The Justice Project

by Michael Betcherman

  “You too. Wow. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to change teams?”

  “Ha ha.”

  At five o’clock the guests began to arrive. Matt tensed, anticipating an avalanche of stares.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Sonya said. “In debating club they taught us a trick for dealing with nerves when you’re in front of a crowd.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Imagine everyone in the audience is naked.”

  “Now I’m really scared,” Matt said, gesturing at the parade of beefy adults making a beeline to the bar. Sonya laughed.

  They were standing near the door when the mayor and her husband arrived.

  “Jesse brought me up to date on Ray’s case,” Jamie said. “It’s heartbreaking, just heartbreaking. I can’t imagine what he’s going through. Do you think he’ll ever apply for parole?”

  “Not a chance,” Matt said.

  “I’d like to visit him, just to let him know he’s not alone, but it’s been so many years since I’ve seen him. I don’t know how he’d feel about it.”

  “I’m sure it would mean a lot to him,” Sonya said.

  “You can come with us the next time we take Jolene,” Matt offered.

  “It would be less awkward that way,” Dan Burke pointed out.

  “Jolene wouldn’t mind?” Jamie asked.

  “She’d be delighted,” Sonya said.

  Jamie wasn’t the only one to convey her regrets about Ray’s plight. Sean O’Brien, the Justice Project’s lawyer, and Doug Cunningham, Ray’s trial lawyer, both commiserated with Matt and Sonya. They knew what it felt like to put your heart and soul into a noble cause only to come up short. “The hardest lesson I’ve had to learn,” Sean said, “is to accept that life isn’t always fair without giving in to despair—without giving up the fight.”

  Amen, Matt thought.

  “How do you like coaching?” Doug Cunningham asked.

  “It’s not as much fun as playing,” Matt admitted. He was still trying to adjust to his new role. It hadn’t taken long to realize that the players didn’t care about his limp—they knew he could help them improve, and that was all that mattered—but it was going to take a lot longer than two weeks before he stopped thinking about what might have been.

  He had just gotten an orange juice for himself and a sparkling water for Sonya when the Chief arrived.

  “I wonder what he’d say if he knew that we’d thought he killed Ray’s parents,” Sonya said.

  “One look and he’d forgive you,” Matt said, leering at Sonya in his best impression of a dirty old man. “He’d have me put in an insane asylum. I was so sure he did it. Everything fit, except for the fact that he was seven hundred miles away.”

  “Occam’s razor,” Sonya said.

  “Say what?”

  “Occam’s razor. We learned about it in philosophy class. It’s a rule that says the simplest solution to a problem is usually the right one. All those clues—the shit is going to hit the fan, the Rolling Rock beer, Harold Holt—they kept us from seeing the obvious explanation. A burglar broke into the Richardsons’ house and killed Walter and Gwen when they came home. It’s as simple as that.”

  A loud cheer erupted when Bill Matheson arrived with Jesse and Angela. Bill was immediately swarmed. He towered above everybody, looking ill at ease with all the attention.

  Matt attracted a fair bit of attention himself. It was a week before the season opener, and everybody had an opinion about the team’s prospects—and they all were exceedingly generous in sharing it. Matt was relieved when everyone was told to go to the dining room.

  After they were all seated, Jesse introduced Bill and recounted the circumstances of his wrongful conviction. Everybody applauded when Jesse told them about Bill’s refusal to apply for parole. And when Jesse quoted his explanation—they can have my body, but they can’t have my soul—the audience rose in a standing ovation, although Matt suspected that the man at the next table, who muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding,” wasn’t the only one who questioned Bill’s sanity.

  At the end of the evening Jesse called Matt to the podium to announce the successful bidders in the silent auction. He tried to keep Sonya’s tip in mind as he lurched across the floor, but it felt like he was the one who was naked.

  The auction exceeded expectations. Just about every item went for more than its actual value. The Sleazebucket walked away with the signed Falcons jersey, but it cost him $1,900.

