“What about additional physical evidence?” Morgan asked.
“Her body had been washed, and the dish soap residue matched the brand found under the kitchen sink in the Franklin house. But it’s a common brand.”
“Tell me more about her death,” Morgan said.
“Her car was found on the side of Gravelly Road,” Grandpa said. “Brandi was on her way to the community college, where she was taking night classes. Her engine had seized. Someone had put sugar in the gas tank. Cliff Franklin was an auto mechanic, so he’d know how to do that, but there’s no evidence he was the person who did. The security cameras in her apartment complex’s parking lot were not working. A silver Honda Accord was caught on the surveillance camera feed of the convenience store across the street from the apartment complex. It pulled out behind Brandi as she left for class. Cliff Franklin drives a silver Honda Accord. However, the license plate was covered in mud and the vehicle had no distinguishing features. The video from the night camera was grainy.”
“He followed her.” Morgan could picture it.
“Unfortunately, there are three hundred thousand Honda Accords registered in the state of New York, and silver is one of the most popular colors.” Grandpa sighed. “So again, good supporting evidence, but not enough to get him convicted.”
“What about the rest of his house?” Morgan asked. “Where do they think he killed her and washed her body?”
“They don’t know. Cliff lived with his brother, Joe, on a small farm. The house and outbuildings were clean. No evidence was found that Brandi was killed there. However, Joe slaughters his own animals. He stocks coveralls, gloves, and tarps and rinses his floors with oxygen bleach. The drains were full of blood and animal matter and oxygen bleach. The sheer amount of biological evidence would have been overwhelming.”
Morgan took out her notepad and wrote notes. “How was she killed?”
“She was strangled with her own belt,” Grandpa said. “A neat, bloodless kill.”
“Was she raped?” Morgan lifted her pen.
“The weather had been unusually warm that autumn. The body was too badly decomposed for the ME to tell.” Papers rustled over the connection; then Grandpa said, “The state sent cadaver dogs to Joe’s property and to the area where Brandi was found. The dogs didn’t find any additional bodies.”
“Without bodies, there’s no physical evidence to connect Cliff with the other five missing women.” Lance frowned at the phone.
“That’s correct,” Grandpa said. “Appeals have to be legal not factual, correct? Can Franklin file an appeal based on the incomplete chain of custody?”
“That’s a little murky, but the answer is maybe.” Morgan clicked her pen. “It’s true that appeals are normally made for legal errors, not evidentiary ones. Counsel objects to the inclusion of a piece of evidence, and the judge then rules if said evidence is admissible. The objection puts the legal issue on record. The judge’s ruling becomes the legal grounds for appeal. If the defense counsel fails to object, then the error is implicitly waived.”
“Franklin’s attorney didn’t object. So technically, there’s no basis for appeal,” Grandpa clarified.
“Correct, but appeals can be granted for ineffective assistance of counsel. Franklin’s attorney missed a chain of custody error on the biggest piece of evidence in the prosecutor’s case. If I were going to file an appeal for him, that is the route I would take.”
“Well, shit.” Lance smacked the steering wheel. “I can’t believe the sheriff’s department screwed up that badly collecting the evidence from Cliff’s trunk.”
“Similar errors occurred in the OJ trial.” Morgan’s thoughts whirled. “If the appeal were granted, the DA would have an opportunity to bring a new trial. Is there enough evidence?”
Grandpa huffed. “I don’t know. The exhibits aren’t included with the trial transcript. I’d need to see the murder book.”
The trial transcript only included the words spoken at the trial. Copies of evidence had to be obtained separately.
But Morgan had to wonder if Cliff Franklin was innocent.
And who might not want the truth revealed.
Chapter Twenty
Lance hated to think an innocent man was sitting in prison for a murder he didn’t commit. But it was equally hard to believe that Franklin had been set up.
Morgan pulled her notebook out of her tote.
