Missing Justice sk-2

by Alafair Burke

was all Townsend and Gunderson. Townsend found out about Clarissa's

  affair and used it to guilt-trip Clarissa into ruling for Gunderson in

  exchange for the hospital donation."

  Like all coconspirators, she was spinning a version that undoubtedly

  shifted the blame from herself but which nevertheless contained some

  undercurrent of truth.

  "So what was the videotape for?" Chuck asked. "And what were you

  doing with it?"

  "Clarissa brought it over here a couple of weeks ago to show me. She

  must have left it. Townsend initially had it made to get an upper hand

  in the divorce, but then he told her he'd mail it to Caffrey s wife

  unless she convinced Caffrey to vote in favor of development in

  Glenville. I guess Gunderson stood to make a lot of money, and

  Townsend would be rewarded in kind."

  "Could that be it?" Russ asked me.

  I shook my head. "If Gunderson and Townsend hooked up at a cocktail

  party and reached this one-time deal to help Gunderson's Railroad

  District project, how would Gunderson even know that Clarissa could get

  to Caffrey? Or if Townsend's the one who thought of this, how would he

  know that Gunderson had investments out in Glenville? It doesn't make

  any sense."

  "So what's your theory?"

  "Susan's the link. She pretends she's a trophy widow, but she learned

  everything she knows from Herbie. I think she, Gunderson, and MTK are

  all still in bed together. They were bribing Jane Wessler at the city

  for the Railroad District licenses. When

  Wessler went on maternity leave without giving Gunderson his permit,

  Susan turned to Clarissa. I always thought it was weird that Clarissa

  hadn't told Susan about her relationship with Caffrey. I think she

  did, and that her best friend turned around and used it to convince her

  that she owed this to Townsend. Then even that wasn't enough. She got

  that videotape and told Clarissa she'd mail it to Caffrey's wife if

  Clarissa didn't deliver Caffrey's vote."

  Back in the holding room, Susan's explanations continued to contain

  just enough truth to confirm at least part of what I suspected. Chuck

  and Ray had broken the news to her about the blood in the basement.

  Her demeanor changed again, and this time she feigned sadness for the

  loss of her friend. She even managed to shed some tears. "It wasn't

  me. It was Townsend. Clarissa called me Saturday, completely

  hysterical. I guess she told him that morning that she wasn't going to

  go along with Gunderson anymore. If they were going to mail the

  videotape, she was willing to go to the police. She was over here

  telling me about it when Townsend showed up. They went down to the

  basement to have a private conversation, and the next thing I knew

  there was yelling. It sounded like a terrible struggle. I ran

  downstairs." Her voice cracked for effect. "Oh, my God, I couldn't

  believe it. Townsend told me I had to help him, or he'd tell everyone

  I'd been in on it. I realized how it would look. My house, my

  husband's old business partner I panicked."

  "You didn't panic." Chuck spoke quietly, but was convincingly

  disgusted. "You went shopping, Susan. You went and picked out an

  outfit to dress your dead friend in, so it would look like she died

  Sunday. You hired carpenters for a fucking remodel. Don't lay this

  all on Townsend."

  I made a mental note to have a handwriting analyst check the charge

  receipt for Clarissa's purchases last Saturday at

  Nordstrom. My guess is that the signature would be close, but not

  quite right. I was also pretty sure that, as much as Susan had joked

  about Clarissa being the reluctant shopper, we'd find out that Susan

  hadn't bought anything for herself that day.

  "But it was his idea," Susan was insisting. "He's the doctor. He's

  the one who cooked up this whole thing about using the food in her

  stomach. You tell me, how could I come up with that myself? I still

  don't even understand it."

  Russ poked me in the side with his elbow. "She's got a point there."

  I nodded. "Sure. Townsend came up with the idea of throwing us off

  with the take-out container from Sunday, but she's still the doer. You

  met Townsend. It had to have been the other way around. Clarissa

  confronts Susan; Susan kills Clarissa and then tells Townsend he'd

  better help or she'll pin it all on him."

  "It would certainly explain why the guy's been a walking corpse. But

  what about the poly?"

  "He passed it because of the questions." I told him about the

  transcript of Townsend's interview. He was asked if he'd been at the

  hospital Sunday, if he killed Clarissa, and if he hired, solicited,

  ordered, or asked anyone to kill her. But they neglected to ask the

  money question: "Do you know who killed your wife?"

  Chuck was asking Susan to walk them through the rest of the plan.

  "Townsend called Gunderson to come over for Clarissa's .. . to get

  Clarissa," said Susan. "He came over and took Clarissa to the

  Glenville property, then stashed the hammer at Jackson's."

