Swope's Ridge

by Ace Collins

  “He’s incredible,” Lije agreed. “Mr. de la Cruz, if you saw someone ten years ago and had a conversation with him, would you remember that, and could you still identify that man today?”

  “Sure. Even if he had aged, I’d pick up things like his eyes, the way he spoke, the way he stood.”

  Lije walked over to the door and opened it. Ivy Beals wheeled in the injured man.

  “The bald man pushing the chair is Kent McGee’s chief investigator, Ivy Beals,” Lije said. “Ivy’s a former CIA agent and Mr. Klasser can speak to his expertise in both his public and private capacities. The man he’s pushing, sporting the inflatable cast, drove the truck filled with toxin to the warehouse tonight. So he’s our delivery man.”

  “You didn’t tell me about anyone else,” the Homeland Security agent said, looking accusingly toward the Mossad agent.

  “You did not ask,” Klasser replied, his smile revealing much more than his quiet reply.

  This was good theater, Lije thought. “You both can have as much time with him as you like down the road. For the moment, he’s mine.”

  The truck driver glared at the Arkansas attorney before returning his eyes to the floor.

  “Mr. de la Cruz, please take a long look at our wheelchairbound friend. I know he’s a bit dirty, but just do a quick study and tell us if you’ve ever seen him before. I have complete faith in your abilities as, I’m sure, does everyone else.”

  De la Cruz got up from his chair and approached the prisoner. He studied the man from several different angles before returning to his chair. He seemed confused, a feeling he was obviously not used to experiencing.

  “He looks familiar,” the man who couldn’t forget said.

  “I can understand,” Lije began, “how he could look familiar to any one of us, but how can he look familiar to you? If you’d seen him, no matter how briefly, you’d know him, right? After all, you never forget a face, a name, a date. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Yeah,” came the reply. “But now I just can’t remember where.”

  Lije looked over at Ruth, allowing de la Cruz’ admission to sink in before saying, “Perhaps Mr. Horne can help us out. Adam, I asked you to bring a fingerprint kit.” Turning to the justice, he added, “Mr. Horne is one of this nation’s top fingerprint experts.”

  Horne opened his briefcase and took out the simple tools and materials needed to obtain fingerprints He walked over to the wheelchair. As the truck driver would not cooperate, a not-sogentle Beals helped Horne obtain the man’s prints.

  “Heather,” Lije continued, “I believe you have in your briefcase something we now need.”

  Jameson opened her attaché case and pulled out a file. With no prompting, she thumbed through it until she came to the page she knew her partner wanted. Retrieving it, she got out of her chair and moved to the table where the FBI agent was setting up a display. Lije watched as Horne looked from the card to the ten prints he’d just obtained.

  “Amazing,” the fingerprint expert noted. Shaking his head, he glanced back toward the man whose prints he’d just taken.

  “Mr. Horne, you’re starting to figure it out?” Lije asked.

  “He might be,” the judge said, “but I’m not.”

  “I’m in the dark too,” Ruth exclaimed, not seeming nearly as angry.

  “The prints I just took,” Horne said, “and the ones we took from Omar Jones in 2001 are almost alike except for one pronounced difference. Jones had a scar on his index finger from a cut. These do not. Yet if I were to look at them, I’d swear they came from the same person. There are that many similarities. Except for the scar. Prints at a crime scene are rarely complete or perfect, so we have to make our cases on partial prints.”

  “You mentioned a scar,” Lije noted.

  “The prints gathered at the crime scene,” the agent explained, “didn’t show any scar, but the ones I got from Jones on October 12, a month after the murders, did. You know what’s funny?”

  “What?” the judge asked.

  “The prints we found at the crime scene were almost complete and were everywhere around the bodies. Now that I think about it, it was like the criminal was leaving bread crumbs for us to follow.”

  “But prints not withstanding,” Ruth argued, “de la Cruz saw Jones that night. You can’t dispute that.”

