“You’ve never seen America’s DumbestCriminals, have you?” Matt asked. He wasn’t surprised when she shook her head. Some of the moronic things criminals did were beyond belief. Matt’s all-time favorite episode was about a guy who fell asleep in the house that he was robbing. Just lay down on a bed and took a nap.
But he agreed with Sonya. There was no way Ray would have walked through the blood in his shoes when he got downstairs, not if he’d been together enough to take them off before he went up.
ELEVEN
Sonya corralled Jesse when they got back to the office and laid out the flaw in the police theory of the crime.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jesse said. “Just because it wouldn’t make sense for Ray to put his shoes back on after he came downstairs doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. People who are on drugs don’t always act rationally. And there’s another way to explain how Ray could have killed his parents without leaving bloody shoeprints on the stairs.”
Matt and Sonya gave him a questioning look. “Picture it,” Jesse said. “After Ray’s parents go to work, he goes upstairs and steals his mom’s jewelry and the other items. He wouldn’t be the first drug addict to steal from his parents. Then he empties a few drawers and kicks in the back door to make it look like a burglary. His parents come home later, see there’s been a break-in and suspect Ray did it. He comes home later, he and his dad fight, and his parents end up dead. Ray flees, leaving bloody shoeprints in the living room and the kitchen, but none on the stairs. I’m not saying that’s the way it happened,” Jesse added, taking in Sonya’s disappointed look, “but we can’t exclude the possibility. The point is, you can’t assume Ray is innocent. You have to go into this with an open mind.”
Angela and Jesse spent the better part of an hour prepping Matt and Sonya for the interview with Ray. Then Angela got them started on the fundraiser.
“We’re hoping to raise fifty thousand dollars so we can take on more cases,” she said before assigning them their duties. Matt’s job was to solicit donations for a silent auction from the town’s merchants. Sonya was tasked with selling tickets for the fundraising dinner to Snowden’s legal community.
Matt spent the rest of the day preparing a list of potential donors, but his mind was elsewhere. What if things had happened the way Jesse said? What if Ray was guilty after all? How would Jolene survive?
Matt’s dad was working late and wouldn’t be home for supper, so Matt decided to grab a burger at Charlie’s Diner.
A framed copy of the front page of the Snowden Sentinel from the day after the championship game hung in the diner’s front window. STATE CHAMPS! Barnes Leads Falcons to the Promised Land.
Hard to believe only six months had passed since then. It seemed like six years. Matt felt like he was on a raft in the middle of the ocean, drifting aimlessly with no land in sight. He had always defined himself as a football player, and that was how others had defined him as well. It was a fundamental part of his identity. Matt Barnes. Quarterback. A package deal. The one didn’t exist without the other.
But now he didn’t know who he was. It was like he had been an actor all this time, without even knowing that he had been playing a role. And now the play was over, but he had no idea what part he was supposed to play next.
“Clear eyes,” a familiar deep voice intoned from behind.
“Full hearts,” Matt responded, turning around to face Anthony Blanchard.
“Can’t lose,” they both said at the same time.
Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose. It was the Falcons’ battle cry, borrowed from Friday Night Lights, a TV series about a high-school football team in Texas. Matt and Anthony had watched every episode together on Netflix.
“Sup, AB?” They slapped palms. “When do you head out west?” Matt asked.
“Sunday. Workouts start Monday.”
“I’m happy for you, man.”
“It won’t be the same without you.”
“You’re going to do great out there.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Anthony said with mock bravado. Matt laughed. “Too bad you didn’t make it to my place last week,” Anthony continued. “You missed a fun time.”
“I was planning to come, but something came up.”
“Something always does,” Anthony said pointedly.
“I got a lot to deal with, okay?”
“That’s no reason to freeze me out.”
Matt didn’t respond. There was nothing he could say in his defense.
“I thought we were friends,” Anthony continued.
“We are.”
“When’s the last time we did anything together? When’s the last time you even returned one of my phone calls?”
Matt shrugged helplessly.
“It killed me to see what happened to you. The day I came to see you in the hospital was the worst day of my life.”
“Mine too.”
“I don’t get it, man. We used to talk about everything. Now all I get is Sup, AB. What’s going on?”
Matt shrugged again.
“You’ve always been straight with me. Is it because I remind you of what you’ve lost? Is that it?”
Matt shook his head.
“What is it then? Talk to me.”
Matt could see the hurt and frustration in his friend’s eyes. He wanted to tell him the truth about his leg. He deserved to know. But the words just wouldn’t come.
Anthony held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, man. If this is the way you want it. I’m not going to make it any tougher on you than it already is. You do what you got to do.” He stared at Matt for a couple of beats and then walked away.
Matt watched him go. “Anthony. Wait.”
Anthony turned around.
Matt put both crutches under his left arm and lurched toward him.
TWELVE
Matt was on his bed the next morning, playing on his phone as he waited for Sonya to pick him up to go to the prison, when Anthony texted him.
Be strong, brother. Love you.
Love you too.
Anthony had reacted to his limp the same way Emma had. Shock, gradually giving way to dismay, accompanied by a sad shake of the head and the words I don’t know what to say.
