A Welcome Grave (25 page)

When I arrived, he knew me. While I banged on his door, within gun range, he knew me. With each echoing step I’d taken over the wooden bridge that brought me face-to-face with him on that gazebo, he knew me. And when he lifted the gun and twirled it and jammed it into his mouth and pulled the trigger, then, he’d known me most of all.

Confusion kills.

Brewer was right, looking at me for murder. In a way, I had killed him. It was my arrival, the sight of me there in the gazebo, my failure to clear the surprise and fear out of my brain fast enough to explain, that made him pull the trigger.

“The son believed me,” my attacker had said a few nights later. “He knew that his would be a welcome grave.”

True enough. Matt Jefferson had welcomed it, sent himself to that waiting grave, because he knew that what was in store—what I represented—was worse.

So who was I? In that moment that he’d known me, who the hell had I been, and why was I there?

At least he has a reason. You got nothing but greed.

Matt Jefferson believed he knew who I was and what I was after, and that confusion killed him. Back in Karen’s living room, the confusion was alive and well again, flourishing, with Targent nurturing it and some unknown participant—maybe Andy Doran, maybe not—validating it. This time, I had the opportunity for a few words of explanation, all that Matt Jefferson would’ve needed. This time, the words weren’t going to be enough. This time, that gun was going to stay pointed at me.

I went into the gym before my apartment, the late-night check such a habit now that I didn’t even think about it. The sight of the plastic sheet over the
window surprised me for a second. Somehow, the damage to the gym had faded in my mind during the rest of the day.

The day. It had been just that morning that I’d stood in the gym and watched Thor step in through the window. That seemed impossible.

I locked the gym door—as if it mattered with the plastic sheet there instead of a window—and walked back through the office. The message light on the desk phone was blinking, but I didn’t stop to pick it up. There would be a message there from my insurance company, a call I absolutely should return, but I couldn’t make myself care about that right now. The insurance company wasn’t going to disappear, and neither was the damage to my building. I, on the other hand, might need to if Targent came up with any more finds.

There were more phone messages waiting for me at my apartment, most from the gym members who knew me well enough to have my home number, calling to express their concern and pry for details. I deleted them and dialed Amy’s number.

“I was waiting for some indication that you were alive,” she said when she answered. “I’ve never dated a guy who presented that problem—the need to check to make sure he was still alive.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve wanted to call you all day. Things got away from me a little bit. Starting with the gunfire and progressing to the cops exercising a search warrant on my apartment, then producing video evidence that I know Thor and lied about him before.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah.” I leaned against the wall and exhaled, worn out just from reciting the day’s synopsis. “Any chance I could see you?”

“I was hoping so. Why don’t you come here? No offense, but after last night, I’m not a real big fan of your building.”

“A little late-night gunfire and all of a sudden it’s a bad neighborhood?”

“Just come over.”

She met me at the door, barefoot, wearing a T-shirt that was four sizes too big and her glasses, which she never wore outside of the house. I loved her in the glasses.

“Wine?” She had a bottle in her hand.

“Definitely.”

We went upstairs. She poured two glasses of red wine and passed one to me,
and then we went into the living room and sat down on the couch. I took a swallow of the wine and closed my eyes.

“Long day?” she said.

I laughed.

“Funny question?”

“Yeah. Just a few minutes ago I was standing in the gym trying to figure out how many days had passed since it got shot up. Had trouble convincing myself that it was really just last night.”

I told her about Thor, Donny Ward, the private investigator in Indiana, and Targent’s video. It took a while to tell.

“He’s serious about this?” she said. “He actually considers you a suspect?”

“Considers me
the
suspect, Amy. And this thing with Thor . . .” I shook my head. “That hurts, no question. Because on the surface it does fit. It really does. This idea that it was a man with a grudge and a hired killer, well, Thor and I make a natural pairing for that. Thor showing up in my gym today makes it a lot worse, too. I can’t explain that.”

“Why not?”