  Lije walked over to the cuffed man, removed the cowboy hat, and put his hand in the driver’s shaggy hair. A second later the wig was flying through the air and landed in the former prosecutor’s lap. Lifting the prisoner’s chin, Lije grabbed the mustache and gave a hard pull. The man yelled as it was peeled from his face.

  Lije looked back toward de la Cruz. “Is this the person you talked to that night?”

  “Could be,” he answered. “I mean, I’ve always been sure of everything, but now I don’t know. He looks just like Omar.”

  Ruth jumped out of his seat and raced across to the wheelchair. “How did you get Jones out of Texas? This is a trick! “ Leaning over Carmichael’s desk, he pounded his right fist on the top and yelled at the judge, “This is a trick! They’ve spirited a man off death row to confuse this issue! They’ve broken more laws than I can begin to count. They’ll pay for this! All of them! “

  Janie held up her cell phone and announced, “Mr. Ruth, if you can simmer down and use your inside voice, I have someone on my phone who needs to speak with you.”

  “Who?” he demanded, his face red, his fists clenched.

  “James Ray Burgess. I think you know what he does. He went back to his office at the prison just for me tonight. I have that kind of charm. I’m sure he’d like to get home and get to bed, so talk to him and get this over with.”

  The former prosecutor grabbed the phone. “James Ray. I need to know why Omar Jones isn’t in your prison tonight. And don’t think I won’t have your head for this.”

  While everyone studied the rookie member of the House of Representatives, Ruth’s expression changed and his voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Are you sure?”

  Looking toward the prisoner, Ruth handed the phone to Janie. “The warden is with Jones now. There’s no doubt. He’s there.”

  “So this is the man who killed the family,” the judge said. “Why didn’t we know about him before?”

  “No one knew about him,” Lije explained, “not even Jones. More than three decades ago, identical twins were born in Iraq. Their mother was not married and died during childbirth. Both boys were adopted, but by different families. Chance brought them together. This man needed someone to frame for the murders and by chance discovered his twin brother living right next door. Omar Jones still hasn’t been told that we found his twin brother.”

  Lije waited for the information to sink in, then he turned back to his host. “Justice Carmichael, I need for you to set in motion the legal steps to get Omar Jones off death row and back home. I want all those who hollered for his blood to realize he was always telling the truth. I want the man who killed Kent McGee to know that he was dead wrong.”

  “I can move very quickly on that,” Carmichael replied. “Mr. Jones should be free within two days, maybe sooner.”

  “Hold it a second,” the representative from Homeland Security cut in. “We can make this a lot easier. We’ll have the two men swap places, give Jones a new identity. That’ll save the government all kinds of money and justice will still be served. Jones will be free and the Klassers’ killer will pay for his crime. That’s the easiest way to handle this, and our government will suffer no embarrassment.”

  “Justice and I have something in common,” Janie countered. “She and I are both blind. To me, Mr. Moore’s plan doesn’t sound much like justice.”

  “In a normal case,” the Homeland Security representative argued, “I’d agree. But we have to have an execution. The nation is banking on this. Judge, if it looks like we screwed up, then consider what it’d mean for national confidence in the very system you lead. This has to be kept quiet. The switch is one sure way
to do that. It’s the best way for everyone.”

  “Except for Omar Jones,” Lije pointed out. “His name will be forever linked to this crime. Even if he’s alive and known as John Doe, his real name and therefore the real Omar Jones will always be cursed and reviled. He’s innocent, and he deserves to be proven innocent. He deserves this nation’s deepest apology.”

  “He’s an Arab, for God’s sake! “ Moore shouted.

  “Exactly,” Ruth said, nodding in agreement.

  “He’s an American,” Lije said. “And Kent McGee died because too many people see Americans as being only white and looking like you, Mr. Moore and Mr. Ruth.”

  As the two men glared at the Arkansas attorney, Lije turned toward Justice Carmichael. “Kent wouldn’t settle for anything less than what I’m asking. If you give in to the demands of Mr. Moore, you’ll not only be cheating Omar Jones and the American system of justice but you’ll allow history to judge Kent McGee as a traitor when in reality he was one of the country’s greatest constitutional champions. You were Kent’s mentor. You are going to speak at his funeral. Are you now going to live up to the standards you taught him, or when Kent died did those standards die as well?”

