by Tim Kizer
“Now go to the car,” Camp commanded.
“Which car?”
“Yours.”
Camp wouldn’t kill him in broad daylight, would he? The guy couldn’t be that crazy.
Actually, he doesn’t seem crazy at all.
Vincent walked up to his Ford and turned to Camp.
“Get in the car,” Camp said.
Vincent opened the driver’s door and climbed behind the wheel.
“What now?” Vincent asked. He saw that Camp’s hands were empty and that his Glock was in the pocket of Camp’s shorts now.
Was Camp letting him go?
“Are you letting me go?” Vincent asked.
“Can you tell me who sent you and why?”
This must be a goodwill gesture on Camp’s part. Camp probably hoped he would be more cooperative if his life wasn’t in danger.
That was not the behavior of a psychopathic child abductor, was it?
“I’ll tell you what I was looking for in your house.” Vincent stuck the key in the ignition. Camp didn’t react in any way to this move.
“What is it?”
“I was looking for Annie Miller.”
Vincent was fighting the urge to start the engine and floor the gas pedal. He was sure he could get the car moving before Camp was able to fire a shot.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s David Miller’s daughter. She’s five years old.”
Vincent held his right hand three inches from the ignition key, ready to start the car at the first sign of danger.
“Why were you looking for her in this house?”
Vincent hesitated, then said, “I thought you kidnapped her.”
Camp didn’t reach for the gun.
“You thought I kidnapped this girl?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t kidnap anyone.” Camp scowled. “Why did you think I kidnapped this girl?”
“Because her father put you in prison.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you remember that David Miller was the prosecutor in your case.”
Camp looked at the Camaro that had just rushed past them in the oncoming lane, and then said, still making no move to draw the gun, “Yes, I remember that.”
Vincent glanced down the road in both directions. No police cars. What was taking the cops so long?
“Are you mad at him?”
“No.”
“You don’t want to punish him for putting you in prison?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then why did you search for David Miller’s address on the Internet?”
Camp raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I searched for David Miller’s address? Have you been in my house in Houston?”
“Yes.” Vincent chose to lie to save time. “So what did you need his address for?”
“The last time I checked it wasn’t illegal to search for other people’s addresses.”
“Did you want to pay him a visit?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You were innocent. You spent six years in prison for a crime you didn’t commit, and you’re not mad at David?”
“No.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you were.” Vincent meant it.
“I’m not mad at him, okay?”
“Why did you move to Texas?”
“My dad lived here. He found me a job. This house belonged to him. You probably know that, too.”
Vincent looked at his watch and said, “The cops here are pretty slow, aren’t they?”
“The cops? They’re not coming. I didn’t call 911.”
“You didn’t? You tricky bastard.” Vincent smiled. “So what did you need David Miller’s address for?”
“I was curious.”
Vincent flicked the keys hanging from the ignition. “I’m sorry about breaking into your house.”
Camp was not the kidnapper, Vincent was convinced of it.
One down, two hundred and twenty-three to go.
“When was she kidnapped?” Camp asked.
“In early May.”
Camp shifted from one foot to the other and said, “This past February some guy called me and asked if I’d ever thought of getting even with the prosecutor.”
“What’s his name?”
“He said his name was Ted. I don’t know if it’s the guy that kidnapped Annie or not. But I think it could be him.”
“Did he ask you to meet him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you meet him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to look for trouble.”
“But you looked up David’s address.”
“I told you I was curious. Do you work for David Miller? I guess he doesn’t trust the police to find his daughter.”
“Did that man call your cell or your home phone?”
“My home phone.”
“What was your number then? The number you have now?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember the exact date of the call?”
“No. I think it was before the fifth of February.”
“What time did he call?”
“Sometime between seven and ten pm.”
“Did he call you again?”
“No.”
“Did he have an accent?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Michael.” Vincent started the engine.
“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you on the spot.”
“Yeah. Why didn’t you shoot me on the spot?”
“I wasn’t in the killing mood.”
“Can I have my gun back?”
“No. I’m keeping it. Report it lost, and don’t mention my name, okay?”
“All right.”
“When you see David, tell him he was wrong. Tell him I was innocent. If I’d had a better lawyer, I wouldn’t have gone to prison.” Camp shifted his gaze toward his house. “That’s what pisses me off. It’s not about the truth, it’s about who can play this fucking game better.”
“That’s how it’s always been. In every damn corner of this world.”
Camp nodded. “Well, see you later, Vincent.” He held out his hand, and Vincent shook it.
“Take it easy.”
Vincent turned the car around and drove off. Only when he was a mile away from Camp’s house did he realize that he had forgotten to retrieve his suit coat, which he had last seen on the bedroom floor. He decided to let Camp keep the coat.
