by Alex Barclay
Seth Fuller killed Aaron Fuller and/or Caleb Veir because he is a pedophile.
Aaron’s death and Caleb’s disappearance are not connected.
Caleb Veir ran away to see if his parents really cared about him, to give them a fright.
Caleb Veir ran away to bring his parents closer together, because he knew his father had been having an affair.
Caleb Veir ran away because he was disgusted about his father’s affair and thought his mother was weak.
Caleb Veir is still alive, being held by person(s) unknown.
Ren’s eyes started to close.
It’s all too depressing.
Make it go away.
34
Ren woke up with a start at midnight. Her laptop had slid on to the bed beside her. She sat up, pulled it on to her lap and re-read her list. She added Alice Veir’s name at the bottom with a string of question marks. She re-read everything again. She stopped at Merrifield.
Hold on … Merrifield … claims he was wrongfully convicted. Alice Veir … is on a wrongful conviction case. Caleb’s last phone call was to … Alice Veir. Alice Veir has no children. Caleb is the only child in her life. Could he have been seen as a weak spot? Could Merrifield have wanted Alice Veir’s help on his case? Would he have gone to any lengths to get it?
Ren went to YouTube and searched for the TV show that Alice Veir had appeared on. She pressed Play.
‘Ahead of next month’s International Innocence Program Conference in Portland, Oregon, tonight our panel consists of four lawyers working in the field of wrongful conviction. It’s a hot topic right now, following the recent success of Netflix documentary, Making a Murderer, which seems to have gotten the entire world talking …’
The presenter introduced the guests. Alice Veir was striking in her sternness, stiff posture, and conservative dress. Her deep brown hair was wavy, cut in a short, unflattering style. She had the same broad lower jaw as her brother, the same dark, steely eyes.
You are the kind of lawyer who is hired to be unleashed.
The presenter turned to Alice: ‘Let me start with you, Alice Veir. You are the odd one out here tonight, in that you are not affiliated with the Innocence Project, and this is, in fact, your first wrongful conviction case. Why don’t you talk to us about your client, Anthony Boyd Lorden? He was jailed for life back in 1995 for the murder of sixteen-year-old high school student, Kevin Dunne, who he had picked up hitch-hiking …’
‘If I may,’ said Alice, ‘I’d like to begin by saying that Anthony Boyd Lorden is an innocent man, who has spent twenty-one years in prison for a crime he did not commit. There was not one piece of evidence that linked my client to the body of Kevin Dunne.’
‘But what you haven’t mentioned is that your client confessed,’ said the presenter.
Alice nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and I know this is one of the toughest things for people to wrap their brain around – why someone would confess to a crime they didn’t commit. Let me try to explain: there’s a type of false confession called coercion-compliant. It’s when people confess because they are so broken down, so desperate, so exhausted, so lied to, that they will say anything to get out of an interview room. Sometimes, it can be as simple as that. Many suspects – or witnesses – believe that because they didn’t commit the crime, there will be no evidence to back up their confession, therefore they couldn’t possibly be convicted. But, of course, sadly, as everyone on this panel knows, that’s not how it works.’
The other panelists nodded.
‘It’s my view,’ said Alice, ‘that the investigation into Kevin Dunne’s death was fast-tracked for political reasons. It was not carried out in the interest of justice. The lack of evidence is staggering.’ She raised a finger for each item on her list. ‘No DNA – not a hair, a fingerprint, a droplet of sweat, blood spatter – nothing. There was no motive. There was no weapon. Let me make this very clear: I’m not denying that my client stopped on the side of the road and picked up Kevin Dunne, who was hitch-hiking on a dark, rainy night. Anthony admitted that from day one. What I am saying, though, is that when Anthony let Kevin Dunne out by the side of the road, Kevin Dunne was very much alive and well. That he was not seen by passing motorists can be explained by the fact that it was raining, it was a rural road, therefore, extremely dark, and he was dressed in dark clothing: he would have been almost invisible.’
