“I’d love to, but I promised my dad I’d stay home to make sure nobody steals the lawn.”
Matt was cleaning out his desk when he found, buried at the back of the drawer, the Sentinel’s Sunday Magazine with the cover image of Jamie Jenkins on the front steps of the newly renovated Lawson House. He was about to throw it out when he remembered it contained Violet Bailey’s article on the death penalty that Jesse had recommended. He put it in his backpack. He didn’t need any more convincing about the need to eliminate the death penalty, but he’d decided to study criminology at Eastern State, and it might come in handy for his criminal law course.
Jesse and Angela treated them to lunch at Bellini’s, one of the best restaurants in town. “We can’t tell you how pleased we are with the job you did all summer and especially on the fundraiser,” Jesse said after everyone had ordered.
“We brought in over seventy-five thousand dollars,” Angela said.
“We’ll be able to double our case load,” Jesse added. He paused. He knew what Matt and Sonya were thinking. Ray’s case wasn’t one of them. “I wish we could help Ray, but there’s nothing we can do.”
“I know how disappointed you are,” Angela said. “You did everything you could, if that’s any consolation.”
Matt and Sonya exchanged a look. It wasn’t.
“This place won’t be the same without you,” Jesse said, moving on.
“Hear, hear,” Angela said. “We’ve got a gift for each of you to thank you for all your hard work.” She handed a small gift-wrapped package to Sonya and an envelope to Matt.
Sonya opened her present. A pair of dangly earrings and a matching bracelet. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”
Matt’s gift was a pair of tickets to the New England Patriots opening game. “This is perfect. My dad’s birthday is coming up, and I had no idea what to get him. This is going to blow him away.”
Matt and Sonya had nothing to do at the office, but they hung around with Jesse and Angela for a while longer, reluctant to leave the summer behind.
“Do you want to get a coffee?” Matt asked Sonya when they finally left.
“I can’t. I told Jolene I’d drop by to see her.”
“My dad said I could have the car next weekend. Tell her I’ll take her to see Ray then.”
“Don’t forget to invite Jamie.”
“I won’t. I guess this is goodbye,” Matt said.
“I’ll be back at Thanksgiving.”
“You know what I mean.”
Sonya nodded. The two of them had given everything they had in an effort to prove Ray was innocent. They had been together every step of the way, sharing their joy when it appeared that they had succeeded, and their sorrow when they realized they had failed. But now the journey had ended, and they were moving on. Life was taking them in different directions.
“You take care, Matt,” Sonya said.
“You too.”
They hugged, and then Sonya got into her Honda and drove off. Matt watched until the car had disappeared from sight.
It’s going to be a long season, Matt thought as he watched the locker-room celebration after the Falcons’ victory in the season opener. It was gratifying to know he had made a contribution to the win, but standing on the sidelines wasn’t the same as being out on the field in the middle of the action, with the cheerleaders shouting his name and fourteen thousand fans cheering his every move. Not even close.
He slipped out of the locker room and headed home. Traffic on Park Street was bumper to bumper. Horns honked. People yelled to each other through car windows. It was football season again, and Snowden had come back to life.
The bus came to a stop in front of Charlie’s Diner. The framed copy of the Sentinel’s front page with its giant headline—STATE CHAMPS! Barnes Leads Falcons to the Promised Land—was still in the window.
Matt regarded it neutrally, as if the Matt Barnes in the newspaper was somebody else, somebody he once knew long ago. The bus started up again. A chapter in his life had ended. A new one was about to begin.
It was time to turn the page.
FORTY
Matt slept in late the next morning. He had a couple of hours to kill before going to The Goon’s house. The guys were getting together to watch Anthony Blanchard’s first game in a USC uniform. It was on national television.
If only.
Matt put a load of clothes in the washing machine, tidied up his desk so it would be ready for school, and then emptied his backpack. He took out the Sentinel’s Sunday Magazine and began reading Violet Bailey’s article on the death penalty.
It blew his mind from the opening paragraph. He’d had no idea that executions could be so gruesome, and Violet hadn’t spared the grisly details: bodies that caught fire when the electric chair failed to function properly, executions that required numerous jolts of electricity before the condemned man finally expired amid the stench of singed flesh, improperly administered lethal injections that left men moaning in pain for more than an hour before they finally died. Matt knew that most of these men had been guilty, and that they had shown absolutely no compassion toward their victims, but that didn’t justify the barbaric way they had been treated.
But the botched executions, a relative rarity, weren’t the part of the article that shocked Matt the most. That came when he read that a black man convicted of murder was four times more likely to be sentenced to death than a white man who committed the same crime. The color of the victim made a difference as well. If the victim was white, there was a far greater chance that his or her killer would be sentenced to death than if the victim came from a racial minority. Some lives clearly mattered more than others.
He was digesting these troubling facts when Emma called. His heart leaped, as it always did when he saw her name on the screen.
“How did the tour go?” he asked. Emma had been on tour with the theater company for the past two weeks.
“Tiring but exciting. I hear you’ve been a busy boy.”
“You spoke to Rona.” It had been her across the street from Greg’s.
