Chasing The Dead (An Alex Stone Thriller) (12 page)

“Hi, Jared. Say hello to Grace Canfield. She’s an investigator in my office.”

“Hey,” he said to Grace.

“Hey, yourself,” Grace said. “Alex is the best. She’s gonna take real good care of you.”

“Hope so,” he said.

Alex was struck again by how soft and quiet Jared was, as if he was afraid to raise his voice. She had difficulty imagining him as a killer. Even though he may have killed while serving in combat, he didn’t strike her as the kind of civilian who had slid down that slope all the way to murder.

“How are they treating you, Jared?” Alex asked.

He shrugged. “Okay. Everyone’s pretty much leaving me alone.”

“I hear that. Like I told you yesterday, we won’t be here long. This hearing is mostly a formality.”

“Like the army, huh. Rules for everything.”

“Yeah. Like the army. A couple of quick things before the judge comes in. Have you been treated at the VA hospital here?”

“A few times, mostly when the PTSD got crazy. They gave me some meds and told me to go to group therapy.”

“How’d that work out?”

He looked at the floor. “I sold the meds and skipped the group.”

Alex saw no reason to chide him. He’d have plenty of time for treatment in prison if she didn’t get him out, and if she did win his freedom, that would be the time to talk about getting well.

“I need you to sign this release,” she said, sliding the form toward him and handing him a pen, “so we can get your medical records. We may need the doctor who saw you to testify about your PTSD.”

“Are you sayin’ I could get off because of that?” he asked after signing the release, his signature more of a scrawl because of the handcuffs he was wearing.

“One second,” Alex said, handing the form to Grace. “Hand deliver it and tell them we need the records right away.”

“Sure thing. You know how excited bureaucrats get when someone tells them that.”

Alex raised her eyebrows at Grace.

“I’m on my way,” she said. “I’m on my way.”

Alex turned back to Jared. “Sorry. We may be able to use your PTSD as a defense, but if we’re going to do that, I have to find out everything about you, including whatever happened in Afghanistan that caused your condition.”

He hung his head, closing his eyes as a tremor rippled through his torso, then opening them and shaking his head. He didn’t say anything and Alex didn’t push.

Chapter Twenty

EVERYONE STOOD FOR THE JUDGE, sitting when he did. He was in his early forties, with blond hair, great cheekbones, and blazing white teeth, making him well suited for the televised courtroom he’d never see as an associate circuit court judge.

“The court calls case number F458-2013. Counsel, state your appearances.”

“Kalena Greene for the people.”

“Alex Stone for the defendant, Jared Bell, who is also present. We’ll waive reading of the charges.”

“Very well. Bail?”

“My client is indigent, Your Honor. Short of releasing him on his own recognizance, he can’t make any bail you’re likely to set. But, for the record, the defendant requests bail be set at ten thousand dollars.”

Kalena sprang to her feet. “For a vicious rape and murder by a homeless man with no ties to the community? I don’t think so, and I don’t care if he can’t make a ten-dollar bail. The court should send a message that people who commit violent crimes won’t be allowed back on the street before trial. Bail should be denied.”

“He’s also a decorated war veteran who’s been charged, not convicted,” Alex said.

“I agree with both of you,” Judge Upton said. “Mr. Bell is innocent until proven guilty, but given his current circumstances, notwithstanding his military service, for which we are all grateful, and the nature of the charges, bail is set at one million dollars. Anything else?” Both lawyers shook their heads. “Hearing nothing, we are adjourned.”

“Here,” Kalena said, handing a file to Alex after the judge and Jared left. “It’s the investigating officer’s report and the complaint.”

Alex had been waiting for this moment to find out whether someone in the prosecutor’s office had given an advance copy of the file to Robin Norris.

“Thanks, but I’ve already got a copy.”

Kalena squinted at her. “What do you mean you’ve already got a copy? From who?”

“You heard about Robin Norris, right?”

Kalena’s face fell as she let out a breath. “Yes, and I’m so sorry. I didn’t know her well, but I never heard a bad thing about her. What a blow.”

