by Carsen Taite
Cade shot Asher a look, and she was met with a shrug. Silently cursing her cohort for lying to get them in the door, she fumbled to find a plausible way to get to the heart of why they’d shown up uninvited. “Actually, I think she may have misunderstood,” Cade said. “My name is Cade Kelly. I work at the library at Jordan College and this is Asher Risley. She’s a journalist with the campus newspaper.”
Brody stared across the desk, his expression morphing from vaguely interested to pretty pissed off. He picked up the phone on his desk, but before he could punch the buttons to summon Lois to escort them out, Cade intervened.
“Give us fifteen minutes of your time. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
Brody looked between them, and Cade could only imagine what was going through his head. A librarian and a blogger show up at a lawyer’s office. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke, but there was nothing funny about the story she was about to tell.
After several seconds of silent surveillance, Brody put the phone down and leaned back in his chair. “Fifteen minutes.”
Asher opened her mouth to speak, but Cade beat her to it. “I’ve been doing research on murder cases for a paper I’m working on. It’s for my post-graduate work, and because I work at the library, I have access to a lot of online research databases. Asher here has been working as my intern and helping with the research. She also writes a blog for the campus news, so naturally when Sam Wade was killed, she started looking into the case, not just because Sam was a respected member of the administration, but also because his death frightened a lot of people on campus. It was so sudden and shocking, you know?”
She paused and looked at Asher, who nodded for her to go on. Certain she was rambling, she launched in again, for fear Brody would cut her off in the middle of her muddled tale and toss them out of his office.
“My interest in researching these type of cases came from my uncle. He’s an attorney back East. He’s retired now, but during his career he worked on lots of criminal cases, and I always found them fascinating. Anyway, I was asking him something about my paper, and I happened to mention this case and the circumstances of Sam’s death. I mean, how many would-be robbers take the time to shoot their victims and then slit their throats? Seemed really odd to me.” She paused for a second, and Brody nodded his agreement.
“So my uncle, he says, ‘You know, Cade, I recall reading about a couple of cases around here with that same MO, but they were gangland style killings, meant to send a message.’”
She took a breath and assessed her audience. Asher was on the edge of her seat, scribbling notes in a small spiral flip top notebook, and Brody was staring holes through her. She couldn’t tell if he was interested in what she was saying or contemplating the easiest way to throw them out.
“What’s your uncle’s name?”
Cade swallowed hard, her throat thick with angst. She’d hoped to skate through by being as vague as possible, but apparently, Brody wanted a few actual facts before he’d hear her out completely. “John Kelly. He’s retired now, but he practiced in Saint Louis.”
Lies, but chances were good there was some attorney with the name John Kelly in Saint Louis, although she doubted Brody would ever check. His questions were likely more about evaluating her overall trustworthiness rather than verifying specific facts. “Anyway, I did some additional research and found a few articles referencing this type of killing. Apparently, there’s a particular mob enforcer who’s known for this method, and he’s wanted by the FBI.”
She reached in her jacket, pulled out a folded up printout from LexisNexis, and held it out to him. Her hand in mid-air, she watched his face, willing him to take the paper. He stared at it, then flicked a glance at Asher and back to her. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the printout, unfolded the paper, and smoothed it out on his desk.
“So, what am I looking at here?”
“Reasonable doubt.”
His head jerked up. “What?”
Cade silently cursed. She needed to dial back the legal jargon. She wasn’t here as a lawyer. All she needed to do was point him in the right direction and let him do the rest. She shrugged. “I’m not sure what it all means, but if there’s someone else who uses this particular method of killing people, then maybe you could use that somehow, you know, to maybe create doubt about whether your client is guilty.” She shrugged again in an “I don’t know how all this works, but I’m just trying to help” kind of way. To deflect attention from herself, she pointed to Asher. “Asher here is planning to write an article calling into question your client’s arrest and pointing to these other killings as something the sheriff’s department should have researched.”
Cade shot a look at Asher who did a pretty damn good job of keeping her composure in view of the fact they hadn’t discussed writing any such article.
Asher tapped her pen on her pad, and said, “Yep. I’m planning a whole series of blogs about the trial starting with what she said.”
Brody steepled his fingers and stared at the printout Cade had given him. “There’s just one problem.”
Cade knew what he was going to say, but she resisted the urge to demonstrate she’d anticipated his question. She flashed him her best questioning expression. “What is it?”
“Even if we assume the same person was responsible for Sam Wade’s death as these other murders, how do we explain why this person singled out Wade? Are you trying to tell me Sam Wade was connected to the mob?”
He was right. The leap of logic was a big one, and she had no idea how he could overcome it without the information only she and a few federal agents possessed. Not for the first time in the last few days, the urge to blurt out her entire story was strong. She examined her options. If Leo Fontana really wanted to kill her, why hadn’t he done so yet? If he was the one who’d killed Sam Wade, he’d certainly gotten close enough. Had he gone underground after Wade’s murder?
Not likely. She pictured him standing on the street outside of the courthouse in Chicago, firing his weapon and not caring who saw him. He’d only ducked into hiding at the risk of being caught. But here, someone else had been tagged for his crimes.
