by Marti Green
“Me, too,” Melanie agreed.
The gentle breeze off the ocean made the near-ninety-degree temperature feel pleasant instead of stifling. Doug and I should take a vacation when this case is over. Somewhere in the Caribbean, with its turquoise-blue waters and waiters hovering over us ready to bring piña coladas to our beach chairs. It had been a long time since she and Doug had gotten away on their own. Once Jonah was born and his condition was diagnosed, they’d been reluctant to leave him with a sitter for an extended period, even a family member, or Katie, the woman who watched over him every afternoon before Dani returned home from work. But he was thirteen now. He’d gone off on his own to camp the last two summers. It was time to slice the string that Dani felt went directly from her heart to Jonah’s. Yes, she could picture herself lying on a beach, slathered in suntan lotion, letting the bright sun warm her body. As soon as this case is over. She caught herself. Whenever she and Doug thought about getting away, it was always when the case she was working on was over. But it also had to be when Columbia Law School was on break. And when that time rolled around, inevitably, she’d be locked into another case. No. During his semester break. That’s when we’ll go. Even if this case is ongoing. Melanie can cover it.
Dani smiled to herself. She already felt refreshed just thinking about taking a vacation. Now she was ready to delve back into Winston’s case. “Who wants to go first?”
Melanie reached for her notes. “I’ll start. I met with three of Carly’s friends: Alison West, Rebecca Engles, and Rachel Gordon. They were consistent. Each one said that Carly had been devastated when Winston dumped her. Greg Kincaid was just someone to fill her time until she left for college.”
“Did he know that?”
Melanie shook her head. “He was obsessed with her.”
“That’s interesting,” Tommy said.
The two women looked at him.
“Well, their description doesn’t sound like someone who knew his girl was still pining for someone else. But that’s not what Kincaid told me. Said he knew he didn’t have a chance against Win Melton.”
“Is that true?” Dani asked as she turned back to Melanie. “Did her friends say she was still stuck on Win?”
“Pretty much. They said she was furious when he broke up with her, but she admitted to Rachel that she’d take him back in a heartbeat.”
“Okay, let’s mark that for a follow-up.” Dani scribbled on her yellow-sheeted notepad. The markings would be indecipherable to anyone looking it over. It was her own version of shorthand, a technique she’d developed over the years to capture the ramblings of whomever she was interviewing while still attending to every word uttered. Something didn’t feel right about this case. Hadn’t felt right from the outset. The evidence against Winston had always seemed flimsy—especially for a death-penalty case. One strand of hair. Explainable by Winston’s admission that he was in the woods with Carly.
“Did you ask her friends if Carly had been intimate with Winston?”
“Yep. According to them, she was. Even had a pregnancy scare before they broke up. Turned out to be nothing.”
Then why would Win have raped her? Dani wondered. Carly wanted him back; they’d had sex before. Logic told Dani that Carly would have willingly given herself to Win.
“Anything else?”
Melanie shook her head.
Dani turned to Tommy. “Your turn.”
“I headed to Kincaid first—thought I might catch him before he left for work, and I did.”
“What did you make of him?”
“I’m not really sure. Claimed he didn’t see Carly after she left the dance with Winston. But—” Tommy paused, took another sip of his whiskey, then continued. “His answers just seemed too pat. I want to follow up again with him.”
Tommy told the two women about his interviews with the other names on his list—more of Carly’s friends. What they had told him lined up with Melanie’s interviews.
Dani had managed to track down only two of Win’s friends, and they hadn’t been particularly close to him. Just saw him when he vacationed here, both had said. Neither thought he’d ever exhibited behavior that jibed with his being a rapist and murderer. “But I guess you never really know another person,” one had said. “I mean, we all carry secrets inside us, don’t we?”
Most of Win’s former friends lived in or around New York City—some in Manhattan or Brooklyn, a few in Connecticut. His closest friend, and the only one who still wrote to him, lived in New Jersey.
“I’m going to head back to New York tomorrow,” Dani said. “You should return, too, Melanie. Get started on the appeal. Tommy, you poke around a little more here. See if you can find any other evidence of Sanders being in the area when Carly was killed, someone besides the motel clerk.”
Tommy nodded. “Tough assignment, having to stay here in the sun, watching the babes stroll by in their bikinis. I think I can handle it.”
Melanie slapped him on his shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”
Tommy just grinned.
Dani put her notes back in her briefcase, then looked at each of her colleagues. “Enjoy the sun, joke around, have fun. With what we do, we need to blow off steam now and then. But remember, we have a client facing execution, and so far, we’re not any closer to proving his innocence.”
Early the next morning, Tommy headed south on Interstate 95 to the seedy motel he’d visited before. He entered the lobby and saw the same young man sitting behind the desk, his head bent down, seemingly absorbed in an automotive magazine. Tommy cleared his throat, and Billy looked up.
“Remember me?” Tommy asked.
“Sure. You were asking about that guy—I forget his name.”
“That’s right. I was wondering if I could speak to your cleaning staff.”
“I suppose.”
“And where would they be now?”