  Matt presented the jersey to the Chief, who handed it to Jamie. “I always wanted a football player in the family,” he joked as she put it on. He summoned the Sentinel’s photographer, who snapped a shot of the mayor and Matt standing next to each other. “Front page of tomorrow’s paper,” the Chief predicted.

  “You can’t buy that kind of publicity,” Dan Burke said approvingly.

  After dinner everybody mingled. The room was stuffy. Matt stepped onto the balcony to get some air.

  Bill Matheson was standing by the railing, taking in the view. “This is going to take some getting used to,” he said. “Normally by this time, I’d be in my cell for the night.”

  “Jesse said you’re moving to Seattle.”

  “Yeah. Heather wants me to live with her and her kids. The last time I saw her, she was fifteen years old. I’ve never even seen a picture of my grandchildren.” He looked at Matt. “You’re wondering if I regret not taking parole.”

  Matt nodded.

  “I never did, and I never will,” Bill said forcefully. “My innocence is what kept me going all these years. If I’d given that up, I’d have gotten out of jail, but I wouldn’t have been free. In the eyes of the world I would be a murderer. And I would never have gotten my family back. Well, I guess I better get back in there before they send out a search party.”

  Matt watched Bill shuffle back into the hall. He had paid an awful price for his decision, but at least he was at peace with it. Matt wondered if Ray would be able to say the same when he was Bill’s age.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the house,” Sonya said to Matt the next day, as they arrived at Lawson House for the cocktail party. “I read that Jamie and Dan spent half a million dollars on the renovations.”

  “What time do you think we’ll be done?” Matt asked.

  “I don’t know. Why?” She looked at him and smiled. “You’re seeing Caitlyn again.”

  “I am.”

  It had taken him a few days to summon up the nerve to call her. Her first words had put his fear of rejection to rest. I was hoping you’d call, she said.

  “Look at that view,” Sonya said when they were inside the house. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a large backyard with a spectacular garden, surrounded by an ivy-covered wall. In the distance a forest extended as far as the eye could see.

  “Not too shabby,” Matt agreed.

  About twenty-five guests milled about in the living room. The Chief, wearing the Falcons sweatshirt he’d reclaimed from Jamie, was talking to a good-looking young woman. Old habits die hard, thought Matt.

  A uniformed server held out a tray of appetizers. “Fiery grilled shrimp with honeydew gazpacho,” he announced. Matt and Sonya helped themselves.

  “How good is that?” Matt asked. Sonya nodded happily.

  They corralled server after server. Foie gras with date purée and pomegranate. Prosciutto-wrapped grissini. Potato croquettes with saffron aioli. It was all as delicious as it sounded, even if Matt wasn’t always quite sure what he was eating.

  He was sampling a fig stuffed with goat cheese when Sonya pointed to a wedding picture on the wall.

  “Dan looks old enough to be Jamie’s father,” she said. Jamie must have been in her twenties in the photo, but she looked like a high-school student. Burke, on the other hand, was already going bald. “I wonder what the Chief said when Dan finally told him he was going out with his daughter.”

  “I’m glad to see we have something in common?” Matt sugg
ested.

  Sonya laughed.

  Matt was chasing down another server when he saw Jamie talking to Bill Matheson. Bill waved him over. He was holding a model car, a long, sleek convertible.

  “I bet you’ve never seen one of these,” Bill said. “A ’64 Thunderbird. This is the car I wanted when I was your age.”

  Matt nodded, but he wasn’t listening. His gaze was drawn to the dozens of model cars in a display cabinet behind Bill. It’s just a coincidence, he told himself. Thousands of people collect model cars. So what if Dan Burke is one of them? It doesn’t mean anything.

  But that didn’t stop Matt from sweeping his eyes along the shelves, looking for the red Cadillac with rocket-shaped tail fins that had gone missing from Walter Richardson’s collection. It only took a few seconds to see it wasn’t there. Give it up, dude, he told himself. But he took a second look just to be sure.

  Bill put the Thunderbird back in the cabinet. “How long has your husband been building model cars?” he asked Jamie.