  Carmichael stood up, walked over to Moore. “Is this what America has come to, sir?”

  Turning back to Lije he said, “Inform Mr. Jones that he’ll be free as quickly as I can make it happen.” Carmichael reached out and shook Lije’s hand. “I’m guessing this meeting had to be tonight because you knew that if certain people in certain agencies heard about this situation, this prisoner would’ve disappeared.”

  Lije nodded. “It had to be tonight. And I believe, if you give Mr. Horne custody, we won’t have to worry about Abdul Arif getting away again.”

  “Mr. Horne will have him. And thank you.”

  76

  KENT MCGEE’S FINAL SEND-OFF WAS BITTERSWEET. One man stood out. On his return to freedom, Omar Jones, as a pallbearer, paid tribute to the lawyer who had believed in his innocence. His presence emphasized the irony of one innocent man dying because he had the courage to stand up for another innocent man who had only weeks to live.

  That evening, as the sun set over the Ozark Mountains, a small party of mourners with a special link to McGee gathered at the log home on Shell Hill. Sitting in his living room, Lije Evans listened to his friends put memories into words. McGee, with his keen sense of purpose and honor, had been a star in this group, a leader. They reflected on what had been lost and what gains had been made. The talk eventually evolved into an awkward silence.

  “The missing formula.”

  Beals put voice to the three words they had been avoiding all evening.

  Lije stood up and looked at each of his friends, his colleagues. How could he ask them to do more? How could he again put them at risk? Yet if they didn’t act, they and millions of others could face a horrible death. He looked from Janie to Heather to Diana, all sitting in safety in sweat-suits and sneakers in Salem, far from terrorists and bombs and death, waiting…for him.

  “Tomorrow morning…let’s meet at the office at nine. We’ll start putting together a plan to figure out who has the formula. We’ve got to get it back and destroy it or what was accomplished in Washington will mean nothing.”

  “I’ll be there,” the private detective said. He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to go to the motel, call the family. This hit my kids pretty hard. Kent was like an uncle to them.”

  Lije walked Beals to the door. As he watched Ivy walk out to his car, he realized how relieved he was that the detective wanted to work with them. He was a good man. Lije needed him.

  When he returned to the living room, he asked, “Anyone need anything to drink?” Before anyone could reply, Diana’s cell came alive. The Russian polka she’d set for her ring tone didn’t fit the evening’s somber mood.

  Pulling the phone from her purse, she walked into the hallway. Her words were muffled, unclear.

  Silence held the group even after Curtis walked back to the couch. Looking around at his friends, Lije noted an expression on Janie’s face he’d never seen before. Something was obviously bothering her. What was she thinking? Was it something about Diana? Was there some unfinished business between her and McGee she’d just recalled? How he wished he could read her like she seemed able to read everyone else.

  Instead he had to ask questions. “Diana, did you dig up anything on who might’ve stolen the formula? We know it wasn’t Arif. He was hundreds of miles away that day.”

  Diana shook her head as she set her cell on the coffee table. “I spent a whole day on it. The office was clean, no prints. At least no strange ones. Whoever was in there probably wore gloves. Arif must have had an associate.”

  “Doubt it,” Lije replied. “He always worked alone. I don’t think he’d let anyone in on this job. Besides, why make a copy the first time and come back to get the real thing? He needed the formula and he had it. To steal something twice…makes no sense.”

  “Diana, could you get me a glass of iced tea?” Janie said.

  “I’ll get it,” Lije offered.

  “No, you rest. Diana won’t mind getting it, will you, Diana?”

  “No, not at all.”

  McGee’s death must have hit Janie hard. It was strange for the normally independent woman to ask anyone for help. Then Lije saw the tears. The blind woman cocked her head a little to the left and, as she did, a tear slid down her cheek.

