by Marti Green
Tommy’s eyes were bright. “I think I know who the real killer is. I’m hoping there’s something in there that will confirm it.”
“Who’s that?”
“Greg Kincaid. And if it is him, he not only murdered Carly Sobol but sat back and watched another man come close to the needle for it. For that, I want to see him fry.”
CHAPTER
36
Dani was ecstatic. She had already won her motion on behalf of Oscar LeMarque, and the court had ordered the Texas prosecutor to run the DNA found on the dead girl through the federal database once again. She’d just gotten off the phone with Tim Harding, the prosecutor, and learned there was a match to Leopold Grimes, now doing time for the rape and murder of another teenage girl. The prosecutor had poked around and discovered Grimes had been in the vicinity when Susie Hancock was murdered. Harding agreed to join Dani in a motion for a reversal of LeMarque’s conviction. LeMarque would go home and hopefully rebuild his life.
Dani knew that hope was optimistic. So many innocent men, as well as the few women, came out of jail bitter and angry. They had to adjust to the changes that occurred while they were locked up. Not just the technological advances that seemed to happen at lightning speed nowadays, but changes with their family and friends. They often came out of jail feeling they no longer belonged anywhere. And, despite the court ruling that they weren’t guilty of the crime, studies showed that many still perceived them as guilty.
In one respect, LeMarque was lucky. Texas had one of the most generous wrongful-compensation statutes in the nation. He would receive $80,000 for each year he had been incarcerated, plus tuition, and a host of other services designed to help him adjust out of prison.
As Dani began thumbing through her files to see which case she wanted to take up next, the phone rang again.
“It’s Jack Donahue,” her assistant told Dani when she answered her buzzer.
“Give me some good news. I’m feeling lucky today,” Dani said when she came on the call.
“Well, your luck is holding. I just got the police and state-attorney files on Carly Sobol’s murder investigation. They obviously decided not to appeal.”
“Hooray! Two for two. I think I’m going to go out and buy some lottery tickets.”
“I’m going to make copies and send them over to your office. Does that work for you?”
“Sure. Can you have them messengered?
“Will do.”
Dani finished the call, pleased with the outcome but realistic about their chances that this would lead anywhere. Still, the files might contain something important. Now they’d have the opportunity to find out.
The papers from the police files were spread out over Tommy’s dining-room table, and he’d been staring at them for hours. He’d spent the day going over them in his office, then brought them home with him. Still, nothing popped out.
“It’s late, honey. Let’s go to bed,” Patty called to him.
“You go on. I’ll be up in a bit.”
“Yeah, I know what that means. You’ll spend half the night down here and then be exhausted in the morning. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not the young buck you used to be.”
That sure was true. He felt it in the mornings when his back ached just getting out of bed. He felt it when he’d shoot some hoops with his kids. They could now run circles around him. He felt it when he looked around the HIPP office and everyone there seemed twenty years younger than he was. Still, he had the nagging feeling that he’d missed something. He looked over the papers again, then picked up the sheet of names. The police had gotten a list of every student who’d attended the dance. Tommy compared the names to his own list. He’d tracked down about thirty of the ninety-four students. Each name had a sentence or two next to it that summarized the police interview. Nobody had seen anything.
He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. Patty was right—it was getting late. Maybe one of those kids hadn’t understood what they’d seen. Maybe they’d remember something now that hadn’t seemed important then. Tomorrow, he’d start running down current phone numbers for the students at the dance whom he hadn’t interviewed. He didn’t need to be in Florida for that. The Internet and social media made the job much easier. Maybe one of them remembered Greg Kincaid leaving the dance. Maybe one of them saw him go into the woods. Maybe one of them knew he was a murderer.
CHAPTER
37
“It’s working out with her,” Win told Max Dolan during his weekly phone call. “She really seems to understand what I went through. What I’m still going through.”
Dolan had given him the name of a therapist in West Palm Beach, and he’d seen her five times. (“Not in Palm Beach, it’s too clubby here,” Win had said.) Susan Stern was a matronly psychiatrist in her forties, with chestnut-brown hair pulled back in a bun and horn-rimmed glasses that framed her moon-shaped face. She and Win agreed that three times a week was the right amount of time to meet. Those three days were the only times he left the security of his home.
“That’s good to hear. I have my selfish reasons for wanting you to get better.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you up north. Before you know it, winter will be over, and it’s time for all bears to stop hibernating. We have some serious partying to do in the Big Apple.”
Win knew he was a long way off from partying. In fact, he doubted if he would ever be able to return to the days of wild parties, getting so drunk that it took two days for the hangover to subside. He’d seen too much to ever be carefree again. No, he and his therapist agreed that his goal should be returning to college. Not as a student in a dorm. An urban college, preferably Columbia, where he could live at home. She had reassured him that he’d find many older students in his classes, some even in their forties, fifties, and sixties.
