by David Archer
“Ask her yourself,” Indie said. She put the phone up to her daughter’s ear. “Say hi to Daddy,” she said.
“Daddy! Daddy, I want you to come home! Mommy didn’t even eat her dinner.”
Indie frowned at Kenzie, and then stuck her tongue out at her. “Snitch,” she said. “I ate part of it.”
“I’m working on it, sweetheart,” Sam said. “Are you taking care of Mommy and Bo for me while I’m gone?”
The little girl sighed with exasperation. “Don’t I always?”
“Yes, you do,” Sam said with a chuckle. “I know it’s getting close to your bedtime, so I want you to not worry about me tonight and get yourself some sleep. I’m going to see a judge tomorrow morning, and they might let me come home, but I’m not sure about that yet.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Kenzie said. “You sleep good too.”
Indie took the phone back. “I love you, Sam,” she said. “I don’t know how, but we are going to get this straightened out.”
“I damn well intend to,” Sam said. “I don’t know how anybody could have set up this kind of a frame job, but it’s the only thing I can think of.” There was a sound in the background, and Sam said, “I have to go, babe. I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as I know what happens in the arraignment.”
“You won’t need to, because I’ll be there. Ron and Jeff are coming by here to pick me up on the way. I’ll see you in the courtroom, Sam. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Sam said, and then the line clicked off. Indie dropped the phone onto the couch and carried her daughter up the stairs, tucked her in, and then sat on the bed with her as she said her nighttime prayers. Kenzie made a special point of asking God to take care of her daddy in jail, and to bring him home soon.
Indie went downstairs and sat at the table with her mother and mother-in-law. She shared what she had learned so far, and both of the older women assured her that they had never for a second believed that Sam was anything other than innocent.
Indie looked at her mother. “Anything out of Beauregard?”
“Not yet,” Kim said. “I’ve been yelling at him in my head, but he isn’t talking right now. I hope that means he’s out there trying to figure out what to do.” Her eyes suddenly went wide. “Okay, he says he hasn’t gone anywhere, because he’s stuck with me. All he knows right now is that Sam is innocent, but he’s listening for anything that might help us prove it.”
A flash of anger crossed Indie’s face. “If he’s really a ghost, tell him to go find the ghost of that little girl and ask her who did it. If we had a suspect, then maybe we could figure out a way to prove it.”
Kim shook her head. “All he says is that it doesn’t work that way. He can’t talk to other ghosts, not usually. He says he just hears things, and sometimes he just suddenly knows things. In this case, he just knew that Sam was innocent, but he didn’t know what he was going to be accused of or when.”
Indie forced herself to soften. “Well, at least he tried to warn us. I just wish he was better at coming up with details.”
“We all do,” Grace said. “That old spook has been driving me crazy for four years now. I still don’t know whether he’s real or not, but I do know that he’s extremely exasperating at times.”
Kim giggled. “He says you’re not all that easy to live with, either,” she said.
Grace stared at her for a moment, then grinned. “No, I’m probably not.”
The three of them sat and talked for a while longer, and then Indie went to her bedroom. She took a quick shower, then got into bed and pulled Sam’s pillow to her chest. She hugged it tightly as she lay there, but it was a while before she managed to get to sleep.
* * * * *
The lights came on in Sam’s cell at five a.m., and the meal slot on the door opened a moment later. A tray was set on the shelf that it created, and Sam reached out to grab it. Scrambled eggs, sausage patty, toast and coffee, but at least it was breakfast. He sat on his bunk as he ate it, then set the empty tray in the door.
He decided to try to clean up before he was taken to Fort Collins for court and quickly stripped out of his jumpsuit. There was no shower in his cell, but he had been given a washcloth. He used it with the little sink that was mounted on the back of the toilet and washed up the best he could, and he had just gotten back into the jumpsuit when the rattle of keys told him that it was probably time to go.
