One Day Gone

by Luana Ehrlich

  I didn’t deny his statement.

  Chapter 12

  Although I was anxious to talk to Wes Dawson, I needed to do a couple of things before I questioned him about Lizzie.

  First, I wanted to find out if Dawson was the person Lizzie had interviewed at the Law Library on Saturday night.

  Second, before I brought up Judge Woodard with Dawson, I wanted Nina to do a quick background check on the professor.

  I couldn’t recall seeing the name Wes Dawson in Nina’s casebook on Judge Woodard, but as Nina had pointed out earlier, I hadn’t read all the information in Woodard’s casebook yet.

  As I made my way over to the Law Library, I gave Nina a call.

  Instead of saying hello, Nina said, “Don’t bother asking me if I’ve found anything in Lizzie’s files yet, I’m just getting them organized.”

  “I know you’re good, Nina. In fact, you’re the best, but I wasn’t expecting you to be ready to report on Lizzie’s files just yet.”

  “What then?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind setting aside Lizzie’s files for the moment, I’d like you to run a quick background check on a law professor here at MU. His name is Wes Dawson.”

  I paused a second to see if the name rang a bell with her, but when she didn’t say anything, I continued. “Dawson’s name came up in my interview with the managing editor of The Columbian.”

  “In what context?”

  “I hope you’re sitting down for this.”

  “Okay, I’m sitting down.”

  “It turns out Lizzie has been doing research on Cameron Woodard for an article she’s writing for The Columbian.”

  “Why would she be interested in the judge?”

  “Because Wes Dawson, one of the judge’s former students is now a professor in the Law College here at Mizzou, and she thought that connection would make an interesting angle to the story about the judge’s nomination to the Court of Appeals.”

  “I bet that got your attention.”

  “Of course it did, but let’s not jump to the conclusion her interest in the judge is tied to her disappearance.”

  “I don’t jump to conclusions. I analyze the facts and come up with a possible explanation.”

  “Well then, the facts are that Lizzie is fascinated by politics, and we both know the judge’s nomination is seen by the opposition party as highly partisan. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find out that’s the reason Lizzie decided to do some research on him.”

  “What about Wes Dawson? Why are you interested in him?”

  “Because I think Lizzie met with him at least twice in the last two weeks, and she lied to her boyfriend about it both times. I’m pretty sure she was with Dawson last Saturday night at the Law Library, so I’m on my way over there now to check it out. After that, I plan to go see Dawson in person.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out about him. Call me back in an hour.”

  After Nina hung up, I pulled up the website for the MU Law College and clicked on the faculty page. A few seconds later, I was looking at a photo of Wes Dawson.

  Gus had described the man he’d seen with Lizzie on Saturday night as a nerdy-looking guy, and I could see why Dr. Wesley E. Dawson might fit that description, especially if I were looking at him from the standpoint of a jealous boyfriend.

  Dr. Dawson had wavy, ginger-colored hair and was wearing a pair of thick, oversized tortoise shell glasses. He had on a tan sports jacket, along with a cream-colored shirt and a narrow brown tie. He looked a little surprised in the photo, as if he hadn’t been prepared when the flash had gone off.

  I saved the image to my cell phone and entered the Law Library.

  * * * *

  I found the library’s study rooms without any problem, and just as Gus had described them, they were enclosed on three sides with glass. It was easy to understand how Gus had been able to observe Lizzie while she’d been interviewing the nerdy-looking guy.

  I walked over to the support center to ask the young lady at the counter about the process for reserving a room, but then I noticed a computer on the counter with a sign next to it that said, “Make Study Room Reservations Here,” and I walked over to it instead.

  However, I was disappointed when I realized there was no way for me to access past reservations and get a look at who’d reserved rooms last Saturday night.

  I abandoned the computer and asked the young lady for help.

  “Yes, sir. How may I help you?”

  “Last Saturday night, I was supposed to meet someone from The Columbian here for an interview, but I forgot all about it. She told me she’d reserved a study room for us, but she hasn’t called me to reschedule, so I was just wondering if there was any way for you to tell if she was here Saturday night. I’m hoping she just forgot it too.”

  “Yes, I should be able to help you with that. If she reserved a room, then she would have checked in here at the desk, and I should have a record of it. Would you like for me to look that up for you?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble. Her name is Lizzie Allen.”

  The young lady consulted a computer behind the counter, and after a few keystrokes, I saw her nod her head. “Yes, Lizzie Allen was here on Saturday night in Room B, but she wasn’t actually the person who reserved the room. One of our professors did.”

  “Was it Professor Dawson?”

  “That’s right. Dr. Wesley Dawson. I actually have a class with him.”

  “Is that right? I’ve heard he’s a tough professor.”

  She rolled her eyes. “All my professors are tough, but, yeah, he’s right up there at the top.”

  “I hear you. I had a few like that when I was in law school.”

  “Are you a Mizzou grad?”

  “No, I went to Georgetown Law.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s impressive.”

  “What class are you taking under Professor Dawson?”

  “Constitutional law, and believe me, he knows everything about it.”

