The Red Zone

by Tim Green

  "What if I did it?" he said, stone-faced.

  Madison looked to Chris and swallowed involuntarily. She hated this, but it was necessary It was what she believed, anyway. It was what she had learned as a little girl growing up with a father who was a defense lawyer, and what was reinforced during law school. Strange things happened. Sometimes, even when everything pointed toward a person's guilt, there were nuances that equated to innocence, or at least a lesser degree of guilt. Every person deserved an advocate who would bring those points to the attention of a jury in opposition to the state prosecution. The state had so many resources and so much experience at its disposal that sometimes justice was subordinated by the zealous determination of the state to find someone it could point to and punish.

  It wasn't the first time Madison had to explain her role to a client. It wouldn't be the last. She knew almost every guilty defendant lied about his guilt. She had never heard someone admit he was guilty. That was okay. It was for the jury to determine whether or not the defendant was guilty. Her job was to defend the accused individual against the state. What she did need to know, though, was all the facts.

  "If you did it, and you told me," she said, "then I would withdraw. Some lawyers wouldn't. I would. But even then, I would not be able to tell anyone about your guilt. As your lawyer, I can never reveal any information you tell me that would be detrimental to your case. Even if I did, it could not be legally used against you. It's privileged information."

  Madison let that sink in. "On the other hand, if you told me you were there, you pulled Evan Chase underwater, he swam away, and on his way toward the shore, he collapsed and drowned, I would have to defend you. I would. If you told me you were there, taking a serendipitous swim, and a paratrooper came out of the sky and pulled him underwater, I'd defend you. If you told me that you had said you'd do it, had planned it for six months, did everything necessary to kill him, but at the last second, you turned back and someone else did it, I'd defend you. Do you understand what I'm saying, Luther?"

  He looked at her hard. His handsome brow furrowed ever so slightly.

  "Yes," he said. "I didn't do it. I really didn't do it. I was just asking."

  "That's fine. I believe you. Now I need to know everything, Luther," Madison said. "I need all the facts."

  Luther took a deep breath and spun his coffee cup around in its place on the broad round table. He was thinking, calculating. Madison didn't know whether or not he was the murderer, but as long as he leveled with her about the events of that night, it wasn't her business to wonder.

  "I didn't know you couldn't tell anything I told you to anyone else. All this crap about things you say being used against you," Luther explained, "I just thought I was supposed to shut up about everything. I talked to that Kratch once, and I know it's going to come back to bite me in the ass. I told him I wasn't there, and now you're telling me that he knows, or they know, about the parking ticket. I didn't say anything because I didn't think anyone would ever know."

  Luther looked intently at Madison. "Why would they know? It was a park ranger ticket. Why would the police ever know about that? Those two don't have anything to do with each other. I paid that ticket in the mail the minute I got home, and I figured it would go away. The cops never said anything to me about it. I figured no harm, no foul."

  Madison looked at Chris. He was the ex-cop.

  "He's right," Chris said after a moment. "Unless the ranger who issued the ticket contacted the sheriffs office, there would never be a reason for the Sheriff s Department to know about a rangers parking ticket or really even think about asking. Its possible that a detective might have called the rangers and asked if anyone had seen anything out of the ordinary But even that, I think, would be a detail pretty low on the list of priorities. The parking lot is almost a mile away from where Chases body was found. We see the logical connection because we know that Luther would park there regularly to meet Vivian Chase, but no one else knows that. The logical presumption a cop would make would be that the killer was scuba-diving and lying in wait for Chase, and that he probably came by boat. If it was me, I'd be asking the Coast Guard and any local fishing charters if they'd seen anything unusual, not the park rangers. Unless ..."

  "Unless what?" Madison said.

  "Unless the police knew Luther was going to be there in his car," Chris said.

  "You mean someone tipped them off?"

  "I don't know what I mean," Chris said.

  "Well," Madison pointed out, "if Vivian told them Luther was there, and she knew that he normally left his car at the park, then one of the first things they might do is ask the rangers if anyone had seen anything."

  "They might," Chris admitted. "But think about this: not only did a ranger see something, a ranger was there at the right place, at the right time, and he or she gave Luther a ticket seven minutes before the car could have been there legally."

  "Documenting the fact that his car was there," Madison said, pondering the facts. "You think it was just a coincidence?"

  "What was it you told me the other day about coincidence?" Chris said. "That sometimes its just the result of careful planning?"

  Madison nodded. "I think well be able to get a better handle on this when we see the discovery material. I'm sure a copy of the ticket will be in there. Then we can talk with the ranger who wrote it up and find out who made the connection between the ticket and the sheriff's office. In the meantime, we need to have a talk with Vivian Chase."

  Madison took a mouthful of coffee and changed gears.

  "Why were you there that morning, Luther?" she asked.

  "What if it wasn't me?" Luther said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, what if my car was there, but I wasn't?"

  Madison held up her hand to stop him. "You said that Charlene King was your alibi, but according to the state attorney, she has a different story."

  "You don't have to worry about Charlene," Luther said confidently.

  "What do you mean?" Madison asked.

  "I mean you don't have to worry about her," he replied. "Charlene won't testify against me."