A jailer opened the door and looked in. “Mr Prichard,” he said, “I need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back.” Sam complied and felt the handcuffs click on, and then he was led out of the cell by one arm. A second jailer took his other arm and he was walked down the hall and into the sally port. This was a big garage-like area, and there was a van marked “Prisoner Transport” in the middle of the big concrete floor.
The second jailer opened the door on the side of the van. “Climb up in there,” he said. Sam carefully climbed into the steel cage mounted inside the van. The outer doors closed and the jailers climbed into the front seats. A moment later, the big, overhead door in front of them opened and the van started moving.
The jailer in the passenger seat turned and looked at Sam. “Just for the record,” he said, “I have a hard time believing you did this, Mr. Prichard. It just doesn’t seem like something you could do.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks,” he said. “Do I know you?”
“No, sir, but I read your blog. I miss all the big cases you used to work on, though.”
The driver looked at Sam in the mirror that let him watch the prisoners in the back of the van.
“I don’t think you did it either,” he said. “I don’t know if you remember me, Sam, but I booked you in the last time you were arrested. I was working the booking desk back then, but I didn’t think you were guilty then, either. I was right that time, so I think I’m probably right this time.”
“Thanks to you, too,” Sam said. “No, I didn’t do it, but it sure does look like I did.”
“You think it’s a frame job?” asked the first jailer.
“That’s the direction I’m leaning,” Sam said. “It’s either that, or there’s somebody out there that has the same DNA as me, and they tell me that’s impossible.”
“It’s not impossible,” said the driver, “but it’s not very likely.” He looked at Sam in the mirror and shrugged. “Sorry, I’m going to school for criminal justice, and we just covered the subject a couple weeks ago. Turns out that it’s possible to get a false positive that seems to be a perfect match, and that happens in about two cases out of a hundred. That’s because, in the United States, you only have to match STRs at thirteen loci. Some years ago, some scientists looked at the DNA database from the state of Arizona and found that there were an awful lot of matches on nine loci, and even some that matched on twelve. As a result, there’s a lot of discussion about whether DNA evidence is even reliable anymore. And a lot of it depends on the lab that does the work, because some labs have a lower error rate than others, but errors are still possible.”
Sam grinned. “Can my lawyer quote you on that?”
The driver shrugged again. “Sure, I don’t mind. If you think it will help, I’d be glad to testify for you.”
They moved onto the highway and the van rolled along quickly. Prisoner transport vehicles are allowed to exceed the speed limit significantly, because police officers understand that it could be necessary to get a prisoner somewhere quickly. The jailers waved at two state troopers they passed and the troopers waved back.
The drive was a lot shorter than Sam expected it to be, and they pulled up behind the Laramie County courthouse at well before seven o’clock in the morning. The jailers opened the van and took Sam out, then walked him inside the building and down the stairs to the basement. There was a holding cell there, and two other men were inside. Sam was locked in, and then his handcuffs were removed through the bars.
“You’re Prichard,” said one of the men sitting on the bench along the wall. “You’
re the one they say killed that little girl.”
Sam looked at him as he rubbed his wrists. “That’s what I’m accused of,” he said. “But I did not do it.”
The other man snorted. “That’s what we all say,” he said. “I didn’t rob a convenience store, either. That was some guy that looked like me they got on video.”
“Way I heard it,” said the first man, “they got you dead to rights. I heard the cops talking about it, and they said you’re going down for life.”
“They always say that,” said the second man. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just pissed off because they caught him red-handed.”
“They did not!” shouted the first man. “They found me walking in the wrong neighborhood, that’s all.”
“With a pocket full of jewelry you just stole out of somebody’s house.”
“I told them, I found that stuff on the sidewalk. I was taking it home so I could call the police and tell them about it.”
Sam ignored the argument and found himself a place on the bench. He knew that his arraignment was scheduled for nine, so it was going to be a long couple of hours with his current roommates.
