by Tim Green
"So, after that I called this Sheriff Emmit Stone in Canal Point. It's a little hiccup of a place and the guy acts real weird when I get him on the phone. He won't really tell me anything about why he's poking around Ibex. He acted spooked, I thought. Then, just before he hung up, almost as if it was an impulse, he told me that he might be able to help me more if I dropped by his office."
"Where's Canal Point?" Madison said.
"Not too far," Chris told her, "a couple of hours to the west on Lake Okeechobee."
"When do we go?"
"Tomorrow."
Chapter 33
Madison got back to her room a little past ten. She called home. Jo-Jo was in bed, but she spoke to Cody, who was in the middle of preparing his team for the county championship.
"I miss you, Madison," he told her in a tone that suggested a separation of months rather than days. "I know I helped get you into this whole thing, and I want you to do well, but I wish you were here."
"Cody," she said softly. "I miss you, too."
Madison went to bed feeling good about her marriage. She didnt feel good about much else. Chris's words about corrupt police made it hard for her to sleep. Every time she was about to drop off, the ghoulish image of Kratch invaded her consciousness and kept her mind turning. She finally comforted herself with the fact that she would speak with Berryhill tomorrow before she left for Canal Point. Unlike Kratch and his captain, Berryhill was a lawyer, and even though he represented the state, he might be inclined to listen.
In the morning, Madison met Chris in the lobby. It was a busy place fdled with people coming and going, beginning another sunny day in Palm Beach. Chris was easy to spot. His ill-fitting gray suit and stained red tie made him stand out from the well-dressed crowd. It didn't matter to Madison. She respected his intelligence and she greeted him warmly. Together they set out for the day.
The state attorney was sitting behind his desk, on the phone, his shirtsleeves already rolled halfway up to his elbows. It wasn't even nine o'clock. He hung up quickly and greeted them formally, asking if they wanted coffee as he inexplicably turned on the television set that rested on his bookshelf
"I knew this report was coming on," he said somberly, "and since we were meeting today anyway, I thought it would be a good idea to get the whole thing out in the open."
The channel was set to the Palm Beach Fox affiliate where the leadoff story concerned an investigator who had uncovered some disturbing news about Luther Zorn's past.
"Luther Zorn's mental problems began in grade school," the blond correspondent stated as a school photo of Luther filled the screen. "Although he developed into a model student athlete, those who knew him best sensed a dangerous undercurrent of instability. In high school he began undergoing psychotherapy and continued to receive treatment through college. An official within the Northwestern University athletic department confirmed that although the secret of Luther's therapy was kept from the public, the entire staff and even many of the players knew about it. Marauders officials refused to comment on whether or not they had any knowledge of Zorn's condition. But, at least a few of Luther Zorn's teammates describe him as a loner, and insurance records indicate that Zorn has continued to seek mental health treatment under the supervision of Palm Beach psychiatrist Dr. David Weiss since joining the team nine years ago. I'm Arlene Taylor reporting. Kathy ..."
"Thank you Arlene," the attractive but matronly anchor-woman said. "Joining us now in our studio is Calvin Ramsey, former Miami state prosecutor and now a criminal defense attorney. Mr. Ramsey thank you for joining us."
"My pleasure." Ramsey was a balding, beefy man with a large nose and a neck that looked two sizes too big for his shirt.
"Mr. Ramsey, what does the latest information regarding Luther Zorns ongoing psychotherapy mean to this case?"
"Well, depending on the extent of Luther Zorn's condition, it basically presents the defense with the option of a strong insanity defense against the charge of murder."
"Is this a course you yourself would pursue?"
"That's hard to say," Ramsey answered. "I don't know the specific details of the case. But if there were a substantial amount of evidence against the client, insanity is certainly an option that would preclude capital punishment. The defendant, however, in that kind of scenario, would not likely go free. He'd probably spend most of the rest of his life in a mental institution because of the gravity of the crime."
"So you're saying if Luther Zorn really did kill Evan Chase, this may be his best course of action?"
"fes, it may be, again, depending on the weight of the evidence against him."
"Thank you, Mr. Ramsey." The anchorwoman turned from her guest back to the camera. "We'll keep you apprised of developments in this case as they arise. In Miami today, Cuban nationals vowed--"
Berryhill turned off the set and leaned back against the bookshelf, jamming his hands deep into his pants pockets.
"My investigator got to the school a little after this Arlene Taylor did," he said carefully. "Everything she reported is apparently true. I didn't know if you were aware of Luther's condition, whatever it may be. We haven't been able to determine what it is, but of course it's my ethical duty to make you aware of everything we find."
Berryhill stopped talking and watched. He was anxious to see how much of this Madison already knew and how much of it she was preparing to use. He was thinking of having to battle an insanity defense.
'This is the first I've heard of any of this," Madison admitted. "But I don't want us to get distracted. Chris and I still think there is some kind of conspiracy afoot here, Mark, and I hate to tell you that it may involve some people in your police department."
Madison outlined her findings regarding the parking ticket and their preliminary contact with the park rangers. She told Berryhill about the scuba gear not being dusted and concluded by recounting her meeting with Kratch.
