“Yes.”
“Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of her head. There were no other injuries to the body. She died real quick.”
“One of your techs called me yesterday and said the fingerprints you ran came back as those of a woman named Darlene Pelletier.”
“Yeah. Probably a maiden name.”
“I don’t think so, Bert. I just got some information on Mr. Favereaux, and he married a woman named Linda Fournier. Can you double check those prints for me?”
“Sure. I’ll take them again and have somebody run them through the system.”
“Thanks, Bert. Let me know what you find.”
“As soon as I know.”
J.D. hung up and thought about what she had learned. If Linda Favereaux was really Darlene Pelletier, then who the heck was Linda Fournier Favereaux? And where was her husband?
The chief had not arrived for work at his usual hour of seven o’clock. J.D. checked her watch. It was almost ten. She went to Lester’s office. He still wasn’t in. She stuck her head into the deputy chief’s office. “Martin, have you seen the chief?”
“I don’t think he’ll be in today. He called. Said he’d talked to the town manager who told him to take the day off.”
“I’m getting some strange information on that murder yesterday. You got a minute to talk?”
“Sure. Take a load off.”
J.D. took a chair across the desk from Sharkey. “I don’t think our victim is who we think she is.”
“What’s going on?”
“Her fingerprints came back as belonging to a woman named Darlene Pelletier who was arrested in New Orleans twenty years ago for shoplifting. She was nineteen at the time.”
“Maybe that was her maiden name.”
“My report on the husband says he married somebody named Linda Fournier in New Orleans twenty years ago.”
“What do you make of all this?” Sharkey asked.
“I don’t know. By the time he got married, Favereaux was a successful businessman. Why would he be marrying a nineteen-year-old shoplifter?”
“Maybe he didn’t know about that. Maybe she was some kind of debutante who was shoplifting for the fun of it. Do you have any more information on the Pelletier woman?”
“Not yet. I’ve asked Doc Hawkins to run the fingerprints again. If he confirms that they belong to the Pelletier woman, I’ll dig into her background.”
“Sounds like you’re doing everything you can at this point.”
“Can you think of any reason a retired businessman would have a laptop with world-class encryption software?”
“Nope.”
“How’s the chief?” J.D. asked.
Martin gave her a quizzical look.
“Did Bill tell you why he wasn’t coming in today?” J.D. asked.
“He did.”
“Abby?”
“What do you know?”
“Not a lot. I know about Abby’s arrest and the charges,” J.D. said. “Matt is going to be representing her.”
“Bill didn’t mention Matt’s involvement.”
“He saw Abby at the jail early this morning. I think he was going to see Bill today and let him know he’ll take the case.”
“I’m glad. There’re not many lawyers as good as Matt.”
“Have you heard anything more through the grapevine?”
“No,” he said. “I called a friend of mine at Sarasota PD, and all he could tell me was that FDLE had taken over. He did tell me that Jack Dobbyn had recused himself and the governor got busy first thing this morning and appointed the state attorney from Jacksonville to prosecute the case.”
“That was quick,” J.D. said.
“They probably want to move on this one. There’s going to be a lot of press.”
“I guess. I hope Bill can survive it.”
“He will, if Matt gets an acquittal.”
“Matt’s worried about that,” J.D. said. “About both Abby and Bill. It’s a lot of pressure.”
“Surely he knows that. If it’s a problem, why take the case?”
“He’s a bit of a cynic about the way law is practiced these days, but he’s a believer in the system. He’s worried that an out-of-control FDLE agent out to get a prominent defendant, coupled with an irresponsible press, is going to make it difficult to get a fair trial. He won’t admit it, but he thinks he’s good enough to overcome all that.”
“Is he?”
“You’ve known him a lot longer than I have, Martin. What do you think?”
Sharkey grinned. “Ain’t nobody better, sweet cheeks.”
J.D. made a face. “Sweet cheeks?”
“Well, you know what I mean. Detective.”
* * *
J.D.’s cell phone was ringing as she walked back to her office. Robin Hartill. J.D. answered. “Hey, Robin.”
“Morning, J.D. I heard that Abigail Lester was arrested for murder. Anything you can tell me?”
“If you’ll make me a confidential source, I’ll tell you who to contact for all the information.”
“You got it.”
“And everybody calls her Abby. Not Abigail.”
“Okay. The booking report had her full name. Whom do I talk to?”
“Matt.”
“Matt? Your Matt?”
“Yep. He’s going to be her lawyer.”
“Where can I reach him? If I get this written in the next couple of hours, I can get it in Thursday’s edition.”
The weekly newspaper came out on Wednesdays, even though the masthead dated it for each Thursday. Since the paper was printed on Tuesday night, Robin’s deadline would be fast approaching.
“Call his cell. You have the number?”
“I’ve got it. Thanks, J.D.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was at Bill Lester’s house at eight o’clock. He invited me in and poured me a cup of coffee. “Well?” he asked.
