The Drowning Child

by Alex Barclay

  ‘I’m sorry for being short,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t a great night, even before I got to that shitshow at the Veirs.’

  ‘So he got you at a bad time,’ said Paul.

  ‘What? John Veir?’ said Ren. ‘Do you believe him? That it was Merrifield?’

  Paul shook his head. ‘No, but …’

  Oh, I get it. ‘But I shouldn’t have let it get to me.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need.’ He paused. ‘I hope you know you can pick up the phone to me any time.’ He looked at her with great kindness. ‘And it doesn’t have to be about the case.’

  Oh, God, I’m such an asshole. ‘I do know that,’ said Ren. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So … before the shitshow?’ said Paul.

  ‘Memories,’ said Ren. ‘Sadness.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Paul.

  ‘Also, though, I looked into Alice Veir’s wrongful conviction case.’ She filled him in.

  ‘Do you think it’s relevant to this?’ said Paul.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ren. ‘If we’re taking Caleb’s disappearance in isolation, maybe. Could Alice Veir be a target through her work? What if Caleb was calling her because someone had approached him about her? Mentioned her name? Or he was concerned someone was following him? I don’t think Alice Veir would tell us if she’d been threatened in any way. If Caleb’s been abducted, his safe return could be dependent on her doing something.’

  ‘It’s worth looking into,’ said Paul. ‘Do you think her wrongful conviction guy is innocent? Could the real killer be getting nervous?’

  Ren nodded. ‘I do think he’s innocent. There was one thing that was slightly odd, though: the show was a panel format and there were three Innocence Project lawyers on it with her, one of whom was from Innocence Project Northwest – which covers the area where the Kevin Dunne murder happened – but there was definitely some tension between this lawyer and Alice Veir when the presenter suggested they collaborate.’

  ‘So, let me get this straight – Alice Veir – a strong, smart woman – is a lone wolf,’ said Paul. He gave Ren a meaningful look.

  Ren laughed. ‘Screw you, man.’

  Ren went to her desk and looked up the Innocence Project Northwest. She found Emma Ridley’s contact details and called her direct line.

  ‘Emma, my name is Ren Bryce, I’m with the FBI – I’m in Tate, working on the Caleb Veir disappearance—’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emma. ‘I’m familiar with that. How can I help?’

  ‘It’s actually about his aunt, Alice Veir,’ said Ren. How do I put this? ‘We’re looking at every possible angle here, and whether this could be connected to anything that Alice Veir was working on. I watched the show you and Alice appeared on together, and I was wondering if you were aware of any particular reason that Alice had not come to you with the Anthony Boyd Lorden case?’

  Emma let out a breath. ‘Well, she didn’t need to come to us – I went to her.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Emma. ‘Before Alice Veir ever got involved, we reached out to Lorden’s original lawyers, and asked them if he would agree to us taking a look at his file, and he did. I studied Kevin Dunne’s autopsy report very carefully. I consulted with a forensic anthropologist, who offered an alternative as to what happened to Kevin Dunne – that it was not, in fact, a homicide.’

  Holy shit. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emma. ‘Dunne had signs of two separate head traumas, but according to the anthropologist, they could also have been caused by him being struck from behind by the side-view mirror of a high vehicle, like an SUV or a pickup: this would have accounted for the skull fracture at the back of his head where he was hit by the mirror, and the skull fracture at the front of his head from when he hit the ground. Dunne was dressed in dark clothing, it was late at night: yes, it would have been a freak accident, but it’s a very strong possibility. Because Lorden confessed, the autopsy photos weren’t analyzed in any great detail, and even if they were, I think the idea that it was an assault was so ingrained in people’s minds that there would have been a reluctance for opinion to shift. We see that a lot: we see, for example, victims’ families still insisting that whoever was convicted for their loved one’s murder was guilty, even after DNA evidence has exonerated them.’

  ‘It’s too much for people to bear that they may have contributed to someone’s life being destroyed,’ said Ren.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Emma.