  Lije looked at Heather. She saw it too. Janie was so strong, so sure, so solid. And yet at this moment she seemed so fragile and lost.

  “Here’s the tea,” Curtis said.

  “Just put it on the coffee table,” Janie whispered. The blind woman seemed to listen intently as the former ABI agent went back to her chair and sat down.

  What happened next sucked the air from the room. If Janie had tossed a bomb, it might have had less impact.

  77

  “DIANA, WHY DID YOU TRY TO KILL ME?”

  Heather almost dropped her coffee cup. Lije jerked his head around and stared at the blind woman. The only one who found a voice was Curtis, and though she attempted to sound strong, her tone was high and tinny, like a cheap wind chime.

  “Is this…some kind of joke?”

  “No,” the blind woman replied, “I wish it were. You were in the office that night. You hit me. You left me. I could have died.”

  Curtis forced a laugh, picked her purse up off the floor, and placed it in her lap. “The funeral’s gotten to you, Janie. There’s been so much violence, you’re seeing demons everywhere.”

  Heather looked from one woman to the other, but said nothing. Lije licked his lips, but instead of defending the former ABI agent, he opted to let Janie lead.

  “The night before the trip to Mexico, you took me home after the meeting with Reverend Hernandez. Lije offered, but you insisted. After you left my house, it took a bit too long for you to start your car. That’s when you left the poison in the backyard, knowing I’d put Harlow out first thing the next morning.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Curtis said. “Lije and I were on our way to the dive site.”

  “That’s what made it so perfect,” Janie continued. “You knew everyone would think that. You even convinced him you weren’t coming back until the next day.”

  Curtis glared at the blind woman. “I didn’t even know about the formula.”

  “Oh, but you did. The day Lije went to OBU with Dr. Cathcart, the day I gave Lije the formula right before he left, I thought I heard someone come back into the office just before that. Harlow yipped a little, like she does when she knows a friend is coming. It was you. That’s how you knew about the formula. You heard me tell Lije. You just had to find a time when you were alone in the office. You thought you had the perfect setup and the perfect cover. You were sure I’d either be mourning Harlow’s death or nursing her back to health. Instead, I was working late. That was where your plan backfired. I stayed late catching up on work because of th
e time I lost while at the vet’s with Harlow. If you hadn’t poisoned my dog, I’d have been home that night.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Curtis said. “She can’t be serious, Lije. She’s delusional. Make her shut up.”

  “No, I want to see where she’s going with this.”

  Janie nodded, her sightless gaze still aimed directly at Curtis. “Your shoes, Diana. I wouldn’t have known you were there if it hadn’t been for your shoes. You were so careful. No perfume. You didn’t park in your normal spot in front of the office. Your shoes gave you away. One of your shoes makes a squishing sound with every step. It’s very distinctive. You’re wearing the same shoes now as you did that night.”

  Curtis fumbled with the clasp on her purse, stuck her hand into the bag, and pulled out her gun. “I never intended to hurt you,” she mumbled. “You got in the way. I panicked because you are so darn perceptive. Still, I’m glad you’re all right. I want you to know that.”

  “Diana! “ Lije said, getting up from his chair.

  Diana stood up and backed away from them, the gun a silent command to stay back. “I had to have the formula. I made a copy the first time, but had to destroy it rather than taking a chance on being caught with it. But I wasn’t worried because I knew I could get it again. That’s why I came back.”

  “But why, Diana?” Lije said. “You know how lethal the poison is.”

  “It’s not what you think. I swear to you this was not about personal gain. It’s for good.”

  Lije set his jaw. “You sold us out. You used us! You’re Judas in a dress.”

  “No, I wasn’t selling you out, I…what I did was for all of us.”

  Keeping her gun aimed at the ones she had so deceived, Curtis backed closer to the door. “This is a whole lot bigger than what any of you can imagine, but someday you’ll understand…Be smart. Stay where you are.”

  No one moved as the woman backed out of the room and ducked out the front door. A few seconds later a car started. Lije walked to the window and watched the taillights disappear down the hill. He made no move to follow her or call the police.