Second Chance Love (29 page)

The coffee pot dinged that it was finished. Neither noticed. Elizabeth couldn’t help herself from jumping, just a little. “Jo, this is really, really important. I know we just met, but would you be willing to give a signed statement and testify in court as to what you witnessed?”

Jo leaned forward and let her not-inconsiderable bosom rest on the counter. A smile, both contented and menacing, lit her features. She looked directly into Elizabeth’s eyes. “I would love to.”

Chapter Fifty

At 8:45 AM, Todd Billings arrived at his office to find Elizabeth waiting at the door.

"Good morning, Todd."

“Hello, Ms. Coleman. Nothing better than seeing a client waiting with a huge stack of papers for me at the front door before I’ve even had a chance to make coffee.”

“Then let’s go in, and I'll make coffee for both of us, if that’s all right. I need some too. I’ve been up all night putting everything together.”

Todd looked at the determined set of her chin, took out his key ring, and unlocked the door to his small office. “After you,” he said, turning on the lights. One of the fluorescent bulbs flickered and buzzed.

Elizabeth set papers down on the one empty chair in the office, poured yesterday's cold coffee down the drain, and eyed the pot with suspicion. It looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in a long time. “Don’t you ever run vinegar through your coffee maker?”

“Vinegar? God, no. I do well enough just getting drinkable coffee to come out of it. You may have noticed that I'm not exactly Suzy Homemaker.”

“I’ve noticed. I’ll tell you what. Once we get Steve out of jail, I’ll come spend my days off in here and get everything organized for you. No charge.” She turned the hot water on, found dish detergent and a sponge, and scrubbed out as much crud as she could. Once the coffee began to brew, she sat back down. “Ready?”

“No. Do I have a choice?”

Elizabeth smiled. “No. Now, I can’t say that I found a single piece of evidence that we can throw down on the DA’s desk and say ‘Aha!’, but when you see everything I’ve got, I think you might agree that they wouldn't want to take this anywhere near a courtroom."

Todd sighed and leaned forward. “Okay, show me what you’ve got.”

Chapter Fifty-One

At 1:00 PM, Todd was seated in the District Attorney's well-appointed waiting area. Mrs. Amanda Billings, who happened to be his spouse, strode into the waiting area and glared at him. He smiled back at her. She held the glare a beat or two longer than usual before going through the door marked 'Harvey Marlow, District Attorney.'

Someday
, he thought,
these waiting-room minutes will feel like easy money
.

After fifteen minutes, Mrs. Billings opened the door. “Mr. Billings, the DA will see you now.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Billings.” He made sure to wipe the smile off his face before going inside. The DA's office was nothing like Todd's. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a blustery winter scene of people racing across the plaza below. The office had plush carpeting, a desk the size of Texas, and a facing chair that put the supplicant several inches below the illustrious Mr. Marlow.

Harvey Marlow, a portly and unattractive man in his mid-fifties, stood up and reached across the desk to shake Todd’s hand. He looked at Amanda. “Why don’t you sit in with us? Once we get to court, you'll take lead on this.” Amanda nodded, sat in another chair to the side of the desk, took out a yellow pad, and wrote a heading across the top of the page.

At one time, DA Marlow's aspirations had reached far beyond this office. He had envisioned a term as Attorney General, perhaps even the Governor's mansion. Those dreams had ended in the quiet way most political dreams do: no huge scandal, he just backed the wrong candidate or cause one time too many. He would rise no farther in office, though he might finish his career as a lobbyist or a political advisor. At the very least, he sometimes consoled himself, he had a reputation as an honest man, which for the most part was merited.

“All right, Mr. Billings. On the phone you said you had something important to discuss about the Larson case.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “You’ve got five minutes. Go.”

Todd launched into the presentation he and Elizabeth had worked on over the previous twenty-four hours. “If you look at the evidence in this case, Mr. Marlow, you’ll notice that it all emanates from one source: Ms. Chelsea Stanton. When corroborated, eyewitness testimony from the victim can make a case. However, there is no corroborating evidence here to support the prosecution's case.

"Let’s look at what you’ve got: victim statement, victim’s injuries, a box of jewelry that came from the victim, statements of bad blood between Ms. Stanton and Mr. Larson, and not much else. The facial injuries to Mr. Larson, I suppose, but that bad blood between them and his facial injuries can also lead to a very different conclusion.”

Todd pulled three folders out of his attaché and laid them on the DA's desk. “These are depositions from previous dating partners of Mr. Larson. They all depose, and will testify if necessary, that Steve Larson is the most harmless character this side of Charlie Brown.”

Harvey Marlow drew a deep breath and started to speak, but Todd said, “Please, just a little more patience, if you would.”

“Continue,” Harvey said.

"We will agree with you that there has been friction between the parties. Witnesses from the recent Autumn Wonderland charity ball can and will testify to that. We will also maintain that this acrimonious relationship has caused Ms. Stanton to give false testimony in attempt to frame Mr. Larson.”

“I assume you have more than this?" said District Attorney Marlow, a bit impatiently.

“I do.” Todd placed another folder on the desk. “This is a deposition from Simon Barsin, who was Ms. Stanton’s date at the charity function. He testifies that Ms. Stanton confided in him that she was going to do something to Mr. Larson to, in Mr. Barsin's words, ‘get even with him.’”

Marlow nodded. “Bitter ex-boyfriend. Things didn’t work out, and now he gets even as well.”

“Yes. Simon Barsin might be a bitter ex-boyfriend, but this woman is not.” Todd pulled out a handheld tape recorder and placed it on the desk. “I recorded this statement from Ms. Jo Donnelly this morning. She witnessed the incident, and is prepared to repeat it as testimony in court.” Todd pushed PLAY. After a few seconds, background tape hiss gave way to sounds of traffic.