“When a man like Thor tells you that a conversation is to stay confidential, you’d be well advised to pay attention.”

“But if it would clear you . . .”

“Which it wouldn’t. There’s no evidence that it’s true. Targent wouldn’t believe Thor, and all I would have accomplished would be to anger one of the deadliest men in the city.”

“So what can you do?”

“The job Targent should be handling. Finding a real suspect. If I can do that, show a strong case, they’ll have to redirect. Andy Doran could be the ticket.”

Amy was quiet. I looked at her and thought that this should be a good night. This moment, on the couch with her sharing wine and conversation one day after we first made love, should have been special, carefree. Instead we were talking about killers and cops.

“It has to stop soon,” I said. “Targent’s got to burn out with it. That’s what happens when you’re wrong—you run into the wall. There’s no evidence, nothing left to push with.”

“Well, when’s he going to hit that wall?”

“It had better be soon.” I reached out and rubbed her leg. “I’m sorry, Amy. We should be talking about something else. You shouldn’t have had to get up at three in the morning to stand around with a bunch of cops, either.”

“It wasn’t exactly a traditional first date.”

“I always try to provide women with something unusual. You know, stand out from the crowd.”

“Mission accomplished.”

I don’t know when the conversation slowed, or when it stopped. All I know is that at some point we both fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up in the night and saw she was still there I was glad.

I was back in my apartment, getting dressed and drinking coffee, when Joe called.

“You planning to show up today?”

“It’s ten to eight, Joe.”

“You’re going to want to get down here.”

“Why?”

“While you were sleeping, I was working, And you will be thrilled to hear what I learned.
Thrilled.
”

“What’s that?”

“Remember my problem with Donny Ward’s story?”

“How the guy got to him before the cops.”

“Exactly. Well, that problem is solved, LP, and the answer is going to make your day.”

“What is it?”

“Get down here, and I’ll tell you.”

Fifteen minutes later I walked into the office and found him behind the desk, a grim smile on his face.

“What do you have?” I said.

“That question ate at me all night, LP. I couldn’t put a scenario together to explain it unless Ward was lying or this guy had been following Doran the night Monica Heath was murdered.”

“You think that’s it?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I got up this morning at about five and read through the case file again, looking for something I missed. Found out that Doran refused a police interview and demanded an attorney. They gave him a public defender, and Doran talked to this guy before he ever told the police his account of the night. The only person who would have known Donny Ward’s role at the start was Doran’s PD.”

“So he had to leak it.”

“Exactly. I thought I’d track him down and we could interview him. Learned he’s no longer with Ashtabula County. Moved into private practice. Guess where?”

I didn’t answer, just waited.

“Jefferson, Groff, and Associates,” he said.

I stood where I was and stared at him, watching his smile spread.

“You’re serious,” I said.

“Absolutely. He’s listed on the firm’s Web site and with the bar association.”

“He went to work for Jefferson. Sometime after he convinced Andy Doran to take a plea bargain that kept a weak case out of court scrutiny, he went to work for Jefferson.”

“That’s the story.”

“Son of a bitch,” I said. “We’ve got him. Jefferson rigged Doran’s case from the inside and outside. Intimidated his alibi into silence and paid off his attorney.”

“The fact that he works for Jefferson’s firm today is not proof of any wrongdoing in the Doran case.”

“But you
know
it’s there. How many public defenders from rural counties has Jefferson’s firm added in recent years, I wonder?”

“At least one.”

“Yeah. I’m guessing it wasn’t the strength of his résumé that landed him the spot.”

“We’ll have to confront him, but I don’t know how well that will go. Tough to imagine him being as forthright as Donny Ward. The guy’s an attorney; he knows what this means—loss of his license and probably jail time. If he undermined Doran’s offense, he’ll be petrified of us.”

“So he’ll deny it. Fine. It still gives us credibility with the Doran angle. Even Targent will have to pay attention.”

“I also called the prosecutor in Doran’s case, a guy named George Hilliard. He sounded leery, but he agreed to give us a few minutes this morning.”

