My Sister's Grave

by Robert Dugoni

  “Calloway needed to put my alibi into question so he could obtain the search warrants. Before Hagen, Calloway’s investigation was going nowhere.”

  “But why would Hagen lie and risk criminal prosecution?”

  “I don’t know, maybe to collect the ten-thousand-dollar reward being offered.”

  “No evidence of that,” Dan said. Tracy had never found any proof of payment from her father to Ryan Hagen, and Hagen had denied receiving the reward at trial.

  “Who was going to call him on it?” House let his question linger as he considered them both. “Who was a jury going to believe, a convicted rapist or Joe Q. Citizen? Putting me on the stand to refute it was the stupidest thing Finn could have done. It allowed them to ask me questions about my prior rape conviction.”

  “What about the blood they found in your truck?” Tracy asked.

  House shifted his attention to Dan. “Mine. I didn’t lie about it. I told Calloway I cut myself in the shop. I went to the truck for my smokes before I went inside.” He looked to Tracy. “And don’t insult me anymore about DNA. If they’d run a DNA test on the blood and proven it was your sister’s, you wouldn’t be sitting here. Why are you here?”

  “If we were to get involved,” Tracy said, “you’d need to cooperate fully. If at any time I think you’re not telling the truth, we walk.”

  “I’m the only one who told the truth about that night.” House sat back from the table. “Get involved how?”

  Tracy nodded to Dan. He said, “I believe there could be new evidence, unavailable at your trial, which now raises a reasonable doubt about your guilt.”

  “Such as?”

  “Before I discuss specifics, I need to first know if you want my assistance.”

  House studied him. “Do I want to retain you as my attorney, which would protect our conversations as privileged, and in which case Detective Tracy here would need to leave the table?”

  “That’s right,” Dan said.

  “First, you tell me what your intent is.”

  “I’d file a motion for post-conviction relief based on the new evidence and ask for a hearing in order to present it.”

  “Old Judge Lawrence still on the bench?”

  “Retired,” Tracy said.

  Dan said, “The papers are filed with the Court of Appeals. If they grant a hearing, I’d ask that it be presided over by a judge brought in from outside Cascade County. It would pretty much force their hand.”

  “It wasn’t the judge who convicted me; a Cascade County jury did that.”

  “There wouldn’t be a jury this time. We’d present the evidence directly to the judge.”

  House considered the tabletop before lifting his gaze. “Would you get to put on witnesses?”

  “I’d cross-examine the witnesses who testified at your first trial.”

  “Yeah? Would that include that big shot Calloway? Or is he retired too?”

  “He testified the first time,” Dan said.

  “What’s it going to be?” Tracy said.

  House closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dan looked like he wanted to say more to convince House, but Tracy shook her head to indicate he shouldn’t oversell it. When House opened his eyes, he looked at her and grinned. “Looks like it’s you and me again, Detective Tracy.”

  “It was never you and me, and it never will be.”

  “No? I’ve been filing appeals for nearly twenty years.” He pointed to her left hand. “No wedding ring. No tan line from a ring you removed before coming here. Narrow hips. Flat stomach. Never married. No kids. What’ve you been doing with your time, Detective Tracy?”

  “You’ve got ten seconds to make up your mind before we walk.”

  House again gave her that sick, beguiling grin. “Oh, I’ve made up my mind. In fact, I can already see it.”

  “See what?”

  “The looks on the faces of all those people when they see me walking the streets of Cedar Grove again.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Vance Clark was wearing a baseball cap and had his head down, but Roy Calloway still recognized him, reading at a table near the back of the bar. Clark looked up when Calloway slid back the chair opposite him. “I hope they have a killer happy hour,” Calloway said. Clark had picked a bar in Pine Flat, two exits down the freeway from Cedar Grove. Calloway removed his jacket and hooked it over the back of the chair as he addressed an approaching waitress. “Johnnie Walker Black with a splash. Don’t baptize it.” He had to speak over the clatter of billiard balls and country music playing on an old-fashioned juke box.