  ‘Did you talk to Alice Veir about your theory?’ said Ren.

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Emma. ‘What happened was that by the time I had received the report back from the forensic anthropologist, Alice Veir had approached Lorden and taken on his case.’

  ‘So, he didn’t reach out to her?’

  ‘No – she approached him,’ said Emma.

  ‘And how did she react to your findings?’ said Ren.

  ‘She shut me down completely,’ said Emma. ‘I thought I’d made this amazing breakthrough, I was so excited, but she ruled it out completely, she said absolutely not, that she still believed that Dunne was the victim of an assault, just that it wasn’t at the hands of her client.’

  ‘Did she look at your evidence?’ said Ren.

  ‘I sent it to her,’ said Emma, ‘but I didn’t hear anything back. I tried her a few times, but I had no luck. And then we were doing that show together. Awkward …’

  ‘Do you think it might have been an ego thing?’ said Ren. ‘That she’s not the type to want help?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Emma, ‘but she’s an intimidating lady, so I didn’t want to push it. I don’t get it, though – it’s excellent for her client. If Alice is only focusing on the confession being false; well, juries have a real hard time understanding why a person would make a false confession. When I started out doing this, it was the one thing that my family and friends found really hard to understand about my world – why someone would confess to a crime they didn’t commit. Now, though, my mom is online finding cases she wants me to take a look at, looking out for confessions, checking out who might have been coerced.’

  ‘Good for her,’ said Ren. ‘Emma – would you mind emailing me that evidence?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Emma. ‘No problem. It’ll have to be Monday, because I’m in court all day and then out of town for the weekend.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ said Ren. ‘And if you could keep this confidential …’

  ‘Of course,’ said Emma. ‘I really feel for Lorden. I’m not sure that Alice Veir is going about this the right way. We have a lot of resources here, and we’re happy to help. She doesn’t seem interested.’

  37

  Ren went back into the CARD team and Ruddock and told them about her conversation with Emma Ridley.

  ‘Well,’ said Paul, ‘see what the evidence says. Maybe their expert is mistaken or it’s a flimsy argument.’

  Ren nodded. ‘Yeah – I can’t see Alice Veir taking too well to someone who’s not doing a flawless job – that could have been what the tension was all about: Emma Ridley thinking she’s nailed something, Alice Veir begs to differ.’

  Paul nodded.

  ‘How are you getting on with the middle school dance night follow up?’ said Ren.

  ‘Nothing so far,’ said Paul.

  ‘Nothing from me, yet,’ said Sylvie.

  ‘We’ll have footage from the traffic cams, and any CCTV or private cameras in the area called in,’ said Ruddock.

  One of the young Tate PD officers stuck his head in the door. He was holding a remote control.

  ‘You might want to come out and see this,’ he said.

  The news was on and the anchor, a handsome guy in his mid twenties, was very excited about his next story, flagged by the photo of Caleb Veir in the top right-hand corner of the screen.

  ‘In a dramatic twist in the investigation into the disappearance of Tate boy, Caleb Veir,’ he said, ‘the Veir f
amily home came under attack late last night. Speaking outside his home, John Veir, father of the missing boy, had this to say:

  ‘This is devastating for my wife and me, as you can imagine. Our son is missing, we’re suffering through that, and then this happens. The only thing that I’m grateful for is that my wife wasn’t here at the time, and that no one was injured, or that the house didn’t go up.’

  ‘Mr Veir,’ said the reporter, ‘you’ve said yourself that there’s been speculation on the Internet that you were somehow involved in the disappearance of your son. Would you like to take this opportunity to address those rumors?’

  John nodded. ‘Yes. I’d like to make it clear to anyone who’s watching that I had nothing to do with the disappearance of my son, I love my son very much, and I just want him home. Those kind of rumors can cause real damage to people, and they can distract from an investigation. My wife and I want all law enforcement’s resources to be focused on finding our son, not on looking at me as a suspect. Thank you.’