The prosecutor's face seemed to grow heavier with each new bit of information. When Madison was finished, he seemed angry. "Ms. McCall, I don't know how this works where you're from, but I've got to agree with Lieutenant Kratch. This is the kind of thing that we get thrown at us all the time. A week doesn't go by when I don't get some kind of bad-cop accusation from a lawyer whose client was taken down in a drug bust. Unless you've got some real hard evidence, that's the wrong way to go about it in this part of the country."
"I can't give you the hard evidence that you're talking about right now," Madison said patiently, "but when I do, I hope you'll have the courage to do what's right."
"You worry about doing your job, Ms. McCall," Berryhill said curtly, "I'll worry about doing mine."
"I hope you will," Madison returned as both she and Chris got up to leave. "Thanks for your time."
On their drive to Canal Point, Madison and Chris went over the case again and again. They didn't notice the dark blue Crown Vic that had followed them out of the county offices.
"I just don't think you can rule out the fact that it may very well be Luther who killed Evan Chase," Chris finally said. He was obviously frustrated with Madison's adamant refusal to consider that as an option.
"Chris," she huffed, "that helps us in no way. Our job is not to figure out how Luther did it. Our job is to believe he's innocent and figure out how to prove that. I keep saying it--"
"I know what our job is," Chris protested, "but I'm talking about the truth. Job or no job, I want to know the truth."
Madison said nothing. She applied the brake as they entered the town. Chris was being pig-headed. There was nothing she could say if he was going to pursue that line of thinking. She squinted through her sunglasses as she looked up at the traffic light through the glare of the midday sun. When it changed she drove past a couple of two-story buildings on the main street before she found the sheriff's office and pulled into a metered parking space. Except for the make and model of the cars, Madison suspected the street hadn't changed in fifty years. The concrete sidewalks were brushed
clean. The red and white pole in front of the barber shop turned without end. The diner had a pink neon sign in the window that said FOOD.
"He might be crazy," Chris said suddenly after Madison had turned off the engine. "I mean, he doesn't seem crazy. He seems perfectly normal. But. . ."
"Chris," Madison said, removing her sunglasses and turning toward him, "you can't just assume because someone has been seeing a psychotherapist that they're crazy. It's not fair . . . it's not ethical. We're still his defense attorneys."
"That's what I was getting to," Chris said. "I think we should think about putting together an insanity defense instead of just chasing theories. Why do you think Berryhill flipped on the TV? He wanted to see what your reaction was going to be so he could prepare for it. He expects you to go with an insanity plea. Hes afraid of it. It makes the most sense for us."
"Unless we can find something more," Madison reminded him.
"Find something more," Chris said, repeating her words quietly, more to himself than to her.
"If Luther killed Chase, then you're right," Madison said, "insanity is the way to go. But we don't know the extent of his treatment. We don't even know what he's been treated for. It could be nothing more than depression. It could be some harmless phobia."
"He could also be schizophrenic," Chris pointed out. "He could have some sociopathic disorder, where he goes nuts, butchers everyone in sight, and then the next day he's normal again. That happens. I've seen it."
"And have a successful career as a professional football player?" Madison said.
"Or be a mathematics professor, or a doctor, or a lawyer, or a plumber," Chris told her. "It happens."
"Let's just follow through on what we've got," Madison said. "I still wouldn't put it past Wilburn or Vivian Chase to have some involvement, and if they do, and even if Luther is . . . unbalanced, then their involvement will only help to mitigate his guilt. Maybe they used his mental condition against him in some way. I don't know. Let's just see what business Wilburn's old corporation has with the sheriff. That's no coincidence."
They got out of the car and went into the sheriff's office. A woman in her forties with a beehive and cat glasses picked up an old brown phone that served as an intercom to Emmit's office. He had the door closed, but only a moment after she announced them, the sheriff appeared, filling the doorway like a child in a doll house, and ducking his head to come out and greet them. As they introduced themselves, Emmit Stone couldn't help himself from stealing quick glances at the street, as if he expected someone else to arrive at any minute.
"Come into my office," he told them. "Mira, hold all my calls."
Mira rolled her eyes. "All right, Sheriff."
Emmits office was cramped, and after some hefty knocking of their knees and shins, Madison and Chris sat facing him across an old gray metal desk. The drab walls were bare except for Emmit's framed diploma and a picture of him struggling to hold up a monster gar fish on the end of a hooked gaff.
Before they could say anything, Emmit fished into the front pocket of his shirt and laid a big gaudy ring on the table in front of them.
"This is what I've got," he said. "It's a championship ring from three years ago when the Marauders went to the Super Bowl. I found it outside a fishing cabin a couple of miles from here. I also found three human heads stuck up on some pinewood poles."
Madison and Chris looked from the ring to each other. Without a word, each knew what the other was thinking. Madison picked the ring up from the table.
"Can I have this?"
Emmit shrugged. "Might as well, it won't do me any good."
Emmit then related for them the entire story, from Caleb's late-night phone call, to Slaughter's threat.