‘What do you believe happened to Kevin Dunne?’ said the presenter.
‘I believe he was beaten to death, consistent with the autopsy findings,’ said Alice, ‘but I know that my client had nothing to do with it.’
‘Your client was the last person to see the victim alive,’ said the presenter.
‘With all due respect,’ said Alice, ‘the last person to see Kevin Dunne alive was his killer.’
Ooh. Nice one.
Ren expected that was Alice Veir’s parting shot – she had delivered the facts of the case, she had delivered a memorable closing line. But the presenter wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.
‘Now,’ said the presenter, glancing down at her notes, ‘there was also an eyewitness who placed Anthony Boyd Lorden close to the location where Kevin Dunne’s body was eventually found one year after he disappeared.’
‘Eyewitness testimony is notoriously flawed,’ said Alice, ‘and that’s been proven time and time again. There are a huge number of parameters that impact on its reliability: the lighting, the distance from the eyewitness to the suspect, how the selection of suspects is shown to the eyewitness, what is said to the eyewitness. To give you one example: if I’m a police officer and I show you six faces on a sheet of paper and I ask you “which one of these men did you see on XYZ road?”, you will deduce that the suspect is among those men, right? However, if you are asked, “Is the man you saw that night one of the men on this page?”, then, that’s a whole different matter. You cannot underestimate the factors that can lead to misidentification. As human beings we want to please, we want to help, we want to give the right answer. While I do believe that the eyewitness was acting in good faith, this was a case of mistaken identity, affected by various other factors. And one year on – how could this eyewitness have been sure?’
‘Why did you take on this case, Ms Veir?’ said the presenter. ‘After all this time?’
‘It was in 1991 that Anthony Boyd Lorden stopped to pick up Kevin Dunne,’ said Alice. ‘At that time, I was a young law student at the University of Washington. I was studying the law so I could help people, so I could make a difference. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do here: make a difference in Anthony Boyd Lorden’s life.’ She paused. ‘Or what remains of it, after this travesty of a conviction.’
I wouldn’t want to be on the other side of a courtroom to you, Alice Veir.
Alice was resisting the presenter’s attempts to move on to the next panelist. As she was thanking her, Alice interrupted.
‘For any of your viewers who are interested,’ said Alice, ‘I’d like to direct you to Anthony’s interrogation video, which has been posted on the website justiceforanthony.com. Remember, this boy was seventeen years old, and this was a seven-hour interrogation without a break. The video has been edited – in a fair and unbiased manner – down to three hours just in the hopes that people might watch it. If you do, what you will witness is the brutal, relentless, and devastating abuse of a young man. Those two detectives knew exactly what they were doing: they knew the power of their words, they chose the volume at which they delivered them. They knew the power of their physicality, their facial expressions. They knew the effect of their threats, the delivery and withdrawal of praise …’ She paused. ‘Anthony Boyd Lorden was one of the unlucky ones – someone who put himself in the frame, who volunteered to become a part of our justice system, a system that has drastically failed him, that has robbed him of the best years of his life. Anthony came forward to give information he thought would aid in a homicide investigation. He drove twenty miles to do that, because he rem
embered that boy who died, he had met him, he had kindly offered him a ride on a dark, wet night. And he let him out on the side of the road where he had asked to be let out. Anthony reluctantly watched Kevin Dunne walk away into the darkness: he had urged him to wait until they reached the next town where there would be more light. And one year later, when Anthony learned that the boy had been found dead, he was devastated. He went straight to the investigating officers to offer help again. And one year after that, he was rewarded by being robbed of the next twenty-three years of his life. Where is the justice in that? I believe in justice. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that not another moment of Anthony Boyd Lorden’s life is taken away from him.’
The presenter turned to the next woman. ‘I’m now going to go to our next panelist, Emma Ridley, who is a lawyer with the Innocence Project Northwest.’ She paused, then clearly went off-script. ‘Maybe you ladies need to come together on this one … this falls into your region, Emma, am I right?’
