“Anything on HITS?” Laub asked.
Tracy shook her head. “No.”
When the meeting broke up, Tracy was craving caffeine, but Williams met her at the door. “Hang out a minute,” he said, and she suspected she knew why.
When they were alone, Williams said, “Vanpelt’s show last night created a shit storm. You can expect another phone call.”
Vanpelt’s early Christmas present had been an hour-long report profiling Edmund House, Cedar Grove, and Tracy on her show, KRIX Undercover. Vanpelt had spliced historical photographs of the town with photographs of Tracy, Sarah, their parents, and Edmund House. She’d used interviews of Cedar Grove residents discussing how Sarah’s disappearance had shattered the town’s bucolic existence, the emotional impact the trial had had on the town, and how they felt about the possibility of going through it all over again. No one was happy about having their lives dragged back through the media mud.
Tracy leaned against the conference room table. “I thought it might,” she said to Williams. “How bad is it?”
“Media fielded two dozen requests for interviews from the local and national media, and that was before the Seattle Times ran the story on the front page this morning. They want an interview. So do CNN, MSNBC, and half a dozen others.”
“I’m not doing it, Billy. It won’t end the inquiries. It will only heighten the attention.”
“Laub and I agree,” Williams said. “And we’ve told Nolasco as much.”
“Yeah? What did he say?”
“He said, ‘what do we do if House gets a new hearing?’ ”
Nolasco rarely looked happy, but that afternoon when Tracy entered the conference room he was scowling like he’d received Botox injections while constipated. Lee again sat beside him, his chin resting on the palm of his hand and his eyes locked on a single sheet of paper on the table, no doubt another statement they’d ask Tracy to sign. She just couldn’t seem to keep from disappointing them.
“What’s the status of the Hansen investigation?” Nolasco asked, before Tracy had the chance to sit. Tracy didn’t think for a minute Nolasco had called the meeting to discuss the Hansen case.
“Not much different from when we spoke last night,” she said, pulling out a chair.
“And what are you doing to change that?”
“At the moment I’m sitting in here, so not much.”
“Maybe it’s time we brought in the FBI.”
“I’d rather work with a Boy Scout troop.” In Homicide, FBI stood for “Famous But Idiots.”
“Then I suggest you get me something to take upstairs.”
Tracy bit her tongue as Nolasco gave a nod to Lee, who reached below the table and retrieved a half-inch-thick stack of paper.
“We started getting these just after Ms. Vanpelt signed off last night,” Nolasco said, sliding the stack to her. Tracy flipped through copies of e-mails and transcribed phone messages. They weren’t pretty. Some called her unfit to wear the uniform. Others asked for her head on a platter.
“They want to know why a Seattle homicide detective sworn to serve and protect the public is working to free a piece of shit like Edmund House,” Nolasco said.
“These are the haters,” Tracy said. “They live for this. Are we going to start making decisions to appease the fringe now?”
“The Seattle Times, NBC, CBS, are they also the fringe?”
“We’ve been through this. They’re interested in sound bites and ratings.”
“Maybe,” Nolasco said, “but in light of recent events, we believe it prudent the department issue a statement on your behalf.”
“We’ve prepared something for your consideration,” Lee said.
“Consideration,” Nolasco said. “Not approval.”
Tracy motioned for Lee to slide the single sheet of paper across the table, though she had no intention of signing anything. They could issue what they wanted. They couldn’t make her attach her name to it.
Detective Crosswhite has had no official role in the investigation or in the proceedings to obtain Post-Conviction Relief for Edmund House. Should Detective Crosswhite be called upon to participate in these proceedings, it will be as a member of the victim’s family. She has not, and will not, officially or unofficially use her position as a Seattle homicide detective to influence the proceedings in any manner. She will have no comment on the proceedings or the results of those proceedings now or in the future.
She slid it back. “First you want me to comment. Now you’re forbidding it? I don’t even know what this means.”