"I think whoever killed these people is still out there," Emmit concluded.
Madison turned to Chris. "Do you think one of those heads was Charlene King?"
"We've got a dangerous man on our hands," Chris said.
Madison shook her head in disbelief and then stared back at the ring. "Could anyone get one of these besides a player?"
"I checked into that," Emmit said, "kind of on the sly. The only people who have them are team members. Unless one of them sold it, which I doubt."
Madison sat staring.
"What are you thinking?" Chris asked.
"Its so damn complicated," she said. "I don't know what to think."
"Madison," Chris said, "it all comes back to Luther."
"I know," she said. "But there's more. Ibex owns that cabin. Martin Wilburn is connected to Ibex. Vivian Chase rolled over on Luther when she talked to the police. This Detective Gill arranged for Luther's car to be spotted, and then found the scuba gear in Charlene King's house. Would Luther kill Charlene King? It doesn't even make sense."
"Which Luther?" Chris pointed out. "The Luther we know wouldn't. Maybe there's another side to him."
"Maybe," Madison muttered. The three of them sat in silence. "But three heads?" Madison blurted incredulously
Emmit shrugged. "No one has been able to find out. We put out missing persons descriptions over the telex, but like I think I told you, the teeth were removed. There's almost no way to know who they are."
"You said the woman's head wasn't yet decomposed," Chris said. "We can get someone to tell us from a photo if it was Charlene King. If it was, we'll know there's a link there. Can you get us a picture?"
"I can't get anything," Emmit said with a frown. "Slaughter has all the files. It's his investigation. There's no way he'll give it to me."
Madison shook her head and thought out loud. "We may be working against our own client, but we have to find out more. I still think it's Martin Wilburn. We need to solidify his connection with Ibex, this cabin, and those three dead . . . bodies or heads or whatever we're calling them."
"Maybe Wilburn controls Gill," Chris said to Madison as if Emmit wasn't even there. "And Luther."
"And Vivian?" Madison said.
"Maybe Kratch, too," Chris mulled.
"My God," Madison said. "What a mess."
"There's one guy who's not in on this," Chris said.
"Berryhill?" Madison said.
Chris nodded.
"You're right," Madison said. "And he can get those photos from Slaughter. The sheriff doesn't even have to be involved . . . Maybe I can cut a deal with Berryhill and get him to stipulate insanity."
"Whatever you do," Emmit interjected, "when you all see those photos, you won't wonder that whoever did it is flat crazy as hell."
Chapter 34
Even though Mark Berryhill had to stand up for the integrity of his policemen, it didn't mean he wasn't going to find out exactly what the hell was going on. Kratch was sitting in Berryhill's office with the door shut, explaining his side of it, when the prosecutor's intercom buzzed. He picked up the phone and asked his secretary what it was. He'd instructed her that he was not to be disturbed.
"It's Ms. McCall," she told him apologetically "She says it's urgent."
"I'll take it," Berryhill told her.
"Excuse me," he said to Kratch.
"Yes?" he said into the phone.
"Mark, this is Madison McCall. I would have come to see you in person, but I'm in Canal Point and I'm on my way to the airport to catch a flight home for the weekend. I want you to know what I've found . . ."
"All right."
"Mark, first I want your word that if I tell you everything I'm about to tell you, you'll give me every benefit of the doubt in stipulating insanity . . ."
Berryhill raised his eyebrows at Kratch as if he was in on the deal, even though he wasn't. To no avail Kratch strained his ears to hear. The air vent above him was humming steadily, filtering out the conversation on Madison's end of the line. The exertion seemed to force his bad eye outward like that of a small-mouth bass.
"I've got to know more," Berryhill said. "I can't make any promises."
"Well, you think about it," she said, being deliberately vague. "But I may have a link t
o some other murders, and I'm pretty sure Martin Wilburn is involved."
"That's interesting," Berryhill said. "But I've got to know more. You've got to show me something before I start making promises and deals. I can't just say, yes, I'll stipulate insanity .. . The only thing I can tell you is that I'll be fair. I always am.
Madison was on a pay phone at the corner across from the Canal Point Diner. Chris stood outside the booth looking anxiously at her. She took a deep breath.
"I'll wait until I see you then," she said, deciding to feel him out face-to-face. "I'm on my way to catch the last flight to Austin, but I'll be back on Monday night. Can we meet on Tuesday?"
"How about ten o'clock?" he said.
"I'll see you then."
Berryhill hung up and considered Kratch. The detective stared back at him impassively.
"The plot thickens with Madison McCall," Berryhill said.
Kratch raised the eyebrow over his good eye.
"What do you know about Martin Wilburn?"
Kratch frowned noncommittally. "Not much. I've dealt with him some during the investigation."
"He was very interested in getting Luther Zorn out on bail," Berryhill mused.
"I presume that was because of the team," Kratch suggested.
"Madison McCall seems to think he's connected to Evan Chase's murder somehow."
"She thinks everyone is guilty except her client. The one who killed him," Kratch responded.
"There's more," Berryhill said. "She seems to think she's found some other murders that are connected . . . How, I don't know."