  It returned to the studio. ‘Sources close to the investigation are saying today that there could be a link between last night’s attack and missing Black River Correctional Institute inmate, Franklin J. Merrifield, who escaped from BRCI just twenty-four hours before Caleb Veir was last seen. John Veir, as we know, is a corrections officer at that prison. Merrifield was eighteen months into a thirty-five-year sentence for robbery, homicide, rape, and …?’ He paused. ‘Arson.’ A photo of Merrifield appeared in the top right-hand corner of the screen. ‘Merrifield was last seen wearing his orange BRCI prison jumpsuit, but may now be dressed in civilian clothing. He has a history of violence, and should be considered extremely dangerous. If you do see him, do not approach him, but contact Salem PD on their tips line: 555-45-95-25.’

  ‘Mute that,’ said Ruddock to the officer.

  ‘Who leaked the Merrifield connection?’ said Ren.

  ‘Me,’ said Ruddock. He smiled. ‘I’m thinking if Merrifield finds out that his name is being connected to a murdered boy, a missing one, and an arson attack, he might be very willing to come forward to clear his name. I don’t think it matters that he was in prison when Aaron died. That could have been organized through an associate …’

  Go, Ruddock.

  ‘I need to talk to Alice Veir about Merrifield,’ said Ren.

  She went to her desk and called her.

  ‘Alice? It’s Ren Bryce here. Are you familiar with the missing inmate from BRCI – Franklin J. Merrifield?’

  Pause. ‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘I believe he attacked John’s house last night.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Ren.

  ‘Well, it certainly makes sense to me,’ said Alice.

  Even without any evidence? You’ve changed your fucking tune. ‘There’s no evidence pointing to him,’ said Ren. ‘But, of course, we have to explore it as a possibility, which is why I’m calling you. Has he ever reached out to you about his case?’

  Pause. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Well, Merrifield claims he’s innocent, he’s just lost an appeal, and you’re a lawyer working on a high-profile wrongful conviction case. He knows your brother from BRCI—’

  ‘No, Merrifield has not approached me.’

  Definitive, yet unconvincing.

  Ren paused. ‘How is the Anthony Boyd Lorden case going?’

  Silence.

  ‘I watched the news program you appeared on,’ said Ren.

  ‘It’s progressing,’ said Alice.

  Ren waited.

  ‘The whole thing was a travesty,’ said Alice.

  ‘What do you think happened that night?’ said Ren.

  ‘I believe that Kevin Dunne suffered a serious assault, but that it was not carried out by my client.’

  ‘But you’re not offering an alternative killer?’ said Ren.

  ‘That’s not my job,’ said Alice. ‘There is no physical evidence linking my client to the assault, and his confession is not worth the paper it’s written on. Did you know there have been three hundred and twenty-nine exonerations based on DNA testing since 1992, and one thousand six hundred and eight exonerations identified by the National Registry of Exonerations since 1989 when DNA was first used in US courts? Did you know that of that number, thirteen per cent of those adults had falsely confessed, but that that percentage rose to forty-two per cent in the case of juveniles? Forty-two per cent!’

  Jesus. Blind me with stats. ‘Have you spoken about it with Emma Ridley from the Innocence Project Northwest?’ said Ren.

  Silence. ‘Yes,’ said Alice. ‘I’m sorry, but what is your interest in this case?’ Her tone had sharpened. ‘With all due respect … shouldn’t your focus be on Caleb?’

  ‘It is,’ said Ren. Of fucking course it is, you snippy bitch. ‘I’m just curious what you thought of the theory proposed by Emma Ridley. That Kevin Dunne may have been clipped by the side-view mirror of a passing vehicle? Have you read her report?’

  ‘I scanned it,’ said Alice. ‘It’s not the focus of my defense.’

  Your hackles are skyward.

  ‘Did you show it to a Medical Examiner to maybe try to get a second opinion?’ said Ren.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Alice. ‘I’m under a lot of stress …’

  You’ve noticed I’ve noticed.

