by Mary Deal
“And the fates of the others?”
“She goes on to say that quite a few sentences were commuted to prison terms by the Supreme Court. Some had their sentences overturned through appeals and were freed, etc., etc. I've got that book myself.” He gestured toward his shelf near where Abi stood. “Becky did her homework.”
Joe leaned forward in his seat. “So there is a chance the Supreme Court could rule in her favor, on a legal technicality?”
“Keep your fingers crossed.”
After so many appeals instrumental in correcting the laws, sooner or later, the laws wouldn't need changing.
“Kenton, what case does she make for herself being wrongly convicted?”
“Mostly insufficient evidence with laws incorrectly applied.” Emery scanned the paragraphs. “I can't go into them all, but listen to this.” He began to read and followed along with a pencil.
Although the gas can was thought to be solid evidence, the jury paid no attention to the fact that whoever used it would have had to put a hand under the bottom of the heavy can in order to tip it and pour. The can had to have been full of incendiary fluid according to the amount judged dispensed at the fire site.
From where Abi stood behind Emery, reading over his shoulder, she watched him glance at Joe and Det. Britto over his dark rimmed glasses. “This was a big can, they're talking about.” He gestured the size with both hands. “You know, one of those off the back of an old war jeep. It says no fingerprints were found on the can except Winnaker's, and those were only on the handle and top edges. Emery glanced at them all and then motioned over his shoulder for Abi to come closer to read. “My take is a can that large and that heavy would have been covered with prints, but no other prints were found, so the can must have been wiped clean before she touched it.”
“Didn't someone say in court that she might have wiped it down herself, planning to dispose of it?”
Det. Britto leaned forward and folded his arms on top of folders on the edge of the desk. “Yeah, and the jury bought that idea. So did the appellate courts. The evidence showed that her prints were the only ones found.”
“From my lawyer's standpoint, it didn't prove she poured anything. If she was conscientious enough to wipe it down, she was smart enough not to bring it back home with her in the first place.”
“Most perps would have thrown it into the fire. Still, her claim is weak. The evidence says she's the perp.”
“There's more.” Emery fanned the pages. “But let's not spend time on failed appeals.”
“None of this helps my daughter.” While summer passed, Abi had diligently and thoroughly read all of the records available. “The Supreme Court only looks at—”
“Abi…” Emery swung in his chair around to face her. “Her whole case is weak. She had no alibi. Like I said before, it's going to take a miracle.”
Abi studied the face of the man who was to save her daughter and realized that he, too, had stepped into a situation that had almost come full circle. So much had already been covered. Little had not, and so little time remained. “So our best bet is the Governor, isn't it?” In her heart, she knew there had to be more.
“Hopefully, we will find something to offer as proof of wrongful conviction. Unfortunately, it's nothing the Supreme Court will entertain.”
“When we find this Tess Ulrich, ma'am, she'll have to take a polygraph. If over the years she hasn't learned to believe her lie, we're going to know the truth.”
While the men talked, Abi turned to gaze out the window again. Tourists often wandered into the business area. Cars jostled along the quaint streets. Emery's words echoed in her mind. “Wait a minute.” She turned back to them. She would stop at nothing to understand completely. One little remnant of information could lead to the break they needed. “What was that bit about her believing her lie?”
Chapter 43
Det. Britto stood and paced. “Well, ma'am, if a lot of time has passed…” He brought fingertips to his forehead as if deep thinking. “The mind has a way of convincing itself to believe what it wants.” He looked at Abi, then to the others and then opened out both hands. “Tess might have convinced herself to believe she didn't see the ring being sold. Then her mind would accept that.”
“But it wouldn't be the truth. How can her mind not know the difference?”
“It all depends on her attitude. If she doesn't care, and has no fear of repercussions, that's what the polygraph will detect.” He placed his hands on the back of a chair and leaned slightly forward. “Her lie wouldn't register.”
Polygraphs are most useful if a perpetrator is caught at the point of remorse or guilt, but not right after the crime when they are still high on the action and have no fear; not after a lot of time has passed either. Time allows the perpetrator to let go of the guilt.
“That's why polygraphs are inadmissible in court, Britto? I didn't know that.”
“One of the reasons.”
“Then why will you make Tess take one?”
Det. Britto flicked an eyebrow and looked smug. “Because it's allowed. Maybe once she's apprehended, she'll be full of fear again.”
That might definitely work in Becky's favor. “I meant to ask.” Abi glared into Det. Britto's eyes. “Wasn't Becky's first drawing of Tess Ulrich ever circulated by the police? Becky said her drawing is exactly how Tess looked.”
“Certainly was. If I remember correctly, Tess just disappeared.”
“We can't count solely on finding Tess Ulrich, Britto. What else? Did Dara take a polygraph?”
“Dara Hines passed with ease.” Det. Britto sat again, leaning forward into the conversation. “So have a lot of other criminals.”
Every ray of hope had a dark side. Abi felt tired, dizzy, and then a peculiar rush of warmth spread upward through her face.
Faint cooking smells from a nearby eatery had infiltrated the office. Emery's nose twitched. He glanced around seeming irritated. He quickly thumbed through a folder but evidently did not find what he wanted and gave up. “Becky's former cellmate, Twyla, passed a polygraph too.”