“It means you will testify if subpoenaed,” Nolasco said. “That will be your only involvement. You are not to serve in any manner as a consultant for the defense.”
“Involvement in what?” She glanced to Laub and Williams, but they looked as confused as Tracy felt.
“We thought you knew,” Nolasco said, looking suddenly uneasy.
“Knew what?”
“The Court of Appeals granted Edmund House’s Petition for Post-Conviction Relief.”
Kins stood as Tracy hurried back to her cubicle to gather her things. “What happened?”
Tracy slipped on her coat, still not fully comprehending what she’d just heard. She’d waited twenty years, but now it seemed as if everything was moving too fast. She was having trouble processing it.
“Tracy?”
“The Court of Appeals granted the petition,” she said. “Nolasco just told me.”
“How the hell did he know?”
“I don’t know. I need to call Dan.” She grabbed her phone from her desk and started from the bull pen.
“When’s the hearing?”
“I don’t know that either.” She rushed to catch the elevator, seeking a private place to call Dan and take a moment alone to absorb everything. She felt like she’d taken a punch to the head and was still clearing cobwebs. The post-conviction relief hearing was the platform Tracy needed to demonstrate that the inconsistencies in the testimony and the evidence introduced at Edmund House’s first trial raised serious questions about his guilt. If Dan could get a judge to agree, the court would be forced to order a new trial, bringing Tracy one giant step closer to getting the investigation into Sarah’s death re-opened.
As the elevator descended, she squeezed her eyes shut. After twenty years, Sarah might finally get justice, and Tracy might finally get answers.
PART II
. . . there is nothing so dangerous as a maxim.
—C. J. MAY, “Some Rules of Evidence: Reasonable Doubt in Civil and Criminal Cases” (1876)
CHAPTER 37
Judge Burleigh Meyers chose to hold the preliminary hearing in the temporary chambers assigned to him rather than open court because of what he called “the significant media interest in the matter.” Dan had asked for, and Meyers had agreed to, Tracy’s presence at the hearing, though Meyers noted it was an unusual request for defense counsel. He was clearly familiar with the nuances of the case. Dan’s background check of Meyers indicated that that was no accident.
Meyers had served more than thirty years on the bench in Spokane County, mostly to critical acclaim, before retiring. The Spokane County Bar Association gave him high marks for the manner in which he had conducted himself and his courtroom. Dan had also learned that both Meyers’s clerk and bailiff had retired rather than be assigned to work for another judge, which he took as a good sign. He’d found home numbers for each and called to pick their brains. They had both described Meyers as a man who worked long hours, conducted much of his own research, and who could agonize for days over his decisions, though he was not afraid to pull the trigger. He was what Dan and Tracy had hoped for, an intelligent judge willing to make a tough call. They also said Meyers ran a tight ship and would not be influenced by the media attention, which was likely why the Court of Appeals had asked him to preside over the hearing.
Tracy sat off to the side watching as Meyers wheeled the leather chair from behind the desk, its wheel squeaki
ng. He positioned it so he faced O’Leary and Clark, who sat side by side on a cloth sofa. To Tracy the office had the feel of an austere stage production, the walls devoid of any paintings or photographs and not a scrap of paper to be found anywhere in the room. Dan had told her that Meyers’s clerk had also said the judge’s willingness to come out of retirement was definitely not because he was bored. Apparently Meyers owned a sixty-acre cattle ranch and did much of the heavy lifting himself.
Tracy guessed Meyers to be six four and ruggedly handsome, with the robust, weathered skin of someone who kept in shape mending fences, making barn repairs, and lugging hay bales. With silver hair and crystal-blue eyes, Tracy thought he looked a bit like Paul Newman.