  ‘I’m worried about Caleb, about my brother, about Teddy,’ said Alice. ‘And this case is all-consuming. The trial is coming up. I’m raising awareness about false confessions too, so I’ve a lot of speaking engagements. I’m trying to do the best I can for my client. He was seventeen years old, zero evidence showed he did anything, but here we are: twenty-four years later. The prosecution constructs a wonderful, convincing narrative, and bam, Anthony is jailed. It’s terrifying, is it not? He’s forty-one years old – just four years younger than me. I’ve had my life – what has he had?’

  ‘You’re discounting Emma Ridley’s alternative scenario,’ said Ren, ‘So your case is based on …’

  ‘A golden triangle of police coercion, flawed eyewitness testimony, and incompetent legal representation.’

  Ren got off the call, sat back, and thought of Anthony Boyd Lorden, his eager face.

  Imagine being so utterly broken, so distraught, so traumatized, so terrified, that one word transforms your entire future: yes. In one horrifying swipe, your twenties are taken away, your thirties, your milestones, decades of significance, where love happens, where life happens, where relationships are formed, relationships with good people, not charged, violent, petty, feuds behind prison walls.

  That one word: yes. Yes, I did it. Yes, I took a weapon no one ever found, and I bashed in the skull of a boy who I gave a ride too. A stranger with whom I spent just twenty minutes of my seventeen years, talking about football, talking about summer jobs, talking about school, talking about cars. YES. I am a monster. A monster who stopped to pick up a guy dressed in black who was walking in the dark. I am a monster. Right? I am a monster. Am I not? I did this. Didn’t I?

  She thought of John Veir.

  Am I damning him?

  What if it was Merrifield? What if John and Alice are being forced to lie?

  Jesus Christ. Imagine being part of the team who wrongfully convicted someone.

  I don’t think I’d ever get over it.

  She went back through her notes and found one person she thought might shed light on Merrifield and Veir: Rob Lockwood, Veir’s friend, and Merrifield’s psychologist.

  38

  Shannon Fuller was lying on her living room sofa in the dark, staring at the television. It wasn’t on. Her son had been murdered, her property had been trampled on, her house and bar had been torn apart, she had spent hours putting it back together again, then she had shut out the world, crying on and off all night. She had heard the vans arrive again this morning, heard the search teams talking, shouting, laughing, told Seth to take care of everything.

  She got up slowly, sat on the edge of the sofa, bent down and picked up the pile of damp ti
ssues from the floor. She put them in the garbage in the kitchen and wandered out into the bar.

  Seth was leaning on the counter, playing with a piece of card. He jumped when Shannon came out.

  ‘You scared the crap out of me,’ he said.

  ‘It’s very easy to scare the crap out of you these days,’ said Shannon. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Lunchtime,’ said Seth.

  ‘You didn’t fix any food for them.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

  She looked around the bar. ‘I guess everyone will steer clear of us now,’ said Shannon. ‘We’re bad luck, we’re too sad, or we’re crawling with police.’

  ‘John Veir was on the news this morning,’ said Seth. ‘Someone torched his house.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, not torched – lit his garbage can on fire.’

  ‘Are they OK?’ said Shannon.

  Seth nodded. ‘They’re linking it to that missing inmate …’

  ‘Really?’

  Seth nodded.

  Shannon walked around the front of the bar, pulled up a stool in front of him. ‘Could you get me a Coke, please?’

  Seth was about to turn around when Shannon placed her hand on top of his, pressed down on it hard, so he couldn’t move it.

  ‘I’m drawing a line right here, right now,’ said Shannon. ‘I agreed to trust you that wherever you were the night Aaron died is your private matter. I watched you lie so easily to that FBI agent. And I lied for you. You’re jumpy as hell. I’m not sure why, but you’re going to have to be honest with me about everything from now on. So let’s start with what’s in your hand.’

  She grabbed his wrist, turned his hand over and he opened his palm. There was a business card in it. She looked up at him. ‘Special Agent Ren Bryce? OK … what’s going on here? The truth: now.’