Maybe that was it. Another murder in a nearby town would cast doubt on Kevin Miller’s guilt, and law enforcement would likely start to connect the two crimes. Fontana was probably biding his time so he could take her out without the scrutiny of an entire town already hyper-focused on the big trial about to take place. In the meantime, she didn’t know how to answer Brody’s question.
“We don’t know yet, but we’re willing to help you find out,” Asher said. She reached over and gave Cade a light shoulder punch. “Right, Cade?”
“Yes,” Cade answered, her mind whirring. “In addition to Asher’s investigative reporting, I can offer my research services at no charge, as long as I can use this case as part of my project. Who knows? We might be able to find some answers, but if nothing else, I can promise you we’ll look harder than the sheriff’s department did.” She watched Brody’s face, hoping the pride of youth wouldn’t keep him from accepting her offer of help.
After a long pause, Brody said, “I do have a few things I could use help on. Judge Burson allocated some funds for an investigator, but the only guy I could get to work for court appointed rates doesn’t seem inspired to do the work. I’m pretty sure he’s shoved my assignments to the bottom of his stack.” The minute he finished talking, he pointed at Asher. “That’s not for public consumption, got it?”
Asher raised her hand to her mouth and mimicked locking her lips and throwing away the key.
Watching her, Cade came up with an idea. “You know, you could use some press. Everything I’ve read so far has your client tried and convicted, already. Maybe…” She let her mind race while she considered the pros and cons of what she was about to propose.
Asher and Brody both stared her down until finally Asher said, “Spit it out already.”
“Okay, here’s what I’m thinking.” She pointed at Bro
dy. “You’ll give Asher exclusive access, and she can do a series of blogs with more of a personal interest angle than straight-up reporting. She can write about how you’re the underdog, going up against the system, and all the cards are stacked against you. You’ll have an opportunity to float your theories about what really happened and a chance to plant seeds of doubt in the community.”
“I don’t mean to be a jerk,” Brody said, “But the students at Jordan College aren’t likely to be serving on this jury. Over half of them aren’t even residents of Lawson County.”
Asher jumped in. “But The Risley Report’s on the Internet. I’ll optimize it so anyone doing a search for information about the case will see it at the top of their feed. If we can saturate the search engines, there’s a good chance the local news outlets will pick it up, and it may even get some regional coverage.”
Cade suppressed a grin at Asher’s enthusiasm, hoping her zeal would convince Brody to accept their offer. She didn’t have to wait long for his answer.
“Okay, let’s do this,” he said. “When can you start?”
Chapter Twenty
Emily stared out the car window, her eyes sweeping over every detail of the exterior of the single-story white bungalow that had been Sam Wade’s home. The town of Rymer was the same size as Bodark, but not as quaint. The houses along this street in particular were fairly plain, although they appeared to be well cared for. Lawns were mowed, leaves raked, but absent were the extra details like garden beds and ornamental trees. In front of Wade’s home, a long, wide driveway led to a small front porch enclosed by a wood railing lined with potted plants in various stages of demise. As they drew closer, she heard Seth engage the turn signal, and she placed a hand on his arm. “Let’s park on the street.”
“Right,” he said. “Good plan.” He pulled to the curb and shut off the engine. “Lance said he’d be about ten minutes behind us. Do you want to wait for him?”
“Why don’t you wait here for him while I take a look around?” She didn’t wait for his response before she climbed out of the car. She stood at the curb and surveyed the neighborhood. Ralph Thatcher, the witness who’d arrived home to find the person he identified as Kevin Miller standing over Sam’s body, lived in the house to the left of Wade’s, but his driveway was located on the far side of his home.
Emily mentally cued up the narrative from the police report. Thatcher told the sheriff’s deputies that as he drove past Wade’s house the night of the murder, he noticed a man in Wade’s driveway, hunched beside Wade’s Ford Explorer. It was dusk at the time, and his first thought was the figure was Wade, looking for something on the ground. He rolled down his window and called out, which apparently startled the man, who stood up straight and faced him head on. Within about two seconds, Thatcher could tell the man staring at him wasn’t Wade at all, but a bum from the run-down apartment complex less than a quarter mile away. He’d encountered the same man in the neighborhood, knocking on doors, looking for odd jobs as recently as the week before Wade’s death.
Thatcher having seen Miller before was a lucky break because the front porch light wasn’t on at Wade’s house the night of the murder, which would have made it difficult for Thatcher to see enough detail to give the sheriff’s office much in the way of a description if he hadn’t already known what Miller looked like.
Unlike the night of the murder, the driveway was now empty. No Ford Explorer, no Sam Wade, and barely even a trace of a bloodstain on the concrete drive. Still, Emily needed to stand where Wade had stood when he climbed down from his SUV. She needed to close her eyes and imagine the last few minutes of Wade’s life as horrific as it may be. Doing so would allow her to channel the details of the senseless act of violence into a riveting opening at trial. Fully focused on her task, she took a step toward the driveway, but the rumble of a car engine stopped her progress.