  "And how would Gunderson know that Jackson had a grudge against

  Clarissa? Your story's not adding up." Chuck did a better bad cop

  routine than most. His tone struck the perfect balance between anger

  and dismissiveness.

  "She's cooperating, OK?" Johnson said.

  Susan looked at Johnson. She probably recognized the routine, but she

  played along anyway. "Townsend told him about Jackson."

  "And Jackson just happened to work for Gunderson? Wrong again,

  Susan."

  "Clarissa got Gunderson to give Jackson a job. I told you she felt

  sorry for the guy. I think she was probably trying to turn what she'd

  done into some kind of good deed. Karma and all."

  "God, she's good," I said.

  "Maybe," Russ said, "but I still can't believe she hasn't law-ye red

  up."

  I shook my head and smiled. "That's because you don't know Susan Kerr.

  She thinks she's way too smart for all of this. She's been

  manipulating people her whole life, getting away with it every time.

  And she probably figures, Hey, she's a woman, she's in here first;

  she'll be the one to get the deal. She's convinced Gunderson and

  Townsend will go down, and she'll waltz out with a few months of local

  jail."

  "That's not going to happen, is it." It wasn't a question.

  "No way," I said.

  "Ready to call Duncan?"

  "Let's do it."

  It took a good forty-five minutes, but we finally laid it all out for

  the boss.

  "And you think we've got PC for Townsend and Gunderson?" "I do," Russ

  said. "We've got a coconspirator implicating Townsend directly in the

  murder, and at the very least she's implicating Gunderson in the

  cover-up. Add the circumstantial evidence of the various connections

  between everyone, and we've got enough for warrants."

  "Start working on search warrants," Duncan said, "but call their

  lawyers and give them an hour to turn themselves in."

  "What?" I screeched into the speakerphone. "You've got to be kidding.

  This is a murder case, Duncan
."

  "No shit, Samantha. But we're not dealing with a bunch of gang bangers

  here. You don't need a perp walk on this one. They'll turn themselves

  in."

  "Right," I said. "Just like Susan Kerr did. In case you forgot, we

  pulled her off a plane after she tried to kill me."

  "Don't be dramatic. She locked you in a room," Duncan argued.

  I looked at Russ and shook my head. "Yeah, Duncan, without any air."

  "Look, Samantha. You're new to this. We let guys TSI all the time,

  even in murder cases. Russ, if you're worried about it, call the

  airlines and make sure they know not to let these guys fly out. But

  giving them an hour's not going to kill anyone."

  If only he'd been right.

  When the deadline came, Gunderson was there with Thorpe, but Roger had

  been stood up. We dispatched cars immediately, but we were too late.

  Townsend Easterbrook was dead.

  Seventeen.

  A week later, I attended the funeral with Chuck and my father.

  I don't know why I went or why I made anyone come with me. Maybe

  because death was still new to me. Or maybe part of me actually felt

  sorry for him.

  Susan Kerr may have tried to put all the blame on Townsend, but in the

  end he had the last laugh. He had found one decent concluding act to

  his life. He left a note. He'd probably written it as the final dose

  of painkillers settled in, but I was confident it was reliable. Unlike

  most coconspirators, Townsend no longer had a reason to point the

  finger at others. He just wanted, finally, to tell the truth.

  These are my words, not his, but the truth went something like this:

  Townsend Easterbrook had believed that building the pediatric wing was

  the most important accomplishment of his life. He knew he'd earned his

  position more for his administrative skills than his healing ones, and

  the new wing was his way of securing a legacy at the hospital. Several

  months earlier,

  Susan Kerr had offered to help, and Townsend had happily accepted. The

  money came rolling in.

  But then, on the Friday before Clarissa's death, he discovered the

  deal's strings. Clarissa sat him down and told him that, in exchange

  for Susan's generosity, she had rigged a decision in favor of a company

  in which Susan had an interest. She said she'd done it to help the

  hospital wing and out of loyalty to Susan, but now things had gone too

  far. Susan was asking her to do even more, and Clarissa planned to say

  no. The money would dry up.

  Townsend told her to put her foot down. Screw Susan. They'd build the

  wing without her.

  But that's not what happened. Clarissa left the house to meet Susan on

  Saturday for lunch. A couple of hours later, Townsend got a call.

  Something was wrong with Clarissa, Susan said. He needed to come

  over.

  When he got there, Clarissa was dead, lying in a pool of blood in the

  basement. Susan claimed that Clarissa had tried to destroy some

  documents and attacked her when Susan put up a fight. According to

  Susan, it was self-defense.

  While Townsend was still reeling, Susan said she'd blame it all on him

  if he told anyone Clarissa had been with her that day. The documents

  detailed the connection between Clarissa's thrown case and the

  donations to the hospital project. Townsend would lose everything.

