones in the summer breeze. The brilliant sun reflected off the creek—a mocking contrast to the dismal reality stretching before her.

  Justin Kramer sat beside her, equally sullen, snapping twigs and tossing them into the water. One by one the pieces disappeared, carried away by the current. Keri
knew exactly how they felt. Helpless, hopeless…drowning.

  Justin sighed. “Aunt Toni says we might come back for a visit sometime.” But his voice didn’t offer much hope, as if he couldn’t quite convince himself they’d ever see each other again.

  “Who am I going to talk to when you’re gone?” She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face in the rough denim of her jeans. “You’re the only friend I have.”

  “You still have Jesus.” The statement might have sounded stupid coming from anyone else, but Justin’s words rang with sincerity. Keri had the familiar, unsettling sense that Justin knew God as no one else did—better than she did, anyway.

  Feeling the warmth of his palm on her back, she looked up, drinking in his tender expression, memorizing the smooth contours of his handsome face. Black hair, freshly cut, swept across his forehead and around his ears. His nose was just wide enough to even out his face, and his square jaw made him the most handsome boy in class. Not one eighth-grade girl could dispute that fact.

  Keri couldn’t help the pride that accompanied her relationship with Justin. She barely gave a thought to her own looks when Justin looked at her. He never mentioned her freckles, skinny legs or coarse, orange hair. Every girl wanted to be pretty, but Justin didn’t care if she wasn’t, so Keri didn’t, either. Not much.

  Beautiful blue eyes pierced her very soul. Words had never been necessary between them. Even now, though he didn’t speak, Keri knew he was thinking about his parents. How could he not, when the only life he’d ever known had been snuffed out along with their lives only a week ago?

  Why did God have to take both of his parents away? Why couldn’t at least one of them have survived the car accident?