  “Wild Turkey,” Clark said, though his glass on the table was still half-full.

  Calloway sat and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. Clark flipped back to the first page of what he’d been reading and slid it across the table toward him. “Shit, Vance, you going to make me put on my glasses?”

  “It’s a pleading,” Clark said.

  “I can see that.”

  “Filed in the Court of Appeals. In re: Edmund House.”

  Calloway picked the papers up. “Well, it isn’t his first appeal, and I’m sure it won’t be his last. Did you drag me all the way out here just to show me this?”

  Clark adjusted the bill of his cap and sat back, drink in hand. “House didn’t file it. It was filed on his behalf.”

  “He’s got an attorney?”

  Clark drained his glass. The ice clinked. “I think you should put on your glasses.”

  Calloway pulled them from his pocket and slipped them on, eyeballing Clark before considering the pleading.

  “The law firm is along the bottom of the page, right-hand side,” Clark said.

  “The Law Offices of Daniel O’Leary.” Calloway flipped through the pages. “What are the grounds?”

  “New evidence not available at the time of trial and incompetence of legal counsel. But it isn’t an appeal. It’s a motion for post-conviction relief.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  The waitress returned and set Calloway’s drink on the table and replaced Clark’s empty glass with a full one.

  Clark waited for her to depart before he explained. “If the Court of Appeals agrees, they can remand it for a hearing. House would get to introduce evidence to prove his initial trial wasn’t conducted fairly.”

  “You mean a new trial?”

  “It’s more of an evidentiary hearing, but if you’re asking whether he’d get to put on witnesses, the answer is yes.”

  “DeAngelo seen this yet?”

  “I doubt it,” Clark said. “Technically he hasn’t been House’s legal counsel for years. The proof of service doesn’t list him.”

  “You talk to him about it?”

  Clark shook his head. “I didn’t think it wise, with his heart condition and all. But he’s listed as a witness, if the Court of Appeals grants the motion. So are you.”

  Calloway flipped the pages and found his name just above “Ryan P. Hagen,” second from the bottom of the list. “Does it hold water?”

  “Like the Hoover Dam.” Clark slumped in his chair. “I thought you said you’d convinced her to let this go.”

  “I thought I did.”

  Clark’s brow furrowed. “She’s never let this go, Roy. Not from the very start.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Ryan Hagen opened his front door and greeted Tracy with a sheepish smile. Then he acted as if he didn’t recognize her. Four years since the trial, it was possible he didn’t, but Tracy saw that moment of hesitation in his expression that indicated he remembered exactly who she was.

  “Can I help you?” Hagen asked.

  “Mr. Hagen, I’m Tracy Crosswhite. Sarah was my sister.”

  “Yes, of course,” Hagen said, quickly resorting to his salesman’s demeanor. He shook her hand. “I’m sorry. I see so many faces in my line of work they tend to blend together. What are you doing here?”

  “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions,” she said.

  Ha
gen glanced over his shoulder into the small house. It was Saturday morning, and Tracy heard what sounded like cartoons coming from a television. Hagen had testified that he was married with two young children. He stepped out onto the tiny porch, closing the door behind him. His hair, currently not held in place by hair product, fell across his forehead, and his round shape was more pronounced in a T-shirt, plaid shorts, and flip-flops. “How did you find me?”

  “You gave your address at trial.”

  “You remembered it?”

  “I ordered the transcripts.”

  Hagen’s eyes narrowed. “You ordered the transcripts? Why would you order the transcripts?”

  “Mr. Hagen, I was wondering if you could tell me the television station you were watching when they ran the report on Edmund House that triggered your memory.”

  Hagen crossed his arms and rested them on his stomach. The smile faded. He looked bewildered. “I didn’t say it was a report on Edmund House.”

  “Sorry, I meant the report on my sister being missing. Do you remember the station? Or maybe the broadcaster?”

