by Diane Capri
“I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m a bit early, but I had a little time before my next meeting. Could I pick up the file now?”
“Where are you?”
“In your parking lot.” Jordan didn’t mention her police detail was sitting not fifty feet away, too.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll unlock the front door.”
Jenny Lane waited on the wide verandah. She was dark, compact and totally unthreatening. She was dressed in jeans, flats, and a white boyfriend shirt. She looked younger today than the last time Jordan was here. Brown curly hair, very little makeup, and totally casual. The dimple in her chin flashed when she smiled. “Come on in.”
She took a deep breath before walking into the building, even though she knew it wouldn’t help much. The old building was dusty and made Jordan sneeze.
Jenny closed the front door and locked it. “The file is back here.”
Jordan followed the shorter woman through the parlor to Jenny’s personal office at the opposite end of the corridor. They sat in navy blue leather client chairs on the front side of Jenny’s desk.
Logistically, collecting the murder file felt strangely simple. After a few words of small talk, Jordan handed over the consent form signed by her dad, and Jenny Lane used two hands to deliver a thick, expandable red file with an elastic stretched around it.
That was all. No lightning or thunder. The ground didn’t open up and swallow Jordan. Nothing like that.
“The original file materials are in that redwell, but I’ve kept copies.” Jenny’s perfectly arched brows dipped low over the bridge of her nose and her eyes softened. “Be careful, Jordan. Once you look at those materials, you can’t unsee any of it. Be very sure you want to live with those images and facts in your head forever, okay?”
Jordan nodded. Now that she had the file, she wanted desperately to leave. She hugged the redwell close to her chest. “I understand.”
“I hope you do, but I’m worried that you don’t know what you’re wrapped up in here.” Jenny Lane sat a little closer and placed a hand on Jordan’s forearm. “I’ve been following the reporting you’ve been doing on El Pulpo. Especially the arrests.”
Jordan raised her eyebrows. The statement surprised her. She nodded.
Jenny paused and cleared her throat, as if she was searching for the right words. “You know Hugo Diaz and Evan Groves and a few of the others have the same attorney, right? Don’t think for a second that’s a coincidence.”
What was she driving at? Jordan hadn’t told anyone about Evan Groves’s connection to her mom or the other connections she’d discovered. She’d tried to contact FBI Agent Terry Ryser for the past two days to talk about it, but they hadn’t connected yet.
“They’re both El Pulpo cartel, arrested on cartel business.” Jordan blinked to clear the fog in her head. “Stands to reason they’d have the same lawyer on speed dial, doesn’t it?”
Jordan hugged the redwell tighter. Odd thing was, Clayton said the lawyer was waiting at the jail for Hugo Diaz. Which meant Diaz didn’t need to call him at all.
“Maybe.” Jenny nodded slowly. “Or maybe they have a lot more in common.”
“Like what?” Jordan’s internal radar was up, but she was tired and she wasn’t sharp enough for a game of mental hide-and-seek right now.
“Brad Shane has been around a long time,” Jenny said, stalling.
A cold chill crept up Jordan’s back. Steady. Wait for it. Here it comes.
“Brad Shane was Anthony Grantham’s law partner at the time of your mother’s death.” Jenny watched Jordan’s face as if she expected a particular reaction, but what?
“Anthony Grantham.” The piece of news held more weight than Jordan could absorb at the moment, so she let it ghost right through her. She nodded. “My dad’s original attorney.”
“Right.”
“Was Shane connected to El Pulpo back then?”
“Hard to say.” Jenny shook her head. “I wasn’t living in Tampa when all of this happened. I moved here a few months later.”
“But my dad’s lawyer didn’t know Shane was connected to El Pulpo, right?”
Jenny took a deep breath. Her voice was a little unsteady. “Honestly, I don’t know. Anthony Grantham was a fine man. It’s hard to believe he’d associate with a crime cartel.”
Now Jordan narrowed her eyes and frowned. “But you’re worried. You think El Pulpo’s lawyer could have been connected to Dad’s defense somehow.”