  “Isn’t that his specialty?”

  “I believe so, but he also teaches ethics.” She rolled her eyes again. “I’m sure that’s why he’s always harping on the lawyer’s obligation to maintain the highest possible degree of professional conduct. We hear a mini-lecture on ethical behavior at least once a week.”

  “Is that one of his pet topics?”

  “I guess you could say that. I know he brings it up all the time.”

  “I’m sure you’re a good student.”

  “Well, I’ve been able to hang in there so far.”

  I would have quizzed her a little more about Dawson, but a student walked up to the counter to ask her a question, so I thanked her for her help and left the building.

  The website for the Law College didn’t list Dawson’s office hours, but it did have the room number of his office in Hammon Hall, which was right next door to the library, so I headed over there next.

  Before I got there, I got a call from Nina.

  “I’ve pulled together some information on Dawson for you,” she said. “For starters, his full name is Wesley Everett Dawson.”

  “I thought I was supposed to call you back in an hour. It’s only been thirty minutes.”

  “Yeah? Well, that just shows you how good I am.”

  “You won’t get any argument out of me. Okay, what have you got?”

  “First of all, I’m wondering if Dawson could be the person who wrote you the anonymous letter about Judge Woodard.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. You said whoever wrote you the letter probably knew the judge personally and had a high moral standard when it came to the judiciary.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Professor Dawson teaches ethics and he knew Judge Woodard personally. End of case.”

  “I was leaning toward a family member writing that letter.”

  “Well then, maybe you should start leaning in another direction.”

  I didn’t argue with Nina about her conclus
ion.

  Instead, I listened carefully as she read off the rather innocuous details of Wes Dawson’s background check.

  When she was finished, I gave her kudos for how fast she’d gotten the information on Dawson to me, and then I promised to consider her theory about who’d written me the anonymous letter.

  She said, “I bet you’ll eventually come around to my way of thinking.”

  “You bet? Did you just say you bet?”

  Nina laughed and hung up.

  The person who’d written the anonymous letter I received two weeks ago when I was more than halfway through my investigation of Judge Cameron Woodard, had demanded that I question the judge about whether he had a gambling problem.

  The letter had been specifically addressed to me. According to the typed signature, it was from An Anonymous Concerned Citizen.

  * * * *

  Dear Mr. Grey,

  Since you’re the chief investigator for Senator Davis Allen on the Senate Judiciary Committee, I’m writing to make you aware of concerns I have about Judge Cameron Woodard, the President’s nominee for the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals.

  Although I can’t divulge how I obtained this information, I have reason to believe the judge has a gambling problem, and I urge you to investigate this matter thoroughly during your vetting process.

  When you bring this matter up with the judge, he may brush aside his gambling as inconsequential and tell you he only engages in friendly poker games with his friends, but I assure you, Mr. Grey, he’s not being truthful.

  Judge Woodard takes regular trips to the casinos in Las Vegas under an assumed name, and during one such trip, I know for a fact he incurred a loss of $50,000. That loss required him to take out a personal loan to repay the debt, although on the bank loan application, he listed home improvement as the reason for the loan.

  I believe all members of the judiciary must be held to a high moral standard in order to avoid the risk of conflict with the obligations of their judicial office, and I’m sure you hold this view as well.

  If you value your reputation as a top-notch investigator, you won’t ignore this letter. Unfortunately, due to circumstances which are inconsequential to your investigation, I must remain anonymous.

  Respectfully,

  An Anonymous Concerned Citizen

  * * * *

  I hadn’t ignored the letter. Quite the contrary. I’d taken it very seriously. In fact, I’d taken it so seriously, I’d immediately brought it to the attention of Nathan Lockett.

  Lockett and I had both agreed the letter sounded authentic and probably wasn’t from some wacko in the opposition party trying to create suspicion around the judge. The Columbia postmark on the envelope had reinforced our analysis.

  After we discussed it, Lockett had taken the letter to the senator, and he instructed me to look into the matter immediately.

  I’d spent the next week conducting follow-up interviews with a few of the judge’s colleagues, inserting a few questions about the possibility the judge had a gambling problem into our conversations.

  None of them had seen any indication of a problem, although several of them had agreed Woodard had played a lot of poker in college, plus he’d frequented the casinos in Atlantic City.

  In the meantime, Nina had dug a little deeper into the judge’s finances and discovered he’d taken out a couple of home improvement loans, both in the amount of $50,000, just as Anonymous Concerned Citizen had outlined in the letter.

  After hearing this, my visceral intuition told me it was time to bring up the matter with the judge himself.

  I’d included that recommendation in the briefing documents I had planned to discuss with the senator on Tuesday, except we hadn’t gotten around to discussing the documents because he’d told me to drop everything and find his daughter.

  Now, as I entered Hammon Hall on my way to see Dr. Wes Dawson, I considered how to bring up the subject of Lizzie Allen with him.

  Would it be better to be upfront with him and tell him I was here about Lizzie Allen, or would a backdoor approach yield better results?

  I opted for the backdoor approach.

