The Justice Project

by Michael Betcherman

  “Bill’s daughter. She was fifteen when he went to prison. All her life she’s believed that her father killed her mother. She told her children he was dead. When she finds out he’s innocent, it’s going to be a real shock. She and her kids are victims of this whole thing too.”

  Jesse tuned the radio to a country station. The hurting music suited the somber mood. Matt thought about Bill Matheson, cooped up in his cell where he’d spent the past thirty-seven years. Life isn’t fair, he thought. A stab of pain sliced through his leg as if to underline the point.

  “Let us investigate,” Sonya blurted out from the back seat.

  “Say what?” Jesse said.

  “Let Matt and me investigate Ray’s case.” She looked at Matt, raising her eyebrows. Are you in? It felt more like a challenge than a question. He nodded. “Maybe we can come up with some new evidence,” Sonya told Jesse. “And then you’ll be able to hire an investigator.”

  She really is a pit bull, Matt thought, but this time with more than a little admiration.

  Jesse broke out in laughter. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that—”

  “We’re kids,” Sonya said.

  “Yeah. You’re kids.”

  Matt agreed. How were a couple of kids going to get somebody out of prison?

  “The worst that can happen is that we don’t come up with anything,” Sonya argued. “We’ll do it on our own time.” She looked at Matt again. Another challenge he felt compelled to accept.

  “That’s not the issue,” Jesse said. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Ok. But you don’t make a move without clearing it with me or Angela first.”

  There goes my summer, Matt thought. But it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

  NINE

  Sonya was alone in the office when Matt arrived on Monday morning.

  “I’ve been thinking about Mrs. Richardson all weekend,” she said after Matt had helped himself to a cup of coffee. “Look at what she’s been through. First her son and daughter-in-law are murdered, and then her grandson is convicted of killing them. She’s lost everything.”

  Matt nodded. Sonya may be righteous, he thought, but she cares. She really cares.

  “I can’t wait to tell her we’re going to help,” she added, as if Jesse’s giving them the green light guaranteed Ray’s freedom.

  “I wouldn’t tell Ray to start packing just yet.”

  The night before, determined not to let Sonya get the jump on him again, Matt had combed the Internet looking for articles about Ray’s case. The story of a boy who was accused of murdering his parents had made the front pages of just about every newspaper in the East. Matt had read every article, but nothing he read had convinced him Ray was innocent. He wondered why Bill Matheson was so sure about it.

  Just then Jesse and Angela arrived. “You guys still want to look into Ray’s case?” Jesse asked after he had gone through his routine with the door.

  “Absolutely,” Sonya said.

  “Okay. What do we know?”

  Matt jumped in before Sonya could beat him to it. “Ray’s parents were murdered in their house,” he began. “They were knifed to death. The back door had been kicked in, and the house had been ransacked, so at first the police thought a burglar killed them when they came home after work and found him in the house. But the next day they found a knife in the alley behind the house, and Ray’s fingerprints were on it. And there were bloody shoeprints that matched his shoes, leading from the bodies to the back door.”

  “How does Ray explain that?” Jesse asked.

  “He said his parents were dead when he came home that afternoon. He said he’d been drinking and doing drugs, and that when he saw their bodies he freaked out and ran. He claimed he didn’t remember anything after that until he woke up the next morning down by the river. He went to the police station and told them what happened, but by then they’d found the knife with his fingerprints. They charged him with murder. When the prosecutor said he would ask for the death penalty unless Ray pled guilty, he took the deal.”

  “How did they know the fingerprints on the knife were his?” Angela asked.

  “He was busted for possession the year before,” Sonya said. She’d done her homework too.

  “Pot?” Angela asked.

  “Meth. He was only seventeen, so he got off with six months’ probation.”

  “Did he have a motive?” Jesse asked. “Why would he want to kill his parents?”

  “Ray’s dad was angry at him because he was doing drugs,” Matt answered. “The police said that when he came home and his dad saw he was high, they got into a fight. Ray grabbed a knife and stabbed his father. His mom got involved, and he stabbed her too. Then he tried to make it look like a burglar killed them.”