Eye-dart from the Innocence Project lawyer. ‘Well, yes, that would be great,’ she said. ‘We would very much welcome that opportunity.’
Tense smile from Alice Veir, and the light of a small flame in her eyes.
What the heck was that about?
Ren went to justiceforanthony.com. The interrogation video was front and center of the home page. Ren checked the time. It was twelve forty-five.
I have three hours to spare. I’ve probably got twice that if I incorporate the time I usually spend staring at the ceiling.
She hit Play. Anthony Boyd Lorden appeared on screen. He had tight-cut brown hair, good skin, broad shoulders. He looked fit and healthy, young, eager, and trusting.
There is something about you …
He was sitting in a chair that had been backed right up against the wall of a cramped interview room. Two huge detectives sat opposite him, dwarfing him, their backs to the camera.
Ren had tears in her eyes before the first hour was up.
You fucking assholes.
This is what Alice Veir fights against. This is the good fight.
Ren watched the video again on fast forward, and it was like a flicker book showing the deflation of a soul.
Outside, in the quiet night, the sound of sirens erupted.
Ren’s cell phone beeped with a text. She looked down at her screen. The text was from Gary.
Fire at the Veirs’ …
35
Two fire trucks, an ambulance and two squad cars were parked outside the Veirs’ house. Ren parked across the street. A weak strand of smoke drifted up from behind the house.
There were neighbors standing out front, others watching from their windows. Ren walked up to the open ambulance doors. An EMT was finishing his checks on John Veir, who was sitting in the back, dressed in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, his bare feet on the metal step. There was a blanket around his shoulders. He jumped up when he saw Ren, stormed over to her. He raised his hand and stabbed a finger at her, sending a waft of kerosene her way.
‘This is your fucking fault!’ he said. ‘All your fault. This was Merrifield! You’re all wasting your time on me when it’s clearly fucking Merrifield—’
Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the fuck? ‘OK,’ said Ren, ‘first of all – stop pointing at me.’
‘How else can you explain this?’ said John, gesturing toward the house. ‘The guy’s a fucking arsonist!’
Ren held her two palms up to him. ‘John, we asked you about Merrifield, day one, and you told us there were no issues between you, that you didn’t really know him. Is there anything you’d like to say now?’
‘How has Merrifield not been found?’ said John. ‘And we have to pay the price—’
This is all very strange. ‘Why don’t you sit back down, and tell me why you would think that Merrifield would abduct your son, then come back and carry out an arson attack on your house? Or do you think he’s responsible only for the arson attack?’
He looked at her, dead-eyed. ‘Both, obviously.’
‘Yet – you were the one to shut that avenue down immediately.’
John sat back down on the step of the ambulance. Ren nodded to the EMT to give them space.
‘Maybe I’m just clutching at straws …’
Ren looked around. ‘Where’s your wife?’
‘Luckily, she’s at Patti’s – she swapped nights with one of her friends.’
‘OK, talk me through what happened tonight,’ said Ren.
‘Someone spray-painted the wall and lit the garbage on fire.’
‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ said Ren.
‘Uh … OK,’ said John. ‘I was taking a shower. When I came into the bedroom, I saw smoke at the window. I threw on some clothes, ran down and out into the back garden, saw the flames. I called 9-1-1. Then I thought of the garden hose. I went around the side of the house, got that going. I was putting it out by the time the fire trucks arrived.’
Hmm.
‘What did they spray paint?’ said Ren.
‘Pedophile killer,’ said John. ‘F-I-L-E, though. And K-I-L-L-R, no “e”. Whoever did it emptied out the recycling container, lit that on fire. Looks like they took a drum of kerosene out of the garage.’
‘The garage was open?’ said Ren.
John nodded. ‘I leave it open … in case …’ he shrugged. ‘In case Caleb comes back.’
‘You don’t think he would ring the doorbell?’ said Ren. I’m sorry, but seriously.
‘None of this makes sense,’ said John. ‘Anything’s a possibility, as far as I’m concerned.’