“I’ll take the case, Bill. But we have to understand each other.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be Abby’s lawyer. Not yours. There may be things I can’t discuss with you, or I might take a position you don’t like.”
“I can live with that.”
“You have to understand that I won’t do anything to hurt Abby’s case and I’ll run everything by her before I do it.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“I won’t be running that stuff by you.”
He sat quietly, sipping his coffee, mulling over my comments. “Matt, I’m not some rookie. I’ve been a cop for more than twenty years. I know things you might not know about how cops work.”
“You surely do, Bill, and I’m going to be asking you for advice and relying on it. But I have only one client, and it’s not you.”
“Matt, Abby’s my wife.”
“Yes, and my client. I can only answer to one person. Abby. Not you. If you can’t live with that, we’ll find another lawyer.”
“Why are you willing to take this case, Matt? Because I asked you to?”
“Partly, and because Abby seems to want me. There are other lawyers around here who would be excellent choices for you. But, I know Abby, and I know she isn’t a killer. That gives me a slight edge. I won’t let her be railroaded into some bullshit plea deal, because I know she’s innocent.”
Bill chuckled. “There goes your objectivity.”
He was right, of course. I couldn’t know she wasn’t guilty. My affection for her was already coloring my thinking, but I thought that would work in my favor. I was pretty sure I could turn off the subjectivity if the evidence started to pile up against her.
“You’re right,” I said. “But that may not be a bad thing.”
“We need to talk about money. Do you want to bill us by the hour or on a lump sum basis?”
“I won’t practice law for money. Not anymore. You can reimburse me for any out-of-pocket expenses, like paying for an investigator and a maybe a law clerk.”
“You sure?”
&nbs
p; “I’m sure.”
“Thanks, Matt.”
We shook hands and I left to see my client.
* * *
My phone rang as I was nearing the county courthouse. I answered.
“Matt, this is Robin Hartill.”
“Good morning, Robin. How’re you doing?”
“Great. I hear you’re going to be representing Abigail Lester.”
“Where would you hear such a thing?”
“Confidential source.”
“That confidential source wouldn’t be some cop I’m sleeping with, would it?”
“You’re sleeping with a cop? I’m shocked.”
“A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
“Are you?”
“What, sleeping with a cop?”
She laughed. “Representing Mrs. Lester.”
“I am.”
“What can you tell me about the case?”
“She’s innocent.”
You defense lawyers always say that.”
“Yeah, but this time, it’s true.”
“Then why did they arrest her?”
“I don’t know, Robin. I haven’t actually been retained by Mrs. Lester, yet, but I think I will be in the next few minutes.”
“Don’t the police have to have probable cause to arrest somebody?”
“They do, but I haven’t talked to the prosecutor yet, so I don’t know why they arrested her. Have you talked to the arresting officer yet?”
“I’ve got a call in to Agent Lucas, but I haven’t heard back from him.”
“Why don’t you call his boss at the FDLE office in Tampa? See what you get.”
“I can do that.”
“Good. Let me know what he says.”
“Quid pro quo?” asked Robin.
“I’m on my way to talk to my client right now. Get what you can from FDLE, and I’ll give you whatever I can.”
“Fair enough. Talk to you later.” She hung up.
* * *
I found a parking place near the jail, went through security, and was led to the same interview room I’d been in early that morning. Abby was sitting at the small table, dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit. She looked tired and drawn.
“Did you get any sleep?” I asked.
“No. They put me in a cell by myself, but there’s so much noise in here the dead couldn’t sleep.”
“Did they feed you?”
“In a manner of speaking. I guess you could call what they gave me food. I wouldn’t serve it to a pet rat. Are you going to represent me?”
“There are some ground rules we need to establish first.”
“Like what?”
“You have to tell me the absolute truth. No omissions, no sidestepping, no shading.”
“Not a problem.”
“Abby, if I ever find out that you’ve lied to me or not told me the entire truth, I’ll drop you like the proverbial hot potato.”
“I won’t do that, Matt. What else?”
“I haven’t seen any of the evidence yet, but I’ve been told about a couple of things that are going to prove embarrassing. They’ll come out, and we need to get ahead of them.”
“Like what?”
“Like an affair you had with Bannister.”
“I—”
I held up my hand. “Not yet. If I become your lawyer, I’ll expect you to tell me if it becomes relevant, but we’re not there yet.”
“Okay. What other rules?”
“You talk to no one but me, or perhaps my investigator, about this case. No discussing it with other inmates or even Bill. Any conversation you have in the jail is probably monitored, and the prosecution can use anything you say against you.”
“Agreed.” She looked at me expectantly.
“The next rule has to do with me. I will never discuss anything you tell me with anyone other than my legal team, unless you give me specific permission. That includes your husband. I’ve already explained this to him, and he’s on board with it.” I crossed my fingers on this one. I’d surely talk to J.D., but I knew that whatever I said to her would stay between us. I sat silently, thinking.
“Is that it?”
I nodded. “Something else may come to mind. If so, I’ll let you know.”