“Probably not. I hope not.”
“You’ve read the file. You know things I don’t know. Why did the police stop treating my dad like a person of interest?”
CHAPTER 7
“That’s not exactly what happened.” Jenny leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“Well, for weeks they were hounding him constantly. He lost his job. We couldn’t stick our heads out the front door of our house. I couldn’t go back to school.” Jordan took a breath. “And then it just stopped. No more media. No cops following us everywhere. Nothing. Why?”
Jenny narrowed her eyes and gazed at Jordan for a few moments. She seemed to reach a decision of some kind. She inhaled deeply, which was a trick Jordan used to steady her nerves.
“Crime scene investigators found a coin, a quarter actually, under Brenda’s body.”
Jordan stared as if she’d said aliens had landed right in this very room. “I didn’t know that.”
“Forensics pulled a partial thumbprint from one side and a partial forefinger print from the other. Not belonging to Nelson or Brenda. Or you.” Jenny paused. “Mr. Grantham insisted the coin was left behind by the killer.”
Jordan’s mouth was dry as the Sahara. Her mind raced. Left behind. Did the killers leave anything behind? The question was asked at the press conference after Brenda’s murder. The police chief had said no, nothing was left behind. That’s what the papers reported at the time. What Jordan had read and believed.
But on the video she watched two days ago, Jordan saw the police chief say no, nothing was left behind, while his head nodded yes.
He’d lied. Simple as that.
What other lies had she believed?
She forced the words past her parched throat. “So they found evidence that someone else was there before my mom died.”
“The coin doesn’t really prove anything.” Jenny explained carefully, maybe because Jordan’s face looked as green as her stomach felt. “It was the location of the coin, found under her body, which meant it was dropped there sometime before she landed on it.”
Jordan absorbed each word like a body blow. She said nothing.
“But lots of coins are lying around everywhere. That alone wouldn’t have created reasonable doubt.” Jenny stopped as if Jordan needed a moment to comprehend.
Jordan waited.
“The coin had unidentified fingerprints on it. Not only didn’t they match Nelson. They weren’t a match to anyone in the databases or who’d been known to visit the house in the past month.” Jenny stopped again to let Jordan catch up.
“Investigators apparently decided Grantham was a good enough lawyer to create reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury with those facts.”
“Which meant they couldn’t convict my dad. Because of reasonable doubt. That’s why they stopped hounding him.” Jordan’s brain was slower than usual, but it still worked logically. “Dad said that police never came up with a motive of any kind. So the fingerprints on that coin were another hole they couldn’t fill with real evidence against my dad.”
“There was other circumstantial evidence and some of it eventually got settled in Nelson’s favor, too.” Jenny reminded her.
“You mean the alibi witness?” Jordan had pleaded with her dad to say where he’d been in those crucial three hours between the time he left school and the time he came home that night. He’d refused. “Dad couldn’t tell anybody that he’d gone to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting to support one of his best teachers. He’d never violate a confidence l
ike that. The man was already on probation at work and would have lost his job.”
Once the teacher came forward, Jordan had understood her dad’s reasons. Too bad the teacher wasn’t half as loyal to her dad. If that teacher had simply spoken up earlier? Well, who knows?
“There’s still a few problems for your dad. His missing fishing boots have never been found. The boots were the same size and type as the boot prints left by the killers. For a while, it seemed he’d escaped the scene in the neighbor’s stolen johnboat.” Jenny listed the bits that led too many people to conclude Nelson Fox had killed his wife. Or at least, hired someone to kill her.
“They found the missing boat and no forensic evidence in the boat tied to the murder,” Jordan reminded her, pushing the tiniest doubt aside. She’d never believe her dad was a killer. Never. He’d loved Brenda like crazy. She was more sure about that than anything else in her life.
Jenny said nothing. The evidence was either there or not there. Nothing Jenny said or Jordan believed could change that.