  "The problem is," Madison said, "she already gave the police a statement."

  "What statement?" Luther said, obviously shocked.

  "Charlene King is missing," Madison said, closely watching the expression on his face, "but before she went wherever she went, she talked to the police. She told them you had left her house the morning of the murder by four A. M."

  Luther seemed stunned and bewildered.

  "The state attorney said the police also found a necklace of Charlene's in your car the day after she disappeared," Madison said, wanting to test his response.

  Luther shrugged. "I don't know how it got there," he said, recovering.

  "Could she have lost it at some earlier time?"

  "Of course," Luther said.

  "What about being on the beach the day Chase died?" Madison pressed.

  "She sent me a note," Luther said, finally "That's why I was there."

  "Vivian?"

  Luther told her. "Vivian would let me know when and where she wanted me to meet her by leaving a phone message at the team offices."

  "What?" Madison said.

  "They were coded," Luther explained. "Anyone can call and leave a message at the office. I get ten or twenty of them every day from all kinds of people. The receptionist takes the message and writes it down on one of those pink slips. Vivian would leave messages in the name of Susan Smith. She sent me one the day before Chase was killed. It told me to meet her, in her bedroom, at seven A. M."

  "Isn't that a little early for a tryst?" Madison said. "And a little risky?"

  Luther hesitated, then said, "Yeah, but you've got to understand, Vivian's like that. She's crazy. She likes the excitement ... I guess I did, too. Once, I met her in the ladies' room of a restaurant where she was having dinner with Chase and some friends.

  "I'm sorry," he said politely. "I'm sure the last
thing you want to hear about is Vivian Chase's sexual appetite. I didn't mean anything by it."

  This was a very complex man sitting in front of her, Madison realized. And she had to admit that he made her more than a little nervous. She had never, however, shied away from anything because it disconcerted her. All Luthers enigmatic aura did was make her more determined to understand him. It was professional with Madison, not personal.

  "Did you save the note?" Madison wondered.

  "No."

  She pursed her lips. "What about the scuba gear?"

  "What scuba gear?" Luther said with a scowl.

  "The police found some scuba gear in Charlene's house," she told him, "locked in the garage."

  "What were the police doing in Charlene's garage?" Luther said.

  "It's your garage. You own the house, don't you?"

  "Yes," Luther said, "but they can't just go in there."

  "I presume they had a warrant to search it, since it's your house, and you are a suspect," Madison explained. "It wouldn't be difficult to get one. So, is it yours?"

  "What?"

  "The scuba gear."

  "No," Luther said. "I never owned any."

  "Luther . . ."

  "I'm telling you the truth, Madison," Luther said. "That's what it is."

  "How do you think it got there?"

  "I have no idea. I can't think of a reason, but I'm sure Charlene knows."

  Madison pursed her lips and stuffed her doubts away.

  "Can you dive?" she asked.

  "Yes," Luther said, looking straight at her. "Last May, during an NFL owners' conference, Vivian and I went to West End in the Bahamas. It's a quiet out-of-the-way place. While we were there we learned to dive."

  "And you think that's part of her setting you up?"

  "Yes," Luther said, "I'm sure it is."

  Chapter 31

  Rosen's offices were located in a shopping mall not far from Lost Tree Village. Madison got Rosen's name from her father. The two men had gone to law school together many years ago, and stayed in touch. Madison's father assured her that Mel was the kind of lawyer who would step back and let her do her own thing.

  "He'll chart the waters for you," he said, "but he won't get involved unless he sees you headed for the rocks. He's a rare breed, a brilliant lawyer without a tremendous ego."

  Her father hadn't exaggerated one bit. Rosen, a gnarled old stump of a man whose tongue was as sharp as his mind, gave Madison and Chris an office with two well-used desks facing each other. The room was drab and paper was peeling at the seams, but they had the use of a large conference room across the hall. The surroundings were austere, but in law, at least until you got to trial, substance always outweighed form. And, if Madison's father said Mel was the best, then Mel was the best.

  On Wednesday morning, after repeated attempts to contact Vivian Chase, Madison held a brief press conference to try to put a positive spin on Luther's indictment. The conference room was packed with regional media from Orlando to Miami as well as a good number of national shows, including CNN and Dateline. Madison didn't want them hounding her and she knew the best way to diffuse the press was to give them a few calculated sound bites. It was important, however, to present her perspective on things. She still had to go through a jury and she didn't want the community opinion polluted by negative media coverage, a particular risk in a case like this involving a professional athlete accused of murder.

  Madison kept her statement short and she didn't stray from her prepared comments when answering questions. She knew how a few misspoken words could cause more damage than saying nothing at all. When she was finished, Madison was confident that she had presented a credible alternative to the state's theory that Luther had killed Evan Chase. She made vague suggestions that there was a conspiracy to frame Luther Zorn for a murder orchestrated and committed by someone else.