“The sheriff investigated this murder, correct?” Lance tapped his finger on the steering wheel.
“Yes.” Morgan made more notes in her file.
Lance said, “We already know he was corrupt.”
“Yes, he fudged evidence in one investigation. There’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t have done it in others.” Morgan lifted her pen. “But why would he have wanted to convict the wrong man and presumably let the real killer escape justice? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Too bad the sheriff is dead and we can’t ask him.”
Morgan lifted the phone to talk into the speaker. “Grandpa, did you find an interview with Bryce Walters in Olivia’s documents?”
“No,” Grandpa answered. “But I found several notes about her leaving messages for him.”
Had the DA been avoiding Olivia?
Someone called for Grandpa in the background.
“I have to go,” he said. “The kids are looking for me. That’s all I have for now anyway. I’ll let you know if I find anything else. There’s still plenty of material to read.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.” Morgan lowered the phone.
“I know.” Grandpa ended the call.
Lance started the Jeep’s engine. “Where do you want to go now?”
Morgan bounced her pen on her fingers. “Let’s drop in on Cliff Franklin’s attorney, Mark Hansen. The firm is located in Redhaven.” She read the address into her phone and asked it for directions. Then she called her sister and gave her the information on the evidentiary error in Cliff Franklin’s case.
Redhaven was a neighboring town to Scarlet Falls. The law offices of Hansen, Adams, and Green occupied a small suite in an office complex. Lance parked directly in front of the glass door. Morgan got out and tried the door. It was locked. She cupped her hand over her eyes and tried to see inside.
Morgan returned to the car. “It doesn’t look like anyone is in today, but I don’t want to leave a message. Any ideas?”
“Let’s stop by his house.” Lance backed out of the space.
Morgan called Jenny and asked her to get the attorney’s home address. Jenny called back in a few minutes with the information, and Morgan plugged the address into her phone’s GPS. Mark Hansen lived close to his office. In less than ten minutes, Lance turned onto a country road.
He slowed in front of a black mailbox. “It looks like Hansen does all right as an attorney.”
Lance steered the Jeep onto the long driveway. Mark Hansen lived in a converted barn that sat well off the road. The front lawn was the size of a soccer field and just as well kept. Large windows had been inserted across the front of the boxy stone structure. Ornamental cabbages lined the flower beds, and a collection of straw bales and pumpkins was artfully arranged on either side of the front door. He parked at the end of the driveway, and they got out of the Jeep.
“I don’t see any cars,” Morgan said as she walked around the front of the vehicle.
Lance joined her. He pointed to a four-car detached garage behind the main house. “I wouldn’t expect to.”
They went up the front walk. A gust of wind hit Morgan in the back and blew her hair into her face. She held it back with one hand. Lance reached for the doorbell. Inside the house, chimes echoed. A few seconds later, the sound of footsteps approached.
A petite redhead of about thirty opened the door. “Can I help you?” She wore black slacks and a black blazer over a white blouse.
“We’re looking for Mr. Hansen.” Morgan handed her a business card. “Are you his wife?”
“No.
I’m the housekeeper. You should leave a message at Mr. Hansen’s office.” The redhead moved as if to close the door.
Lance placed one boot in the opening. “This is an emergency.”
Morgan put a hand on Lance’s arm. “We apologize for disturbing Mr. Hansen at home. But as my associate just said, this is an emergency. A woman is missing, and she might be tied to one of Mr. Hansen’s old cases.”
“You’ll have to wait here.” The redhead frowned down at Lance’s boot, which prevented the door from closing.
Lance withdrew his foot. “Sorry.”
The door closed. Another gust of cool wind blew across the open field. Morgan drew the edges of her jacket together as they waited. Several minutes passed before the door opened again, and a man of about forty stepped outside.
He zipped a puffy down vest over a blue crewneck sweater that looked like cashmere. “I’m Mark Hansen. My housekeeper said it was an emergency.”
