Proof of Innocence

by Patricia McLinn

  After he hung up, Nancy Quinn immediately said, “I don’t like it.”

  “I thought you were off this afternoon.”

  “I came back to talk to you. Did you hear me?”

  “Uh-huh. You don’t like what?” As if he didn’t know.

  She grimaced. “Don’t play the idiot, Belichek. Landis can pull it off — barely — you don’t have the looks for it. And I don’t have the time. Her. Up there. Alone.”

  For all Maggie thought she could handle anything and everything, he didn’t like this setup, either. But reveal that to Nancy Quinn, and she’d be on him non-stop.

  “Bedhurst County’s still part of the Commonwealth of Virginia, not some wilderness.” Though you had to wonder when they let a guy go from murder defendant to an associate of the CA.

  “You didn’t see her there. Hell, I didn’t get it, not until I knew what her normal was. Then I realized how not normal she’d been.”

  “First murder trial as first chair—”

  “Yeah. And her being special prosecutor with everybody acting like she had two heads because she came from here. With a second chair who could barely tie his shoes. But it was more. It was—”

  Nancy shifted her eyes, making him aware of the ears around them. All seemingly occupied with their own concerns, but rarely too occupied to miss gossip.

  Especially about Maggie Frye.

  The bare facts had been a source of speculation at the CA’s office and police department from her first day. No way to hide a juicy piece of gossip like that.

  Everything beyond the bare facts was in a lockbox inside Maggie.

  He was talking to the one other person in Maggie’s professional life who might have glimpsed inside that lockbox. Landis might’ve, too … if he took enough time off from following his dick to think things through.

  It wasn’t her words. It was a look, a hesitation, an attitude, a question, then putting them together with who she was.

  “The earlier case,” he filled in. Using a phrase that wouldn’t catch anybody’s attention.

  Nancy nodded. “The earlier case. And similarities.”

  “Similarities? The MO—”

  Her slicing gesture stopped him. “Not MO. Similarities in the victim. Relationship between victim and defendant. They were … on the same frequency.”

  He’d been a detective too long to scoff. Some crimes did vibrate at the same frequency, even if you didn’t see similarities at first.

  “That prick won’t let me go up there.” Nancy didn’t need to say the prick was Commonwealth’s Attorney Vic Upton. “Says I’m needed here. If I didn’t need every dime to get my kid started at VCU this fall, I’d go unpaid. And that other prick hasn’t helped.”

  Belichek figured Prick Two was Roy Isaacson.

  “Asshole sweet-talked an idiot clerk into letting him take a box being expressed to her. Went up there, acting like God’s gift to women, law enforcement, and the legal system, no doubt. Add in her cousin calling all the time. It’s the annual fund-raiser. All falling down on her at once. With the biggest chunk of rock this damned case.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “God forbid you help a friend. Somebody who’s damn near made your career.”

  “Christ, Nancy—”

  She held up a hand. “You’re right. Out of line. There’s nothing you or I can do about the two pricks.” He supposed Maggie’s cousin should feel honored not to be lumped in with Upton and Isaacson. “But the sooner this case is resolved, the sooner things get back to normal.”

  He shifted his gaze to the corner of his desk. Its pattern of scuff marks more than once had reformed in his mind’s eye to put together pieces of a case into a recognizable pattern.

  No such luck this time.

  “I’ll make some calls.” They’d be Round Two, because he’d put out initial feelers after talking with Maggie.

  “That’s a start. So’s reading.”

  She dropped a file on his desk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When Maggie opened the bathroom door there was no way to avoid Scott’s concerned eyes.

  “Problems?” he asked from a swivel chair in front of a small desk that faced into a shallow closet.

  “No.”

  She wrestled down the temptation to walk away. She had to work with this guy.

  She went to the coffeemaker in an alcove beyond the bathroom door, and half-filled a Styrofoam cup. She held up the pot in a silent offer.

  “Yes, thank you.” Scott handed her a ceramic mug emblazoned “Court Reporters Get It All Down.” “That was nice of your guy to bring those files. He really wanted to see you, huh?”

  She grunted neutrally, handing back the filled mug.

  “He sure did want it to be a surprise.”

  Now Maggie focused on him. “Did he?”

  His smile faltered. “He came in before you got back, asked me and J.D. not to mention it. Said he wanted to surprise his girl. We said sure. Didn’t want to ruin it.”

  At least that explained the atmosphere earlier. Scott and Carson had expectantly awaited Roy’s return and the springing of his surprise. Though somehow she couldn’t imagine Carson echoing Scott’s good-natured “sure” to keeping Roy’s secret.

  “You and Roy were together when you were here last time?” Scott asked.

  “No.”

  “Hard enough to keep a relationship going these days,” he said with a twisted smile of commiseration. “Add in separation and it’s even harder. Then, with an investigation eating your time … well, a relationship suffers.”

  “This one’s past suffering. It’s dead.”

  He faced her. “Oh? I’m real sorry to hear that. And you here, away from your support system. If you want to talk—”

  “Thanks, Scott. I’m fine.”

  Carson stood in his doorway, mug in hand, making no effort to hide he’d been listening.