  “What was stolen?” Jesse asked.

  “His mother’s jewelry, a camera and a cassette player.”

  “Things that are easy to sell,” Angela pointed out. “That’s what a burglar would take. Who found the bodies?”

  “Ray’s grandmother,” Sonya said.

  “How horrible,” Angela said.

  “What do we do now?” Matt asked.

  “Talk to Jolene, and then go meet Ray,” Jesse said.

  “What do you think of the case?” Sonya asked.

  “Let’s put it this way. If Bill Matheson didn’t think Ray was innocent, we wouldn’t be getting involved. You two have a lot of work ahead of you,” Jesse warned. “The longer it’s been since the crime took place, the harder it is to crack a case. Witnesses die, or they can’t be tracked down. Memories fade. Evidence disappears. Sometimes there’s nothing anybody can do, not even the most experienced investigator.”

  There was no need to add that Matt and Sonya were a couple of rookies. The point was made. They would be wise to go into this without any expectations. Not that Matt had any.

  TEN

  “Did you guys read this?” Jesse asked the next day as Matt and Sonya were about to leave on their lunch hour for their interview with Jolene Richardson.

  He held up the Snowden Sentinel’s Sunday Magazine. The mayor, Jamie Jenkins, was on the cover, standing on the front steps of Lawson House, the mayor’s official residence. The headline was beside the picture: An Inside Look at the Lawson House Makeover.

  “Interior decorating isn’t really my thing,” Matt said dryly.

  “I was talking about this,” Jesse said. He pointed to another headline on the magazine cover. The Case against the Death Penalty: The Aylmer Valley Slayer’s Lawyer Speaks Out. By Violet Bailey.

  “I read it,” Sonya said. “It was shocking.” She turned to Matt. “It listed all the countries in the world that executed people last year. The United States was the only country from North America, South America and Western Europe that was on the list.”

  “Depressing, isn’t it?” Jesse held the magazine out to Matt. “You want to read it?”

  “Sure.” Matt put the magazine in his desk drawer, and then he and Sonya headed for the door.

  “Keep in mind that Mrs. Richardson is 100 percent convinced her grandson is innocent,” Angela said. “It doesn’t mean she’s not going to tell the truth, but it’s going to color everything she says.” Matt and Sonya nodded. “Do you have the recorder?” Sonya patted her backpack. “I ordered your business cards,” Angela continued. “They’ll be ready in a couple of days.”

  Cool, Matt was about to say, but one glance at Sonya and he thought better of it.

  “Let me guess,” he said when they got outside. “That’s yours.” He pointed to a blue Honda Civic with a license plate that read SONYA.

  “You’re going be a great detective,” Sonya said, deadpan.

  A joke! There’s a first time for everything, Matt thought.

  “I had nothing to do with the cheesy license plate, by the way. My dad chose it.”

  “Sweet ride.” Maybe he should have taken the job at the golf club after all, Matt thought. “Graduation present?”

 
“Kind of. My dad gave it to me when I got into Harvard. He went there, and he always wanted me to go there too.”

  “What if you didn’t want to go to Harvard?”

  “That was never an option.”

  “Do I sense a note of bitterness?”

  “You really are going to be a great detective.”

  Matt put his crutches in the car and awkwardly lowered himself into the passenger seat.

  “I never said this before, but I’m really sorry about what happened to you,” Sonya said.

  “Thanks.”

  “You know, I saw you play once. A friend took me to a game.”

  “Kicking and screaming?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Who did we play?”

  “I don’t remember, but you were really good. You scored three goals,” Sonya joked, proving it hadn’t been a fluke the first time.

  A smile lit up her face. Matt wondered if she had a boyfriend.

  Ten minutes later they were driving through Snowden’s East End, a working-class area that had seen better times, judging by the number of For Sale and For Rent signs in the shop windows.