“I guess cleaning rooms.”
“Have any clue as to which rooms they’d be cleaning now?”
“I dunno.”
Tommy bristled. With all the unemployment around, this guy should be grateful he had a job. Any job. Since he didn’t seem like a Phi Beta Kappa, his options were probably limited. Even so, each time Tommy had seen him, he appeared to do as little as he could. As the first person customers met on entering the motel lobby, he should be greeting them with a friendly smile and a willingness to help. Instead, it felt like anyone who approached was viewed as an intruder, interfering with his personal pursuits.
“Well, how about looking up which rooms are empty?”
Billy sighed deeply, then put his magazine aside as he stood up and clicked some buttons on the computer. “You can try 205. Someone might be there.”
Tommy thanked him, then set off for Room 205. The door was open, and he stepped inside. A middle-aged woman was cleaning the bathroom. He knocked on the door, and she looked up.
“Sí?”
“Do you speak English?”
“Sí. I mean, yes. A little.”
“Did you work here seven years ago?”
The woman nodded.
Tommy took out his picture of Earl Sanders and showed it to her. “Do you happen to remember if you saw this man here around that time?”
The woman shook her head.
“I realize it was a long time ago. But could you look closely? Is there anything familiar about this picture?”
“No, señor. But I don’t pay attention to the customers. They all look the same to me.”
Tommy thanked her, then meandered down the halls and looked for other open rooms. He found one more housekeeper and showed her Sanders’s picture. He got the same response—she didn’t remember seeing him.
He got into his car and drove up the street, looking for nearby restaurants. He passed by McDonald’s and Burger King. Too transient. Even if they had the
same staff filling orders—and that was a long shot—it was unlikely anyone would remember Sanders. Fast food meant fast impressions, not lasting ones. He kept driving until he saw an IHOP, then pulled into that driveway. He stepped inside.
“Just one?” the hostess asked.
She looked to be in her late forties, with makeup piled on that seemed to age her instead of covering up her years. Tommy gave her his most winsome smile. “Hi, sweetheart. You work here seven years ago?”
“Sure did, honey. Been here fifteen years. What can I help you with?”
Tommy took out his picture of Sanders. “Do you remember ever seeing him before?”
The hostess held the picture close to her eyes. “You know, I think I do. He kept ogling one of the younger waitresses, made her feel so uncomfortable she asked me to switch her table. I sent a man over to finish his order.” She looked up at Tommy. “He was a real creepy fellow. Came in every morning for six days. I sat him at a male waiter’s table each day after that first one. We all were real glad when he stopped coming.”
“Do you remember when this was?”
The hostess scrunched her face, then scratched her head. After a few moments, she smiled. “Well, how about that? I do recall when he was here. My daughter was waiting tables then, and I was real happy I hadn’t given her his table that first day. It was her first week on the job. Let’s see, when was that?” She appeared to be counting on her fingers, then said, “Seven years ago, in December. Two weeks before Christmas, that’s when he was here.”
This is good, Tommy thought. That was the week Carly was murdered. Another person testifying to Sanders’s presence in Florida at that time. Another fact to support HIPP’s basis for a new trial. Tommy wrote down the hostess’s name, address, and phone number, then got back in his car and drove to the next restaurant along the roadway. He stopped and went inside six more eateries and found no one else who remember Earl Sanders. Even so, the one witness he’d found served to corroborate the motel clerk’s testimony.
He drove back to his motel, changed into bathing trunks, then headed over to the beach. His interview with Greg Kincaid felt unfinished. He decided to pay him one more visit, in the evening, after he’d returned from work. With the afternoon free, he figured he might as well enjoy himself. And watching the bikini-clad women sunbathing on the warm sand was about as enjoyable as it got.
He settled into a beach chair and thought, once again, about retiring in Florida. He liked working at HIPP, liked the camaraderie, liked feeling good about his part in freeing innocent men and women. It was a lot different from his days with the FBI. There, he was zealous about putting away criminals. He was on the good guys’ team, and the people he went after were bad to the bone. It had never occurred to him then that someone convicted by a jury could actually be innocent. Still, as much as he liked his job, he felt his years, felt how his body was slowing down. It was strange how, in his head, he was still a young man, still vigorous, still filled with enthusiasm. But his body didn’t lie. He felt all of his fifty-eight years. And so, he often thought about retiring, sitting on a beach like this one, watching the young women and pretending that he was young again with his life ahead of him.
As much as that life appealed to him, he was at least ten years away from turning the dream into reality. His youngest child was only twelve years old. He wouldn’t leave New York until she had finished college. Family was the most important thing to him. He would always put his wife’s and children’s needs first. But he could still dream about it.
At seven o’clock, Tommy pulled into Kincaid’s driveway. He’d called in advance to make sure he’d be home. Kincaid opened the door quickly after his first knock.
“C’mon in.”
Tommy walked inside and followed Kincaid into the living room.
“Want a beer?”
“Thanks, but no. Wouldn’t mind a glass of water.”
Kincaid disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with a bottle of Michelob in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He handed Tommy the water, then sat at the other end of the sofa.