“So he’s definitely cleared forever.” It was a question, but Jordan said it like adding conviction to her voice would make it true.
“I’ve been in this business long enough to never say never or forever.” Jenny Lane clenched her jaw, unclenched and shrugged. “But he’s pretty damn clear. It’s not likely they’d come back after him now, unless some new evidence against him turned up.”
Jordan nodded silently letting the news sink in. Her dad was in the clear. He really was. Or at least, he could be. “I want an apology from them.”
“From who? The police?”
Jordan said, “Yes.”
“My sister was a crime suspect once, so I know how you feel.” Jenny smiled sympathetically. “I wish the system worked like that, Jordan. I really do. People who are wrongfully accused deserve better. After more than five years of practicing law, I’ve never seen that happen. Not once.”
Jordan barely heard. She wouldn’t argue or let Jenny convince her that a public apology was impossible. Her dad deserved exoneration in the community. People needed to know that he didn’t kill his wife.
All those people who had let their tongues run wild. They should be ashamed of themselves. And Detective Grey owed her.
Never say never…
“But, listen to me. This is important.” Jenny sat up straighter in the chair and flashed a quick glance at the clock. She put her hand on Jordan’s arm again to get her full attention. “Brad Shane was Anthony Grantham’s law partner. He was there when Nelson was under the microscope. He was there when the coin was found. And he was there when the fingerprint reports came in. He had access to your dad’s file, all of it. Maybe he had access to even more evidence that wasn’t shared with Grantham. Rumor is that Shane is well connected at the highest levels. And now he’s El Pulpo’s lawyer.”
“Right…” Jordan felt her eyes widen. Her heartbeat pounded hard against her chest. What exactly did she mean?
An alarm sounded from the clock on the desk. Jenny glanced at it, took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’ve got another meeting. But here’s the point, Jordan. As you go through that file, look for anything that’s odd or doesn’t ring true to you. Something isn’t right here. My lawyer’s gut tells me Brad Shane is at the bottom of this situation.”
Jordan gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. “You think he killed my mother?”
“No. No.” Jenny’s head shook quickly. “I’m not saying that. But I am saying he’s a smart guy and he’s connected to El Pulpo. And El Pulpo is at the center of everything you’ve been working on. Maybe I’m adding up the wrong numbers and reaching the wrong conclusions. But be careful. Forewarned is forearmed.”
Jordan smiled weakly. “My mom used to say that.”
Jenny gave her arm one last squeeze.
As Jordan walked out to her car with the heavy redwell, she wondered if she had fully comprehended everything Jenny Lane meant. She sat in the driver’s seat, file in her lap, struggling to regain her equilibrium.
Her hands trembled too badly to pull the elastic band aside and open the redwell. She needed coffee. Quiet time. She needed to think.
She moved the bulky file to Hermes’ passenger seat and rolled out of the parking lot. Her police detail followed close behind. All of a sudden, she felt more than grateful to have them with her, even as she planned to escape their constant watchful eye.
CHAPTER 8
Jordan steered Hermes slowly along the city streets toward the mansion, bewildered thoughts still swirling in her head. She grabbed her phone and noticed three text messages. Clayton, Theresa, and Tom Clark.
Hopefully Clayton would be gone by the time she got to the house. She didn’t want him to know what she’d learned. Not yet.
She’d see Theresa at work. Whatever she wanted could wait.
She called Tom. She’d told him most of her story already. He would help without questioning her every move or demanding explanations. She felt more comfortable with Tom than anyone else except her best friend, Claire, and her dad. Which was a fact that scared her when she dwelled on it too long.
“Good morning.” Jordan started speaking as soon as he picked up. She heard the quiver in her own voice and cleared her throat. “I’ve got four hours before work. Can you come to the mansion now and help me sort through some stuff?”
“You bet.” Tom’s reliably normal voice sounded sleepy but excited. “Did you get the file?”
“I got the file.” Why didn’t that news make her feel like fist-pumping the car’s ceiling?