His mother and Grandmama were in Florida for the winter. His father flew down on weekends. They were his world now. Each day, they encouraged him to leave the house. Each day, he refused. Instead of going to the movies, he watched DVDs at home with them. Instead of joining his family for dinner out, they brought food home for him. “Take the boat out,” his mother had urged. “It’s just you and the water. You don’t have to see anyone else.” But he couldn’t even do that.
He was no longer locked up, but he was still imprisoned.
Dani had a list of names to call. It had taken Tommy a week to gather contact information for almost all of the names on the police list, and he’d split the list with Dani for follow-up calls. Dani had called most of the names on her list, and each man or woman she reached denied seeing anything unusual that night. Each man or woman denied seeing Greg Kincaid leave the gym. A big fat zero, she thought.
With only two names left, she dialed the number for Stacy Pinkerton. When she answered, Dani said, “Ms. Pinkerton, my name is Dani Trumball. I work with the Help Innocent Prisoners Project in New York City.”
“Yes?”
“I understand you were at the high school dance the night Carly Sobol was murdered.”
Dani could almost feel the chill on the other end of the line.
“Yes.”
“I’d like to ask you some questions about what you saw that night.”
“What’s this about? Some man confessed to killing Carly.”
Dani knew she couldn’t reveal that Sanders wasn’t guilty. “We believe he might have had an accomplice.”
“I can’t help you.”
“I just have a few questions.”
“I told the police back then everything I knew.”
Dani glanced at the police report and looked for her name. “Right. Back then you said you hadn’t seen anyone leave the gym.”
“That’s not what I told them.”
“What?”
“I said, that’s not what I told the police.”
Dani fel
t her pulse quicken. Was it possible the scenario they’d fabricated for the purpose of getting the police files was true? “Okay,” she said, willing her voice to remain calm. “What did you tell them?”
“I told them that lots of kids were going in and out of the gym. Some to smoke a joint, others for a make-out session.”
“Did you know Carly?”
“Sure. We had some classes together.”
“Did you see her leave the gym?”
“Yeah. With the dreamy guy. The one they arrested. Look, I told the police all this.”
“After she left, did you see Greg Kincaid leave?”
“I was standing near the door. I saw everyone.”
“And Greg? Did you see him?”
“About five minutes after Carly left, he went outside.”
Bingo! “Did you notice when he returned?”
“Never saw him come back.”
This was it. Evidence that Greg had opportunity. And he’d lied about it. “You’ve been very helpful, Stacy. Thanks for your time.”
As Dani was about to hang up, Stacy said, “Aren’t you going to ask me about the other guy?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I told the police that some guy I didn’t know went outside right behind Greg.”
“Who? What’s his name?”
“I just told you—I didn’t know him.”
“If I have someone show you some pictures, would you take a look?”
“You know, I really don’t want to get involved in this.”
“Please. How about Saturday? Just five minutes.”
Stacy gave Dani her address, and they set a time. Dani hung up and then immediately called Tommy.
“You free on Saturday?”
“Why?”
“I found someone who saw Greg leave the gym that night. After Carly and Win. But she also saw someone else. Doesn’t know who it is, but she’s willing to look at pictures.”
“That bastard killed her. This confirms it for me.”
“Well, it’s far from clear. But it brings us a step closer.”
When she hung up, she called Win. “We need the company jet on Saturday. Tommy is coming back down.”
CHAPTER
38
The Melton company jet touched down at North Palm Beach County Airport at just past eleven a.m. Tommy had expected to rent a car, but Amelia Melton had insisted he use their limousine. Despite the warm temperature, a man dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and slim black tie met him when he disembarked.
They walked out to the parking lot together, and Tommy was relieved to see a Lincoln Town Car rather than a stretch limousine. The driver started to open the door to the rear seat when Tommy stopped him.
“No way I’m being ferried around like a rock star. Mind if I sit up front with you?”
The driver nodded. “Whatever you prefer.”
“What’s your name?”
“Burt.”
“Well, Burt, here’s where I need to go.” He handed the driver a paper with an address. Burt punched it into the car’s GPS system, then headed south to Boca Raton.
Stacy lived near the beach in an apartment that she shared with a roommate. Tommy arrived ten minutes early for their scheduled meeting but decided to check if she were home. In his briefcase, he had photocopied pictures from the yearbooks for the year Stacy graduated, as well as the two years before and the year after. He hoped she’d recognize the guy she saw leave the gym after Kincaid.
Tommy rode the elevator up to the twenty-ninth floor, then walked down the corridor to Apartment 2914 and rang the bell. He waited a few moments, then heard a rustling sound. The door opened, and a young woman with straight blonde hair caressing her shoulders and red-rimmed eyes stood in front of him.
“Stacy?”
The tears began flowing. “Who are you?”
“I’m Tom Noorland, from HIPP. You spoke to my colleague, Dani Trumball.”
The young woman just stood there, shaking her head.
“Are you all right?”
She dabbed her eyes with a tissue that had been bunched up in her hand. “I’m not Stacy. Stacy’s dead.”
For a moment, Tommy was at a loss for words. The young woman remained at the door, the tears flowing freely. Finally, he asked, “What happened?”