“I accepted this assignment on one condition,” Meyers said. He wore slippers, and when he crossed his legs, his blue jeans inched up to reveal argyle socks. “My wife loves the sun and she loves to ride. So I tow a two-horse trailer all over the western states in search of both. She plans to be on a trail ride in Phoenix at the end of the month, gentlemen. And let me tell you, my wife does not like to be disappointed, and I really don’t like to disappoint her. In other words, I may be semi-retired, but that does not mean I have time to waste. I intend to move this matter forward expeditiously.”
“The defense is prepared to do just that, Your Honor,” Dan said.
Clark looked troubled. “Your Honor, I have several other matters on my calendar, including an upcoming trial—”
Meyers cut him off quickly. “While I am sympathetic to your schedule, Mr. Clark, the statute requires the prosecuting attorney to obtain a prompt evidentiary hearing. I’d suggest you clear your calendar and give this matter top priority. As for your scheduled trial, I have already spoken to Judge Wilber and he has agreed to kick it over a month.”
Clark sighed. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Will the defense seek to conduct any pre-trial discovery?” Meyers asked.
Tracy’s file had more information than Dan ever could have gathered on his own, including the trial transcripts and Kelly Rosa’s forensic report. He’d told her that further depositions would only serve to delay the proceedings and give subpoenaed witnesses the chance to become conveniently unavailable, or think through their prior testimony and come up with something new. He also did not want to further educate Clark on how he intended to attack the State’s witnesses’ previous trial testimony.
“The defense is prepared to move forward,” he said.
“The prosecution would like to conduct depositions,” Clark said. “We are compiling a list.”
“Your Honor,” Dan said, “the prosecution cannot put on new evidence in this hearing and the defense intends to call just the State’s witnesses from Mr. House’s initial trial. The only new witnesses will be the medical examiner, to testify concerning the forensics from the grave, and a DNA expert. I see no reason why the prosecutor cannot speak to their witnesses on their own time. We’re also happy to make our expert available after hours.”
“Mr. Clark?”
Vance Clark sat up. “We will endeavor to speak to the witnesses,” he said.
“Any pre-hearing motions?” Meyers asked.
“The prosecution moves to exclude Detective Crosswhite from the courtroom,” Clark said.
Tracy glanced at Dan. “On what grounds?” Dan asked.
“Detective Crosswhite will be a witness for the defense,” Clark said to Meyers. “As such, she should not be allowed in the courtroom until such time as she has testified, just as any other witness.”
“Detective Crosswhite is not a witness for the defense,” Dan said. “She is the decedent’s sister. We expect her testimony will be factual and pertain to the events of the day her sister disappeared. The State can talk to her whenever they want. Moreover, Detective Crosswhite is not like any other witness. I would have assumed the State would want Detective Crosswhite—”
Meyers cut him off. “Mr. O’Leary, you will try your case and allow the State to make its own decisions.” He waved off a response by Clark. “I’m going to deny the motion, Mr. Clark. Detective Crosswhite has a right to be present as a member of the deceased’s family, and I fail to see how it will prejudice the State’s prosecution of this matter. Now, one other subject: We all know the significant media attention that has been given to this matter. I will not allow this to become a spectacle or a zoo. The reporters have a right to be present, and I have agreed to a single camera feed. While I am not going to impose a gag order on either of you or your witnesses, I am going to appeal to your oath as officers of this court that you will adjudicate this matter before me, not the media. Am I making myself clear?”
Clark and Dan verbally acknowledged Meyers’s admonition. Meyers seemed pleased. He clasped his hands as if to lead them in solemn prayer. “Well, then, since we are all present and accounted for, and I’ve been given that behemoth of a courtroom out there at the taxpayers’ expense, I’m going to suggest we begin bright and early Monday morning. Do I hear any objections?”
Having been forewarned of the potential wrath of a woman forced to forego her horseback ride, neither Dan nor Clark voiced any.
CHAPTER 38
DeAngelo Finn knelt in the soil with his back to the sidewalk, unaware that he was being watched. The cloud layer had lifted, and the respite from the persistent rain had provided an opportunity for Finn to put his vegetable garden to bed for the winter. Tracy watched him as she finished talking to Kins, who’d called to tell her that Nolasco had officially transferred the Nicole Hansen case to the Cold File Division.