  “Take the next left,” Matt said, after checking the map on his smartphone. “There.” He pointed to a four-story apartment building in the middle of the block.

  They had just gotten out of the car when Sonya’s phone rang. She checked the display. A radiant smile appeared on her face. “Hey, Morgan. What’s up?...I bought the Ranger. I know it’s expensive, but a good compass is worth every penny. Can I call you later? We’re meeting Mrs. Richardson…Okay, sweetie. Bye.”

  That answers the question of whether she has a boyfriend, Matt thought. “What’s the compass for?” he asked.

  “Orienteering.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a sport. You follow a course through the forest using only a map and a compass. Whoever does it quickest wins. Morgan and I have a big race coming up in a couple of weeks.”

  “Cool. How long have you been going out with him?”

  Sonya hesitated for a moment.

  “I know,” Matt said. “It’s none of my business.”

  “That’s okay. We met last year at a competition in Boston.”

  “Is that where he lives?”

  Another hesitation. “Yeah.”

  “Is he going to Harvard too?”

  “Northeastern.”

  “That’s convenient,” Matt said. Harvard and Northeastern were both in Boston.

  “Sometimes life works out.”

  And sometimes it doesn’t, Matt thought.

  Jolene answered the buzzer seconds after Sonya pushed it. “Come on in,” she said. “Second door on the left.”

  The hallway was dark and gloomy. Jolene stood in the doorway of her apartment, waiting for them.

  “Hello, Mrs. Richardson,” Sonya said.

  “Please, call me Jolene. Come in, come in.” Jolene ushered them into the living room. It was sparsely furnished. A wooden coffee table sat between a couch with faded upholstery and two matching armchairs. Family photographs hung on the wall above the couch. “Can I get you something to drink?” Jolene asked. “I just made some iced tea.”

  “That would be lovely,” Sonya said.

  Matt’s attention was drawn to a large glass cabinet in one corner that housed dozens of model cars, exact replicas of the originals, down to the smallest detail—headlights, windshield wipers, dashboards with all the instrumentation. A number of the cars had their hoods open, revealing engines that looked just like the real thing. It was a strange collection for an old woman to have, he thought.

  “This must be Ray and his dad,” Sonya said. She was looking at a photo of a young boy and an older man standing beside a gleaming black luxury sedan. Ray’s father was in a chauffeur’s uniform. He towered over his son, who looked to be about thirteen years old. Ray was wearing a purple Los Angeles Lakers hoodie, a rare sight in Snowden, where just about everybody was a Boston Celtics fan.

  “You’re not the only one with a cheesy license plate,” Matt said, pointing to the black sedan in the photo with THE CHIEF imprinted on the plate.

  Jolene returned with a pitcher of iced tea and a plate of cookies and placed them on the coffee table.

  “How old is Ray in this picture?” Sonya asked.

  “Seventeen. He was always small for his age. This is what he looks like now.” Jolene pointed to a photograph of her and an adult Ray standing beside a palm tree, the ocean in the background. Matt wouldn’t have known it was Ray, and not just because of the passage of time. He had clearly taken advantage of the prison weight room. His T-shirt could barely contain his bulging biceps.

  Wait a minute, Matt said to himself. How did Ray end up at the beach? The authorities must have given him a day pass, but Matt was surprised they’d let a convicted murderer out of jail. He was about to ask Jolene about it when Sonya pointed to a photo of a woman holding a baby. “Is that Ray and his mother?” she asked.

  Jolene nodded. “Ray was Gwen’s miracle baby. She had him after the doctors told her she couldn’t have children.” She shook her head sadly.

  Jolene poured the iced tea and passed around the plate of cookies. “Thank you so much for coming. I know this doesn’t mean the Justice Project is taking Ray’s case,” she added quickly, to show she understood that the organization hadn’t made an official commitment. Jesse had insisted that Sonya make that clear when she set up the interview. “But please tell Mr. Donovan how much I appreciate this. It’s the first ray of hope we’ve had in a long, long time.” She smiled gratefully. If she was disappointed that Ray’s fate was in the hands of a couple of high-school kids, she didn’t let on.

