by Sharon Pape
In the top spot was finding Ryan’s killer. There was a good chance that when we did, it would turn out to be the same person who’d killed the five victims on the list, six if we included Hermit Henry. Although Travis and I agreed about speaking to Epps as soon as possible, we were stuck on how to make it happen. Being forthcoming would never work. “Mr. Epps, my partner and I would like to interview you. In what regard, you ask? Well, we’d like to know why you lose so many cases to Sam Crawford.” Not a scenario likely to win us the entrée we sought. What could we say that could get us in his door? Although Travis had the experience of an investigative journalist, I was a woman and women tend to have a more cunning turn of mind. “Mr. Epps, we’re doing research for a story about defense attorney Sam Crawford. We’ve talked to a lot of people who sang his praises, but no story is complete without hearing from his detractors as well. You’ve faced off against Mr. Crawford in the courtroom on a number of occasions, and we’ve been given to believe that your relationship with him is barely cordial. Would you be willing to provide us with your impressions of the man?”
Epps sounded harried when he finally agreed to take my call, but after I’d run through my little speech, he was able to squeeze us in at four o’clock on Friday. I expected a juicy interview. After all, I’d just handed the man a-once-in-a-lifetime chance for some measure of revenge. If Travis and I worded our questions the right way, we stood to learn plenty about the CP in the process. In case he choked and was reluctant to admit how he really felt about Crawford, I’d found an old spell of Morgana’s that might help ensure his honesty. The only problem was that it required thyme, a red candle, and a flat plate on which to put the herb. Since it wasn’t possible to use any of those items in front of the man, I’d have to rely entirely on the words of the spell.
Travis and I worked on questions and follow-up strategies over the phone. When Friday arrived, I closed the shop at two forty-five and plucked a testy Sashkatu from his window ledge. “Must you?” his bleary eyes seemed to say. “How would you like to be toted around at another’s whim?” Back at the house, I set him on top of the sofa. He grunted his displeasure, before falling right back to sleep. I had Tilly on call to feed him and his brethren if I wasn’t back by six.
I raced upstairs and shed my chinos and cowl-neck sweater for more business-like attire. I went all out—the burgundy suit that showed off my curves and a hint of cleavage and high-heeled, black suede boots. I pulled my hair back into what my grandmother called a “French twist” and applied lipstick in the shade of a good Chianti. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.
I was supposed to meet Travis in the lobby of the courthouse where Epps had his office, so we could walk in together like the team we were supposed to be. Travis had been staying in Ryan’s apartment whenever he was in the Glen. He’d worked out the same month to month arrangement Ryan had had.
I walked into the courthouse a couple of minutes before four o’clock. Travis was already there. He did a double take when he saw me, but managed to tuck his eyeballs back in their sockets by the time I reached him. We’d agreed that we had to be all business for the interview and it had to start before we even hit the lobby. No hello kisses, not even a friendly peck on the cheek, nothing to indicate we were more than work partners. It was unlikely we’d get another opportunity to speak to Epps, and we couldn’t take the chance of ruining this one by appearing unprofessional.
The County Prosecutor’s office was easy to find once the woman at the little information desk told us, with a wink, to follow the sounds of the party. The party turned out to be ten people milling around the anteroom of the CP’s office, eating chocolate cake. According to the Mylar balloons anchored to the desk by pink foil-covered weights, Travis and I had walked in on a bridal shower. The bride-to-be was the CP’s secretary, Lena. She was easy to pick out by the huge smile on her face. Since we were early, we stayed at the periphery of the group until a clock somewhere in the building chimed the hour. Reminded of the time, Lena looked past her co-workers, and saw us. She nodded in our direction and got busy shooing out all the celebrants.
“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” she said as she came up to me. Travis had wandered away to look at something.
“Not at all,” I said, adding my best wishes.
“I’ll let Mr. Epps know you’re here.” She went to the closed door beyond her desk and knocked. Apparently, Epps wasn’t into bridal showers, which made me think of him as churlish and unsociable. Lena opened the door partway and announced us. I didn’t catch his response, but she motioned to us. “He’s ready to see you.”
Travis was standing at the easel with its photo montage of the bride and groom-to-be. He turned when I called his name. “Sorry,” he said, joining Lena and me at the door. “I like your board there—nice way to give people a little bio of your lives.”
“Thank you,” Lena said as she ushered us in and closed the door softly behind us. The room was small, but not cramped. The desk was utilitarian. It held a computer monitor and keyboard along with a pile of teetering file folders and loose paperwork. A professional-looking photograph of Epps with his wife and two boys occupied a central spot on the wall across from his desk. A handful of framed diplomas and prints of famous paintings adorned the other walls.
Epps pushed back from his desk and came around to greet us with a smile and a hearty handshake—the preeminent politician. He was tall and lean with thinning hair and large ears. Wire-rimmed glasses magnified his blue-gray eyes. He was in shirtsleeves, his suit jacket hung over the back of his chair. I noticed that he’d chewed his fingernails down to the quick and attacked his cuticles, until a couple of them had bled. It seemed the CP had anxiety issues.
