“Because he didn’t stop or run away.”
“It’s my fault.” A tortured look came over Ruth. “See, the thing is I knew about his… habit. I’ve known for years. But I never did anything about it. Even if I wanted to, what could I do? Despite everything, Cam is a man, with a man’s hormones… and proclivities. If he wasn’t hurting anyone, what was the harm? I doubt he understands what he’s doing. Or why. And I’m sure he doesn’t know it’s wrong.”
Any more than the monkey in the zoo, Georgia thought.
“But I know—I just know—he’d never hurt anyone. He’s just not capable of it. This business with the baseball bat…” Ruth’s eyes sparked anger. “Look at him. He hasn’t swung a bat since he was six. I’m sure he doesn’t know how.”
Georgia looked over at the waifish man, rocking back and forth, lost in his own world. He looked incapable of withstanding the slightest blow. But how did his sister know he didn’t have another side? A dark, murderous side? What if he’d been in some kind of fugue state, driven by an unknown urge or rage? Could he have summoned up enough strength to wield a bat? Things like that had happened before, especially with the mentally ill. Ruth had told her that Cam was autistic, but there was something else, too. What was it, she wondered.
“Does he have a doctor, a social worker, someone I could see about his—his condition?”
Ruth nodded. “He sees a social worker at North Shore Mental Health Center. I’ll put you in touch with her. And our new lawyer. My parish priest talked him into taking the case.”
“That’s a good sign,” Georgia said. “Ruth… can I talk to Cam?”
“You can try,” she motioned. “But don’t expect much.”
Georgia moved and sat directly across from Cam. His rocking sped up. “Hello. I’m a friend of your sister’s. I’m here to help you. Do you think you can tell me your name?”
Cam looked down. He kept rocking but his movements slowed.
“My name is Georgia. Like the state. I heard you naming the states before. That was very good.”
No response. Cam seemed alternately terrified and mollified by the chaos inside his mind.
“I’d like to get to know you better.”
Nothing.
Georgia sighed. “Okay. Maybe another time. I’d like to come back and visit. Would that be okay?”
Cam blinked.
Georgia looked over at Ruth.
“By the way,” Ruth said, “in case you’re wondering, I have some money from a trust fund that my grandparents set up for Cam. I’m going to use it to pay the lawyer. And you. There won’t be much left afterwards, but I—well…”
“You’re a good sister.”
“That’s not it,” Ruth persisted. “I just can’t stand the thought that he might be locked up for the rest of his life for something that—well—I know he didn’t do. Where would he have gotten the bat, anyway? He doesn’t own one. Hasn’t for years.”
Cam rocked back and forth, singing off-key. “Do do do do do do do do. Batman.”
***
“Cermak evaluated him but didn’t move him into Division VIII,” Paul Kelly said later that afternoon. A small man in a shabby navy jacket, khaki pants, and a blue shirt, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his neck. Fluorescent light bounced off his shiny, bald head.
The sign above Kelly’s door said “Paul Kelly: Lawyer & Insurance Agent.” Was that a sign of the health of the law business or Paul Kelly’s competence? His office consisted of two good-sized but sparsely furnished rooms in Rogers Park, a neighborhood on the northern edge of Chicago.
“Why didn’t they admit him?” Georgia sat down across his battered desk. “He’s clearly out of it.”
“Overcrowding,” Kelly said. “Only room for the real sickos. So they do some bullshit tests and then fold ’em back into the general population.”
Georgia crossed her legs. “You’re officially his lawyer now?”
“As of two days ago.” He smirked. “You should have seen the PD. Kid was so grateful he almost kissed me on the mouth.”
“Can’t you insist he be admitted?”
“I can insist till I’m blue in the face, but it won’t make any difference.” His voice was thin and reedy, but he spoke with a careful, almost melodic inflection, as if compensating for his timbre. “Ms.—er Davis. You’ve heard of a tsunami, right?”