  His brow furrowed. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “I know it’s an inconvenience. It’s just that . . . well, I have the newscasts for that time period and—”

  Hagen unfolded his arms. “You have the newscasts? Why would you have the newscasts?”

  “I was just hoping you could tell me—”

  “I testified to everything at trial. If you have the transcripts, you know what I said. Now, I’m sorry, but I have things to do.” He turned and reached for the door handle.

  “Why did you say you saw the red Chevy stepside on the road, Mr. Hagen?”

  Hagen turned back. “How dare you. I helped put that animal away. If it wasn’t for me . . .” Hagen flushed.

  “If it wasn’t for you what?” Tracy asked.

  “I’d like you to leave now.” Hagen pushed on the door but it wouldn’t open. He shook the handle.

  “If it wasn’t for you saying you saw the Chevy truck, we wouldn’t have gotten the search warrant. Is that what you were going to say?”

  Hagen banged on the door. “I told you I’d like you to leave.”

  “Is that what someone told you?” Hagen banged harder. “Is that why you said it? Did someone say it would help get the search warrants? Mr. Hagen, please.”

  The door pulled open. Hagen ushered a small boy away from the door and stepped across the threshold, turning to face her, already closing the door. “Don’t come back,” he said. “I’ll call the police.”

  “Was it Chief Calloway?” Tracy said, but Hagen had shut the door.

  CHAPTER 28

  Dan had figured he’d hear from Roy Calloway, though not this quickly. Cedar Grove’s sheriff sat in the lobby of Dan’s office, casually flipping through a months-old magazine from a collection on the coffee table and biting into an apple. He was dressed in full uniform, his hat resting on the chair beside him.

  “Sheriff. This is a surprise.”

  Calloway put down his magazine and stood. “You’re not surprised to see me, Dan.”

  “I’m not?”

  He chewed another bite of apple. “You did list me as a witness on that pleading you filed.”

  “Word always did travel fast here in Cedar Grove.” With no court appearances, Dan had dressed casually in jeans and a button-down. He liked to wear slippers in the office. Now he wished he’d worn shoes, though the discrepancy in their heights wasn’t nearly as significant as it had been back when Calloway used to stop Dan on his bike to ask what he was up to.

  “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

  “How is it going to impact your business when word spreads you’re representing Edmund House, the convicted murderer of one of Cedar Grove’s own?”

  “I suppose my criminal practice could pick up.”

  Calloway smirked. “Always the smart-ass, weren’t you, O’Leary? I wouldn’t count on that.”

  “Well, unless you have some stock tips to go along with your prediction for my legal career, I have work to do.” Dan turned to leave.

  “You have questions for me, Dan, here I am. I haven’t hid a single day my thirty-five years on the job. Somebody has questions for me, I’m happy to answer them.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Dan said. “But I have to do it in a court of law, after you’re sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

  Calloway took another bite of his apple, taking a moment to chew before saying, “I did that once, Dan. Are you saying I lied?”

  “That isn’t for me to decide; that’s for a judge.”

  “Judge already did that too. You’re rehashing old business.”

  “Maybe. We’ll see what the Court of Appeals has to say.”

  “What did she tell you, Dan?” Calloway paused and gave him a sardonic grin. “She tell you that no one asked Hagen the news show he was watching or that Sarah had different earrings?”

  “I’m not going to discuss this with you, Sheriff.”

  “Hey, I know she’s a friend, Dan, but she’s been on this crusade for twenty years. She tried to use me and now she’s using you. She’s obsessed, Dan. It killed her father and drove her mother crazy and now she’s sucking you into her fantasy. Don’t you think it’s time to put it to bed?”

  Dan paused. When Tracy had first come to him, that had been exactly what he’d thought, that she was a sister unable to get past her guilt and grief, obsessed with trying to find answers to questions that had already been answered. But then he’d looked at the file and her reasoning had seemed just like the Tracy he’d always known, the leader of their little band of friends—practical, dogged, and logical. “You’d have to ask her that. I represent Edmund House.”

