Conflict of Interest

by Mark Stone

  “What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the woman. “I went through the list of potential victims myself. I didn’t see anything. They’re run the gamut in terms of race, age, religion, and any other defining characteristics.”

  “That’s because you’re only looking at what you can see,” Hope said.

  “Well, obviously,” I answered.

  “And that’s why you do what you do and I do what I do,” she replied. “I can look under the surface. I can dig until I hit paydirt. As it turns out, every one of the people hit by that blue car with the big ass wheels has something in common, something sealed records would have stopped you from being able to see.”

  “You got into sealed records?” I asked, my jaw tightening. “Do I even want to know how that’s possible?”

  “Not unless you want to have to lie about it later,’ Hope said, smiling. Pulling a glove off her hand, she tossed it to me. “The car’s clean. Not so much as a speck of blood or any sign there a struggle anywhere. I’m going to guess that, if Mike did kill his father in some kind of pill induced rage, he didn’t do it in the car and he cleaned himself up thoroughly before getting into the car also.”

  “Except that there wouldn’t have been time for that,” I answered. “If both Daphne and Mike are telling the truth, and I believe they are, then there wouldn’t have been time for Mike to kill his father after Daphne left, clean himself up like that, and get an hour out of town. It just wouldn’t have gone that quickly.” I shook my head. “I don’t think he killed Dr. Trapp, Hope. I don’t think either of them did.”

  “Yeah. Neither do I,” she said. “Especially after finding out what I did in Miami.”

  “Right,” I answered. “The connection, what was it? What do all the hit and run victims have in common?”

  “They were all parents,” Hope said.

  “What?” I asked, deflating a little. “That’s not a connection, Hope. A majority of the world are parents. That’s not enough to draw a pattern.”

  “Let me finish,” Hope answered. “They were all adoptive parents, and all of their adoptions were run through the same agency, Willowbrook Inc.” The woman shook her head. “The thing is, after digging into it, I honestly believe Willowbrook Inc to be a shell corporation. I don’t think it actually exists.”

  “Are you saying you believe the people who have been killed in Miami had something to do with some kind of black market adoption scheme?” I asked, my chest tightening at the thought.

  “That’s not all,” she answered. “The woman who runs the place, the acting CEO of Willowbrook Inc is a woman named Samantha Reagan. She just moved down to Naples from Miami. She used to be a nurse. Want to guess who she used to work for?”

  “Dr. Trapp,” I said, swallowing hard.

  “Ding, ding, ding,” Hope said, pointing at me and winking.

  “This is much bigger than we thought,” I said, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “I need to talk to Samantha Reagan.”

  “I’ll get to her,” Hope said.

  “No,” I answered. “That’ll draw suspicion. She used to work for Dr. Trapp and I’m representing his son Mike. I’ll play this like I want to get a character witness for the boy. Then I’ll get the intel I need from her.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Hope answered.

  Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. Looking down, I saw Laura Sky’s name stretched across my screen. It was a text, and the contents caught my attention immediately.

  Hey Rick. Let’s get together. The State wants to talk about a deal.

  Chapter 26

  “I appreciate you meeting me so quickly,” Laura Sky said, standing as I walked into her office and extending her hand for me to shake. As she did, I couldn’t help but remember the first time I met her. We were in Rocco’s and I spilled a drink on her. I didn’t know she was the ADA that night. I didn’t know we’d be standing across from each other, at each other’s throats, on more than a few occasions. She was just a cool, attractive, kind of flirty woman to me that night. Out of the business skirts she always wore to the courtroom, with her hair hanging along her shoulders, she looked like my type. The thing was, even now, she still looked like my type. Perhaps even moreso. I wondered if she ever thought about that night, if she ever looked at me and wondered what life might have been like if we’d have continued our conversation at Rocco’s that night. Maybe we’d have gotten to do more with each other than just spar across the courtroom.