She nodded.
“Well, that’s what this case is shaping up to be. I’ve never seen anything like it. The guy was indicted in three days and arraigned two weeks later. But—get this—the State’s Attorney’s Office has already complied with discovery.”
Georgia jerked her head up. “That’s unheard of!”
“Don’t I know it.” He motioned to a pile of documents on one side of his desk. “That’s what this is. Someone wants this case to go away fast.”
“Why?”
“Who knows?” He shrugged. “The State’s Attorney ran a tough-as-nails campaign last year. He’s probably trying to make good on it.”
“But why this case?”
“Because it’s a slam dunk.”
“Nothing else?”
“Why? What are you getting at?”
“I was told that Ramsey, the First Assistant State’s Attorney and the prosecutor handling the case, lives in Winnetka. His daughter goes to the same school as the victim.”
“Interesting.”
“You think he might be under some kind of pressure?”
“Someone’s always under pressure in Chicago. Why do you think they say you can indict a ham sandwich in Cook County?” He paused. “But if you’re talking about undue pressure…” His voice rose on the word “undue.”
“The murder happened in one of the most affluent—and white—areas of Chicagoland. And yes, if the girl went to school with Ramsey’s daughter, there could be pressure. From the school. The neighbors. The village honchos. No one wants this hanging over the community. At the same time, Ramsey’s got to be pretty damn sure he’s gonna win. I mean, they got the guy’s prints on the bat and her blood on his shirt.”
“I’m guessing that doesn’t give me much time,” Georgia said.
“You got it.” Kelly eyed her. “Look. I know why Ruth Jordan hired you. I know she’s convinced he didn’t do it. But I can’t, in good faith, tell either of you that it’s gonna make a difference. I think our best shot is to plead it out. Let the boy go into the system. They’ll get him a shrink. Who knows? Might even do him some good.”
Georgia uncrossed her legs. If Kelly didn’t want to mount a defense, working with him would be a nightmare. She considered her options. She could tell him what O’Malley said, but she didn’t want to get O’Malley in trouble. Still, she had to give him something, if only to keep him from pleading it out right away. “Actually, the idea of getting me involved came from a cop on the North Shore.”
Kelly arched his eyebrows.
“Ruth didn’t mention that?”
“No.” He leaned forward. For the first time he looked interested in the conversation. “If the cops get their man, they usually don’t go looking for evidence to exonerate them. What’s the deal?”
“A hazing incident was going on at the time of the crime.”
“Hazing?” He frowned.
“The public defender didn’t brief you?”
Kelly shook his head. “I was lucky the PD knew his client’s name.”
“I figured it would be in the police reports. The hazing, I mean.”
“Haven’t read them yet.”
Georgia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay. Let me fill you in.”
As she explained about the hazing incident two years ago, Kelly started to nod. “I remember that.” He shifted. “Hold on. Are you saying another kid clubbed her to death?”
“It’s a possibility.”
Kelly shook his head. “But how could—”
“What if things—just spun out of control? They were drinking, don’t forget. What if
someone had a few too many and tackled a girl by accident?”
“By accident?”
“It was supposed to be a touch football game.”
“Oh.”
“And, say, a few minutes later, another girl tackles her back. Then someone else picks up a baseball bat, and it escalates. And if one of them had a grudge against the other…” She leaned forward, mirroring his movements. “You know how high school girls are.”
“No. How are they?”
Somehow Georgia wasn’t surprised. “Like quicksilver. They operate mostly on hormones. Which means they can turn on their friends in a heartbeat. Especially if the ‘group’,whoever that group is at the moment, says to. The need for acceptance makes kids do wacko things.”
“A girl would have had to be pretty damn strong to do the kind of damage that was done to the victim.”
“A six-year-old could do plenty of damage with a baseball bat.” She shrugged. “And what if it wasn’t a girl? What if it was a guy? There were boys in the Forest Preserve, too.”
