Playing Dead (23 page)

“Why didn’t anyone else see them? All the appeals?”

“Appeals are a very limited redress. You have to appeal specifics, like an un-Mirandized confession or false testimony or incompetent counsel. Tom didn’t have the money to pay for a separate investigation. He relied on an overworked criminal defender—and that still cost him tens of thousands of dollars. Probably more. He put fifty thousand in a trust fund for you and used the rest for his defense. But when the money was gone, he went to public defenders. The appeals were routine, delaying the inevitable. Nothing substantive came from them. When Tom thought the Project was taking his case, he had hope.”

“You talked to him?”

“Yes. He called after Oliver Maddox came to see him.”

“But Oliver wasn’t with the Project.”

“No. He lied, I realize now, but his heart was in the right place. He recovered Chase Taverton’s day planner and told me he was retracing Taverton’s steps based on what was written in there.”

“Why didn’t the police do that?”

“The day planner was his personal calendar. His public calendar only had active cases on it, and that’s what the police were using. His personal calendar was apparently in the possession of his sister.”

“What’s her name?”

“Janice Krause. She lives in El Dorado Hills.”

“Maybe she remembers something. Maybe she still has it.”

“Claire, be careful. Oliver believed that your father was framed by someone who wanted to kill Chase Taverton. The killer must have learned about Taverton’s affair, and the best person to frame is the husband. But if Taverton hadn’t been having an affair, he would have faked an accident or had Taverton killed in a manner that would divert attention from the true motive.

“And that is what Oliver never found out, at least not to my knowledge. The motive of the killer. Believing that Taverton was the target and knowing
why
are completely different.”

Claire absorbed the information. “Did he mention Frank Lowe to you?”

Bill started. “Yes. He called me and asked if I could look into a petty thief named Frank Lowe for him. He never told me why.”

“And did you?”

“Yes. I asked Dave to pull his records. Didn’t tell him why—I don’t want Dave to get in trouble because I have this curious streak. It seemed like a dead end—Lowe was killed in a fire at the bar he lived above.”

“Did you tell Oliver that?”

“I called him when I had the information, and said I didn’t know what good it would do because Lowe was dead.”

“Did you know he died the night after Taverton and my mom were killed?”

“That’s what Oliver had said. And he said one other interesting thing. He thought Lowe was alive.”

“Did you give him the files?”

“No. Never had the chance. He was going to come by, never did. I left a couple messages, but never heard back from him.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

Bill frowned, shook his head. “And say what? I have no evidence of anything. And I didn’t know he was missing until this morning when Dave told me he was dead.” He seemed to age in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Believe me, Claire, I wish I had pushed Oliver harder. I wish I had told him to be more careful. But the truth is, I was hopeful that he was going to find something to help Tom, and I let him go at it. He was a law student. I honestly didn’t think he would get hurt digging through archives and court cases.”

“When was he supposed to meet you to pick up the files?”

Bill sighed and stood. He walked over to a small desk near the back door and flipped his calendar back to January.

“Monday, January 21. He wanted to come by first thing in the morning, and I said anytime after six. I get up as if I’m still working the day shift.”

“He went missing that Sunday night.”

Bill blanched. “Claire—”

“I need to go.”

“Claire, be careful. Talk to Dave.”

“I can’t.”

Suddenly Bill straightened. “You’re talking to Tom.”

“Don’t.”

“Claire, you need to—”

“Don’t tell me to go to the police. I can’t do that. Maybe two days ago I could have—two days ago I would have—but everything my father told me you just confirmed. Something is going on here, and I need to figure it out. But I can’t tell Dave. I love him, but he’s a cop. He’ll risk everything to help me, and lose everything as well.”

“Because he loves you, Claire. You’re the little sister Maggie and I could never give him.”

“I need to do this.”

He nodded. “I understand. But Claire, watch your back. And don’t be afraid to call for help.”

“Do you have the files on Frank Lowe?”

“I’ll get them.” He left, then returned moments later and handed her a thick manila envelope.

“Thanks.”

“You know you can always call Dave or me. We’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“I know.” She hugged him. “But you see why I can’t call the authorities now.”