  “Of course,” I said, taking her hand and batting those thoughts out of my head. I was here to work. The rest of it could wait until later. “You know me, Laura. I can always make time for the prosecution, especially when they’re ready to admit they were wrong.”

  A sly, slow smile appeared on the woman’s face, brightening it every bit as much as the Florida sun.

  “Is that what you think this is?” she asked, motioning toward the patio that stretched on the other side of a glass door at the far end of her office. “How about we take this outside? It’s a nice day.”

  “It’s always a nice day down here until it isn’t,” I responded, but I followed the woman just the same. It was true. Florida was paradise; full of sun and sand. And it didn’t hurt that the whole state seemed to smell of the water. Still, there were perils, too. Thunderstorms were as frequent as sunsets, and they could be stronger than you wanted more often than not. Still, the sky wasn’t cloudy at the moment, and as I walked out onto the patio, I saw Laura had a spread set up.

  “Is this for me?” I asked, looking at the table and its smattering of fried oysters, hand cut french fries, and a picture of lemonade.

  “You think I’d get you over here and be empty handed?” Laura asked, grinning as she sat down at one of the table’s two chairs. “Florida is in the south, Rick. And that just wouldn’t be very southern of me.”

  I smiled politely in return, though I knew better than that. This sort of thing wasn’t a normal occurrence, even in the damn south. They were either buttering me up because their case wasn’t as strong as they wanted it to be, and they thought a belly filled with oysters would help in coaxing me to get Daphne to agree with their decision or they had an even better case than I thought and this was a last meal of sorts before they dropped the hammer. The problem was, I couldn’t tell which was true right yet.

  “Would you believe I never had an oyster before I came down here?” I asked, ratcheting up the conversation in an attempt to gauge where Laura was coming from as well as maybe lull her into her own false sense of security.

  “I think you told me that once before,” she said, grabbing one from the plate and popping it into her mouth. “It’s a shame. So much wasted time.”

  “I prefer to think of the time as preparation more than wasted,” I said.

  “Don’t we all?” she answered. “How’s Justin? I know this must be hard for him?”

  “That depends on who is asking the question,” I said. “Is it the ADA or his friend?”

  “It’s the woman who gave you a heads up before Dillon Storm came to take his sister away to jail,” Laura answered.

  “Fair enough,” I said, nodding and blinking hard. “He’s about as good as can be expected. This is a lot to take in all at once, but you know Justin. He’s strong. He’ll get through it.”

  “He will,” Laura said, her eyes meeting mine for just a second. “He’s got good people around him.”

  “Thanks again for the heads up,” I said, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t have to do that, and I want you to know it was appreciated.”

  “We don’t have to be enemies, Rick,” she said. “In fact, we shouldn’t be. We’re both working toward the same thing. We both want the truth.”

  “In that case, let me tell you without a shadow of a doubt that you’ve got the wrong woman,” I said.

  “Already?” Laura asked, looking at the spread in front of us. “You haven’t even touched the oysters.”

  “What can I say? My mind is elsewhere,” I mutt
ered in response.

  “Alright,” Laura sighed, sitting up straighter in her seat. “I don’t believe you’re right about that. We have a strong case, and I support our police department.”

  “I support the police department, too, Laura,” I answered. “Don’t put that on me, but everyone needs to be checked, especially when they get it wrong. And I’m assuring you that they got it wrong this time.”

  “They didn’t, Rick,” Laura said. “She has motive, she has means, and she was there at the time of the murder.”

  “She was there right before the time of the murder,” I corrected her.

  “There’s no way to know that, Rick,” Laura said. “All we can know for sure is that Daphne Knight was inside that house during the window of time when the murder most likely took place.” Laura leaned forward. “Look. I’m not saying I don’t understand what she did. What happened to her, what happened to her son, it’s horrific. But we can’t stand by and allow murder. That’s vigilante justice, and it has no place in our society.”