What could anybody say? In a few days Anthony would be in California, chasing his dream, while Matt would be here in Snowden, dealing with his nightmare.
After Sonya texted that she was on her way, Matt got to his feet, checked to make sure he had two pieces of ID for the prison and limped out of his room. He resisted the urge to reach for his crutches. Time to man up.
His father was in the washroom, packing his toiletries for the annual retreat held by the insurance company he worked for. “You off to meet Ray?” he asked. Matt nodded. “Should be interesting. You can tell me all about it when I get back on Tuesday. You won’t be able to call me directly, but you can leave a message for me at the hotel if anything comes up.”
“Okay. Have fun at the retreat.”
“Fun is the one thing it won’t be.”
Matt lurched toward the door.
“No crutches,” his dad said.
“No crutches,” Matt echoed.
“You nervous?”
“A little,” Matt said, in what had to be the understatement of all time.
“That’s only natural. Just remember that your limp doesn’t matter to the people who care about you.”
“I’m still the same person I always was, right?”
His dad smiled sympathetically. “You are, even if it doesn’t feel like it now. All I can say is I know you can deal with this, even if you don’t think you can.”
Matt shrugged. He wished he shared his father’s confidence. He opened the door and walked into the corridor.
It was the first day of the rest of his life.
He was waiting on the sidewalk when Sonya drove up in the Civic. She lowered her window. “Hey. No crutches!”
Matt nod
ded, then hobbled around the front of the car and installed himself in the passenger seat, as self-conscious as if he were naked.
Sonya stared at him, unable to conceal her shock. “Is that…”
“It’s as good as it’s going to get.”
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
You and everybody else, Matt thought. “How about ‘you’re still incredibly sexy,’” he suggested.
Sonya laughed weakly.
“‘And if I didn’t have a boyfriend…’”
“Don’t push it,” Sonya said with a smile that evaporated the moment it appeared on her face.
“We should get going,” Matt said. “Jolene’s waiting.”
“Ray’s going to be surprised to see us,” Jolene said when she got into the car.
“Doesn’t he know we’re coming?” Matt asked.
“No. Prisoners can call out from prison, but they aren’t allowed to receive calls.”
“Do you talk to him often?” Sonya asked.
“Hardly ever. He has to call collect, and it costs ten dollars for a fifteen-minute call.”
“That’s outrageous.”
“Don’t get me started.”
“How often do you see him?” Matt asked.
“Every two weeks. I’d go more often if it wasn’t so hard to get there. I have to take the 8 AM bus from Snowden to get to Stittsville in time to catch another bus to the prison.”
“How long does the trip take?” Sonya asked.
“Six hours each way. Like I said, don’t get me started.”
“Does anybody else visit Ray?” Matt asked.
“Not anymore. Some of his friends used to, back when he first went away, but after a few years they stopped going. I don’t blame them. They have their lives to live.” Jolene stared out the window at the fields of corn. “I’m all he has.”
Jolene didn’t say anything about Matt’s limp as they walked from the parking lot to the visitors’ center. Neither did the people who were lined up inside. But that didn’t make Matt feel any less like a freak.
Sonya surreptitiously squeezed his hand. He smiled at her gratefully, touched by the gesture of support.
“ID,” barked the guard manning the desk. He scrutinized their documents carefully and then handed them back, along with visitor passes and a key. “Pin the pass to your clothes, and put all your belongings in the locker.”
They followed his instructions, then sat down on a wooden bench and waited for visiting hours to begin. A young woman with a tight Afro waved at Jolene before heading their way. She had a boy with her who looked to be about five.
“Hi, Corinne,” Jolene said.
“Hey, Jolene.”
“I see you brought the little guy with you.”
“This is Antwan. Say hello to everybody, Antwan.”
“I’m not little,” Antwan said. Everybody laughed.
“You’re right,” Jolene said. “You’re getting to be a big fellow. This is Sonya and Matt. They’re law students working on Ray’s case for the Justice Project.” The first part of the sentence was an exaggeration, and the last part wasn’t strictly true, but neither Matt nor Sonya felt the need to set the record straight.
“I hope you’re going to get that boy out,” Corinne said.
“We’ll do our best,” Sonya said confidently, as if Ray’s release was just a matter of time.
Corinne took an action figure out of her purse and gave it to her son. “I don’t like bringing him here,” she whispered, “but my babysitter bailed at the last minute. He hasn’t seen his father in two years. I didn’t know what to tell him, so I told him his dad had been bad and was having a time-out.”
Matt was wondering what the time-out was for when a voice droned over the PA.
“Visiting hours begin in five minutes. Form a line at the security checkpoint. Visiting hours begin in five minutes. Form a line at the security checkpoint.”
Everybody stood and headed for the metal detector.
“He walks funny,” Antwan said in a loud voice, pointing at Matt.
“Shush,” his mother said.
“That’s okay,” Matt said. The kid was only saying what everybody else was thinking. “You’re right,” he said to Antwan. “I do walk funny.”