“No—” He stopped. “They want Tom in custody.”

“And they don’t care about the theory of a dead law student. At least not now. And the execution date is six weeks away. Dad has no more appeals.” Tears coated her eyes and she blinked them back. “He’s innocent, Bill.” Her voice cracked. For the first time, deep down, Claire knew that her dad was innocent. “I don’t need proof to know it. But I need proof to get him out from under the needle.”

She walked to the door. Bill followed her and said, “Remember, you’re following in Oliver’s footsteps. Which means someone he talked to is involved. Oliver may not have known he was interviewing a killer. You might not, either.”

“I’ll remember.”

TWENTY-ONE

It was nearly five when Mitch and Steve walked into the Sacramento regional FBI office to meet with their supervisor, Megan Elliott.

Meg was at her desk. Mitch suspected she worked longer hours than anyone else here, but even if he was concerned about her workaholic lifestyle he didn’t feel right commenting on it. “Come in,” she told them when Steve knocked on her open door. She finished up the report she was typing and turned to them. “I hear you two have been busy.”

They sat in the chairs across from Meg. Her blond hair was pulled back into a long, sleek ponytail. Her casual look. When she was in the field, she wore her hair up tight. Having it down made her look softer and more like the woman Mitch had cared for all those years ago.

A lifetime ago. It was all water under the bridge.

Steve began, “Like I told you earlier, we have a positive ID on Oliver Maddox. I sent off the flash drive found in his stomach to our office in Menlo Park. Don’t know that we’ll get anything off it, but it was in a titanium case. Instead of screwing with it here, I thought it best to get an expert.”

“Good.” She made a note. “I’ll follow up first thing in the morning.”

“We have a missing person of interest. Professor Don Collier, Maddox’s advisor, made a conflicting statement to the police. Maddox told his girlfriend he had a meeting scheduled with his advisor, but Collier told the police Maddox canceled the meeting. The girlfriend said Maddox was too excited about his project, and that Collier told
her
that Maddox didn’t show up—he said nothing about Maddox canceling. We went to clarify with the professor and found out that he canceled his classes for the day. We went to his residence, but he wasn’t there.”

“Do you have enough for a warrant?”

“Doubtful,” Steve said. “We’re digging a bit more into his background.”

“I’ll get in contact with the U.S. Attorney’s office and give them a heads-up.”

As always, crossing her t’s and dotting her i’s, Mitch thought. Meg wouldn’t allow anything to slip by under her watch.

Steve filled Meg in on everything except their suspicion that Claire O’Brien was working on something related to Oliver Maddox. However, he said, “According to his girlfriend, Maddox was still working on the Thomas O’Brien case.”

“The file says that the Project didn’t take the case.”

“True, they didn’t. But Maddox was writing his thesis on it nonetheless, and he told his girlfriend that it was called ‘The Perfect Frame.’ ”

“O’Brien’s guilt was established in a court of law,” Meg said. “We are here to uphold those laws. Whether he was wrongfully convicted is not something that our office considers.”

Mitch leaned forward. “Hypothetically,” he said, catching her eye, “if O’Brien was framed and Oliver Maddox found evidence for such, that is a strong motive for his murder.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you have two separate cases here. You have a fugitive, and you have a homicide. Whether Maddox had information that may have exonerated Mr. O’Brien is irrelevant to the fact that O’Brien is a fugitive. I expect you both to be equally diligent on both assignments. And don’t forget that the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department has jurisdiction on the Maddox case. The only reason you two are still on it is because they asked for our assistance with the evidence, and they haven’t told you to back off.”

“If we find O’Brien, can we keep him in federal custody?” Mitch asked spontaneously.

“We have no cause. We’d keep him at the county jail until transport back to San Quentin or wherever the State of California wants to send him is arranged. We don’t have jurisdiction over him. He was convicted in a California court, he is the state’s problem. The only reason he’s on our radar is because they asked us to help in tracking down the escapees. His crime wasn’t federal.”

“What if I could prove O’Brien is in danger if he’s remanded to state custody?”