“Thanks for seeing me again. I won’t take too much of your time.”
Kincaid crossed his arms. “Don’t think I can help you much. I already told you what I know, which is nothing.”
“Well, for starters, have you thought about who else was in your group at the dance that night?”
“Look, I told you. It was a long time ago. I don’t remember.”
“Hey, buddy, you don’t know what a long time is. Now, my high-school dances were a long time ago, but yours? And I can tell you the name of every boy and girl I hung out with back then.”
Kincaid squirmed in his seat, then took a gulp of his beer. “I guess you have a better memory than me,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.
Tommy leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. “Look, I’m not trying to pin anything on you. We have the killer. But you told me yesterday you hadn’t seen him before. Maybe someone else at the dance did.”
Kincaid stood up, said, “I’ll be right back,” then left the room. He returned a few minutes later with the school yearbook. Together, they looked through the pictures of graduates, and when they came to one who’d been at the dance, Kincaid pointed him or her out. Tommy wrote down the names of each one, and, if Kincaid knew where they’d ended up, added that to his notes.
When they finished, Tommy asked, “Had you dated any of these women before Carly?”
“Why? What difference would that make?”
“Maybe one of them got jealous when they saw you with Carly.”
Kincaid looked at Tommy with a quizzical expression. “But she was raped. And you have the guy who said he did it.”
“Look, I’m just fishing around. Maybe one of your prior girlfriends knew Sanders, pointed Carly out to him. Told him to rough her up. And then it got out of hand.”
“That really seems like a stretch to me, but these two,” Kincaid said as he pointed to two names on Tommy’s list. “I’d dated them both.”
Just then, the front door opened, and Kincaid’s mother stepped inside. She glanced into the living room, saw Tommy, and scowled. “What’s he doing back here?”
“Just had a few more questions, Ma. He’ll be leaving soon.”
“Not soon enough for me. No use in digging up the past, far as I’m concerned.”
“I’m almost finished, Mrs. Kincaid, and then you won’t see me again.”
With the scowl now plastered onto her face, she walked past the living room into the kitchen.
Kincaid sighed. With his voice just a whisper, he said, “Nobody my age should be living with his mother.”
“I’ll get out of your hair in a minute.” Tommy went over a few more questions, then thanked Kincaid and left. He’d gotten what he needed from him. No use in annoying his mother any longer.
CHAPTER
17
As soon as Dani opened the front door of her home, she could hear the crackling of wood logs burning in the fireplace and smiled at the fresh pine scent. She stepped into the living room, and Doug stood up from his chair and pulled her into his arms.
“I missed you,” he said after he’d kissed her. “Tough flight?”
Dani nodded. Her plane had been delayed three hours on the ground and had to circle LaGuardia Airport for another ninety minutes because of heavy rain and strong winds. She’d expected to be home before Jonah went to sleep. Instead, she’d arrived a little after nine p.m., just in time for “honeymoon hour.”
“Hungry?”
“No, just tired.”
“Want to forgo the couch? Head up to bed?”
“And miss this fabulous fire? Not a chance.”
They settled themselves on the sofa, Dani snuggled against Doug’s chest, and once again, she was reminded how lucky she was. Perhaps she didn’t have th
e wealth of someone like Winston, but she had the ultimate riches—a husband she loved and who loved her in return. Add to that a cherished son, and there was nothing else she desired—except that elusive magic ball that would accurately assess a person’s guilt or innocence. No more men and women put away for years, maybe for the rest of their lives, maybe executed, even though they were innocent of any crime.
“How’s the case coming along?” Doug asked.
“No smoking gun yet, unfortunately.”
“You don’t need one. Just piece by piece, create a compelling narrative. You have someone else’s confession. That’s a major starting block.”
“The circuit court judge didn’t think so.”
Doug stroked Dani’s hair, then squeezed his arms tighter around her. “You got stuck with a bad judge. It’ll go better at the appellate court.”
Dani laughed. “My optimist husband. I suppose when your students dissect cases, everything goes as it should. Not so in the real world.”
“Well, yes, I guess I am an optimist. But remember, the cases we examine in law school are all appellate decisions, not those of a trial judge. Unfortunately, politics often gets in the way of intellectual soundness when those judges are chosen.”
They chatted some more before Dani headed up to bed. She didn’t want to think about Win Melton anymore. She didn’t want to think about incompetent judges, or corrupt prosecutors, or innocent prisoners. Instead, she wanted to dream about a world in which only good things happened, where poverty and crime and despair didn’t exist. And where a thirteen-year-old boy with an intellectual disability could compose a symphony that was performed by a professional orchestra.
The next night, Dani, Doug, and Jonah sat in the Performing Arts Center at Purchase College, where the Westchester Philharmonic would perform Jonah’s symphony, A Summer Afternoon. As the orchestra tuned its instruments, Dani looked down at her hands, locked together tightly, then looked over at Doug. He, too, wore an expression of consternation. They knew little of classical music, having been exposed throughout the years only to the various rock and pop groups popular at any point in time. Now, a full audience would judge their son.