Yes. Such as you are the person responsible for this circus.
Ren walked over to the officer guarding the driveway, flashed her creds, and went around the back of the house. Smoke was rising from a damp pile of garbage. There was a heavy smell of burnt plastic and kerosene.
Ruddock was standing with his hands on his hips in the middle of the garden. A hose was discarded on the grass. The patio was drenched. Ren followed his gaze to the back wall of the garage where PEDOFILE KILLR was spray-painted shakily.
‘Needs a plus sign … or ampersand,’ said Ren. ‘Unless they’re saying he killed a pedophile, whereupon I don’t see a problem. I might look through my cabinet of pedo-files …’
Ruddock smiled.
‘Any sign of the paint can?’ said Ren.
Ruddock shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Veir did this, right?’ said Ren.
Ruddock gave her a measured look.
‘Where’s Wiley?’ said Ren.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ruddock. ‘He got the same message as everyone else.’
Ren walked down to the back of the garden, and turned to face the house. She took a step back. She tripped, landed on her butt.
‘Shit.’
Ruddock rushed over to her, helped her up.
‘Thank you,’ said Ren. Wet ass. Great.
They both looked down to see what she had tripped over, ran the beams of their flashlights over the grass. It was a small piece of a flagstone.
‘There’s another one,’ said Ren. ‘It looks like part of a path … to nowhere.’
‘Maybe there was another structure down here at some stage,’ said Ruddock.
They walked back toward the house, and met Gary, Sylvie and Paul coming toward them.
Ren filled them in.
‘Did you talk to Veir on the way in?’ she said.
‘Not yet,’ said Gary.
‘Isn’t it a little convenient?’ said Ren. ‘An arson attack while an arsonist is on the loose? And who spray paints a message on the back wall of a house? Isn’t the point to expose someone to their whole community as a KILLR? With no “e” …’
‘Someone might have wanted the message to go only to John Veir and were covering their own ass by choosing the back of the house – quick escape over the back fence,’ said Gary.
‘We all know that bad spelling bullshit is done by people trying to seem dumb,’ said Ren. ‘
Is anyone buying the fact that this anonymous arsonist arrived with no kerosene, fingers crossed the garage door would be open, would contain fuel, etc., etc.?’
Yeah, didn’t think so.
‘I think Veir did it,’ said Ren. ‘And when Teddy wasn’t home? There could be a pattern there: Teddy’s gone, John Veir does bad things …’ She paused. ‘Can I just say that I don’t think there’s a lot more for me to do here? I have a pounding headache.’ She lied. ‘So I’d like to absent myself from thinking about this big wet fiery distraction any further. Night, everyone.’
She walked away.
Fuck this bullshit.
She went around the front of the house, and had no choice but to walk past John Veir.
The smile is for the EMTs. The burrowing eye-fuck is for you.
What are you hiding?
Oh. Just one more thing …
She jogged over to him. ‘John – was there ever a building behind your house?’
Eye-dart. ‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘We bought the house off a family – they had built a separate dwelling for the grandmother.’
‘What happened to it?’ said Ren.
‘We knocked it down to have more room for Caleb to play.’
Why the eye-dart?
36
The first person Ren walked into the next morning was Paul Louderback.
‘How’s your head?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Your headache … last night.’
Shit. ‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘Yes. It’s fine.’
‘You look tired.’
She stared at him. ‘You know that’s right up there with asking a woman when she’s due …’
‘Ooh … cranky.’
‘Cranky – wow. You’re on fire this morning.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Have I done something?’
Yes. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m … just …’ fucking bereft … ‘it’s the case.’
Paul nodded. ‘That’s understandable.’
Really – you’re buying that? I’m … fucking sad … I’m heartbroken. I don’t want to sleep with you. I want to cry. And, yes, in your arms would be a great place to do that, but I don’t trust your hands not to go anywhere else. I will lie there and cry, but part of me will be expecting to ward off an advance and where’s the comfort in that?