  By the time the press left, copies of the discovery materials had arrived at the office. Madison and Chris made another failed attempt to contact Vivian Chase, then set to work poring through the documents, making notes they would compare later. At one-thirty they finished and decided to review their notes over lunch. There was a family-style Italian place next door with cheaply upholstered red chairs and paper placemats decorated with colorful maps of Italy Mel Rosen told them they couldn't miss with the vegetable pizza. Madison ordered a pitcher of Diet Coke to go with it. The lunch crowd was starting to thin out, and they had no trouble hearing each other across the table of their booth by the window.

  "All right," Madison said, as both she and Chris spread notepads onto the table, "the big questions first. Number one, the ranger."

  "Whats his name? Putman?" Chris said. Til get in touch with him and find out if it was coincidence that he was there to give Luther a ticket or if someone tipped him off."

  "Chris," Madison said, "if there was a conspiracy to frame Luther, couldn't this ranger be part of it?"

  Chris nodded slowly, "I suppose anything's possible, but I doubt it. There would be no real need to get him involved. A tip-off would be enough. You know, a complaint called in to get the ranger on the scene. The difficult thing would be making sure the ranger was there when Luther's car was. That would be tough to arrange, but we'll know more after I talk with him."

  The pitcher of soda arrived along with two tall red plastic cups filled with crushed ice and straws with just a small section of the wrapper still on them. Their waitress told them the pizza would be up in ten minutes. Chris took the cups and poured each of them a drink.

  "Okay, second," Madison said, "Vivian Chase."

  "We need to find out what she's got to say," Chris said. "I'll try to call her again tomorrow and if I can't get her, I'll try going out to her house. I have a feeling, though, that a deposition is the only way we're going to be able to get anything from her."

  "What about Lieutenant Kratch's reference to Luther about Vivian's past?" Madison said. "Do you think there might be something there?"

  "I'll find out," Chris said.

  "I want you to find out what you can about Martin Wilburn, too," Madison said. "I know Luther is the fall guy, and Luther thinks it's Vivian, but what about Wilburn? From what I've read and heard, he's going to make a lot of money if this team moves to Memphis. I want you to see if Evan Chase was against that move for any reason. If he was, then Wilburn would have as good a reason as anyone for wanting him dead.

  Plus, I just don't like Wilburn. It was strange the way he handled our meeting. Find out what he's all about, Chris. Who knows? Maybe he's in on the whole thing with Vivian Chase."

  "All right," Chris said after jotting down a note, "here's something. This Lieutenant Kratch. I think it's a little odd that he's handling this case. You don't normally see a lieutenant as the primary investigator in a murder. It happens, but it's strange. The other thing about the investigation is, why wasn't that scuba gear dusted?"

  "Dusted?" Madison said.

  "Yeah, if that scuba gear was found in Charlene King's house, or Luther's house, that's good for the police," Chris explained, "but it would be even better if Luther's prints were all over the stuff. I didn't see anything anywhere in those reports that suggests the stuff was even sent to the lab."

  Madison frowned, "The police? You don't think . . ."

  "I think everything," Chris told her, "and I think nothing."

  Chris Pelo's blood was churning. He felt like a world-class skier back on the slopes for the first time in years. At his core he was an investigator, and it was all coming back to him without any effort. It was a state of mind that seemed completely natural.

  "It could be that Kratch forgot to order the lab work because he's a little rusty," Chris explained, "being a lieutenant and out of the street game. It could be he has an unusual interest in this case. He took this case for himself. There are probably twenty guys he could have assigned it to. Maybe he skipped over dusting the gear because he already knew nothing was there."

  "Because?" Madison
asked.

  "Because he put it there," Chris suggested.

  Madison was skeptical. "Do you really think?"

  "It happens. Anything can. I've seen it," Chris said somberly.

  "How do you think that gear could have gotten into Charlene Kings locked garage?" Madison wondered.

  "We need to ask Charlene King," Chris responded.

  "Wherever she is," Madison said pensively. "That's a little strange, too, don't you think?"

  "Again, maybe," Chris said.

  "There's another big question," Madison said. "If Luther didn't kill Evan Chase, who did?"

  "I thought that was for the police to worry about," Chris said. "We just need to show that it wasn't Luther."

  "Sometimes the best way to show your client's innocence is by proving someone else's guilt," Madison explained. "Especially when everyone is so happy to pin it on the defendant."

  "So who are you thinking?" Chris said. "I can't see Vivian Chase having the strength to pull off something like that, Wilburn either. Whoever did it had to know how to dive, and they had to be pretty damn strong, too. Chase was a strong swimmer, and he was fighting for his life. Not just anyone could have held him underwater like that."

  "I don't know," Madison replied. "It's just something we need to think about as we're asking all our other questions. Maybe it was a professional. This was obviously premeditated."

  The pizza came. Chris had a slice halfway to his mouth before he stopped and said, "Madison?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What if Wilburn, or Vivian Chase, or both of them, somehow convinced Luther to kill Evan Chase? What if he did, and now one or both of them is trying to hang him out to dry?"

  Chris paused, then said, "What would you say if I said my instincts tell me that Luther would be the most logical third party for either of those two people to choose? He's certainly strong enough to have pulled Chase underwater . . ."

  Madison stared at Chris for a minute, trying to gauge from his eyes just how much of what he was saying he really believed to be true.

  "I'd tell you to stop thinking so much like a cop," she said finally.