“You have any reason to think he was involved with this, not just fooled by it?”

“Can’t say for sure, but there’s been no obvious indication he played a part.”

I nodded. “We’ll ask him about the public defender, too. See what he thinks of the guy. I also want to know when Jefferson’s firm hired him. How close it was to the Doran case.”

“Karen should be able to help with that. She worked for Jefferson’s firm. She can get the hire date, I’m sure.”

I nodded and walked behind my desk and sat down. “Yeah. It’ll take one phone call for her, and probably a court order for me. I need to talk to her, anyhow. I was chased out of the house last night.”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “By Karen?”

“Targent. He played a copy of my gym’s security tape that showed Thor.”

Some of the good humor left his face.

“He did that with Karen there?”

“Yeah.”

“How ugly did it get from that point?”

“The two of them asked me to leave so they could finish discussing the investigation. I doubt Andy Doran’s name came up often in that conversation.”

“So you did tell Targent about him?”

“And wasted my breath.” I picked up the phone receiver. “Let me call Karen and get her in action on this public defender. What’s his name?”

“Cole Hamilton.”

It took Karen one ring to pick up. Probably close to the phone at all times, waiting for another call with instructions about a money transfer. Her voice was tight and unnatural when she answered, and it didn’t change much after I identified myself.

“You okay? No calls, no contact?”

“Nothing. It’s been quiet.”

“Listen, the stuff Targent brought up last night—”

“Don’t, Lincoln. You don’t have to explain it.”

“I felt like I should have warned you about some of it. Particularly Thor. That’s my mistake.”

She didn’t respond.

“Joe and I are working on this, and we’re getting somewhere. Andy Doran is more of a legitimate suspect than Targent wants to accept. I think we might have something that can change his mind, though, and I’m going to ask for your help. Can you contact your husband’s firm for us and verify the hiring date of one of their attorneys?”

There was a long pause before she said, “Why?”

“His name’s Cole Hamilton, and he could be very important to all of this.”

“Why do you need this? Why is he important?”

“He was Andy Doran’s public defender. We found out he’s since gone on to work with your husband’s firm.”

“Which means what to you?”

“It could be important, Karen. That’s all. Matt Jefferson was a key witness, and this attorney going to work for your husband . . . We need to connect the dots. That’s all I’m trying to do.”

“You’re suggesting that Alex hired him because of what happened with that murderer? Doran? You’re suggesting that—”

“That he might know information of importance, Karen. I just need to know the date he was hired.”

“No. I want to hear what you think happened, Lincoln. It seems to me you’re accusing Alex of something horrible.”

It was quiet. Ten seconds passed, maybe twenty.

“Well?” she said.

“Something you need to understand, Karen. Whoever killed your husband? He probably had a reason. Okay? He had a reason.”

There was a pause, a second or two in which she said nothing, and I actually closed my eyes with regret, understanding how the statement must have sounded to her.

“Do you know what they did to him?” she said. “Do you know the pain he had to have felt, the agony? Now you’re telling me that it was somehow
justified
?”

“No, Karen. Damn it, that’s not what I said and not what I meant. It was a heinous, terrible crime, but whoever did it had a
motive
. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I should never have asked you to do this.”

“Karen, I’m trying to help. I’m not concerned in the least with your husband, I’m just trying to show—”

“That’s not true. You
hated
Alex. And I understand that, Lincoln, I do, but . . . I just shouldn’t have asked you to help. This is my fault, and I don’t blame you, but I also don’t think you need to be involved anymore. It’s not right. Not with the police considering you a suspect—”

“You
know
that’s insane, Karen. You have to know that.”

“Even so, you shouldn’t be involved. It’s not fair to you or to my husband. I should have understood that before, and I apologize for putting you in this position.”

“You’re asking me to quit? Just go away? Karen, we’re close to the truth here. Closer than Targent by a mile. You don’t want to shut me out of this now. Not with this guy out there and the cops ignoring him.”