For a moment Kelly looked curious, even engaged, and Georgia dared to hope. Then his expression turned grim. “So there’s a few kids in the woods. And they’re running around half drunk whooping it up. That doesn’t mitigate the evidence against my client. He’s a registered sex offender. You can’t get around that.”
“Mr. Kelly, we don’t know what your—our—client was really doing in the woods. The girls saw him kneeling over the body, but the police found him a quarter mile from the crime scene. Despite his prints on the bat, as far as I know, no one actually saw him kill the girl. And he can’t tell us, one way or the other.” Georgia looked at her hands. “There are a lot of questions that haven’t been answered. Where the bat came from, for instance. His sister insists it wasn’t his.”
“I don’t know,” Kelly said doubtfully. “I still think pleading him out is our best shot.”
Georgia bit her lip. She was close, she could feel it. She couldn’t let it slip through her fingers. She dealt her last card. “Look. I used to be on the force up there, and, like I said, someone I respect—who’s still on the force—thinks we should take a closer look.”
“You were a cop?”
She nodded. “But apparently, no one is—looking into it, I mean. At least not seriously. Which begs the question, why not? Is it possible this Ramsey’s daughter was involved in the hazing? Or another VIP’s kid? Or is it something entirely different that we don’t know yet? We need to find out, but I need time. You’re his lawyer. Can you get me some?”
Kelly drummed his fingers on the desk. The smell of exhaust from a passing bus drifted through the window. Georgia looked out. The bus disgorged a bunch of school kids, who jostled each other and laughed. She turned back to Kelly. She wondered what Ruth Jordan’s parish priest had said to strongarm Kelly into taking the case.
As if he had read her mind, he sighed. “Father Carroll and I grew up together on the West Side. He begged me to take the case. Told me Ruth Jordan was a decent soul who was carrying a hideous burden. It was the Christian thing to do, he told me.” Kelly laughed. “If I had a dollar for all the Christian things I’ve done, I could buy my ticket to heaven.” He folded his hands on his desk. “I’ll be honest. I’m not optimistic. Like I said, I’ve never seen a case fly through the courts this fast. Not even Gacy. These people mean business. You need to be prepared for that.”
“But what if he didn’t do it?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Georgia just looked at him.
He scratched his head. “But since you’re determined to play Joan of Arc… I have to examine the forensic evidence. That will take time.” He dropped his hand. His scratching had left two whitish streaks on his shiny head.
“How much?”
“Maybe a week or so.”
“That’s not enough.”
“And then there’s the BCX.” He sounded aggrieved that she’d interrupted him.
“BCX? That’s some kind of shrink report, isn’t it?”
“Behavioral Clinical Exam. A psychological exam that’s supposed to determine whether the defendant understands the charges against him, if he’s able to cooperate in his defense, and if he was sane at the time of the crime.”
“You already know he’s not. Why do you need a test?”
“It’ll buy us more time.”
Us, Georgia thought. He said us. “How much?”
Again he tipped his head to the side. “If somebody decides to railroad it, which we can’t discount, given what’s already gone down, maybe a couple of weeks. Then again, you’re dealing with bureaucrats and shrinks who couldn’t turn on a dime if their lives depended on it. It could take a month. Maybe longer.”
That’s better, Georgia thought.
“And…” The hint of a smile appeared on his face. “Depending on what the report says, I might have to ask for a second opinion. From a private shrink. Which could give us another month.”
This time she returned the smile. “So when can you request this BCX?”
A twinkle came into his eyes. “I already did. At the arraignment.”
Georgia’s mouth opened.
Kelly gave her a lopsided but genuine grin.
“Smooth, counselor.” She’d underestimated the man. She made some calculations. Today was the eighth of October. “So it’s possible we might have to go back into court till December?”
“It’s up to the judge. Remember, the prosecution is in the catbird seat. They might even have the judge in their pocket.”