Alex was struck by her sincerity, reminded again of one of the things she cherished about the practice of law. She and many of the lawyers in the Prosecutor’s Office were friends, and no matter how hard they fought over a case, they could still kick back over a beer. She and Kalena hadn’t gotten to that point yet, but this felt like a first step.

“Robin had five kids, and I can’t stop thinking about them.”

“How are they doing?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with this case, I haven’t had a chance to get over there, but I’m going to stop by tonight.”

Kalena put her hand on Alex’s wrist. “Please give them my sympathies.”

“I’ll do that. Anyway, about the file. Robin’s interim replacement is a woman from the St. Louis PD’s office named Meg Adler. She found the file on Robin’s desk yesterday. My name was on a Post-it note stuck to the file, so Meg assumed Robin wanted me to handle the case. That’s all I know.”

“Hmm. That’s so odd.”

“Why? Is it that big of a deal?”

“Depends on how you look at it. Whether you got the file yesterday or today doesn’t impact the case. But how you got the file might be.”

“Why?”

“Because my boss’ policy is to wait until the initial appearance to produce this file, and because this is my case, I’m the one who would produce it. You know Tommy Bradshaw and what a stickler he is for stuff like this.”

“Yeah. He was like that when we were in law school together. Which means someone in your office didn’t follow your policy or someone outside your office sent the file to Robin Norris.”

“If it came from my office, whoever did it could lose their job. My boss has fired people for less. I have to tell him what happened, and when I do he’ll turn the office inside and out to find whoever leaked it.”

“Really? Why? You said my getting the file early won’t impact the case.”

“That’s not why he’ll turn it into an inquisition. The guy is paranoid about leaks, worse than the White House. And the only thing that will drive him crazier is if someone outside the office did it, because whoever did that is sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. So, yeah, it’s a very big deal.”

“But as long as it doesn’t impact the case, how about sending me the standard discovery before the grand jury indicts my client?”

Kalena smiled and shook her head. “Then I’d be the one looking for a job. Besides, I won’t have all that stuff before the grand jury convenes. We’re still working the case up, and I’ll save you the trouble of asking me to reduce the charges to a misdemeanor. You’re not that stupid and I’m not that easy, especially when the death penalty is in play.”

That was the response Alex expected unless Kalena was getting pressure to put the case on a fast track to a plea bargain, her response making it clear that she wasn’t.

“Never hurts to ask. Can you at least tell me if the victim has been identified?” Kalena hesitated. “C’mon. Don’t make me wait for the grand jury for that information. You’re going to release her identity to the press anyway.”

“We’re not quite there yet, but I’ll give you a call as soon as I can.”

“Fair enough,” Alex said. She had gathered her things and begun to walk away when she stopped and turned back toward Kalena. “By the way, who else in your office had access to the file?”

“Everyone,” Kalena said.

Chapter Twenty-One

ALEX WENT HOME AND CHANGED into faded jeans, a long-sleeved navy polo, and boots. She played fetch with Quincy in the backyard using one of the many tennis balls he’d stashed around the house and yard, waiting for him to tire while she thought about Jared’s case.

When she met him at the jail, she didn’t ask him to tell her his version of what happened. She was more interested in getting a sense of him and beginning the process of building a rapport. The more he liked, trusted, and believed in her, the more likely he’d be to tell her the truth. She was under no illusion that he’d ever tell her the entire truth. Few, if any, of her clients did that. The most she hoped for was that he’d tell her enough of the truth that she could build a defense. And the more she knew about the case when she had that conversation with Jared, the more she could tell when he was lying.

Rossi’s investigative report and the prosecutor’s complaint gave her the outlines of the state’s case. It would be a while before she got any discovery from Kalena Greene and before Grace Canfield tracked down Jared’s army buddies or anyone else who might know something useful. That left the crime scene.

The courtroom was Alex’s favorite place, but the crime scene, alive with smells, colors, and textures and speaking a sign language peculiar to the horror it had witnessed, was a close second. The challenge was figuring out what the scene was trying to say.

She didn’t have the police photographs, the forensic report, or the physical evidence taken from the scene or Jared’s confession. And that was fine with her. She wanted to see the scene through her eyes first. There would be other versions told by people with an agenda, but the crime scene didn’t have an agenda. Though bloodstained, it was pure.

