Blind Conviction (Nate Shepherd Legal Thriller Series Book 3)

by Michael Stagg

  I needed to gas up if I was going to the Mack farm tonight. I knew just the station to use.

  I went to the station on the corner of Century and Stone, the same place where Archie Mack had stopped right after the concert. I filled up my tank, paid at the pump, then went in and bought a bottle of water and a pack of gum. As I paid, I asked, “Is the manager in?”

  “Gary?” said the attendant.

  I had no idea. “Sure.”

  “He's back in the storeroom by the restrooms doing inventory.”

  “Thanks,” I said and went back to the storeroom. I knocked on the door, which was open, and saw a man bending down with a clipboard and pen, filling in blanks on an inventory sheet.

  “Gary?” I said.

  The man looked up. “The restroom’s next door,” he said, pointing. He bent back over his clipboard so that his long brown hair hung forward over his black glasses.

  “I wasn't looking for the bathroom. I was looking for you.”

  He glanced back at me, then straightened. “Sorry, we weren't expecting anyone from corporate until next week.”

  The tie did that sometimes. “No, I'm not from corporate. I have some questions about the Mack case.”

  Gary looked at me blankly and shook his head.

  “From the night of the Big Luke concert?”

  Gary’s eyes cleared. “Right, right, right,” he said. “But I already told that deputy everything I remember.”

  Bingo.

  “Sure. I just wanted to ask a couple of questions for my own report.”

  Gary looked at me, looked at the rolls of toilet paper he was in the middle of tallying, and was clearly torn between which he preferred to do.

  Flattering.

  “I only have a minute,” he said finally.

  “That’s all it’ll take. Who was on duty that night?”

  “I was. Freaking RJ called off.”

  “That sucks.”

  “No shit. On a Friday night too.”

  “So did you see him come in?”

  “The dude with the hand? I did.”

  “How did you remember?”

  “The bandage. His hand was bleeding right through it and he actually dripped in a couple spots.” Gary shook his head. “I had to do the full biohazard protocol to clean up, gloves, disinfectant, the works.”

  “What happened?”

  “He went into the bathroom and cleaned up his hands. I expected to find a bunch of bloody paper towels in there but there weren't any. I figure he must've taken them out. Hiding his tracks, you know?”

  “Did he still have the bandage on when he came out?”

  Gary shook his head. “No. Well—wait a minute, I guess he did have a bandage on, but it must’ve been a new one. I remember it wasn’t dripping at all because I was glad.”

  “What did he do when he came out?”

  “He bought a Tall Tea and some beef jerky, puts them on the counter, then he thinks about it and goes back and buys a twelve pack of beer. ‘One of those days?’ I asked him. I found it’s better to engage the odd ones right away to see if there’s trouble, you know? And the guy just kinda clenched his teeth, pulled down on his cap and said, ‘One of those years.’ And I said, ‘All we can do is keep plugging, right?’ And he just kind of nodded and didn't say anything else, like he was thinking of something. And then he paid, and he left.”

  “Anything else you remember?”

  “Not really. We were pretty busy with the concert traffic.” Gary pushed his long bangs out of his face and then gestured at the stacked toilet paper. “Do you mind? I have a ways to go.”

  “No, I'm sorry to have kept you. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” said Gary, and went back to his inventory.

  As I left, I added hiding bloody bandages to the list of things I needed to talk to Archie about tonight. Great.

  I was almost to the office when the phone buzzed and the car announced, “Call from, Olivia.” I answered. “You do miss me.”

  “I need you to get over here, Shep.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “The gym.”

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s Cade. Pearson’s here to question him.”

  “Don’t let him say anything. I’m on my way.”

  13

  When I entered the Brickhouse, Mitch Pearson, Chief Detective in Charge of Serious Crimes for Carrefour, Ohio, was standing in front of the desk. Cade and Olivia were on the other side. Pearson was tall, blonde, and wore a slim fit suit that made the gun under his arm and the badge at his belt all the more obvious. He looked like a stereotype of everything he was, a former quarterback, a triathlete, and a complete pain in the ass.