Between sobs, she said Stacy had been struck yesterday by a hit-and-run driver while crossing the road in front of her workplace. “She died instantly,” the roommate said.
Tommy spent a few minutes consoling her, then asked for the address where the accident occurred.
“Why?”
“Because I need to see the police report.”
When he had that information, he left Stacy’s apartment and made his way back to the limo. “Do you know where the police station is that covers Boynton Beach?” Tommy asked Burt after he’d settled himself back in the front seat. That’s where the so-called accident had occurred. It was just too coincidental, as far as Tommy was concerned, and he didn’t believe in coincidences.
Burt drove him to the station, and Tommy went inside. He went up to the desk sergeant and introduced himself, let it slip that he was former FBI. “I’m looking into a pedestrian death that occurred yesterday, around one thirty, at the corner of East Sample Road and North Dixie Highway. Hit and run.”
The sergeant punched some keys on the computer. “Stacy Pinkerton. What do you need to know?”
“Any witnesses?”
“Not really. One person saw it happen but didn’t get the plate number.”
“How about a description of the car?”
The sergeant looked at the screen again. “Late model, dark color, black or navy. Medium size. That’s all.”
“Anything else the witness said?”
“Yeah. Said it looked like the car was aiming straight for her.”
“So, you think she was a target?”
“Nah. With all the old folks driving cars down here, it’s a miracle it doesn’t happen more often. Wouldn’t surprise me if the guy didn’t even realize he’d hit someone.”
Tommy thanked him, then left. It didn’t add up to him. The only one he’d told about Stacy was Win. He headed back out to the car and asked Burt to take him to the Melton home.
Win was sitting by their pool when the butler brought Tommy out to him. Win smiled when he saw him. “How did it go? Did she recognize anyone?”
Tommy pulled out one of the chairs so that it faced Win, then sat down. “Stacy was hit by a car yesterday. She’s dead.”
Win’s face clouded over. “Do you think . . .”
He didn’t need to finish the question. Tommy knew what he was thinking. “Yeah, I do. The timing seems too neat for it to be an accident.”
“But how would he know?”
Tommy studied Win. “Did you tell anyone about the lead?”
“No. I mean, Grandmama knew you were coming down to follow up on something, but I didn’t give her a name.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. So what does this mean now? Are you out of leads?”
Tommy thought about it. He’d gone through the police file, and aside from the names of students attending the dance, he hadn’t gotten anything from it. He wasn’t a quitter, though. Never had been. “I think I’ll spend a few more days down here. Take a room in one of the motels nearby. I’m not finished searching for the answer.” He’d thrown a few items into an overnight bag before he left home, just in case he needed to follow up on Stacy’s identification.
“Stay here. We’ve got plenty of room.”
“That’s a nice offer, but I’m going to be coming and going at all hours. There’s plenty of places to stay nearby.”
“This time of year, they’re probably booked up. Really, I’d like you to stay.”
Tommy hesitated. Without a doubt, this house was the nicest he’d ever seen. But he felt like a stranger in a foreign land here. “Thanks, but—”
“No buts. I insist.”
Well, Tommy thought, sometimes visiting a foreign land can be interesting. “Okay. But I’ve got to rent a car. I can’t have Burt keep taking me around.”
“Use mine. I don’t go out.”
“Uh, I suspect your car is anything but nondescript. I’m going to need something that won’t be noticed.”
Win smiled. “In this town, tooling around in a Mercedes convertible will just have you blend in with the crowd.”
Tommy figured he was probably right, but he wasn’t going to be checking out the multimillion-dollar mansions along A1A. He accepted the offer nevertheless and drove the car to a nearby shop to pick up some swim trunks and then returned to Win’s house. No need to waste the sun-drenched day and the inviting pool in his temporary digs. Every now and then, the butler would venture outside to check if he wanted another cold beer, Tommy’s preferred drink on a hot afternoon.
As the sun started to go down, Tommy returned to the guest room he’d been given to change for dinner. “Room” wasn’t the right word—it was a suite, with a full bathroom, a walk-in closet, and a fifty-inch LED television on the wall. French doors opened onto a small balcony overlooking the Intracoastal. Tommy stepped onto the balcony, eased into the cushioned chaise lounge there, and watched the setting sun, a deep orange that spread its warmth over the boats docked up and down the waterway.
In what seemed like minutes, he was startled by a knock on the door and a voice announcing that it was time for dinner. He’d fallen asleep outside. He called out, “Thanks, be right down,” then splashed some water on his face, put on a fresh shirt, and went downstairs.
Dinner was in the formal dining room, with a crystal chandelier hung over the table. Without the leaves, the table sat twelve, but only Win, his mother, and grandmother were in attendance. They were already seated when Tommy entered, and as soon as he sat down, the butler asked him what he was drinking. Tommy looked around and saw that everyone had red wine in their glasses. He was a scotch-and-water man, but he just pointed to Win’s glass and said, “I’ll have the same.”