Tom was waiting for her in the driveway when she reached the mansion. She parked behind him and her police detail parked on the street. Clayton’s car was nowhere in sight. Good.
“Couple things we have to do,” she said as she closed her car door and carried the redwell into the house, with Tom at her side. “Look through this file, and search my mom’s hard drive.”
She unlocked the back door and opened it. No strong breeze greeted her this time. She shivered anyway.
He followed her inside. “What are we looking for?”
“I’m not sure, exactly. That’s why I need your help. Fresh eyes.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but not a lie, either.
Tom nodded. “Just curious. Why the urgency?”
Reasonable question. She didn’t have a solid answer and she wasn’t ready to share her half-formed plans. “I feel like I’ve become caught up in something and I don’t know what it is. I’m fed up with it.”
She smiled a little. He’d been nothing but helpful to her. And she liked him. A lot. He deserved an honest answer. At some point, she’d tell him everything.
He gazed into her eyes for a few moments as if he was disappointed in her. She shrugged and turned away.
She planned to approach Agent Ryser and Clayton about the evidence she’d collected and what she’d learned from Jenny Lane. But first she had more things to figure out and not enough time to get the job done. “Which do you want? The file or the hard drive?”
Tom opened doors and checked around in the kitchen until he found the coffee pot and coffee. He busied himself with brewing. “I’ll take whichever is harder for you.”
Jordan closed the door. “Would you look through the hard drive? It’s my mother’s personal stuff. I keep getting emotionally hung up on it.”
“You got it.” The rich coffee aroma already wafted through the kitchen. Tom found mugs and sweetener and crossed to the refrigerator. “Any cream?”
“I think so. Top shelf.” She pointed him toward her laptop on the dining table, where the external hard drive was plugged into it. “Password is ILoveNelsonAndJordan. Maybe look for anything related to Aaron Robinson, which is Evan Groves’ real name. And check on a boy named Mark Gifford, too.”
She sucked up her courage and said aloud what she’d told no one else. She couldn’t prove it. Not yet. But she believed it with all her heart. “I think the other guy, the one who kidnapped me? Hugo Diaz? T
hat’s an alias, too. I think his real name might be Mark Gifford.”
With his head inside the refrigerator, he said, “Be right there. Go ahead and start without me.”
Jordan grabbed a glass of tap water, settled across from Tom’s seat at the laptop, and opened the redwell.
She started with a quick run through. There were folders inside labeled Correspondence, Transcripts, Bank Records and the like. All contained papers, lots of papers. One of the folders seemed promising. The label was December 4, 2009, timeline. She pulled it out and set it aside.
Several CDs in cases, with labels such as B. Fox Employment File and Inventory of Missing Items. A few of the CDs contained audio recordings. Nelson Fox first interview, Brenda Fox Press Conference and so on. Clear plastic pockets contained plastic sleeves filled by eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch pictures.
Jordan flipped through everything and zeroed in on the folder quickly.
After a few minutes at the keyboard, Tom said, “Find something helpful?”
“Maybe.” Jordan frowned without looking up. “A timeline for the day of the murder. It’s a little confusing because it has notes about where the information came from and some of it’s conflicting.”
“Um hm.” She heard the keyboard keys clacking.
“They couldn’t pinpoint the time of death. But they estimated that it happened between six and seven o’clock. But it was definitely before six forty-five, since that’s what time I got home and the killers were already gone.”
“Makes sense.” More clacking.
“So maybe a forty-five minute window to get in, kill her, and leave.” Jordan’s entire body hummed with nerves, but she pressed on as objectively as she could manage. “She’d stopped at the grocery store and the ATM and made a phone call to Dr. Chelsey Ross at 5:46 p.m. on the way home from work. Which is why they figured the murder couldn’t have happened before six o’clock.”
Jordan closed her eyes and recalled the kitchen that night. She’d seen her mom on the floor almost immediately. After that, she’d been busy with, well, other things. But what did she remember about the kitchen?