She’d driven by the scene countless times, the grassy, overgrown stretch of ground flitting past in her peripheral vision. It was flanked by I-435 on the west, Truman Road on the north, and Twenty-Third on the south. Jackson County had two courthouses, one downtown and another in Independence, Missouri, which bordered Kansas City’s easternmost edge. She regularly used both Truman Road and Twenty-Third to get to that courthouse, never thinking to detour onto the winding side streets that led to where the murder had occurred.

She exited from I-435 onto Truman Road, passing a porn shop called Erotic City. Its sign towered above the store’s roofline, enticing customers with the promise of literature, films, books, playthings, and videos. Once when she and Bonnie were about to pass the store, Bonnie made her stop, claiming she couldn’t live another day without knowing the difference between pornographic literature and pornographic books. She discovered that the difference was in the price and walked out with a few delightful playthings.

According to Rossi’s report, the police had entered the area from the north. Alex did the same, thinking to retrace Rossi’s steps. The north end was narrow and studded with stunted trees, their limbs bent and bare, and clusters of runaway weeds that tugged at her jeans as she strode past. The ground was riddled with hidden rocks and cracks in the earth that could snag a careless ankle and twist an unguarded knee.

The area opened up as she approached the center, which was flat and grassy, with few of the hazards of the north end, making it an inviting place to pitch a tent. The southern end was tapered like the north, with woods so thick she couldn’t see Twenty-Third Street.

A creek running north and south cut through the area at an angle. She was on the east side. There was another hundred yards of grass and scrub on the west side of the creek, with the interstate just beyond.

Rossi’s report described a campsite with a number of tents. Now there was only one, set deep in the shadow of a rock wall carved out of what was once a bluff marking the eastern border of the unofficial campground. Murder was bad for property values, even in a homeless encampment, Alex thought. Or maybe it wasn’t the murder. Maybe it was the scrutiny that came with the murder. Either way, the campgrounds had been abandoned save the one tent. Grace would have a hard time running down anyone who had been there that night.

Rossi’s diagram of the scene put Jared’s tent near the midpoint between Truman Road and Twenty-Third Street. She had no trouble finding his campsite. The grass was still beaten down and faded from where the tent had been. And it was the only vacant site with crime scene tape ground into the turf by an anonymous boot.

She made her way to the lone remaining tent, stopping when she was within twenty feet. The tent flap was half-open and she could hear someone stirring inside.

“Hello in the tent,” she called out.

There was no reply.

“Anybody home?”

Silence, then a raspy, smoke-addled voice answered. “Who gives a shit?”

Alex bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “I do. My name is Alex Stone.”

“Good for you. Go away.”

“I’d rather talk to you first.”

“And I’d rather be the queen of England, so it looks like we’re both gonna be disappointed.”

“No reason for both of us to be disappointed. All I want is to talk to you. That’s a hell of a lot easier than you giving up all of this to marry Prince Charles. And I’ve got twenty dollars for you if that will help.”

A burst of lung-busting coughing exploded inside the tent, after which a short, skinny woman wearing sweatpants cinched around her bony hips and a grease-stained yellow T-shirt stepped into the sun. Her gray hair was stringy and tangled and her eyes were bloodshot. She opened her mouth, sucking in air like it was hard labor, running her tongue where her teeth had been and sticking out a scrawny hand.

“Like the man says, show me the money.”

Alex approached, catching a whiff of the woman’s stench, a sour, curdled odor like garbage left to rot in the sun.

“C’mon, now,” the woman said, snapping her fingers, “I ain’t got all day.”

Alex held out a twenty-dollar bill and the woman grabbed it in a flash.

“Were you here the other night when they found that woman’s body in the creek?”

“You a cop?”

“No. I’m a lawyer. I represent Jared Bell. The police arrested him for murdering that woman.”

“Poor Joanie,” the woman said, fishing a cigarette from her T-shirt pocket. “Got a light?”

Alex caught her breath at the mention of the victim’s name. “Sorry, I don’t. You said her name was Joanie.”