  “Pearson,” I said. “You're far from home.”

  “Thought I'd try some barbecue.” He pointed at the Railcar across the parking lot and then shook my hand, trying as usual to crush it. “As long as I was here, I wanted to follow up on a new case.”

  I nodded. “See, by far from home, I meant out of your jurisdiction.”

  Pearson shook his head. “So suspicious. This is a courtesy call. I know Mr. Brickson does a lot of bond work in our Ohio court, so I wanted to follow up on a complaint right away.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Pearson looked around. “Can we take this to your office?”

  Rule number one—never voluntarily let the police into any part of your house or business.

  “Right here is fine,” I said.

  “Isn't this a place of public accommodation?”

  “The gym is. The office isn't. We can go outside if you prefer.”

  Pearson shrugged. “Suit yourself. I was just trying to save you any embarrassment.”

  “How's a courtesy call embarrassing?”

  Pearson pulled out his phone and poked here and there on the screen. “Cade, did you bring Travis Kopcek in on a skipped bond yesterday?”

  I raised my hand to Cade. I didn't need to. He stood there, his arms folded.

  Pearson sighed as if our distrust was the weight of the world. “Fine. Kopcek made a complaint that you assaulted him when you brought him back.”

  Cade, Olivia, and I had a contest to see who could out-sphinx the other.

  Pearson poked the screen a few more times and, when he had what he wanted, looked up and said, “Assuming this six foot four, two hundred sixty pound man in a black t-shirt with black wraparound sunglasses is you—”

  Cade stood there with his arms still crossed, all six foot four, two hundred sixty pounds of him, wearing his black wraparound sunglasses and a black t-shirt.

  “—Then this footage that a doorbell video system caught might interest you.”

  Pearson put his phone on the counter, flipped it toward Olivia and Cade, and gestured. I stepped closer and leaned around so I could see too.

  Olivia hit play. The video showed a view of a driveway with two trucks parked in a line on one side. Three men were standing in the bed of the front truck, apparently installing a toolbox. A black Expedition pulled into the driveway on the other side and Cade got out. There was no audio with the video. All three men straightened and one, with a cut-off flannel shirt and sun-bleached hair, stepped forward and gestured back. There appeared to be a discussion, with Cade standing there and Flannel Boy gesturing more and more. One of the guys hopped off the far side of the truck bed.

  He had a flathead hammer in his hand.

  I couldn't tell if the Cade in the video could see it from his angle. I glanced up at Cade now. I didn't see any hammer marks, so took that as a good sign and looked back down.

  The third guy was braver. He hopped down on Cade’s side but then appeared to hesitate when he found that, on level ground, he was about six inches shorter than Cade. From where the man was standing, with his back to the camera, I could see a screwdriver sticking out of his back pocket.

  Pearson pointed. “See now the guy staying in the truck bed, Kopcek, was a no-show for court last week. You'd posted his bond.”r />
  Silence.

  “He doesn't appear to be interested in going in.”

  Kopcek began to gesture more as the guy with the flathead hammer snuck around the back of the pickup bed to come at Cade from the other side.

  Cade didn't move. Kopcek gestured more wildly, pointing and waving now. Cade tipped his head toward his car.

  Then everything happened at once. Kopcek jumped off the far side of the truck and yanked open the driver-side door. The man with the flathead hammer ran up on Cade and swung. The man with the screwdriver whipped it out of his back pocket.

  What happened next was almost too fast to follow. Cade spun toward the man swinging the hammer, caught his wrist with one hand and struck him square in the chest with the other, spinning him around and slamming the back of his head into the side of the truck. That made the man with the screwdriver hesitate, which allowed Cade to bring an elbow back, smash the man’s face, and wrench the screwdriver free as the man crumpled to the ground.