“What about your fees?”
“Bill and I have worked that out.”
“Then you’re my lawyer?”
“I am. For better or worse.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“The first thing we’ll face is a lot of press. Word of the affair, if that’s what it was, is going to get out. So is the fact that they found your fingerprints in Bannister’s condo. Bill’s going to learn about it, so, after you explain it all to me, I’d like your permission to tell him. I don’t want him reading it in the newspaper.”
“Okay. What about bail? I’d really like to get out of here.”
“I’m going to push that through during your first appearance. That’ll probably be this afternoon. It has to be done within twenty-four hours of your arrest. I don’t know which judge we’ll get, but I imagine it will be somebody from another circuit.”
“Will I get out?”
“It’s dicey, Abby. Right now you’re charged with second-degree murder, which carries a twenty-five year to life sentence. The charge is one of the two exceptions to your right to bail, the other being a first-degree murder charge. However, the prosecution must show that the proof of guilt is evident, or that the presumption of guilt is great. I don’t think they can show that at this point. I’d like to get this behind us now, rather than try for a bail hearing later. The downside is that the prosecution’s belief that you had an affair with Bannister is going to be front-page news tomorrow.”
“Let’s go for it.”
“I hoped you’d say that.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The first appearance hearing was going to be held via video conferencing at three o’clock in the afternoon. I had gone to the clerk of courts’ office and gotten the paperwork moving, including filing a motion for bail and my notice of appearance on behalf of the defendant, Abigail Jane Cooper Lester. Both would be transmitted to the prosecutor and the judge before the hearing.
I was told that the governor had appointed the state attorney from Jacksonville to prosecute and because all the Twelfth Circuit judges had recused themselves, the governor had appointed a Tampa judge to preside over the case. That judge would handle the first appearance.
Robin Hartill called to tell me she had talked to the First Circuit state attorney’s office in Jacksonville and was told that an assistant state attorney named George Swann would be the lead prosecutor.
“He’s tried twenty-two murder cases and won them all,” Robin said.
“Big deal,” I said.
“That’s a lot of wins, Matt. You might be in for some trouble.”
“The prosecutor always gets to pick the cases he tries. If the case is too difficult, they often grab a plea deal. We’ll see what this guy’s made of when we get into the courtroom.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“That sounded kind of arrogant, didn’t it? I’d rather you not quote me on that. No sense in pissing Swann off this early.”
“Maybe later, on the quote?”
“We’ll see. Did you find out anything else?”
“Did you know they found your client’s fingerprints in Bannister’s condo?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear about the emails between Abby and Bannister?”
“I heard about them, but I haven’t seen them yet. Did you get a look at them?”
“No, but I’m told one of them was pretty threatening.”
“Did you talk to FDLE?” I asked.
“Tried. Got a strange response.”
“What?”
“I talked to the agent in charge of the Tampa office, a man named Stan Strickland. He said he couldn’t discuss this case, but asked if I worked for Matt Walsh. I told him I did,
and he said he’d call Walsh.”
“Strange.”
“Very. Your turn. I need more for my story.”
“Okay. I don’t know much, but we’re going to turn the first appearance this afternoon into a bail hearing. I doubt Mr. Swann is going to be expecting that. Make sure you’re in the jail video conference room at three this afternoon.”
“That’s it?”
“You can get the story on your Internet edition before the other papers get it out. I won’t talk to anybody else until I get with you. You’ll have an exclusive interview with me, for what it’s worth, for your Internet edition. And you’ll have your print story for tomorrow.”
“Okay. See you at three.”
* * *
I drove out to Bill Lester’s house to tell him what was about to hit the papers. It was not an easy conversation, but I wanted him to know what was coming. “Under the circumstances, Bill, I think you should be at the hearing this afternoon. I want the press to see you as a man standing by his wife, no matter the circumstances. Don’t say anything to the press. Refer all questions to me. Just look resolute and supportive.”
“Do you think the judge will grant bail?”
“Hard to say. Probably not. I filed the motion as soon as I met with Abby, but I don’t hold out much hope for success. Whoever the judge is, he’ll know he’s going to be under a lot of press scrutiny. He won’t want to appear to be giving Abby a break because her husband’s a cop.”
“Do you know which judge the governor appointed?”
“Not yet. Typically, the governor would decide on which circuit the judge would come from and let the chief judge of that circuit pick one of his judges for the governor to appoint. The name hasn’t been disclosed yet.”
We left it at that, and I drove home to shower and put on a clean suit. I wanted to look spiffy for the hearing. I suspected that the local TV stations might be broadcasting a live feed from the jail conference room. If I was going to be on TV, I needed to look the part of a lawyer. I’d been in high-profile cases before, back in my other life in Orlando, and I knew it was important to play to the press. I was certain that George Swann would be doing exactly that.
CHAPTER NINE
Bert Hawkins called J.D. at eleven. “This is very strange, J.D. Mrs. Favereaux’s prints are not in any database.”
Chasing Justice Page 4