  “Except that she didn’t do it,” I replied. “And you’re missing huge pieces of the story.”

  “And you’re more capable of uncovering those pieces of the story than the police are?” Laura asked. “I get where you’re coming from, Rick. I really do, but we have to be reasonable here. Daphne might be Justin’s sister, and she might have had every right in the world to want to kill that sonofabitch doctor, but she didn’t have the right to actually do it.” Laura swallowed hard. “She’s been through enough, Rick. Let’s not put the woman through a trial that will scar her and force her to live through everything all over again. I’m offering you Murder in the Second Degree. Since there was no firearm, I can offer ten to fifteen.”

  “Ten to fifteen years?” I asked, my throat drying up immediately. “Is that a joke?”

  “It’s a gift, Rick,” Laura answered. “She went to his house to confront him. She said as much in her statement to the police. There’s a real case to be made that she went to that man’s house with the intent to murder him. Intent means First Degree, Rick. You know that, and it also means-in Florida- the best she can look for after a conviction like that is life without parole.” Laura blinked hard. “They might seek the death penalty.”

  My body contracted as I took in the woman’s words. The rational part of me knew that women almost never got the death penalty, and a mother whose son was stolen from her as a baby would certainly be exempt from that kind of thing. The State wouldn’t want the kind of press it would give them. Still, even the thought of it was making it hard for me to function. Though, maybe that was by design. Maybe this was what Laura Sky had in mind when she brought me here; cort me with oysters and lemonade and then deliver this deal to me like it was some kind of present, all wrapped in a bow.

  Then, a darker thought crossed my mind. What if she really did think it was a gift? What if she really did want to save Daphne from the hardship of a trial and the horrors that would come with a guilty verdict on First Degree Murder.

  No. Shaking my head, I decided I couldn’t think like that. Daphne was my client, and I took an oath to do what was in my client’s best interest. Giving up wasn’t that. At least, not right now, it wasn’t.

  “Are you threatening me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

  “A threat?” Laura asked, honestly surprised by the question. “No, RIck. This isn’t a threat. This is the truth. This is what’s going to happen if you don’t open your eyes and take the deal I’m giving you. Ten to fifteen, Rick. She’ll be out sooner with good behavior. She’s young. She can still have a life after this.”

  “What kind of life would that be, Laura?” I replied, shaking my head. “As a convicted murderer? No. She didn’t do this. This is bigger than you think it is, but you think you’ve got your woman. So you and the police aren’t willing to look any further.”

  “You don’t get to tell me how to do my job, and you certainly don’t get to have an opinion on the police do theirs,” Laura said. “I have to do what’s best for Naples, and that means keeping the peace and balance of justice when someone breaks the law, even if that person has been dealt a raw hand, even if that person is your friend’s sister.”

  “And my job is to make sure you guys don’t steamroll over innocent folks on your hunt for justice,” I answered. “You talk about yourselves like you’re the only good guys in the room.”

  “Not the only ones, but we are the good guys, Rick,” Laura said.

  “Even the good guys can be wrong sometimes,” I replied.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Laura said. “You’re just not right about this. Look. Please just consider the offer. It really is in Daphne’s best interest. All any of us wants is for this situation to get resolved as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

  “I’m not sure painless is even an option anymore,” I answered. “Even in small degrees.”

  “The deal is on the table for forty eight hours,” Laura said. “After that, we’re moving forward with Murder in the First.” Laura stood. “I have work to do. You should stay, though. Eat the oysters. Lord knows you spent enough time ‘preparing’ for it.”

  Chapter 27

  I grabbed a box from the front yard and walked it up to the door, ringing the bell and steadying myself. A short woman answered; all dark hair and eyes the color of seafoam. She was pretty in an unassuming sort of way, even if the smile on her face was more than a little guarded.

  “This was in your front yard,” I said, holding the package out to you. “I guess the delivery guy stopped short of the front door.”