  She walked past him and returned to work.

  Commonwealth v. J.D. Carson

  Witness Theodore Barrett (prosecution)

  Cross-Examination by Mr. Monroe

  Q. Now, you said you rode your bicycle to the park that day, is that right?

  A. Yeah. Every day.

  Q. Do you go to the same place in the park every day?

  A. No, I like to spice it up with variety.

  Q. Quite right. What part did you go to that day? … You’ll have to say that out loud so the court reporter can get it down.

  Q. You mean Scott? Hi, Scott.

  THE COURT: You need to let him do his job, Teddie, and you do your job by answering the question. Mr. Monroe, if you’ll ask your question again.

  Q. Certainly, Judge. Teddie, what part of the park did you go to that day we’ve been talking about, August 12?

  A. I don’t know. I mean, I don’t remember.

  Q. Okay, but maybe we can figure this out together. You said you heard the waterfall. Where do you like to go in the park where you can hear the waterfall?

  A. That’s Waterfall Path. That’s my favorite.

  Q. How do you get to Waterfall Path?

  A. I ride all the way out Falls Road, then through the parking lot, and past the big map, and there it is.

  Q. Following along on this map that’s on the board, that’s the main entrance to the park, is that right? You have to say it out loud, remember.

  A. I guess.

  Q. Now, on this official park map, it shows the path goes down to the waterfall, then loops back. Is that how you follow it?

  A. Sure. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be on the Waterfall Path.

  Q. That’s a good point, Teddie. So, when you go on the Waterfall Path do you ever leave it, go behind the falls maybe or someplace else?

  A. No, because then I wouldn’t be on the Waterfall Path.

  Q. That day, the day you remembered hearing voices arguing, did you go off the Waterfall Path? If you want to think about it—

  A. I don’t have to think. I know this. I never g
o off the Waterfall Path. When I’m on a path, I’m on the path, and I don’t go off.

  Q. Do you ever take the highway to get to the Waterfall Path, then sort of come in the back way by Buckley Road instead of by the main entrance?

  A. No. That would be stupid, and I’m not stupid. It would be a way long way around. You’d have to ride on that road where they bring in trucks and such and then take that back path that goes to Anya’s cabin — that’s J.D.’s now — and it’s bumpy. Real bumpy.

  Q. That shows good sense, Teddie. Now, you said that day you heard the voices arguing, you could hear the waterfall, is that right?

  A. Yes. And the birds and the squirrels and two snakes going through the dry grass like this.

  Q. Your Honor, the defense would like to submit this videotape taken at Bedhurst Falls—

  Ms. Frye: Objection. Relevance.

  * * * *

  “Scott!” Dallas called on his return from the courthouse.

  Maggie didn’t look up.

  He’d settled into his chair behind his desk before the boy arrived. “I’m busy, Dallas. I’m the only one who can pull together that transcript and—”

  “I know, and we do appreciate it. I just had a question that only you could answer. Louelle says for a fact Laurel was consultin’ Henry Zales over to Lynchburg.”

  Past Scott, he saw Maggie stop typing on one of those electronic gadgets that might have shrunk in the wash and snap around to him.

  “You interviewed Eugene Tagner’s maid without me?” she demanded.

  He switched on affable. “As it happens, I did. Though you’d best not be callin’ Louelle a maid where she can come to hear about it. I was over to the courthouse and Louelle was there about her mama driving without a license again, and we got to talkin’. I could hardly stop her tellin’ me. Never did care for Laurel and she wanted me to know Laurel’d been leadin’ Eugene a fine dance.”

  Scott snorted. “Doesn’t she realize that makes Eugene look even more guilty?”

  “I didn’t come round to mentionin’ that, as it happens.”

  Scott chuckled.

  Maggie asked, “What did she say?”

  “She holds that Laurel was consultin’ Henry about more than background. Scott, you’ve done depositions for Henry, did you cross paths with Laurel there?”

  Scott shook his head. “How could I miss the significance to this investigation of Laurel seeing a divorce attorney?”

  “I was sure you would have told me — us.” He’d known it was a longshot. “What’s been happenin’ here, boy?”

  He listened with half attention as Scott described each interruption and how adroitly he’d handled the issues on behalf of Monroe & Associate.

  Most of his mind, was on how to approach Henry Zales. He could tell Gardner and let him… No, he’d fish that pond first.

  Scott drew a breath, and Dallas plunged in. “Good, good. You did just right, Scott. Now we’d best get to the high school.”

  * * * *

  4:40 p.m.

  Maggie’s call went through quickly. It figured the area around the high school had good reception — Gardner wouldn’t have picked it otherwise.

  “Belichek.”

  “It’s Maggie.” She resisted leaning against her car. Streaks of mud fanned up the side.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Peachy. Just came from today’s update of the main investigation. Unless the sheriff is holding out, it’s a litany of non-evidence.”

  “Wouldn’t blame the sheriff for holding out.”

  “Me, either, not considering what got around last time.”

  “In other words, sounds about right for this point.”

  She ignored that Job’s comfort. “As for this special task force, supposedly searching for connections between the murders, I’m not sure if I’m being led around by the nose or being kept off balance.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm what?”