“What proof? More of the same you gave me when justifying disobeying my orders in February?”

Mitch let that dig slide. “Megan, there’s something here. I can’t prove it yet, but—”

She put up her hand to silence him. He hated when she did that. “Hard evidence, Mitch. I’m not going to go to bat for you without something solid. Not again.”

He nodded. “Full disclosure,” he said, glancing at Steve. “I befriended Claire O’Brien.”

Meg stared at him, her jaw tightly shut. “Against my direct orders?”

“Yes, ma’am. I agreed to house-sit for Nolan while he’s teaching at Quantico, and I ran into her by accident.” Small lie. “I took the opportunity when I saw it.”

Steve interjected. “Mitch informed me of the encounter and felt that he could learn more from Ms. O’Brien by working undercover than I was getting out of her during my periodic visits. I told him as long as he kept me in the loop, I thought it was a good idea. It’s my case,” Steve added.

Meg stared at the ceiling. Mitch recognized the posture. Frustration, but with a fatalistic
what can I do about it
demeanor. She turned her ice-green glare at Steve. “You knew I wanted Mitch off this case.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Agent Donovan, what do you think about the Maddox homicide? Does it relate to Thomas O’Brien in any way?”

“Based on our interviews to date,” Steve said carefully, “it appears that in the course of researching Thomas O’Brien’s trial, Maddox uncovered information that was damning to someone. It was during his private investigation that he disappeared. Whether directly or indirectly, whatever Maddox uncovered is related to O’Brien. And the fact that none of his research—his notes, his computer, his books—is anywhere to be found is another tip-off that there’s something important in those documents. He swallowed a flash drive. That suggests that he knew he was being followed and feared he’d be assaulted for what was on the computer chip, and he had no other place to hide it.

“We have his phone records and he called a bar in Isleton the night he disappeared. Based on where his car was found in the river, we believe he did in fact reach his destination. We’re heading there tonight to see if anyone remembers him, and if he met with anyone.”

Meg had her hands on her desk. Authority suited her, Mitch realized. Even though she was a stickler for rules, she understood investigations. She was one of the best in the field because her instincts were so sharp. But she never admitted she had good instincts; she said it was a combination of intelligence and experience. But to Mitch, intelligence plus experience equaled old-fashioned street smarts.

“Follow the trail as long as it’ll keep you moving. But we’re not here to exonerate a convicted felon. We are here to apprehend him. And as far as the Maddox homicide is concerned, we are assisting the sheriff’s department. Keep them in the loop. These are two separate cases until you find evidence that they are connected, and you’ll treat them as such, understand?”

“Absolutely,” Steve said.

She turned to Mitch. “Does Claire know where her father is hiding?”

“No. But I think she’s heard from him recently,” Mitch answered truthfully. “I suspect it was written communication, but I have no proof.”

“Push her.”

“She doesn’t know I’m an agent—”

“I meant Donovan. You already screwed us on getting her for an accessory. She could pull out that you befriended her under false pretenses and didn’t identify yourself as a federal agent. But I’m not interested in the daughter. I have some sympathy in this case. I just want O’Brien back in prison. And”—she added before Mitch could interject—“I’ll keep him in our custody as long as I legally can.” She made another note on her legal pad.

“I appreciate that.”

“One more thing,” Meg said and swiveled her chair. She picked up a remote and turned on the television behind her.

On the screen was a grainy black-and-white security feed.

“The tape from Redding came in,” Steve said.

“Exactly. There’s not a lot here, but I’ve watched it twice and there’s no mistake. It’s O’Brien.”

They watched as a white, full-size American pickup truck pulled into the parking lot. Looked like a Dodge Ram, but Mitch wouldn’t swear by it. A man exited from the passenger side. He was unidentifiable, wore a baseball cap low. He went around the side to where the restrooms presumably were.

Meg fast-forwarded, then stopped right before the man came into view.

There was no doubt about it. They only had one good glimpse, but when Meg paused it, Mitch recognized O’Brien. He’d darkened his hair a bit, sported a couple days’ growth of graying beard. But it was him.