“But you’re trying.”
“Apparently.”
Georgia stood up. “So why did you come on so—hard-assed—in the first place?”
He shrugged.
“You were checking me out.”
He stood up too. “Maybe.” He paused. “Or maybe it was what I told you.”
“What’s that?”
He smiled. “I’m buying my way into heaven.”
She almost believed him.
After copying the discovery documents at a nearby Kinko’s, Georgia returned them to Kelly. She was surprised when he handed her a check from Ruth Jordan.
“A down payment,” he said.
She slipped it into her pocket and headed back to Evanston, grateful she’d passed muster.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WHITE Volvo careened around the corner so fast the driver had to slam on the brakes. Georgia knew the woman behind the wheel. Ellie Foreman was involved in a case Georgia worked on when she was still on the force. In fact, it was the case that had triggered her suspension. Despite that, Georgia ended up liking Foreman. Except for moments like this when the woman displayed a sense of entitlement that made Georgia bristle. Why did some people assume they could break the rules? To be fair, though, Foreman wasn’t alone. Especially on the North Shore.
“Comes with the territory,” O’Malley used to say. “They’re all lawyers and doctors and VIPs who tell you how connected they are. Some are. Some aren’t. Still, always address them as Miss or Mr. And treat ’em with kid gloves, even more so when you catch them red-handed.”
As the Volvo lurched to a stop on the driveway, Georgia decided to keep her mouth shut. She wasn’t a cop anymore. What did she care if someone broke the rules? A moment later, the driver opened the door and climbed out, pulling off the baseball cap she wore and releasing a mop of blond curls.
Not Ellie. Rachel, her daughter.
Georgia watched as the girl, oblivious to Georgia, retrieved her back pack and a white plastic bag. She stuffed the bag into her backpack and hoisted it up on her shoulder. When had she turned sixteen? Georgia used to resent it when her grandmother got her age wrong, which happened all the time. She’d vowed never to do that to a young person; it was insulting. She tugged on her corduroy jacket.
“Rachel!”
The girl spun around. “Georgia!” A string of emotions paged across her face: surprise, joy, finally guilt. “Oh, God. I didn’t see
you.”
“No kidding,” Georgia said dryly. “You always race around the corner that fast? How long have you had your license?”
The girl’s cheeks reddened. “Please don’t tell my mom. I won’t do it again. It was just—” She cut herself off. “Hey, you’re not in uniform. You have the day off?”
“Nice try. But changing the subject won’t do it. What if one of the little kids you used to babysit was running up the street?”
Rachel nervously unrolled the cuff of her sweater, although it already reached to her wrist. “I won’t do it again. Really.”
Georgia nodded. She didn’t want to be too hard on the kid. Rachel was the reason she’d come over.
Rachel seemed to realize the all-clear had been given and relaxed. “Hey, why are you here? Is something wrong?”
“No.”
Rachel started to shrug the backpack off her shoulder.
“But I do want to ask you a few questions.”
She squinted and furrowed her brow. “About what?”
“How ’bout we go inside?”
As they walked up to the house, Georgia guessed Rachel had grown at least two inches; she was almost as tall as Georgia. Her blond curls, as distinctive as her mother’s dark ones, were cut short and held in place with a wide headband. Her blue eyes were clear and bright, and the hint of a smile touched her lips, as if she was just waiting for the right punch line to burst out laughing. Rachel was turning out to be quite a young woman.
“What’s up?” Rachel went around to the back door and twisted the knob. It was open.
Georgia stepped into the kitchen. It looked the same as it did the last time she was here: butcher block table, white appliances, dark wood cabinets. “I want to ask you about Sara Long.”
“I thought so.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “That’s all anyone is talking about.”
“It was a…” Georgia chose her words carefully. “… significant event.”
“No sh—kidding.”
“Hey, Rach.” A voice from upstairs called down. “Did you get what you needed?”
Easy Innocence Page 4