“Rona said she was really cute. What’s her name?” Emma sounded disturbingly undisturbed.
“Caitlyn. And she is. Really cute.”
“Is it serious?”
“We’ve only been on three dates.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s got potential.”
“That’s great. I’m really happy for you, Matt.” Too happy, he thought. “It makes it a lot easier to tell you what I’ve got to tell you. I’ve been seeing someone too. His name’s Max. He’s one of the other actors.”
“Is it serious?”
“It’s got potential.”
“That’s great,” Matt said, with an enthusiasm he didn’t wholly feel. Even though he was excited about the way things were going with Caitlyn, it still bothered him to think of Emma with someone else. “I hope he knows how lucky he is.”
“I hope so too, because I keep telling him.”
Matt laughed.
“How’s Ray’s case going?” Emma asked.
“Not good.” He brought Emma up to date.
“That’s horrible. The poor man.”
“It’s a freaking nightmare. We know Ray’s innocent, and we can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“It must be incredibly frustrating. But I’m glad to see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“It’s been a long time since you were this passionate about something. I know you’re upset—”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“—but feeling something is a lot better than not feeling anything at all.”
Matt thought about Emma’s comment after they said goodbye. He remembered how depressed he’d been before he started working on Ray’s case, how hopeless life had seemed, how hard it had been just to get out of bed in the morning. But he didn’t feel like that now. He recalled what Angela had said on his first day at the Justice Project, how fig
hting for Jesse had given her a purpose. Fighting for Ray had done the same for him. It had given him something to focus on other than himself.
He knew his struggles were far from over. He knew it would be a long time before he fully came to terms with what had happened to him, before he stopped seeing himself as a victim. But at least there was light at the end of the tunnel.
He picked up the magazine and idly turned the pages until he came to the photo spread showing the renovations to Lawson House. He flipped through the pictures. Room after room decked out in luxury. So that’s what half a million bucks gets you, he thought.
The last picture showed Dan Burke in his state-of-the-art workshop. He stood in front of his workbench, holding the same lime-green Ford Mustang he’d shown them in his study. The hood was open, revealing the shiny chrome engine he had so proudly installed. Matt cringed when he remembered how ready he and Sonya had been to accuse him of murder. He was about to turn the page when a flash of color caught his eye.
A red Cadillac with rocket-shaped tail fins sat on a shelf behind Burke’s left ear.
Matt reached for his phone and called The Goon to say he wouldn’t be able to come over to watch Anthony’s game. Then he called Sonya.
An hour later they were in Jolene’s room in the retirement home, watching her study the photo of Dan Burke in his workshop. Showing it to her wasn’t a decision they had taken lightly. They both remembered what had happened the last time they’d given Jolene hope. But there was no way of doing what they had to do without her.
“It could just be a coincidence,” Sonya said. “It might not be Walter’s car.”
“You don’t believe that for a minute, and neither do I,” Jolene said.
“What changes did Walter make to the car?” Matt asked.
Jolene retrieved the three-ring binder and turned to the information sheet for the 1959 Cadillac. “He added red flocking and put on a new license plate,” she said.
“What’s flocking?” Matt asked.
“It’s a powder you glue on the floor of the car that looks like carpeting.” Then she cut to the chase. “How are you going to get into Burke’s workshop?”
“We’ve got a plan,” Matt said.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Sonya asked after she and Matt had laid out their scheme.
Jolene replied with a voice as hard as steel. “Don’t you worry about me.”
FORTY-ONE
At eight thirty the next morning Sonya dropped Matt off at the south entrance of Ross McNaughton Park. He walked through the park to the north entrance and found a spot that gave him an unobstructed view of Lawson House. There was nothing to do now but wait.
At nine fifteen Dan Burke drove his white Mercedes out of the garage and turned left, on his way to Leamington to visit his father. Matt texted Sonya.
Good to go.
A few minutes later Sonya pulled into the semicircular drive at Lawson House. She and Jolene got out of the car, walked to the front door and rang the bell. Jamie opened the door, purse in hand, ready to go see Ray. She shook hands with Jolene, the two women chatted briefly, and then they all went into the house.
So far, so good, Matt thought. Even though he hadn’t heard the conversation, he knew the gist of it. Jolene had told Jamie she’d seen the photo spread of Lawson House in the Sentinel, and Jamie had offered to give her a tour.
Matt went back into waiting mode, trying not to think about the various ways the plan could unravel. Twenty minutes crept by before the three women finally emerged. Sonya ran her right hand through her hair as Jamie locked up. We’re on.
Sonya and Jolene had done their jobs. The rest was up to Matt.
He left the park and circled around to the forest behind Lawson House. It would have been easy to get lost, but the markers on the orienteering map Sonya had prepared the day before were easy to find, and he had no problem retracing their route. Fifteen minutes later he spotted the moss-covered log that had fallen into a small stream. He turned left and clambered up the hillside.
The ladder was where he and Sonya had left it, hidden in the bushes by the wall at the rear of Lawson House. Matt leaned it against the wall, climbed up and peered into the backyard to make sure the coast was clear. He pulled the ladder up, placed it against the other side of the wall and then clambered down into the garden.