  “Yeah. He’s not the best,” the woman Rebecca Storm answered, grabbing the package and setting it on what I could only assume was a table out of view. “You’re Rick Archer, I’m guessing. My husband told me you were coming by.”

  Rebecca’s husband, Dillon Storm, was the detective who counted himself among Justin’s best friends. He was the same detective who took his sister off to jail. Rebecca was a medical examiner, but she used to be a doctor, and a damn good one. I had some questions for her, though her expertise wasn’t the only thing I was looking for.

  After talking to Laura Sky, it was very clear to me that the state had made up its mind in terms of Dr. Trapp’s murder investigation. As far as they were concerned, the right suspect was in custody, and there was little need to investigate further. it was all about building a strong case now. In truth, there needed to be more investigation, though. But, since I couldn’t exactly tell one of the best detectives in Naples what he should and shouldn’t investigate, I figured dropping some clues at the feet of the woman who shared his bed might lead to a chain of events that could send Dillon Storm looking for the truth.

  “Yeah. I had some questions for you,” I said, nodding firmly. “Some medical questions, and I wasn’t sure where else I could turn.”

  “In the future, a hospital might prove to be a good alternative,” she answered, smiling just a little wider. “But come in. I have a few minutes before I have to be at work.”

  “Thanks,” I answered, moving through the doorway as she stepped to the side. Dillon Storm’s house was cozier than I expected it to be, with bright paint on the walls and throws on all the couches. Still, I had to imagine that was the result of his wife. Plus, there was an anchor hanging on the wall and a signed picture of a real life celebrity hanging beside it. “Is that Russell Anchorage? From Anchor’s Away?” I asked, remembering how much I used to love that old seafaring show.

  “He’s a friend of my husband’s,” Rebecca answered.

  “Of course, he is,” I muttered.

  “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Archer?” Rebecca asked, ignoring my comment.

  “Please call me Rick, and I’m good. Thank you,” I said, sitting across from her on a couch and pulling a prescription out of my pocket.” Handing it to the woman, I continued. “I was wondering if you could tell me what copious amounts of this drug would do to the physical and mental state
of an eighteen year old male of average height and weight who has no physical ailments.”

  Rebecca looked at me and then at the paper. “What do you mean by copious?”

  “Twenty pills in a six hour period,” I said, using the best measurement that Mike could remember of how much he took the night before his father was killed.

  “This is strong medication, Rick,” Rebecca said. “Even if it was prescribed to the person you’re talking about, which I’m doubting, given the fact that you told me he doesn’t have any physical or mental ailments, that much of a dosage would be devastating.”

  “Would it impair him mentally?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” she responded. “Let me be clear. I can’t diagnose someone without checking them out in a medical setting, but I will say that, on average, this medication in this kind of dosage would devastate someone’s mental capacity.”

  “Do you think they’d be capable of murder?” I asked flatly.

  Rebecca looked up at me sharply. “Am I being groomed to testify, Rick?” she asked, setting the paper down on a table in front of her.

  “Not yet,” I answered. “It hasn’t gotten that far yet.” I shook my head. “But, if someone took enough of those meds to cause a blackout, would they be able to murder a man in cold blood, a man bigger than them, and then drive an hour out of the city before coming to?”

  Rebecca’s voice stiffened as she answered. I was dropping hints at her feet like breadcrumbs and something about the way she was looking at me led me to believe she knew it.

  “I doubt there would be much in the way of cohesion there,” Rebecca responded. “An overdose of these drugs wouldn’t make you stronger, just more manic for a bit. Then, if you body didn’t shut down, you’d crash and be unresponsive until your body had burned enough of the drug off. To answer the question you asked me, though, I can’t say for sure whether or not someone would be capable of murder on this drug. I suppose a lot of variables could be at play there. I will say that I find it highly unlikely someone in that mental state would be able to drive a car for an hour without incident.” She took a deep breath. “I would say it would be almost impossible.”