“He pulled it from us?” Tracy asked.
“It’s a power play. He doesn’t want it on the section’s books. He said we can’t devote the manpower to a file going nowhere. Between you being gone and my workload, there just aren’t enough bodies to go around.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Kins.”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll still work the edges, but Nolasco’s right. We’ve exhausted our leads. Unless something comes up there’s no place else to go.”
Tracy felt a twinge of remorse. She knew from experience that, until the killer was found and convicted, Hansen’s family would have no closure.
“You do what you need to do,” Kins said. “The work will be here when you get back, unfortunately. Death and taxes, my father used to say. Those are the two things you can count on. Death and taxes. Keep me posted on what happens.”
“Likewise.” Tracy disconnected and took a moment before stepping from the car. The sun was bright enough that she donned sunglasses, though the temperature remained cool enough that each breath marked the air as she approached the gate in the picket fence. She had not detected any reaction from DeAngelo when she’d parked or when she closed the car door and detected none now.
“Mr. Finn?”
The gloves bunched around Finn’s fingertips as he struggled to grip another weed.
She raised her voice. “Mr. Finn?”
He turned his head and she saw the hearing aid attached to the arm of his glasses. Finn hesitated before removing his gloves and setting them on the ground. He adjusted his glasses and reached for a cane at his side, unsteady as he got to his feet and approached the fence. He was bundled in a knit Mariners ski cap and a matching team jacket that hung from his shoulders like a hand-me-down from an older brother. Twenty years ago, Finn had been on the heavy side. Now he looked rail thin. Thick lenses magnified his eyes and made them appear watery.
“It’s Tracy Crosswhite,” she said, removing her sunglasses.
Finn gave no initial indication that he recognized her or her name. Then, slowly, he smiled and pushed open the gate. “Tracy,” he said. “Of course. I’m sorry. I don’t see too well anymore. I have cataracts, you know.”
“Getting the garden ready for winter?” she said, stepping into the yard. “I remember my father doing the same thing every fall—pulling the weeds, adding fertilizer to the soil, and covering the beds with black plastic.”
“If
you don’t get the weeds in the winter they go to seed,” he said. “Surest way to ruin a spring garden.”
“I remember my father saying something similar.”
Finn gave her an envious smile and reached out to touch her arm, leaning in to speak conspiratorially. “No one could compete with your father’s tomatoes. He had that greenhouse, you know.”
“I remember.”
“I told him it was cheating, but he said I was welcome to bring my plants over anytime. He was a prince of a man, your father.”
She looked about the tiny plot of soil. “What do you grow?”
“A little of this and a little of that. I give most of it to the neighbors. It’s just me now. Millie died, you know.”
She didn’t know, but she assumed that had been the case. Finn’s wife had already had health issues twenty years ago, when Tracy’s father had cared for her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “How are you doing?”
“Come on inside and visit,” he said. Finn had trouble lifting his legs to climb the three concrete steps to the back door, a task that left him winded and flushed. Tracy also noticed a tremor in his hands when he unzipped his jacket and hung it on a hook inside the mudroom. Vance Clark’s motion to quash Dan’s subpoena to have Finn testify at the hearing had been accompanied by a doctor’s report. According to the report, Finn had a heart condition, emphysema, and a host of other physical ailments that made the stress of testifying injurious to his already precarious health.
Finn led her into a kitchen that time had not touched. Dark wood cabinets made a contrast to the bright floral wallpaper and pumpkin-colored Formica. Finn moved a stack of newspapers and a bundle of mail from a chair to make a place for Tracy to sit at the table, then filled a kettle at the faucet and set it on a Wedgewood stove. She noticed a portable oxygen machine in the corner and felt heat blasting from the floor vents. The room held the odor of fried meat. A greasy cast-iron skillet sat on the front burner.
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