  Cade followed the momentum of his elbow strike, ripped open the passenger door of the truck, and lunged in. It was hard to see inside the cab, but then Cade straightened and pulled Kopcek straight out of the cab by both wrists. Cade side-stepped and twisted Kopcek’s wrists and a handgun tumbled onto the driveway. As the gun skipped across the cement, Cade rabbit punched Kopcek behind the ear, then yanked him to his feet. A couple of zip-ties later, Kopcek’s hands were behind his back and he was tossed headfirst into the back seat of the Expedition. Moments later, Cade pulled out of the driveway, leaving the other two staggering and tool-less.

  Pearson reached over and hit stop.

  Cade stood there, silent. The speed with which he’d taken the three men down was breath-taking, so fast that it had seemed choreographed, like a movie. It wasn’t though. Cade had done it in real life in real-time. I reminded myself to be nicer to him.

  “Kopcek has made a complaint for assault. It seems to me, though, that three people jumped a bail bondsman with the contents of a small hardware store.”

  “That seems about right,” I said.

  “See, was that so bad?”

  “You never know.”

  Pearson ignored the comment. “Do you want to give a statement, Mr. Brickson?”

  “No,” Cade said.

  Pearson stared at him, then shrugged. “We'll turn the video over to the prosecutor. We don't see any evidence of an assault here, but I’m sure they’ll want to look into it.”

  “No evidence of assault by Cade,” said Olivia.

  “Right,” said Pearson. “Well, I guess that's it for me. How's the family, Shepherd?” He looked at Olivia and Cade as he said it.

  “Fine, thanks,” I said.

  My friends ground their teeth.

  “Give them my regards,” said Pearson.

  “Goodbye,” said Olivia.

  Pearson gave half a wave and left.

  Olivia turned on her brother. “I thought you said you didn't have any trouble?”

  Cade shrugged. “I didn't.”

  Sweet Jesus. “I’ll get Danny on it,” I said.

  “No need,” said Cade.

  “Someone needs to mind it, Cade,” said Olivia. “If they file charges, it could put your bail bond business in jeopardy. Let him do it.”

  Cade shrugged. “I’m going to get a lift in,” he said and walked away.

  Olivia watched him go. “You will have Danny keep an eye on it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. I don’t trust Pearson.”

  “You shouldn’t. Hey, turns out I’m going up to the Mack farm tonight. Did you find out anything else?”

  “A little. The Macks are mortgaged to the hilt.”

  “Bad?”

  “From what I can see, it’s more than the property is worth.”

  “It must include an interest in the machinery and crops.”

  “And animals,” said Olivia. “Bonnie tells me that Archie runs some pigs too.”

  “I understand that’s normal for farmers. The mortgages, I mean.”

  “It is but…I don’t know their books, but it sure seems like one down year could drive them under.”

  “I hear that’s normal too. Farm bankruptcies are way up, especially for family farms. I’ll add that to the list when I talk to him tonight.”

  Olivia nodded and looked away. “Bonnie was in today for a class.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She said Abby’s improving. Had another procedure to repair her orbital bone.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “It takes a special kind of scumbag to do that, Shep.”

  I nodded. “I agree.”

  “The worst.” She looked at me. “We have to find the guy who did this.”

  Olivia was always diligent. This was extra.

  “I agree. We can’t let it get in the way of representing Archie, though, Liv.”

  “Seems to me finding the real attacker is the best way to represent Archie.”

  I know a losing argument when presented with it. I pointed out at the gym. “What do you have going now?”

  “Time to make some people feel guilty about feeling unmotivated to work out.”

  “You're a terrible person.”

  “So I've been told. Call me if you learn anything interesting?”

  “Will do.”

  I left and checked the time. Then I cursed and checked my smartphone for what time sunset was that night, did the math, and killed a couple of hours before heading up to the Mack farm for dinner.

  14

  It was still early when I got to Mack Farms, so I decided to drive around the fields a couple of times as the sun set.