“Please make yourselves comfortable,” he said, waiting until we were settled in the two chairs facing the desk, before he retired to his own. “Before we begin, I’d like to correct a misapprehension you seem to have about Sam Crawford. He is far from universally lauded or liked.”
I was doing a little dance in my head. I had gotten to him with my speech. High five, Nancy!
“Do you have any objection to the session being taped?” Travis inquired. “It helps ensure that we don’t misquote you.”
“Go right ahead. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being misquoted.” I couldn’t tell from his tone if he was being sarcastic.
Travis placed his phone on the edge of the desk. I launched the interview. “In doing research for the article on Mr. Crawford, we found about two dozen cases over the years in which you were the prosecutor and Crawford was the defense attorney. Does that sound accurate?”
“More or less,” he replied.
“How would you describe your relationship with him during those trials?” Travis asked.
“Polite, but heated at times. That’s to be expected, given that our jobs are adversarial in nature.”
“How would you characterize his performance in the courtroom?” Travis followed up.
Epps took a minute to consider his answer. “Performance is actually a good word to describe Crawford’s style. Sometimes it seems like he’s playing the part of an attorney in a movie. That’s not to say he isn’t an attorney,” he hurried to add, “but he does lean heavily on theatrics.”
I was racing through the spell in my head:
Let fear and caution leave your mind.
Fret and worry leave behind.
What is true may now be spoken,
What was hidden be now open.
“I imagine that can get irritating,” I said, trying to draw an emotional response from him.
“Sure, it can chafe, especially when Crawford carries things too far, too often. I object, the judge sustains the objection and orders it stricken from the record. Unfortunately, there’s no way to strike it from the jurors’ minds.”
“In other words, he doesn’t fight fair.”
&n
bsp; Epps laughed wryly “Fair or not, lawyers use that tactic all the time. Some judges are more tolerant of it than others. He’s been reprimanded on a number of occasions, even threatened with contempt of court. Truth be told, I would have loved to see him thrown in jail in one of those damn custom suits he wears.” His words had acquired a vindictive edge, mirrored by the steely blue in his eyes.
Travis gave me a quick “What’s-going-on?” look. I hadn’t told him about the spell, because I didn’t know if it would work. I wasn’t even using the props it required. And some people are simply impervious to it. I was afraid worrying about it might throw him off his game. I should have known better. He picked up the interview without missing a beat. “Do you think Crawford’s tactics are the reason he’s racked up so many acquittals?”
“Can’t say for sure. He does know how to charm the ladies, though, and he’s partial to seating as many of them on a jury as he can. Look, he appeals to people’s emotions and while it may not be politically correct to say it, women are generally more in touch with their feelings.” He looked at me, possibly to see if I was offended. I had my own act to play, so I smiled to reassure him. He gave me a lopsided smile in return.
“After a grand jury decides there’s enough evidence to send a case to trial, it has to be frustrating as hell to watch a defendant walk free because of Crawford,” I said.
“Frustrating sure, but above all worrisome.”
“Worrisome?” I asked.
“Let’s say the cops arrest a guy for driving in the wrong direction on a highway. He’s either drunk or strung out on drugs. If we’re lucky he didn’t kill anyone. This time. But what happens when all he gets is a slap on the wrist?”
“Wouldn’t he lose his license for something like that?” I asked.
Epps wagged his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’d be surprised, or maybe the word should be horrified, if you knew how many people go right on driving impaired without a license. The cops arrest them, and lawyers like Crawford get them off again. Sometimes they do a little time—never enough. We’re like the Department of Fish and Game,” he continued grimly. “We have our own catch and release program, only those guys have it easier. Fish don’t drive.”
“Have any of Crawford’s success stories gone on to kill someone?” It wasn’t one of our prepared questions, but I had to know. A drunk driver had killed my mother and grandmother. In their case, the cops never caught the guy. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been arrested before and if Sam Crawford had set him free.
“I’m sorry to say it’s happened more than once. If you want more information, you’ll have to do the legwork yourselves. It’s all in the public records.”
Travis and I were both silent for a moment. He recovered first. “It’s clear that you’re dedicated to your work, Mr. Epps.”
“Call me Brad. I must be dedicated, otherwise why would I choose to work for the government, instead of chasing money in private practice?”
“I take it you’re referring to Sam Crawford,” I said.
Epps leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Look, I believe everyone deserves a fair trial in this country, which by definition means they deserve competent legal representation. Do I wish all the defense attorneys were above stretching the rules to serve their clients? Hell, yeah. But without a good win record, they’re not going to get the buzz necessary to bring in the big bucks.”
“Do you ever think about switching sides?” Travis asked.
The CP sat back in his seat. “Every time I get my kid’s tuition bill,” he said wryly. “Will I ever? No, I’m not built for it. I have an overactive conscience and I’ve grown fond of sleeping at night.”