  Calloway held out the apple core. “Then maybe you could throw this out for me, since you’re apparently adept at handling garbage.”

  Unruffled, Dan took the core. So far he’d found Calloway’s attempts to intimidate him to be more pathetic than threatening. He tossed the core into a pail behind the desk on the first attempt. “I think what you’re going to learn, Sheriff, is I’m adept at my job. You might want to remember that.”

  Calloway fit his hat onto his head. “I got a call from one of your neighbors. He says your dogs have been barking something fierce during the day, sometimes late at night. We do have an ordinance in town about dogs disturbing the peace. First offense is a fine. Second offense, we take the dogs.”

  Dan felt his anger build and fought to control it. Threaten him? Fine. Don’t threaten innocent animals. “Really? You can’t do any better than that?”

  “Don’t try me, Dan.”

  “I’m not going to try you, Sheriff, but if the Court of Appeals grants my petition, I am going to seriously cross-examine you.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Tracy typed up the details of a recent witness interview regarding the Nicole Hansen case file. A month had passed since they’d discovered the young woman’s body in the motel on Aurora Avenue, and pressure was building to find the young stripper’s killer. The SPD had not had an unsolved homicide since Johnny Nolasco had become Chief of Investigations, something Nolasco was proud of and quick to point out. And Nolasco didn’t need any additional reason to bust Tracy’s chops. They had a turbulent history dating back to Tracy’s time at the police academy, where Nolasco, one of her instructors, had demonstrated a simulated pat-down by grabbing her breast. Tracy had responded by breaking his nose and kneeing him in the nuts. She’d then further bruised his ego by breaking his long-standing shooting-range record.

  Any thought that Nolasco had mellowed with age had vanished when Tracy had become Seattle’s first female homicide detective. Nolasco, who’d risen to Chief of Investigations, had assigned her to work with his former partner, a racist chauvinist named Floyd Hattie. Hattie had made a stink about it and promptly dubbed her “Dickless Tracy.” Tracy later learned that Hattie had already put in for retirement, meaning Nol
asco had made the assignment just to embarrass her.

  If nothing else, the Hansen investigation was keeping her busy and distracted. Dan said the State had sixty days to respond to Edmund House’s Petition for Post-Conviction Relief, and he expected Vance Clark to take every one of those days. Tracy told herself she’d already waited twenty years, she could wait two more months, but now each day seemed like an eternity.

  She answered her desk phone, noting it was an outside line.

  “Detective Crosswhite, this is Maria Vanpelt from KRIX Channel 8.”

  Tracy immediately regretted answering. The Homicide Unit maintained a civil relationship with police beat reporters, but Vanpelt—whom they referred to as “Manpelt” for her proclivity to be seen draped on the arms of some of Seattle’s more prominent men—was the exception.

  Early in Tracy’s career, Vanpelt had sought an interview for a story about discrimination against female officers in the Seattle Police Department. Tracy had declined. When Tracy had made Homicide, Vanpelt had requested another interview, ostensibly to profile Tracy as Seattle’s first female homicide detective. Not wanting to draw any additional attention to herself, and now educated by others that hatchet jobs, not human-interest pieces, were Vanpelt’s specialty, Tracy had again declined.

  Their dicey professional relationship did not improve. Vanpelt had somehow obtained confidential information about a gang murder investigation on which Tracy was the lead detective. Two of Tracy’s witnesses had been gunned down within hours of Vanpelt airing the information on her show, KRIX Undercover. Caught off guard by a competing news crew at the scene of the murders, an angry and frustrated Tracy had not minced her words about Vanpelt having blood on her hands. And the Homicide Unit had frozen Vanpelt out, refusing to talk to her, until Nolasco had issued an edict directing them to cooperate with all media.

  “How’d you get my direct line?” Tracy asked. The media was supposed to go through the Public Information Office, but many reporters found ways to get through to direct desk numbers.