6
Suppose it was the kidnapper who had called Michael Camp last February. Why had he done it? Had he wanted to join forces with Camp?
When Vincent returned to the hotel, he called Paul Sibert and asked if Paul could help him get a log of Michael Camp’s incoming calls from February 1 to February 5. Paul promised to see what he could do.
Then Vincent told Jerry Aversten that he didn’t need Camp’s email password anymore.
On Friday afternoon Vincent received an email from Sibert saying that he had been able to obtain the log of Michael Camp’s incoming calls. The log was attached to the message. Vincent opened it and saw that Camp had received only two calls on his home phone in the first five days of February. The first call had come on February 2 at 8:11 am and the second on February 3 at 7:52 pm. Since the February 3 call was the only one received between seven and ten pm, Vincent figured it was the call Camp had told him about.
Feeling hopeful, Vincent did a reverse lookup on the phone number and was disappointed to find that it belonged to a payphone in Dallas. The fact that the caller had taken precautions to protect his identity supported Vincent’s suspicion that he was involved in Annie’s kidnapping. Vincent didn’t think Ted was the caller’s real name.
Chapter 19
1
David’s guilty plea hearing was scheduled for June 21. The day before the hearing, Vincent told David that since June 16 he had invest
igated two more people who had been put in prison by David, bringing the total to six (all of whom had been eliminated as suspects by the investigator). Six people in two weeks. At this rate, Vincent would go through the whole suspect list in about a year and a half.
The hearing began at nine in the morning. As a deputy county attorney, David had handled hundreds of plea bargain hearings. Now he was back in the game, this time on the receiving end of the judicial system. He was about to become a convicted felon, but he didn’t feel embarrassed or humiliated. Instead he felt angry—not at the prosecutor or the police, but at the kidnapper and his accomplices.
David was flanked by Aaron Brady and Marc Schroeder, a lawyer from Brady’s firm. Carol wasn’t in the courtroom because he had told her not to come. In a monotone voice, the clerk announced that court was now in session and that the Honorable Judge Walter Jacobs was presiding.
The judge pushed his glasses onto his forehead, scanned the papers in front of him, and then said, “People versus Miller.”
“Mister Miller is present in court with his counsel, Aaron Brady, Your Honor,” Brady said.
“I understand the parties have reached a plea agreement satisfactory to everyone.”
“That’s correct,” Alonso said.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Brady said.
After the clerk administered the oath to David, the judge warned David that he could be prosecuted for perjury if he gave false answers to the judge’s questions. Then Judge Jacobs asked David to state his full name and age.
“Have you used any alcohol or other drugs in the last twenty-four hours?”
“No,” David replied.
“Are you under a doctor’s care?”
“No.”
“Are you taking any prescription medications?”
“No.”
He still had time to withdraw his confession and back out of the plea agreement. It was very difficult to withdraw a guilty plea once it had been accepted by the court and virtually impossible after sentencing.
“At this time are you fully alert?”
“Yes.”
“Please let me know if you don’t understand any question I ask you this morning.”
“I will.”
“Are you nervous at this time?”
“No.”
Then the judge asked if it was David’s signature on the original plea agreement. David said yes.
“Mister Miller, did you read the plea agreement in its entirety before you signed it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you discuss the plea agreement with your attorneys before you signed it?”
“Yes.”
“Did you fully understand all of the provisions of your plea agreement before you signed it?”
David had a hard time focusing on the judge’s questioning. He was emotionally drained and wanted to be done with the hearing already. However, although the judge had asked over a dozen questions, they weren’t even halfway through yet. He couldn’t ask the judge to cut to the chase: every formality of a plea bargain hearing had to be followed in order to prevent the defendant from withdrawing the guilty plea based on a technicality.
“Yes.”
Next Judge Jacobs asked if David had read the indictment and if he had discussed it with his attorneys. The answer to both questions was yes. After David affirmed that he understood all of the charges in the indictment, the judge described the charges to which David was pleading guilty and asked if David understood them.
“Yes, I understand,” David replied.
“Do you understand that Counts Two and Three charge you with the commission of felony crimes?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“If I accept your plea of guilty to Counts Two and Three, it will be the same as if you were convicted of those felony charges. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
After ascertaining that David was fully satisfied with the way his attorneys had represented him, Judge Jacobs said that he would like to advise David of the rights of a defendant.
“Mister Miller, do you understand that you have an absolute right to a speedy and public trial by a jury of your peers?”
“Yes.”
“If you chose to have a trial, you would have the right to be represented by a lawyer at all the stages of the proceedings. Do you understand that, sir?”
“Yes.”