“Went to prison anyway.”
“Was in prison at the time and got convicted again while she was still in there.”
“Convicted of what?” Abi worried about the warmth that had flooded her.
“Armed robbery. Passed the first polygraph, failed the second. Says it in these records.” Emery stacked the folders neatly.
“Could they make Dara take a second test?” Abi hoped they would use any means available to help her daughter, even if it meant making people take a second test.
“Guess it's possible, ma'am. We'd have to come up with a legal reason, though.”
Abi felt her face and found her skin clammy. She sighed and looked at her chair again.
Joe suddenly pounded his fist on the desk top. “Where the hell is Yates?”
“He's got a permanent file with the N.C.I.C. that goes coast to coast now. He'll turn up.”
Abi fought hopelessness. “I don't understand his reasoning, skipping out like that.”
“Doesn't want to be bothered. Hazel gave the PD some information on his relatives in the Midwest. I've got people working on that as we speak.” He reached forward and picked up a Chinese puzzle that had been pushed to the edge of the desk by all the files. He turned it over and over.
With the frustrated detective preoccupied with the puzzle, perhaps she could sit down. “All Yates had to do was look at those photos again. You'd think we had asked him for his life.”
“So here we sit, waiting for people who may never turn up. Britto… Emery… these witnesses are our only hope.”
“Not so, Arno. I've come up with a lot on all these fires that keep flaring up.”
“No kidding.” Joe sat straighter in his chair, ready to listen. “Can you tie the Yates fire to—?”
“More than that.” Det. Britto rolled the puzzle between his fingertips. “Strong similarities exist between the Yates fire, the one in To
no Canyon a few years back, and I believe a recent house fire in Creighton and the Seaport Estates burn too.”
“If the same people did the Yates fire, could that prove my daughter is innocent?”
“Maybe.” Det. Britto cautioned with a stiff wave of a hand. “But maybe she was just another member of that group who liked to watch embers in the night sky.”
Emery had also sat up straighter in his chair, ready for anything new. “What ties 'em?”
Det. Britto looked at each of them before speaking. “1992 was the deadliest year of skinhead hate crimes in America. Since then, killings had decreased. That group branched out into other types of crimes. My gut tells me they're not involved in these recent fires. These burns are only made to look like the skinheads did the older ones.” He hunched forward in that same secretive way again and pointed at them with the puzzle. “Do you remember what I said about the only similarity being the lack of professionalism? Let me explain it like this.” He absent-mindedly turned the puzzle over and over. “The Yates house fire had piles of newspapers and magazines stacked on the back porch, even outside the front door. They never threw anything away. Garbage cans were overflowing and trash was piled at the sides of the house. Compressed stacks of papers don't burn so fast. The flames could go out, or maybe just creep through the stacks real slow.”
Abi finally went to take her seat. Joe jumped up and took the seat next to the detective and she took Joe's chair. “The Yates fire didn't creep. It was an inferno.”
“Because the perps soaked the stacks with gasoline.”
“Right, but what's so unprofessional about that?”
“Well, take that Tono Canyon fire years ago. You guys remember that one?”
Emery pointed at Det. Britto. “Started with a campfire.”
“Maybe, Kenton. If you remember, an old trailer had been abandoned in a clearing. Been there years and years. Over time, campers, hunters, lots of people used that dilapidated shelter. Even Aryans practicing war games.”
Joe kept nodding, seeming to understand. “Now we're getting somewhere.”
“There was charred evidence of litter in a circle all around that trailer.” Det. Britto leaned forward and drew a circle with a fingertip over the desktop. “But no trace of flammables.”
“Who needed it?” Emery flashed a crooked smile.
“Why burn that trailer, Britto? And who?”
“Whoever it was wanted to destroy a trail that might lead back to them. The Aryans sometimes burn to teach society a lesson. Who knows? Anyway, paper was present, common ordinary paper materials found in any campsite that wouldn't be suspect.”
“That much paper?”
“Left to rot by each successive group who stayed there.” Suddenly, Det. Britto pulled a piece of the puzzle loose and held it up in surprise.
“The other fires?” Abi watched Det. Britto again become frustrated at working the puzzle and struggling to maintain conversation at the same time. “And mine. I certainly had no loose paper lying about.”
“So they added it.” Det. Britto hadn't taken his attention off the puzzle. He couldn't make any more pieces budge.
“That might have been their biggest mistake.” Emery seemed onto the detective's train of thought.
“Yes, in your case, ma'am. In their non-professional way, they didn't think to douse all that paper with an accelerant.”
“I get it. The only reason they used a flammable at Yates's house was because of the compacted stacks.”
“You got it, Arno. Those other two fires I just mentioned? Naturally occurring paper and no-o-o accelerants. That's the non-professional bit.” A pro gets one chance and hits hard. He'd douse an incendiary trail to make sure the fire blew all at once. If a pro wanted to create some cinders he would use gun powder, timed electrical igniting devices placed at strategic points throughout the structure, all sorts of things unimaginable.