  * * * *

  I didn’t have to go through a receptionist when I arrived on the second floor of Hammon Hall where the faculty offices were located. All I had to do was locate Dawson’s office.

  However, as I wandered down the hallway looking for his room number, I also passed a couple of classrooms, and when I glanced inside one of them, I spotted Dawson standing behind a lectern.

  I had no idea if the professor was just getting started or was about to finish up, so I stopped a guy in the hallway and asked him if he knew when Professor Dawson’s class would be over.

  He glanced down at his cell phone. “This class period’s over in five minutes and knowing Dr. Dawson, he’ll dismiss the class on time.”

  “Are you saying Dr. Dawson is meticulous about time?”

  He smiled. “Dr. Dawson is meticulous about everything.”

  After I thanked him, I walked on down the hall and found Dawson’s office, planting myself next to his door.

  That’s where he found me seven minutes later.

  He had a puzzled look on his face when he headed toward me, and since I knew I looked nothing like a student standing there in my expensive sports coat and dress pants, I figured he thought I was a parent or maybe a textbook representative.

  I stepped away from his door as he got closer. “Dr. Dawson?” I asked, as he removed a key from his pocket. “I wonder if I might speak with you for a moment?”

  “My office hours don’t begin for another hour,” he said, pointing up at the hand-lettered sign on his door.

  “Oh, I didn’t notice that.”

  “Would you mind coming back then?”

  I pulled out one of my business cards and handed it to him.

  “This won’t take but a few minutes. I just need to ask you a few questions in reference to Judge Cameron Woodard.”

  “Why?”

  I pointed down at my business card. “I’m Mylas Grey, Senator Davis Allen’s chief investigator on the Senate Judiciary Committee.”

  “Oh . . . uh . . . yes, I see. Please . . . uh . . . come right in.”

  Dawson’s office wasn’t that large. However, it appeared larger than it actually was because his office wasn’t cluttered, and even though I saw piles of papers on the credenza behind his desk, I noticed they were neat piles. Not surprisingly, all the books on his bookshelves were perfectly aligned with each other.

  His desk had nothing on it except his laptop and a stack of books.

  He gestured for me to be seated in one of the guest chairs, and he sat down behind his desk.

  I thought he seemed a little nervous, but that wasn’t unusual when I suddenly showed up on someone’s doorstep, so I tried not to read too much into that.

  “What would you like to know about Judge Woodard?” he asked.

  I went through my usual spiel about the Senate Judiciary Committee’s responsibility to thoroughly investigate the President’s nominees, and then I took him through the procedures Senator Allen used when vetting a candidate—interviews with family, friends, and colleagues, questionnaires about finances, club memberships, judicial philosophy, past rulings, opinions, etc.

  “I’m somewhat familiar with the process,” Dawson said, “and, as a matter of fact, I’ve recently spoken with the senator’s daughter, Lizzie, about Judge Woodard.”

  “Oh? When was that?”

  “I met with her last Saturday night. It was actually our third meeting.”

  “You’ve met with Lizzie Allen three times?”

  He nodded. “She contacted me a few weeks ago about an article she’s writing for The Columbian on Judge Woodard’s nomination. She wanted to interview me since I’m one of the judge’s former students. I’m sure you know the judge taught here at the university. She thought his tenure here would make an interesting angle to her story.”

  “Yes, I’m
aware he used to teach here. Would you mind telling me about the other two times you met with Lizzie?”

  He didn’t answer my question immediately.

  Instead, he fidgeted.

  First, he adjusted his glasses. Then, he spent a few seconds straightening the stack of books on his desk. Finally, he looked up at me and said, “I thought you said you wanted to ask me some questions about Judge Woodard.”

  “I might do that later, but right now, I’m more interested in Lizzie. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “I just told you; it was Saturday night.”

  “You didn’t see her on Monday?”

  “No. It was Saturday night. We met at the Law Library. Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “I’m asking you these questions because Lizzie is missing. No one’s seen her since Monday morning.”

  “Oh, no,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “you don’t think something’s happened to her, do you?”

  “That’s why I’m here, Dr. Dawson. You were one of the last people to see her.”

  Dawson stared at me. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “No, not at the moment, not if you’re willing to provide me with some answers. If that doesn’t happen, then don’t be surprised when a couple of detectives from the CPD show up here a little later this afternoon and start questioning you about Lizzie.”

  Dawson looked stunned.

  After a few seconds of silence, I asked, “What say you, Dr. Dawson? Are you willing to answer some questions?”

  “Fine,” he said, gesturing at me with both hands. “Ask me anything. I assure you I don’t have anything to hide.”

  Chapter 13

  When I began questioning Dawson, he clasped his hands together in front of him, rested them on the desk, and looked me straight in the eye, hardly moving a muscle.

  I interpreted his body language as an attempt to appear calm.

  “When did you become acquainted with Lizzie Allen?”

  “She came here to my office about three weeks ago during my regular office hours. She told me she was on the staff of The Columbian, and she was doing some research for an article she wanted to write on Judge Woodard.”