  “He started when he was a boy. He built himself a workshop in the basement. I’d be embarrassed to tell you how much it cost.”

  Bill took another car out of the cabinet. It reminded Matt of the cars in old black-and-white movies.

  Dan Burke strolled over to them.

  “My dad drove a car like this,” Bill told him.

  “A ’48 Packard. It’s a classic. Are you a car enthusiast as well, Matt?”

  “I’m just along for the ride,” Matt said. Everybody laughed. It took him a moment to realize he’d made a pun.

  “You should show Bill the rest of your collection,” Jamie said to her husband.

  Matt’s ears perked up.

  “I’d love to see it,” Bill said.

  “How long are you staying in town?” Burke asked.

  “I’m here for another week.”

  “Great. Why don’t you come by before you leave?”

  “Would tomorrow be convenient?”

  Burke shook his head. “I go to Leamington to visit my father every Sunday. It’s a couple of hours away, so I’ll be gone all day.”

  “You’re a good son,” Bill said approvingly. Matt wondered if he was thinking of all the Sundays he didn’t get to spend with Heather.

  “I’ll call you Monday, and we’ll set something up,” Burke said. He turned to Jamie. “You should make your pitch now, before people start leaving.”

  Burke called for everybody’s attention, then turned the floor over to Jamie.

  “I want to thank you for coming,” Jamie said. “You all heard Bill Matheson’s story…”

  Matt tuned out. Was it possible Burke had Walter’s Cadillac? That he’d stolen it after killing Walter and Gwen? But that made no sense. Burke had no reason to kill Ray’s parents. Matt was letting his imagination run away with him. Just like he had with the Chief. He’d been dead certain that the Chief had driven the car in the fatal hit-and run and had killed Walter to stop the truth from coming out. Dead certain and dead wrong.

  He checked his phone. It was six thirty. He texted Caitlyn.

  Almost finished here. Meet you at 7:30?

  Yay. c u then

  Matt turned his attention back to Jamie, who invited Bill to say a few words.

  Bill kept it short and sweet. “I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for the Justice Project. But there are lots of people who still need their help. So please help.” He paused for a moment, fighting back emotion. “That’s all I have to say.”

  “There’s only more item on the agenda,” Jamie told the crowd. “Your donation.”

  “Pick your favorite number and then add a few zeros,” her husband suggested. Everybody laughed dutifully. Burke put his arm around Jamie’s shoulders.

  He still looks old enough to be her father, Matt thought. Oh my god. His mind was reeling as if he’d been struck by lightning. The Chief wasn’t driving the car. Burke was. And the young girl in the passenger seat wasn’t one of the Chief’s girlfriends. It was Jamie.

  It all fit. When Walter read the article in the Sentinel and realized the Chief’s car was involved in the hit-and-run, he would have assumed that Jamie was the passenger—she was the only person other than the Chief who had access to the car—and that the driver was one of her many boyfriends. It wouldn’t have occurred to him that Burke was the driver, because he and Jamie had kept their relationship a secret. Walter didn’t call Burke to see if the Chief needed him. He called to tell him that the Chief’s daughter had been involved in a fatal hit-and-run.

  Substitute Burke for the Chief, and the rest of the story unfolded the way he and Sonya had envisioned. Burke told Walter to come to Lawson House and then accompanied him back to the Richardson house, where he killed Walter. When Gwen came home, he killed her too. Then he staged the fake burglary, left behind the bottle of Rolling Rock to steer the police in the wrong direction, put on Ray’s Lakers hoodie so nobody would see he was covered in blood, grabbed the red Cadillac and walked out of the house. Cool as a cucumber.

  He hurried over to Sonya.

  “Tell me I’m crazy,” he said after he’d laid out his theory.

  “If you’re crazy, I’m crazy. We’ve got to be here when Burke shows Bill the rest of his collection. But how are we going to manage that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The guests handed in their donations and headed off. Within a few minutes everybody had departed except for the hosts and the Justice Project contingent.