“If you chose to have a trial, you would have the right to be confronted by the witnesses against you—that is, to see, hear, and have your attorneys question all the witnesses the government called to testify against you. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
It was still not too late to pull the plug on the deal.
He couldn’t trust the kidnapper, could he? Annie might already be dead, and he was sending himself to prison for nothing. Maybe he should stay free and personally hunt for the kidnapper?
“You would have the right to make witnesses come to court under subpoena to testify for you. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
Was it fear talking? He was afraid, there was no denying that.
Selfishness? The instinct of self-preservation?
Was he simply looking for an excuse to keep out of prison and go back to his comfortable life?
“You would have the right to present evidence in defense of the charges. Do you understand that, sir?”
“Yes.”
In Commando, Arnold Schwarzenegger didn’t comply with the demands of his daughter’s kidnappers. He started a one-man war and slaughtered all the bad guys.
Unfortunately, David didn’t live in a movie.
If he didn’t go to prison, the kidnapper would kill Annie. And if he did, there was a chance Annie would be released in six years.
“Do you understand that the government could not force you to testify at a trial?”
“Yes.”
“At this time, you are presumed to be innocent of all the charges in the indictment. You cannot be convicted of any of those charges unless the government proves your guilt beyond a reasonable doubt at a trial. Do you understand that, Mister Miller?”
“Yes.”
The judge stated the elements of the crimes to which David was pleading guilty, and then asked, “Do you understand that to be convicted of these crimes by a jury, all twelve jurors would have to believe beyond a reasonable doubt that each and every element of the crimes occurred?”
“I understand.”
Judge Jacobs slid his glasses back onto his nose, leaned forward, and said, “Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you’ll be giving up your right to a jury trial?”
“Yes.”
The judge went through the rest of the rights David gave up by pleading guilty, and then said, “Before you can plead guilty, I have to determine if there is a factual basis for the plea. You’re pleading guilty to manslaughter. What does the person have to do to be guilty of this charge?”
“The person has to recklessly cause the death of an individual.”
“Are you in fact guilty of this charge?”
David looked at Brady, then at the assistant district attorney, and finally at the judge.
Should he say yes or no?
David clenched his fists until the nails bit into his palms and said, “Yes.”
He felt a great weight fall from his shoulders.
He was not backing out, and he believed he was doing the right thing.
“What did you do in this case?”
“I accidentally pushed my daughter to the ground. When she fell, she hit her head on a rock and died.” David spoke in a toneless voice, as if he were reading a grocery list. The judge didn’t care whether he sounded sincere or not.
Judge Jacobs asked David when and where the crime had occurred, and moved on to the charge of tampering with physical evidence. When they were finished with it, the judge said, “Before you can plead guilty, you must understand the possible direct consequences of your plea. What’s the m
aximum sentence for manslaughter?”
“Twenty years in prison.”
From the corner of his eye, David saw a dark-haired man in the front row on the left side of the gallery, and it suddenly occurred to him that the kidnapper, or one of his friends, might be in the courtroom right now.
Why would the kidnapper have come here?
To enjoy the spectacle of David Miller becoming a convicted felon, or to verify that David was adhering to their agreement.
Or both.
“What’s the maximum sentence for tampering with physical evidence by concealing a human corpse?”
“Twenty years in prison.”
David looked around and saw that there were seven people in the gallery: two women and five men. Some of them were probably journalists.
It would be good if he had their pictures, which, thanks to facial recognition technology, were the next best thing to their names and addresses.
“Who do you believe will decide what your sentence will be in this matter?”
“The judge.”
“Do you understand that at this time the court has made no decision as to what sentence you’ll receive?”
“Yes. Your Honor, may I have a moment to speak with my attorney?”
“Yes, you may.” The judge nodded.
David turned to Marc Schroeder and whispered, “Do you have your cellphone with you?”
“Yes,” Schroeder replied.
“Can you do me a favor? I need you to stand outside the courtroom and videotape everyone who comes out except for the DA’s people. Focus on their faces and don’t let them see you filming.”
“What do you need this for?”
“I have a theory. I’ll explain later.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.” To Brady, Schroeder said, “I’m going to step out.”
Brady nodded.
After Judge Jacobs gave him permission to leave the courtroom, Schroeder walked out of the room.
The judge cleared his throat and said, “Under the plea agreement, the State agreed to recommend a sentence of twenty years in prison for Count Two and a sentence of five years in prison for Count Three. Mister Miller, do you understand that the court is not bound by the State’s recommendation, although it will be considered?”
“Yes, I do.”
He would send the spectators’ photos to Paul Sibert and ask him to identify them. The chances were good that Paul would be able to identify all of them because facial recognition technology was very accurate and there were few adults in America whose photos were not in a government database.