  “Do you mind if we record the conversation?” Sonya asked.

  “Not at all.”

  Sonya put a digital recorder on the table and pushed the Record button. She consulted the list of questions she and Matt had prepared with Angela and Jesse, but before she could ask the first one, Jolene started right in. The words came out in a rush.

  “I was the one who found them, you know?” she said. Sonya and Matt nodded. “I remember it like it was yesterday. My son Walter dropped by around two-thirty that afternoon and told me he’d be back at seven to pick me up. I had dinner at his house every Sunday.”

  “I thought he was working that day,” Sonya said.

  “He was. But he had to take the mayor’s car into the garage for repairs, and he picked up a replacement from the limo company around the corner.” Jolene sighed heavily. “It was the last time I ever saw him.

  “He was always on time, so at a quarter after seven, when he still hadn’t come by, I called the house. There was no answer. I had a feeling something was wrong, so I got in a taxi and went over there. I knocked on the door, but nobody answered. I went inside and saw Gwen lying on the stairs in a pool of blood. Then I saw my son in the living room.” She stopped talking and stared off into the distance, pain etched on her face as if it had all happened yesterday.

  She’s been living with this for twenty-one years, Matt thought. Since before I was even born.

  Jolene collected herself. “I was afraid the killer might still be there, so I ran next door and called the police. Then I tried to find Ray. I phoned his friends, but nobody knew where he was. The next day the police called and said that Ray was at the station. They said they’d have him phone me once they finished talking to him. It never crossed my mind that they suspected him until he called me that night and told me he’d been charged with murder.”

  Her voice rose. “Ray and his parents were having problems, but he loved them, and they loved him. He would never have killed them, not in a million years, no matter how many drugs he was taking.” She took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself. “Then there was that nonsense about him trying to make it look like a burglary to throw the police off the track. A pile of hooey.”

  “What do you mean?” Sonya asked.

  “Gwen kept her jewelry upstairs
in the bedroom. If Ray stole the jewelry after he killed her and Walter, to make it look like a burglary like the police said he did, why weren’t there bloody shoeprints on the stairs as well as in the kitchen and the living room?”

  “Maybe he took his shoes off before he went upstairs,” Matt suggested hesitantly, reluctant to offend Jolene.

  “I’ve thought of that,” Jolene said, not offended in the least. “But if he was smart enough to do that, he wouldn’t have put his shoes back on when he came downstairs and then traipsed through all that blood.”

  “Who do you think did it?” Sonya asked.

  “It’s obvious. A burglar must have been in the house when Walter and Gwen came home. That’s what the police originally thought, but they never followed up on it. Once they found the knife with Ray’s fingerprints, they decided he was guilty, and that was the end of the investigation.” She sighed again. “They didn’t even let him go to his own parents’ funeral. Poor boy never got a chance to pay his respects.”

  “We’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine thirty,” Sonya said to Jolene after the interview ended. She and Matt were going to the prison with Jolene to meet Ray.

  “Wonderful.”

  “That’s an amazing collection,” Matt said on the way out, gesturing to the cabinet with the model cars. “How long have you had it?”

  “It belonged to Walter. He started building model cars when he was a boy. We’d go for a walk, and he could tell you the make, model and year of every car he saw.” Jolene gazed into the past. “Ray helped build some of those cars when he was young, but he lost interest when he got older.” It was clear from the way she said it that she didn’t think much of the new activities that had captured her grandson’s attention. “I’m saving the collection for him. It’s the only thing he has left from his dad.”

  “What do you think?” Sonya asked Matt when they were outside.

  “About what?”

  Sonya rolled her eyes. “About the Patriots’ chances of winning the Super Bowl. About what Jolene said. If Ray didn’t leave bloody shoeprints when he went upstairs, he wouldn’t have left them downstairs. Nobody’s that stupid.”