“Makes you wonder how Crawford can sleep,” I murmured.
“I actually asked him once,” Epps said. “You know his answer? ‘I sleep just fine, because I know somebody has to do the job in order for the system to work. Why shouldn’t it be me?’”
“Too bad superheroes don’t really exist,” I said, lightly. “They could clean up whatever the courts get wrong.”
Let fear and caution leave your mind.
Fret and worry leave behind.
What is true may now be spoken,
What was hidden be now open.
“If one of them happened to ring my doorbell, I’d —” Epps stopped short and shook his head. “Sorry, where was I?”
“Superheroes?” I prompted, though I knew the signs; the CP’s shields had finally gone up. I could forget about getting any more uncensored remarks from him.
“What do you think of Crawford as a person?” Travis asked as the silence lengthened and Epps didn’t pick up on my cue.
He blinked rapidly and licked his lips before responding. “Now that’s… That’s a tough question. I don’t have any real experience with the man outside of court. We’ve never gone out for a beer after work or passed a comment about sports or the weather when our paths cross. I can’t deny that he makes my life harder on a daily basis, but I doubt he wakes up in the morning and thinks, ‘I’m going to squash Epps today.’ I’m a small annoyance to him. Most likely he wakes up thinking about how much his stock portfolio is worth or how much he’ll make on his next case. Have you interviewed him yet?”
Travis fielded the question, a good thing since I didn’t know what to say. “No, we wanted to get an overall feel for the man before speaking to him. You’ve been a big help in rounding out his public profile for us.” In one smooth, practiced move, he rose, scooped up his phone, and reached across the desk to shake the CP’s hand. “Many thanks for your time.”
“And for your candor,” I couldn’t resist adding. Epps’s brow furrowed as if he wasn’t sure about my meaning. Before he could figure it out, Travis propelled me out the door with his hand on the small of my back.
“Was that some magickal footwork you laid on good ol’ Brad?” Travis asked as we walked out of the courthouse. The sun was low in the sky, the temperature already dropping. I pulled my coat closed over my suit. “A bit,” I said, “just to loosen him up.” Travis grinned and pulled me closer to his side. “There’s a Starbucks down a bit. Do you have time for coffee before you head home? I’d like to get your take on the interview while it’s fresh in your mind.”
“Make it a hot chocolate and I’m in.”
Chapter 27
Travis set the two cups on the table, mine distinguishable by its crown of whipped cream, and sank down beside me on the little sofa. “Before we get started on Epps,” he said, “I took your advice and located an article about Hermit Henry. Guess who his attorney was?”
“It’s not really a guess at this point,” I said. “But how did he afford Crawford?”
“It seems that although Henry lived like he was destitute, he had a fortune stashed in the bank—generations of family wealth. And he was an only child. Apparently, arson wasn’t his only peculiarity.”
“So,” I said, “what did you take away from our talk with call-me-Brad?”
“For one thing, he’s a pretty talented actor himself. Without that spell of yours, we wouldn’t have gotten that glimpse inside. I bet there’s a deep pit of resentment boiling away in him. You hit a sore spot with the remark about Crawford’s popularity. Epps couldn’t let it go unchallenged.”
The cocoa was too hot to drink right away, but it did a good job of warming my hands while I nibbled on the whipped cream. “But was that resentment enough to make him take justice into his own hands?”
“It’s a tough call,” Travis said. “Epps spent a good part of his life upholding the law. That can’t be an easy one-eighty to make.”
“He’s got to feel like a failure. I would if I were in his shoes.”
“He definitely has a logical motive, but the overriding factor has to be an individual’s breaking point. Are there mitigating factors that would weigh in that kind of decision? In his case, there�
��s a wife and kids whose world would be upended if he were caught and sent away. That possibility has to come with its own weighty rasher of guilt.”
“What if he hired someone to do the killing for him?” I said.
“That’s usually a big mistake. No hired gun is going to have your best interests at heart. And if they’re caught, they’ll give you up in a heartbeat. Besides, how could Epps afford to hire a killer? That kind of work doesn’t come cheap.”
“Too bad, it would have been nice to solve the case this quickly.” The cocoa had finally cooled enough for me to drink it without risking third degree burns. “Here’s another thought, Epps mentioned that people died as a result of Crawford’s clients being acquitted. The families who suffered those losses also have motives for going after the person responsible.”
“That would mean one person isn’t responsible for all the deaths Ryan was investigating,” Travis pointed out.
“Since almost everyone on his list was killed by a different method, it does beg the question.”
“Maybe, but I still think one wily killer could have murdered them all, using various methods and leaving long lapses between killings to cut down on the chance he or she would catch the attention of the police. Flying below the radar, so to speak. That’s the kind of thing that would have occurred to Ryan and piqued his interest.”
“Granted,” I said, “but we still need to find out who took those innocent lives and talk to the families of the victims. In order to do that, we first have to find out their names.”