  A square-mile is bigger than you think. If you’ve never been to Michigan, or any of the other Midwestern states, then you might not have ever seen square-mile sections before. In a town, they can be hidden by side-streets and development but, out here, the layout was clear—four county roads running in straight lines forming a perfect square marking off six hundred and forty acres. I arrived at the intersection on the southwest corner of the farm, turned so that the Mack fields were on my right, and just drove along, taking right turns, keeping my eye on their property.

  The first time around, I got a sense of the land itself. It had some hills to it but more gentle rolls than steep changes. I could see the creek that ran through it because it was lined by a thin stand of trees on both sides that I assumed served as a windbreak and a warning. As I turned and passed the center of the farm, I saw a tractor in the field—if I was oriented right, that would be Alban Mack, the father, working on his part of the farm.

  I took the circuit again. This time I focused on the houses. There were two gravel driveways on the south side of the square about two hundred yards apart. The first was set about fifty yards back and dead-ended into a large barn with a house offset to the left. Archie’s place. Two hundred yards later, right up next to the road, was a yellow farmhouse with white trim and a large porch. Mr. and Mrs. Mack’s house. Their barns were set a little farther back but not much, which was more what I’d expected from an older farm.

  I had trouble finding the drive to Hamish’s house. It took me two laps to realize that it was on the opposite side, the north side of the square, and that his house was set all the way back in the middle of the property, almost half a mile from the road. I saw a cluster of lights but the view was obstructed by trees and the gloom of gathering dusk. All in all, the whole thing seemed like a normal farm, whatever that means, no different than any other farm you could see driving down the highway or on the back roads of Michigan.

  For the record, the sun set at 8:19 p.m. that day (admit it, you didn’t know either). I pulled off to the side of the road, around the corner from Archie’s place, and waited so that I pulled into his driveway at exactly 8:49 p.m. I got out of my Jeep and made my way up the porch stairs. The house was newer, well-maintained with light green siding and dark green trim. The deck of the wrap-around porch was a composi
te, the kind that would last for years without signs of wear.

  Archie Mack opened the door before I could knock. He wasn’t wearing his hat so his mid-face tan-line stood in stark contrast to his bald head.

  “Nate,” he said. “Come in. I was glad when Mom said you’d called.”

  “Thanks, Archie. I won't take much of your time.”

  “No problem. We’re going to eat first though.”

  “I know your mom mentioned that, but it really isn’t necessary.”

  Archie put his hand on my shoulder and grinned. “You can explain to my mom that she shouldn’t have made extra, but I'm certainly not going to. Come on.”

  Archie led me to the dining room and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. It wasn't rustic and country and it wasn't a modernized farmhouse either. It was hardwood floors and a sturdy oak table and a series of ceiling fans that, when combined with open French doors, made for an incredibly pleasant breeze on a warm August night. Mrs. Mack had a large serving plate with a couple of chickens on them that were crisped to a golden brown and smelled delicious. The rest of the table was filled with vegetables and salad and fruit and what looked to be marvelously spiced red skin potatoes. The smells hit me like a wave and my stomach growled. I’m not kidding, it literally growled.

  “Right on time, Mr. Shepherd,” said Mrs. Mack. “You can tell a lot about people by when they arrive.” She waved. “Sit, both of you.” She went back to the kitchen and returned with a handful of serving spoons.

  I sat. There was a pause, then Mrs. Mack said, “We say grace.”

  “Of course,” I said, and bowed my head.

  Mrs. Mack said a brief prayer, thanking God for the day, requesting healing for Abby, and blessing this food as nourishment to the body of this lawyer that it might give him strength to work tirelessly to deliver her son from false accusations of wickedness. Then she began taking plates to dish out food.

  So, no pressure.

  It didn't seem appropriate to delay a guy who’d been working out in a field all day from eating, so there was a brief interlude as chickens were carved and potatoes were scooped and vegetables were dished out. When plates were filled and forks were flying, Mrs. Mack said, “So how’s my son’s defense going?”