THIRTEEN
The visitors’ room contained about twenty square metal tables, each with four metal seats. Everything was bolted to the floor. A floor-to-ceiling blowup of a beach dominated the opposite wall. It was the same photo Matt had seen in Jolene’s apartment. Ray hadn’t been given a day pass after all. And barring a miracle—and Matt hadn’t believed in miracles since he found out there was no Santa Claus—the photo was as close to a beach as Ray would ever get.
Jolene bought a can of Coke at the vending machine and pointed to a table. “Let’s sit here,” she said. The prisoners, all wearing blue jeans and white T-shirts, trickled into the cafeteria, greeted by hugs and smiles from their visitors. Ray headed straight to Jolene. He gave Matt and Sonya a puzzled look.
“Matt and Sonya are with the Justice Project,” Jolene explained, handing him the Coke. “They’re investigating your case.”
“I don’t understand. You said they turned us down.”
Sonya explained how Bill Matheson had vouched for Ray, and that she and Matt were looking for evidence that would allow the Justice Project to take his case.
Ray didn’t say anything. The look of dismay on his face said it all: How could these young kids possibly help him?
My feelings exactly, Matt thought.
“Tell us what happened that day,” Sonya said.
They only had two hours. There was no time to waste with small talk. Matt sat up straight and focused on the conversation. Visitors weren’t allowed to bring anything except eight dollars in change into the room. Without a recorder, he and Sonya would have to rely on their memories until they got back to the car and had a chance to write everything down.
Ray snapped the tab on the can of Coke and took a sip. “I got up about noon and had a bowl of cereal. Mom and Dad came into the kitchen. They had to go to work.”
“What did your mother do?” Sonya asked.
“She was a legal secretary. She worked for Violet Bailey.”
“The lawyer who defended the Aylmer Valley Slayer?”
Ray nodded. “Violet had a trial coming up, and Mom had to go in for a few hours, even though it was a Sunday. She reminded me that Grandma was coming over for dinner and told me to make sure to tidy up the kitchen before I left. We always had Sunday dinner together.” He smiled wistfully at Jolene. “Dad didn’t say a word to me. The day before, we had a big argument about my”—Ray hesitated until he found the right word—“lifestyle, and he was still pissed at me. After they left I finished my breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen and then went to my friend’s apartment on Dalton Street.”
“What’s the name of your friend?” Sonya asked. Jesse had told them to get the names of everybody Ray saw that day.
“Mike Miller.”
“Is he still around?”
“No idea. We hung out for a couple of hours, then Mike went to work and I went to a bar, the Linsmore, to watch the Lakers–Celtics basketball game.”
“How could you get into a bar?” Matt asked. “You were only eighteen.”
“The Linsmore wasn’t real strict about stuff like that,” Ray said with a smile. “The bartender, Skinny, was a Celtics fan, and I’m a Lakers fan, so we bet twenty bucks on the game. The Lakers won in overtime.”
Matt remembered that Ray wore a Los Angeles Lakers hoodie in the photo of him and his dad beside the Chief’s sedan.
“What’s Skinny’s real name?” Sonya asked.
Ray shrugged. “Everybody just called him Skinny. After I left, I ran into a guy I knew. Worm. I don’t know his real name either,” he said, anticipating the question, “but it wouldn’t help you if I did. He got shot a few years after I came here. I bought some coke from him with the money I won
from Skinny, but it must have been cut with something nasty, because by the time I got home I was jumping out of my skin.
“I saw the limo in the garage, so I knew Dad was home. I didn’t know if I should go in the house or not. I knew Dad would go crazy if he saw I was high. Then I saw that the back door had been kicked in. I looked inside and saw him lying on the floor in the living room. I ran inside. Mom was on the stairs. There was blood everywhere.” Ray went silent for a few moments. “I must have totally freaked out, because the next thing I remember is running down the alley. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up the next day under the bridge by the river at the foot of Delaney. I went straight to the police station.”
A grim look appeared on Ray’s face. “Two detectives interviewed me. Chartwell and Summers. They told me that it looked like my parents had been killed by a burglar. It never crossed my mind that they thought I did it. But by then they’d found the knife with my prints on it. I don’t remember picking it up, but I guess I must have.
“They asked me what happened. I told them what I just told you. Summers asked me if I was sure I had cleaned up the kitchen. I said I was positive. I hadn’t wanted to give Dad a reason to get angry with me. Summers said he was asking because the police found an empty bottle of beer on the kitchen table. I told him it wasn’t there when I left the house. I said Dad must have drunk it when he got home from work.
“That’s when it got ugly. Chartwell said I was lying. He said if Dad had come into the kitchen after the break-in, he would have seen that the back door was kicked in. He wouldn’t have sat down and drunk a beer. I said the burglar must have broken in after Dad drank the beer. Chartwell said a burglar will rarely break into a house if he knows someone’s home, especially if it’s a man, and he would have known my dad was home because his chauffer’s hat was on the kitchen table and his coat was draped over the chair.
“He said there was a better explanation. He said Dad drank the beer before I got home. When he saw I was wasted, we got into a fight, and I grabbed a knife and stabbed him. When my mother came home I killed her too, and then tried to make it look like a burglar did it.
The Justice Project Page 5