Abi understood exactly what that meant. “So nothing ties these fires to the Aryans, but to the gangs instead.”
“These local punks have no modus operandi. They're just rebels looking for an excuse. No pros among 'em.”
None of them had the smarts to use gasoline in any of the other fires. They just took a chance that whatever paper was lying about would burn. It was no wonder information like this had slipped through the cracks.
“Well done!” Joe punched the detective's shoulder. “Well done.”
For one moment, just one brief moment, Abi took a breath and felt a rush of satisfaction.
“Don't everyone be too happy just yet. I still have to make a case out of all this.”
His theory didn't prove that Becky had nothing to do with the Yates fire. However, it might show the person or persons involved were still out there striking matches. Information like that would not help her daughter. Abi's emotions plummeted again. She sighed heavily, remembering her doctor's warning that all the stress would take a toll on her heart. “This won't get Becky freed.”
Det. Britto scooted to the edge of his chair and turned toward her, seeing past Joe. “The only thing this signifies is that maybe a different person ignited the Yates fire than the ones who started each of the other fires.” He seemed sorry for the bad news. “Yates's fire contained the element of gasoline. The others didn't. Also remember, no new evidence is accepted when the Supreme Court reviews the appeal.” Finally, he straightened in his chair and seemed frustrated that he had not gotten another piece of the puzzle loose.
“This hinders Becky's case. If different people were responsible for all those fires without gasoline, it pointed a finger at Becky as being the one who doused the gasoline at Yates's home.
“We need to catch these flame loving perps. When they're caught, someone's going to want to cop a plea to save their scrawny neck. That person usually tells all.”
“That's just more conjecture, Britto.”
“Maybe, but listen to this last bit.” He paused gathering his thoughts.
“Britto, you always make people wait. Spill it.”
“Well, it's like this.” He waited some more. “Remember that fire in Creighton, where Dara's dad's warehouse went up years ago?” They nodded. “I believe that one was just another in a string of fun and frolic for these pyromaniacs.”
Another thread of evidence. Just a thread. Abi could only hold her breath and stare at the edge of the desk. “Why would they torch Dara's father's place? That would be too close to home, sort of. Wouldn't that leave an easy trail to follow?”
“I have this hunch. Let's just say Dara did her dad's warehouse as initiation to gain entry into one of these gangs. She and her dad were probably the only ones who knew when no employees would be in that warehouse.”
Emery had been making notes and reading. “What are the similarities with any of the others?” Evidently, he could work and listen at the same time and keep track of it all.
“Dara's dad's fire was started in only one area of the building. The warehouse was filled with cardboard boxes full of foodstuffs for the mini-marts.”
“Paper again.”
“Yeah, Arno, paper. No accelerants. Just dry paper and cardboard and expected to burn.”
Emery flashed a facetious grin. “It did, if I recall.”
“It's thin. But the cop in me believes it ties.”
Abi kept her doubts to herself. She was exhausted. Never before in the middle of the day had she wanted to rest.
“When can you release this information, so Abi's insurance claim can go through?”
“Why release it?” Det. Britto looked proud of himself. “I think we should keep it in our arsenal, so to speak.”
“I just want to rebuild my home.”
Emery shook his head. “Can you wait, Abi? Delay as long as you can? We need to cement this information in our favor. I would rather none of this went any farther right now.”
She had no choice. Emery and this sole detective might be the only people who could bring these meager clues together enough to gai
n anyone's attention. The building contractors would not start a new job so close to Christmas anyway.
“Your settlement's tied up in red tape, ma'am. Just between us in this room, they haven't proved you didn't order the burn.” He laid the puzzle and one loose piece back on the corner of the desk and raised his hands in the air, abandoning it.
Chapter 44
Two days after the four met in Emery's office, the ever-hungry media aired more information about how Stan Yates got his sight back and that Emery Kenton and Det. Britto were to have Yates look at the original photographs once more. It sounded as if Yates was back in town. Unexpectedly, detail again aired about Hazel Yates having turned her energies to volunteering at the Creighton Mission Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.
In an unusually quiet morning that gave her precious time to think, Abi realized she hadn't shown gratitude to one person who remained in the background, but whose loyalty was undeniable. The week before Christmas, she gave Lindsay an extra month's salary as a bonus. Lindsay could not be repaid in money, but it was all Abi could do at the moment. Abi still held to the fact that Lindsay should manage a second store when the time came to open one, and her loyalty would be worth a partnership.
Friday night, alone and still living at Joe's house, Lindsay called and screamed into the phone. “Abi, turn on your TV!”
“Lind—”
“Hurry! The news is on.”
Abi couldn't find the remote in the living room. Finally, she raced into the bedroom because the bedroom remote was always on the nightstand. She clicked until she found the evening news. Media crews were at the site of a home on fire. The camera panned. The boarded-up tenement next door was also ablaze, the graffiti on the walls ghostlike, being consumed in flames. The camera panned back to the house blaze and Abi screamed into the phone. “It's Hazel's house!”
A newscaster was being filmed live at the site. “Since Stan Yates lived here with his sister….”
“The Creighton Mission, Lindsay.” Abi yanked open the nightstand drawer looking for the telephone book. “The number….”