  Then she told him something he'd never even suspected Clarissa had been

  cheating on him. Guilt over the affair was the reason she'd been

  willing to fix Gunderson's case in the first place. Susan even had a

  videotape to back the story up.

  Because Clarissa had died shortly after lunch, all they needed to do

  was make sure her body wasn't found for a day or so, and make it look

  as if she'd eaten her Saturday meal on Sunday. As a doctor, Townsend

  knew some of the rules about determining time of death "garbage in,

  garbage out," as Dr. Sandier had put it.

  Townsend ensured that the police found a fresh take-out container in

  the house by using a short break between surgeries to dash to the

  nearby Pasta Company. He'd also set up the initial call-out by leaving

  Clarissa's loafer to be found in the gutter, and dropping Griffey, on

  his leash, along Taylor's Ferry Drive. Susan had taken care of the

  rest. She'd shown up at the house Saturday night with an empty

  Nordstrom shopping bag to put in Clarissa's dressing room. She told

  Townsend she'd make sure the body wasn't found until Monday. He

  realized that the medical examiner would figure out her clothes had

  been switched, but it didn't seem to bother investigators. And when

  the evidence against Melvin Jackson came out, he assumed that Susan

  must have set up the plan ahead of time. By then, he was too out of

  his mind on OxyContin to figure a way out.

  He'd been considering suicide for days, but Roger's call on Monday

  night had sealed the deal. He took the pills, wrote his letter, placed

  a plastic bag over his head, and let go of the situation. Whether we'd

  get the note in at trial remained to be seen, but I knew in my heart it

  held all the answers.

  The services were modest, arranged as a courtesy by Dr. and Mrs.

  Jonathon Fletcher. Townsend's death had made headlines, as had Susan's

  arrest and Jackson's release, but so far the official explanation for

  his suicide and its relationship to those other events was under

  wraps.

  Clarissas family chose not to attend. From what Tara had told me, she

  and her parents were still coming to terms with the idea that Clarissa

  had been killed by people they'd treated as family. The only eulogists

  were Townsend's professional acquaintances. They remembered his

  commitment to patients and his love for Clarissa, careful to keep their

  comments general enough that they reflected a relationship that once

  was.

  Roger found me in the lobby of the funeral home. I told Chuck and Dad

  I'd meet them in a second.

  "I'm surprised you came," he said.

  I shrugged.

  "I hope you realize that I didn't know," he said. "If I had "

  "Don't worry about it. I know. I was fooled too, remember?"

  "I should have sensed it, though. I could have talked him into coming

  forward."

  "Really, Roger, you don't need to say anything. It's fine."

  We stood there awkwardly while he searched for something else to say.

  "So Jackson's out, huh?"

  "Released last Wednesday," I said. "Took a couple days, but he

  couldn't be happier." He hadn't been the only one. Mrs. Jackson was

  waiting in the lobby with Melvin's kids. She burst into tears with the

  first look at her freed son, and before long we all lost it. Walker

  insisted the sniffle I overheard was from allergies, but I knew

  better.

  "Is the poor guy still getting evicted?"

  "Some people are working on it." Dennis Coakley of all people was

  intervening with HAP to hammer out an agreement for Melvin and the kids

  to stay in public housing.

  "So how does your case look?" How strange that after our years

  together, this conversation would be like any typical one between

>   lawyers.

  "Not too bad," I said.

  "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you lay the

  foundation for Townsend's letter. I was the last one to talk to him, I

  guess."

  "All right, thanks."

  "You've probably got enough evidence without it. Jim Thorpe's been

  keeping me up to date," he said by way of explanation.

  Gunderson had already cut a deal for three years on bribery and abuse

  of corpse for helping Susan move the body. It was a gift, but, in the

  end, we were never able to prove he'd been in on the murder. In

  exchange, he had delivered the goods. Gunderson had come to suspect

  that Susan wasn't quite as loyal as his old pal Herbie and recently

  began taping their conversations. The recordings of Susan telling

  Gunderson to hire Jackson a week before the murder and to come to her

  house the night Clarissa died would be gold at trial. Add the

  documents he had confirming Susan's investment in Gunderson

  Development, and we had motive to go with opportunity. As for means,

  we'd ask the jury to infer from the blood in the house that she had hit

  Clarissa in the head and then planted the hammer at Jackson's.

  "We'll see, right?" Roger knew me too well not to sense the impatience

  in my voice.

  "I'm holding you up. Just humor me on one more question: Was it

  premeditated?"

  Gunderson had confirmed that Susan was the one who asked him to hire