He entered the kitchen through the sliding glass doors that Sonya had unlocked while Jamie was giving Jolene the tour. He reminded himself that he had plenty of time—Jamie wouldn’t get back from the prison for at least six hours, and Burke would be gone just as long—but that didn’t make him feel any less jumpy. If he got caught, he could go to prison. But it was either take the risk or condemn Ray to a life behind bars. And that was a no-brainer.
He took some deep breaths to steady himself, then went down to the basement. He walked into Burke’s wine cellar before he found the workshop.
The Cadillac was on a shelf, right where it had been in the picture in the Sentinel magazine. 1959 Cadillac was imprinted on the license plate, and the car floor was covered with red flocking. It was exactly what Matt had expected to see, but his body quivered with excitement nonetheless.
Using his cell phone, he snapped a few pictures of the car on the shelf, making sure they showed the red flocking and the license plate, so that Burke wouldn’t be able to claim that it wasn’t his. Then he removed a large clear plastic bag from his backpack. He put on a pair of latex gloves, took hold of the Cadillac with his fingertips and slipped it into the plastic bag, just like the detectives did on TV.
He felt giddy with excitement. They’d done it. They’d really done it.
He was about to go back upstairs when the front door slammed shut. He heard footsteps overhead. A phone rang. The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs to the basement. Matt’s heart was pounding so hard, he thought it was going to pop right out of his chest.
“I’m back at the house, Dad.” Matt recognized Burke’s voice. “I was on the road when you called to say you wanted the picture of you and Mom in Yosemite. Remember?… I know you miss her. I miss her too.” Burke’s gentle treatment of his father took Matt by surprise. It wasn’t what you’d expect from a double murderer.
The footsteps resumed, moving away from the stairs. Matt exhaled. A short while later the front door slammed shut again. He waited a few more minutes to make sure Burke wasn’t coming back and then headed upstairs.
“Stop right there,” a voice commanded.
Matt turned. Burke had a gun in his hand, pointed right at Matt.
It was hard to say who was more surprised.
FORTY-TWO
“What are you doing here?” Burke asked.
“I was just…” Matt’s voice trailed off. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Get on your knees, and slide the backpack over here,” Burke said, the gun aimed squarely at Matt’s chest.
Matt did as he was told. How did Burke know somebody was in the house? Did I forget to close the sliding glass doors?
Burke unzipped the backpack and extracted the plastic bag containing Walter’s Cadillac. “What the …? How did you know about this?” He seemed genuinely perplexed. Matt didn’t answer. “Stand up and turn around.”
Matt obeyed. The sliding glass doors were closed. How did he know? Matt asked himself again.
“When I saw the ladder, I thought a thief had broken into the house,” Burke said. “I guess I was right.”
Matt looked through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He felt the air go out of him. There it was, leaning against the wall at the rear of the property. The ladder. The freaking ladder. It hadn’t occurred to him to hide it. There had been no need, not with everybody out of the house.
Burke stuck the gun into Matt’s back and propelled him into the kitchen. “On the floor. Face down.”
Matt lay down. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Burke open a drawer and take out a roll of duct tape.
“Put your hands behind you
r back.” Burke tore off a length of tape and wound it around Matt’s wrists before rolling Matt over onto his back. “I thought it was odd when you showed so much interest in my model-car collection at the cocktail party. But it never crossed my mind that you knew about Walter’s car. How did you figure it out?”
“Fuck you.”
“You’ve been watching too many movies.” Burke’s phone rang. He covered Matt’s mouth with a piece of tape. “Hi, Dad. What’s up?…Mom can’t come to the phone right now. She’s working in the garden. She’ll call you later.” He put the phone back in his pocket and shook his head sadly. “Old age isn’t for sissies. Get up.” He helped Matt to his feet and steered him down the hallway and into a two-car garage.
Jamie’s convertible occupied one of the spots. Burke ordered Matt to lie down on the floor and then wrapped duct tape around his ankles. He pushed a button on the wall, opening the garage door, and stepped out of Matt’s line of sight. Matt squirmed, desperately trying to get to his feet, but it was impossible. Burke backed his Mercedes into the garage. For a panicked moment Matt thought he was going to get run over, but the car stopped a foot away. The garage door closed. Burke got out of his car and walked back into the house through the door to the kitchen. A couple of minutes later he returned with a duffel bag.
He bent down and took Matt’s cell phone out of his pocket. “Sonya must be wondering what’s happening,” he said. He began tapping away. “We…were…wrong,” he said as he texted. “The Cadillac isn’t Walter’s. Say hi to Ray.”
Matt’s phone buzzed almost immediately. Burke checked the text. “What’s Occam’s razor?” he asked. He tossed the phone into the duffel bag, popped open the trunk of the Mercedes and pulled Matt to his feet. “Sit,” he said, gesturing at the edge of the trunk.
Matt shook his head. No freaking way.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Burke said, brandishing the gun. “Do what I say, and you won’t get hurt.”
There was no point resisting. Burke lifted Matt’s legs, turning him to the side, and helped him into the trunk. Then he closed the trunk, and day turned to night.
The Justice Project Page 15