Lance Tobin, the chief investigator for her office, pulled over and parked his giant pickup directly behind Seth’s car. He unfolded his tall, lanky body out of the door slowly and methodically and walked over to where Emily was standing. “We looking for anything in particular?” he asked.
“The usual—trying to get a feel for the scene.” Emily motioned to Seth who was walking toward them. “You want to give us a rundown?”
“Sounds good,” Lance said. “Follow me.” He led them to the porch and pointed at a single light fixture by the door. “According to Deputy Bowman, this light was out that night.”
Emily nodded at the mention of the first officer on the scene. “I saw that in his report. Do we know if the bulb had burned out or was it just not turned on?”
Lance’s response was a puzzled look, and Emily said, “What?”
“The light was out because there was no bulb in it.”
Seth flipped through the pages of the report he’d brought along. “Odd, the report doesn’t mention that.”
Lance frowned. “Bowman told me himself. I guess I’d assumed he told you too.”
Emily stared at the light fixture, bugged by the circumstance, but not quite able to put her finger on why. “Lance, I need you to talk to Thatcher and some of the other neighbors again. I want to know if Wade’s light was normally on.”
“Will do.” Lance fished a battered notebook out of his pocket and scribbled a few lines. “What else?”
“Ask them again about the gunshot. I can’t believe no one heard anything.” The ME’s best guess was Wade had been shot close to the time Thatcher happened upon Miller standing over him. At least three close neighbors had been home at the time, but everyone the sheriff’s deputies spoke to denied having heard a thing. Either their walls were all super soundproofed, or people in Rymer were way less interested in their neighbor’s business than the citizens of Bodark.
Lance nodded. “I’ll go door-to-door when we’re done here, maybe catch some folks coming home from work.”
“Thanks,” Emily said. “I’d like to go inside. You have the key?”
Lance produced a key ring from his pocket, unlocked the door, and held it open. He knew her well enough not to point out that the inside of Wade’s home wasn’t technically part of the crime scene. She crossed the threshold and took a moment to breathe in the faint scent of vanilla tobacco. Wade had been a pipe smoker. His sister, Wendy, had talked about his pipe collection when Emily interviewed her last week. She’d gone on and on about how they’d found pipes in almost every drawer of the house as if Sam couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in a room without one. Emily had let her ramble on about the pipes for a good twenty minutes, certain it was a necessary part of her grieving process.
Now, standing in Wade’s home, she cataloged the tale as one of the stories she would tell to the jury so they could understand that a real person with real human interest had been abruptly taken away from his family, his friends, and his community.
“Anything interesting in here?” Seth asked. He’d followed her in and was standing right behind her.
“The family left everything the way it was for now. They have an estate sale company coming in next week to start pricing everything, but they probably won’t have the sale until after the trial.” Emily picked up a photo of Wade and his sister and two brothers. “None of them live around here, and they decided it would be easier to travel back just once for the trial and then to take care of the estate.”
“What’s this?”
Emily looked at the shiny square object on the shelf Seth had pointed to. “I don’t know. Lance, any ideas?”
Lance picked up the square and examined it. “Looks like a signal mirror, the kind they used in the army. This one’s really old, like World War II era. There are a few other things like this in his den.”
“Wendy mentioned their grandfather fought in the war,” Emily said. “Lance, do you mind getting a picture of this and the other things you mentioned?” Her mind started formulating her opening statement. She’d paint a picture of Sam Wade for the jury, a quiet man who’d worked a long we
ek at the local college. He’d driven home, planning to spend a quiet evening in his home, surrounded by his collection of pipes, family photos, and the souvenirs of his grandfather’s service to his country.
It was a start, but her preparation was thrown by a nagging feeling something was off. While Lance snapped pictures, she led Seth back outside. “This light thing is bothering me.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“Let’s see what the neighbors say, but if Wade’s light was usually on, the bulb being gone could be an issue.”
“I’m not following. Maybe the bulb burned out and he removed it.”
“Without replacing it? How many times do you remove a burned out bulb without putting in a new one? If a bulb burns out at my house, I leave the damn thing in until I have a new one.”
“Fair enough, but I still don’t see your point.”
“What if someone unscrewed the light bulb so they could hide out and surprise Wade when he got home?”
Seth shook his head. “I don’t make Miller for thinking that one through. He’s more the smash and grab kind of guy.”
“Exactly.”
Seth stared at her for a moment. “What a minute, you’re not thinking it could have been someone else that killed Wade, are you?”
Emily shook her head. “No, but you have to admit it makes you think. I do know this, Bowman’s report should have said the bulb was missing, and either he needs to issue an amended report or we need to tell Brody.”
“You’re kidding, right? That’s splitting hairs. The report says the light was out, so Brody’s on notice. What difference does it make if it was a burned out bulb versus a missing one?”
“Probably nothing, but I’m not going to risk appellate issues because we complied with the letter, but not the spirit of the law. Give him the light bulb information and, if he tries to make something out of it, we’ll deal with it then.”