“Thank you for speaking with us,” Morgan said before Lance could jump in. “A woman is missing.”
“Let’s walk.” Hansen started walking across the manicured lawn. “I don’t allow my profession anywhere near my family.”
“I understand. I feel the same way.” Morgan took a position between the two men.
Lance fell into step beside her. “This is about the Cliff Franklin case.”
Mark hesitated midstride. “That case is several years old. I don’t know how it could be related to a current missing persons case.”
“The woman who is missing is Olivia Cruz,” Morgan said. “Do you remember speaking with her about the Franklin case?”
“Yes. Now that you mention it, I remember speaking with her on the phone.” Hansen shoved his hands into the pockets of his down vest. “She wanted some background on the case. I don’t recall everything that was said.”
In Lance’s opinion, I don’t recall was lawyer code for I don’t want to tell you.
“You were assigned the Franklin case?” Morgan asked.
“That’s correct.” Hansen kept his gaze on the horizon. “Judge Miller felt the public defender’s office was too overwhelmed to give the case the amount of time and energy it required. He asked me to handle it.”
“How did you feel about the assignment?” Morgan asked.
Hansen lifted a shoulder. “You know how it is. The case required a large number of man-hours, but the extra publicity was good for the firm.”
“You lost,” Lance pointed out. “How is that good publicity?”
Hansen shot him a look. “The prosecutor’s case was strong. I advised Mr. Franklin to plea bargain. There was a question on one of the search warrants. Not enough to get the evidence thrown out, but enough to give me a little leverage. I could have gotten Franklin a twenty-five-year sentence. He could have been paroled in seventeen years.”
“But he refused.” Morgan brushed the hair out of her face.
“Yes. He insisted he was innocent, so we went to trial.” He shrugged. “I discredited witnesses and argued that everything discovered in the property search should have been disallowed, but the judge did not agree.”
Morgan’s mouth pursed, as if she was considering how to phrase her next question. “What about the chain of evidence issues with the hair samples?”
His eyes widened, but he recovered his poker face in a heartbeat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But did he?
Morgan kept her tone neutral. “The hair samples taken from Franklin’s trunk were not properly logged when they were taken into evidence. Chain of custody was not maintained. These were the very samples that matched the victim’s DNA.”
She let the implication hang.
This was the evidence that convicted Cliff Franklin.
Mark said nothing for a full minute. Lance was impressed with his smooth expression, but behind his flat eyes, he could see Mark’s thoughts churning.
Finally, he stopped walking and met her gaze directly. “I would have to review the case before I could comment on your assertion.”
Annnnd now he sounded like a lawyer on the defensive.
“This never came up in your conversation with Olivia Cruz?” Lance didn’t bother trying to sound neutral. His voice dripped with disbelief.
“I don’t recall my entire conversation with Ms. Cruz.” Hansen’s words were clipped and precise.
“Are you sure?” Morgan asked. “It seems a piece of information that stunning would stand out.”
“I’ve already commented on that.” Hansen turned back toward the house. “Is there any way I can help you locate Ms. Cruz?”
“You tell us,” Lance challenged. Instead of leaving Morgan between him and Hansen, Lance smoothly moved into position on his opposite side, so that they were flanking him. He wanted Hansen to feel pressured. “Where were you at two o’clock in the morning on Friday?”
Hansen pulled out his phone. “I was in Rochester overnight on business. I didn’t get home until noon on Friday.”
“Can you prove that?” Lance asked.
“Yes, but I don’t have to.” Hansen quickened his pace and walked them directly to the Jeep. “If you want to talk to me again, please call my office. I wish you luck finding Ms. Cruz.” And with that, he left them at their vehicle and went into the house.
They didn’t speak as they slid into the Jeep. Halfway down the driveway, Lance glanced in the rearview mirror. “I can’t tell if he was lying, but I hate that I don’t recall bullshit. It was a big case. He wouldn’t have forgotten so many details.”