Over the next two hours, more men were brought into the holding cell, and a couple of women were put into a smaller one across the hall. A few of the newcomers realized who Sam was, and one of them even threatened him, but a deputy had taken a seat in the hall and warned him to sit down and be quiet.
There was no clock Sam could see, and that only made the time seem longer. He was sure it must be getting close to noon by the time the deputy was called on the radio to bring the prisoners up. He stood up and had each of them put their hands out, then reached through the bars and applied handcuffs. The cuffs were connected to each other by sections of chain, so that if any one of them tried to run, the rest of them would probably fall down. When they were all secured, he opened the door and then added the two ladies at the tail end of the line.
“Everybody ready?” he asked. When no one spoke, he took hold of the first man in the line and said, “Okay, be sure you keep up.” They went upstairs and through a door that led to a set of chairs that was sectioned off specifically for the prisoners.
As Sam entered the room, he saw Indie sitting in the front row of the gallery. She looked at him and smiled, and he managed to wave his fingers at her. Carol Spencer was sitting beside her, waiting for Sam’s case to be called, and Sam saw Ron Thomas and Jeff Donaldson sitting behind them. Both men smiled and gave Sam a thumbs up sign, and he returned it as he sat down.
Several other cases went before Sam’s, but finally his case was called. The judge, the Honorable Alfred Kaufman, nodded to the bailiff.
“People versus Sam Prichard,” the bailiff called, and the deputy who had brought them up looked them over until Sam waggled a finger. His cuffs were removed and he was led out of the holding pen and to the defense table, where Carol joined him. Detective O’Rourke took a seat at the prosecutor’s table.
“Just answer whatever the judge asks,” Carol said, “and don’t volunteer anything. Answer with yes or no when you can, all right?”
“You got it,” Sam said.
The case was officially called, and Sam and Carol got to their feet. Judge Kaufman was looking over the case file, and took a moment before he finally looked at Sam.
“This is the case of the People versus Sam Prichard, in the matter of the murder of one Brenda Starling, a fourteen-year-old female. The state is represented by Mr. Jamison from the District Attorney’s office. Is the defendant present?”
“I am, Your Honor,” Sam said.
“Defendant is represented by counsel,” the judge went on. “Ms. Spencer, it’s good to see you in my courtroom again. It’s been a while.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Carol said. “I just wish the circumstances were better.”
“I’m sure.” The judge looked at Sam. “Mr. Prichard, according to the information in front of me, you are accused of abducting, raping and then murdering this young girl. Do you care to enter a plea at this time?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Sam said.
The judge nodded as he scribbled something down. “What, no theatrics?” he asked, grinning at Sam. “Most people are a lot more emphatic about it when they tell me they didn’t do it.”
Sam shrugged. “Simply stating a fact, Your Honor.”
“Very good. Mr. Prichard, based on the severity of the charges against you, I’m afraid the state has asked to deny bail. Ms. Spencer, do you have anything to say about that?”
He looked at Carol, who spoke up. “Your Honor, Mr. Prichard is a highly respected member of the Denver community, and a former police officer and special investigator who has worked numerous times with the federal government. He has been instrumental in preventing and even stopping terrorist attacks around the country and even the world. He is adamant about his innocence, and hopes to be able to assist in proving it. With his experience, we believe it’s definitely in his best interest to assist in the investigation, and further, we believe that he is not any kind of flight risk or a danger to society.”
“Objection,” said the prosecutor, getting to his feet. “Considering the nature of the charges, Your Honor, I think we can assume that, should they be proven, Mr. Prichard most definitely is a danger to society.”
“Yes, we can, Mr. Jamison,” said the judge, “but they have not yet been proven. They will not be proven until such time as a jury of his peers returns a verdict of guilty, and that has yet to occur. Go ahead, Ms. Spencer. You would like to request bail, then?”
“We would, Your Honor,” Carol said.