  “You’re used to being in charge. Maybe some of it’s working with a team.”

  “I work with you and Landis.”

  “Yeah.” His tone took all agreement out of the syllable.

  “You’re saying I don’t?”

  “You mostly come into it when we’ve got something to show you. And you’re looking at it from the court angle. Not from starting from scratch at figuring out what happened, like this. How’s it going?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “She says she has no idea,” he repeated, apparently for an audience’s benefit.

  “Is that Landis cackling?”

  “Yeah. He says now you know starting from scratch isn’t as easy as you thought.”

  She sighed. “It’s like a wadded up ball of bits of string. Somewhere inside the wad there’s one long piece to take you from one end to the other of the crime. But you keep grabbing bits that don’t lead anywhere except an impenetrable knot. You don’t know if there’s more beyond the knot or if it’s the end of the string.”

  Without a whisper of sympathy, he said, “You keep untying knots, setting aside pieces that go nowhere and inching along the other pieces bit by bit until you find a long one and have it laid out nice and straight with no knots.”

  “Right.”

  “What knot is it you want us to untie?”

  “I’m that transparent, huh?”

  “A piece of glass, Mags.”

  “Great.” Though it felt less bad than she would have expected. “The sheriff is running an official inquiry about similar murders in the state, and there’s a reciprocal with West Virginia. It’s the surrounding states I’d like to have checked — North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Maryland, Pennsylvania, D.C., of course. I can’t make it official, but with your connections—”

  “No problem.”

  After the call, Maggie re-checked no one was within listening distance.

  Then she made another call. This one local.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  6:23 p.m.

  Dallas wrapped an arm around Evelyn’s waist, pretending it was to distract her while he reached to dip a spoon in the simmering peanut soup.

  “Sheriff’s going to love this.” He’d persuaded Gardner to join them for dinner, since he had to eat and they could relay what they’d learned at the same time. He doubted his efforts to get information out of Gardner would succeed, but at least the man wouldn’t fall over from hunger.

  “Where are they?” she asked.

  “J.D.’s washing up. Maggie’s at the guesthouse.”

  Evelyn relaxed against him. “Dallas, you be careful with that young lady.”

  “Mmm. I have no earthly idea what you might be referring to.”

  “I know you’re up to something. I also know that young woman is smarter than you’re crediting her for. I know one more thing — she’s got her own devils, which are complications you might not see until they tow you under.”

  “That’s two more things.”

  She reached back and slapped at his posterior. “Remember what I said.”

  “Evelyn DuPree, marry me.”

  “No.” No hesitation, no thought. As if she had more important things on her mind.

  It stung.

  “Why not?”

  With her dark eyes on him he realized he’d never asked that before. Asked her to marry him, yes. But never her reasons for refusing.

  He repeated it, oddly urgent. “Why not? I love you, you love me.”

  “You’re taking a lot for granted. I’ve never said—”

  “You wouldn’t sleep with me if you didn’t love me, and you wouldn’t sleep with me if you didn’t know I love you. So, don’t get swelled up like I’ve insulted you. I know your boys won’t like it, but I won’t come between you and them — if that means you going to see them without me, that’s how it’ll be. I won’t make you change your life for me. But I could give you things, make life more comfortable for you.”

  Using a towel on the handle, she moved the soup to a cool
burner with exquisite care. “What about you, Dallas Herbert? Will life be more comfortable for you?”

  “Are you saying you think I want to marry you to have my housekeeper on hand? Is—?”

  “Don’t throw your lawyer voice at me.”

  He waited.

  “You think those folks who come and pay your fees because they like saying Dallas Monroe is their lawyer will keep coming round?”

  “If they don’t—”

  “Don’t you say it. Because it’s those folks with money in their pockets and willing to put it in your pockets who make it so you can be the lawyer for the other kind of folks.” She cupped his cheek in her warm palm. “The folks who need you more than they know.”

  She looked out the window and dropped her hand. He saw Maggie approaching the back door. “There’s more to be said on this matter.”

  “No, there’s not,” she contradicted. “I know you’d get by without the important folks, and I might let you do it, too. But you can’t get by without the other ones — the ones who need you. And I won’t let you try.”

  * * * *

  Maggie completed her last email and headed to the bathroom to wash her face.

  Having handled necessities from her current caseload, she could concentrate on Commonwealth of Virginia v. J.D. Carson.

  She wished she had the final transcript to go over tonight. Instead, she’d be filling in her notes from today and continuing with materials from the file box Roy delivered, including the piecemeal daily transcripts.

  One thing for sure, whether the certified version Scott would provide or the dailies from her files, this transcript would not be a fun read.

  She blotted her face dry and hung the towel.

  At the jury trial she’d prosecuted after v. J.D. Carson, she’d watched the burglary defendants, with their would-be tough-guy slouches, and waited for the verdict.

  No question came into her mind.

  No whisper about innocence.

  Nothing except satisfaction at the “Guilty.”

  That weekend, she’d read the Carson trial transcript for the first and only time.

  What had made the difference were her mistakes. That’s why the jury decided she hadn’t wiped away reasonable doubt, the reason they set Carson free.