  “Thanks for doing this,” Jesse said to Jamie and her husband. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it. We’re going to be able to help a lot of innocent men and women.”

  “I’ll call you Monday and set up a time to show you the cars,” Burke said to Bill.

  “Why don’t you show them to Bill now and save him the trip?” Jamie suggested.

  “I don’t want to hold up Jesse and Angela,” Bill said.

  Matt leaped on the opening. “Sonya and I can drive you back to your hotel.”

  “Done,” Burke said with a smile.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Jamie said after Jesse and Angela left. “Good night.”

  Burke led the others to his study. “Jamie calls this my man cave,” he joked. A black leather couch with two matching armchairs faced a gigantic TV screen. The television was flanked by built-in floor-to-ceiling shelves that housed the rest of Burke’s massive collection.

  “Is that a ’71 Mustang?” Bill asked, pointing to a lime-green convertible.

  “A ’72,” Burke answered. “I put a new engine in it.” He took it off the shelf and opened the hood, exposing a shiny chrome engine.

  “Beautiful.”

  Bill took his time looking at the collection, showing genuine appreciation for the work Burke had done, while Matt scanned the shelves slowly, from left to right, top to bottom. There were several red cars, but there was no Cadillac with rocket-shaped tail fins. He scanned the shelves again. Nothing.

  Sonya stood by his side. “Occam’s razor.”

  “Occam’s razor.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  “One, two, three. Break,” Matt called out, clapping his hands, as he and his teammates ran out of the huddle. He lurched forward and took his place behind the center. He wondered why he was wearing a Los Angeles Lakers hoodie instead of his football jersey.

  Anthony Blanchard stood on the left side of the field. “What are you waiting for?” he shouted. Matt looked at him helplessly. He couldn’t remember what play they were supposed to run.

  The referee blew his whistle. “Delay of game,” he said.

  Anthony ran toward him. He angrily jabbed Matt in the shoulder. “The needle’s going right there, asshole.” The referee blew his whistle again. And then again. And again…

  Matt woke with a start. He turned off his alarm and stared at the ceiling, waiting for his heart to stop pounding. He felt as helpless as he had in his dream.

  He and Sonya had been on a roller coaster all summer, trying to f
ree Ray, but the ride was over. It ended five days ago in Dan Burke’s man cave. But it was going to take a lot longer than five days to come to terms with the disappointment.

  A text from Caitlyn put the brakes on his descent into despair.

  Had a great time last night.

  Me too, he texted back. Have fun at Grandma’s. Caitlyn was spending the weekend with her grandmother in Pittsburgh.

  Good luck tonight. A reference to the Falcons’ season opener.

  Thanks. See you Monday.

  His date with Caitlyn had been full of surprises.

  Surprise number one had come when they left Greg’s with their ice cream cones after seeing a movie. There was the usual foot traffic on Park Street and, as usual, everybody glanced at Matt’s limp before pretending it didn’t exist.

  “Does that bother you?” Caitlyn asked. It was the first time the subject of his leg had come up.

  “I’m used to it,” he answered. “Does it bother you?”

  “I’ll get used to it,” she said and then slipped her arm through his.

  Surprise number two had come while he was walking her home. He was wondering whether he should kiss her good night when she stopped in her tracks. “Let’s kiss now and get that out of the way,” she said. He could still remember the taste of black-cherry ice cream on her lips.

  Surprise number three was the fact that he hadn’t thought about Emma all night. Except for one moment, when he saw a girl who looked like Emma’s friend Rona boarding a bus across the street from Greg’s.

  Sonya was putting some files in order when he arrived at the office. “I can’t believe it’s our last day,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  They lapsed into silence. Matt was thinking about Ray, and he was pretty sure Sonya was too. But neither of them said anything, as if they had an unspoken agreement not to mention him. “When do you head to Boston?” he asked.

  “Monday. You should come visit me. It’d be fun.”

  “For sure.”

  “What are you doing tonight?” Sonya asked.

  “You clearly don’t keep up with the news. It’s our first game. I can comp you a ticket. One of the perks of the job.”