“Based on the severity of the charges,” the judge said, “I am almost reluctant to agree. However, I know who Mr. Prichard is and I’m familiar with a lot of his work. For that reason, I am inclined to grant bail, but I’m afraid it will have to be pretty substantial. Mr. Prichard, if I set your bail at five million dollars, are you going to be able to reach that figure?”
“Your Honor,” Carol said quickly, “we have someone who has pledged to meet the bail.”
“And who might that be?” asked the judge.
Ron and Jeff both got to their feet. “With the Court’s permission,” Ron said, “that would be us, Your Honor. My name is Ron Thomas, and this is my business partner Jeff Donaldson. We are the owners of Windlass Security.”
The judge looked over his glasses at them. “And you’re willing to post a five million dollar bail on behalf of Mr. Prichard?”
“Absolutely, Your Honor,” Ron said.
Beside him, Jeff nodded his agreement. “We are licensed bond agents, Your Honor,” he said.
The judge looked at them for another couple seconds, then turned his eyes to the prosecutor.
“Mr. Jamison, I happen to be very familiar with Windlass Security, and the willingness of the owners of that company to post this bail gives me some reassurance. Is the state going to object to a bail of five million dollars?”
Leon Jamison, the deputy prosecutor assigned to the case, got a resigned look on his face.
“Your Honor, the state would ask that Mr. Prichard surrender his passport and be fitted with a GPS monitor as a condition of bail.”
The judge looked back at Ron and Jeff. “Can you do that?”
“Certainly, Your Honor,” Ron said. “If it’s necessary.”
The judge looked at them for a moment, then turned back to Sam.
“I’m going to allow bail in this case, and I’m going to set it in the amount of five million dollars. Mr. Prichard, you will within twenty-four hours surrender your passport to the clerk and be fitted with a GPS monitor, probably an ankle mounted one, which you will keep on your person at all times. Is that understood?”
Sam nodded. “Perfectly, Your Honor,” he said.
The judge scribbled a note and passed it to his clerk, who nodded at Carol. Sam was dismissed and taken back to the holding cell while Carol took care of getting the bail order and helping Ron and Jeff han
dle the transaction.
Posting the bond took a few minutes, requiring only Ron’s signature. Getting Sam out, however, took nearly two hours, since he had to be taken back to the jail to change into his own clothing and pick up his personal property.
FIVE
“This is the spot,” Steve said. Sam was still sitting in the holding cell under the courthouse when he parked his car behind the maintenance building, between a couple of employees’ vehicles. He and Walter got out, then walked to where the remnants of police crime scene tape could be seen among the gravel. A rusty discoloration still covered some of the ground, and they stood and looked down at it. “Been over three weeks, Walter,” he went on. “I don’t know what you honestly expect to find.”
“We always leave an impact on the environment,” Walter said. “Anyone who’s been here, anytime in the past, has left some mark on the world in this area.”
“But O’Rourke says the killer never even got out of the van. Any tire prints would have been destroyed by the weather, and it’s not like you’re going to find any cigarette butts or anything.”
Walter didn’t answer. Instead, he squatted beside the old bloodstain and looked carefully at it. A moment later, he pointed at two areas within the stain.
“There were holes in the van, in the floor,” he said. “Two of them. The blood ran down out of them and dripped in those two places. That’s where it’s thickest, where it spread out from.”
Steve didn’t say anything, but simply watched his friend. Walter looked up at the building, spotting the video camera that had captured the images O’Rourke had seen.
“The van must’ve been sitting here,” Walter said, pointing. “The front bumper would have been just about here, and that would put the front tires here and here.” He backed up a bit, then lay on the ground and looked across the surface. “There are still traces of the tire tracks, but nothing good enough to make an identification from. The right front tire was pretty bald, so we wouldn’t be able to identify it, anyway.”
Steve pursed his lips. “I wonder if they got molds from the tire prints,” he mused. “Sam put new tires on his van the day before he left. He wouldn’t have had any bald tires.”