“But I can’t decide if he blew the case on purpose or through neglect. Either way, this discovery could open a path to appeal through incompetent counsel.”
“Then our options are incompetent or corrupt?”
“Seems like it,” Morgan agreed. “But the real question is, did he kidnap Olivia to keep her from exposing his failure?”
“Or did the real killer take her to keep his guilt a secret?”
“Ugh.” Morgan gathered her hair at her nape and bound it into a quick ponytail. “Someone took her.”
“Hansen is a creep. We should stake out his house for a while.” After leaving the lawyer’s driveway, Lance uncurled his fingers from their too-tight grip on his steering wheel. Hansen’s evasion had left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The attorney knew more than he was saying, and not even the possibility that Olivia’s life could be at stake got him talking.
Morgan glanced up and down the road. “This is a very rural road. There’s no way we can sit here and not have him notice us.”
She was right. The terrain around the house was wide open.
“He does not want his screwup revealed.” Lance was sure of it. “Even if it means his client stays in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I’ll bet he resented having to work for less than his usual hourly fee. He didn’t put the time in on the case, and he missed the chain of evidence error.”
“So why did Olivia sit on this revelation?” A line formed between Morgan’s brows.
“Maybe she was saving it for her book.”
Morgan frowned. “Do you think she would do that?”
“She is a reporter.” But Lance didn’t like his answer. “But she also seems to have a strong sense of ethics. And she did make an appointment to talk to the three of us, maybe about this. The sheriff’s department tied Franklin to five additional missing women, but the bodies were never found. Maybe Olivia wanted more information on the other possible victims before she committed herself to this particular story.”
“What if Olivia wasn’t sure if she wanted to reveal this evidence issue? What if she didn’t want a potential serial killer to be set free?”
“We need to talk to Todd Harvey.” Lance scrolled through the contacts on his phone. The current Randolph County chief deputy was acting as sheriff. “He was working for the sheriff when this investigation was underway.”
“The sheriff liked to keep his evidence to himself,” Morgan remind
ed him.
“There must be a file somewhere.” Lance dialed the chief deputy’s cell phone number and asked him about the file.
“I honestly don’t know,” Todd said. “You are welcome to come and look through the old files I boxed up from the sheriff’s office.”
“Thanks,” Lance said. “We’re on our way.”
They drove to the sheriff’s station. The chief deputy met them in the lobby and escorted them behind the counter.
“I put the murder book and other files in the conference room.” The chief deputy led the way into a small office. A row of cardboard boxes sat on a round table.
“There’s everything I could find relating to the case. Help yourself to coffee if you need it,” the deputy said on his way out of the room.
Lance and Morgan took seats and opened the first box, hoping they would find something that might generate a lead. They divided up the remaining boxes and dug in.
Two hours later, Morgan brewed a second cup of coffee. “Brandi Holmes went missing in September 2014. While he was investigating her disappearance, the sheriff discovered Tawny Miller, who disappeared in October 2012.”
“He looked further back and discovered four more women who had gone missing in the fall, approximately two years apart.” Lance leaned back and drank some water. One more cup of coffee would set his gut on fire. “Cassandra Martin, November 2010; Samantha Knowles, September 2008; Jessie Mendella, October 2006; and Brenda Chase, September 2004.”
Morgan carried her Styrofoam cup back to the conference table. “None of those other women have been found.”
“No, but each of those women had had their cars serviced at the auto shop where Cliff had worked for fifteen years. He didn’t personally work on every one of their cars, but he could have seen them in the shop. And he would have been able to access their names and addresses through the shop’s customer records.”
“But there were other employees who could have done the same,” Morgan pointed out.
Lance rose and stretched his aching back. “Yes, but Franklin was the only one working at the shop throughout that entire period. The owner was cleared as he was in Italy the week Brandi went missing.”
Save Your Breath Page 14