“The time is 10:15 AM, 14 December 2014. This is Todd Billings, and I am interviewing Ms. Joann Donnelly, an employee of
Espresso Yourself
, which is a coffee stand across the street from
La Boutique
, with a clear view of the area in front of the store. Ms. Donnelly, how well do you know Chelsea Stanton?”

“We don’t hang out in the same social circles, but I’ve met her many times. I run the coffee stand directly across the street from her store.”

“Having served her, what, perhaps hundreds of times? Would you say you have any difficulty in recognizing her?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Were you working here at the
Espresso Yourself
coffee stand on Saturday, December 7
^th
?”

“Yes.”

“Were you working at approximately 11:30 that morning?”

“Yes.” Harvey Marlow sat back in his chair, steepling his hands.

“And did you see Chelsea Stanton at approximately that time?”

“I can’t be 100% sure of the exact time, but it was before I got busy with the lunchtime rush, so, yes, I would guess it was about that time.”

“Please tell me what you saw at that time.”

“A few minutes before I saw Chelsea, I saw a man drive up and park in front of her store.”

“Do you remember what he was driving?”

“It was a four-door sedan that was kind of an ugly red color. It looked like a Ford.”

“What did the man do once he parked in front of the store?”

“He went inside for a few minutes. Maybe long enough for me to wait on one customer. When I was done with their latte, I looked up to see him coming out of the store again.”

“Do you recall his attitude at that time?”

“He was just strolling along. Nothing unusual.”

“And what happened next?”

“Chelsea Stanton came out of her store. At first, she was walking normally, too. But just before the man got to his car, she started running toward him. When he turned around, she hit him, hard. He was carrying something, a little box, and he almost dropped it, but he caught it before it hit the ground.”

“What did Ms. Stanton do then?”

“She ran back inside, but it looked like maybe one of her heels broke and she fell down.”

Todd allowed himself a glance first at Harvey Marlow, then his wife. Harvey continued to stare at the ceiling, but he pulled in a long breath and let it out slowly. Amanda scowled at Todd. Todd hid his smile behind his hand and looked back at the tape recorder.

“What did the man do then?”

“He just stood there for a few seconds like he was trying to figure out what the heck just happened, then he got in his car and drove away.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I figured he was probably one of Chelsea Stanton’s boyfriends, and if they wanted to act that way in public, that was their business.”

“I see. One more question, Ms. Donnelly. Did you get a good look at Chelsea Stanton’s face? Did she appear to be injured?”

“I could see her face just fine. What she appeared to be, was monumentally pissed off, but, no, her face looked just as fine as it ever does.”

Todd reached out and clicked off the recording.

“I didn’t have a chance to take a full deposition, of course, but I thought you’d like to hear this before going too much further in the prosecution of one of our city’s leading citizens.”

Harvey Marlow peered at Todd over the steeple of his fingertips. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. We’ll be in touch.”

"Thank you, Mr. Marlow." Todd Billings stood, nodded, gathered up his papers, and eased out the door without looking at his wife.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Steve Larson, Prisoner #8485994, sat in the holding cell. Maury Povich was doing a
Very Special Christmas Episode.
In the world of daytime talk shows, that meant that they kept the fistfights, hair-pulling and cursing to a minimum, focusing on the happier stories from the calendar year.

I wonder if they can find an hour of happiness in their vault
, thought Steve.

Todd Billings had spent a portion of his Christmas Eve visiting Steve in the small, windowless visiting room. Some wit had taped a single sprig of holly to the industrial white walls. Todd had told him that the DA’s office was in full retreat and that he would be released that day, with all charges dropped. Steve did not take that at face value. He'd lived his whole life by the credo,
The deal is done when the ink is dry,
and that wasn’t true yet of his release. Since the meeting, Steve had watched the second hand crawl around the old-fashioned clock on the wall across from his bunk, finished the John Grisham legal thriller that another inmate had passed along to him, and watched more bad daytime television.

Aside from Todd's visit, the most interesting part of the day had been the windstorm building and raging outside. This Christmas Eve, it seemed, would go down in local lore as
The Great Christmas Eve Windstorm of 2014
. Even inside the solid brick city jail, Steve could feel the wind buffeting the walls. He heard it howl, rising and falling outside the cell's one window like a sporadic siren.

Maury delivered one last heartfelt platitude, then the local news came on. That caught Steve’s attention.
Judge Judy
, not the news, followed
The Maury Povich Show
every afternoon. Instead of the well-groomed older male news anchor, the younger female meteorologist came on. Steve stood and moved closer to the television. Seven or eight of the other inmates did the same, forming a semi-circle around the television bolted high on the wall.

“We’re in the midst of a high-wind warning that is set to expire at midnight tonight. Our forecast model is calling for winds as high as eighty miles an hour coming off the Cascade foothills, then sweeping down through the city. It’s not going to be a white Christmas, but it’s going to be a windy one…”

The television and overhead lights blinked off, along with most of the ambient building noise. The wind's howling outside became the only noise in the cell for two beats, three. Then a door clanged. An older guard named Dobkins pushed inside and said, “Nothing to worry about. We just lost power. The generator will kick on any second. We want to make sure that we don’t accidentally violate any of your human rights by denying you access to lights and heat.”

Fifteen seconds later, the lights flickered overhead, dimmed, then came on. Ridiculous as Steve knew it to be, the large room felt suddenly colder.

Definitely not how I had planned to spend Christmas Eve
.