Small Crimes (31 page)

‘Yeah.'
I smiled weakly. 'I visited him a couple of days ago at the hospital and he let
it leak.'

Jim's
eyes widened as he considered what I was saying.

'So
what do you think?' I asked. 'How badly will his confession hurt me?'

He
rubbed his chin as he thought it over. Matter-of-factly he said, 'As you
probably know a deathbed confession is an exclusion to the hearsay rule. If he
does confess there's nothing I would be able to do to keep it out of court. Is
there any other evidence you know of that could support his allegations?'

'His
son, Junior, paid off a friend of mine, Earl Kelley, to write this/

I
had Earl's affidavit with me and I handed it to him. As he read through the
document, I realized that there was more. If Dan could make a deal and slice a
few years off whatever sentence he was going to end up with, he'd do it in a
heartbeat. He'd tell about the thirty thousand dollars' worth of bets a bookie
told him I made after Billy Ferguson's murder. Thinking about that made me sick
to my stomach.

Jim
finished the affidavit and put it down. His expression didn't look too hopeful.

"This
Kelley's a friend of yours?' he asked.

'Yeah.'

'Maybe you need to make yourself some new
friends.’

‘Maybe, but Junior made it well worth his while
to write that.’

‘If I were to depose Kelley, any chance he'd
recant and admit to perjuring himself?’ I don't think so.'

'Anything
you could say to him to help convince him?'

I
shook my head. 'How bad is this for me?'

'I
could argue that both Vassey's confession and this affidavit are self-serving,
but I think I'd only be wasting my breath. Odds are pretty good you'll end up
being convicted of first-degree murder.'

'Why
would they buy Vassey's confession? He's a goddam criminal.'

'I
t
doesn't matter. Deathbed confessions carry more weight with a jury than you
could imagine. It's the psychology of it. Why would a dying person lie and risk
purgatory? I know it's silly, but that's the way juries think.'

'What
about the deal he's making to protect Junior from prosecution?'

'I
don't think that would matter much. To be honest, the biggest problem we'll
have is you. Face it, Joe, people here think you got off too easy for what you
did to Phil Coakley. Now Phil wouldn't be trying the case against you, I'm sure
one of his assistants would handle it, but he'd be sitting at the prosecutor's
table each day reminding the jury what you did to him. They'll be looking for
any excuse they can to send you back to prison. It's not fair, but that's the
way it is.'

'What
if you moved the trial to another state?'

He
shrugged. I could try for a change of venue, but I don't think I'd be
successful with that.'

'Why
not?'

He
gave a half-hearted shrug. 'I know the judges who'd be hearing this. They've
all been having to live with Phil's scars these past years. I don't think
there's a chance they'd give you any kind of break, let alone a change of
venue.'

Of
course, I knew it wouldn't matter where the trial was held. Once Dan told what
he thought he knew, I'd be sunk.

Jim
showed me an uneasy smile. "The one thing you have going for you is life
without parole is seldom given in Vermont. I know of only half a dozen
defendants who've gotten that.'

As
I looked at him his smile faded. We both knew that I would be added to that
select group.

'So
that's it, huh?' I asked.

'I
don't know what else to tell you, Joe. If charges are brought against you and
you want me to represent you, I'd be happy to do it but I'll need to see eighty
thousand dollars in escrow before I can sign on.'

'I
don't have that type of money.'

He
showed another half-hearted shrug. 'I'm sorry, Joe, I won't be able to help
you, then. But I'm sure the court will appoint you a capable public defender.'

As
I got up to leave, he checked his watch.

'Joe,
we've been talking for twenty minutes. Usually I charge in fifteen minute
intervals, but why don't we call it even at fifty dollars? You can pay my
receptionist on your way out.'

I
took fifty bucks out of wallet and tossed the money-on his desk.

It
was pretty much what I expected. I don't know why I wasted my time and money
with the meeting, but it didn't matter. The only effect it had on me was making
me more resolute to carry out the plan I had settled on.

I
still had over an hour before I had to meet Craig. I walked over to the Bradley
Brewery, got a seat at the bar, and for the hell of it ordered a blueberry
wheat ale. As I looked around the place I saw a number of people I knew. Most
of them avoided eye contact with me, but there were a few who had been at
church when Thayer made his speech on forgiveness, and a couple of them nodded
back to me. I guess that was the best I could hope for.

I
liked the ale more than I thought I would and ended up ordering a second one.
The hour slipped by quickly and before I knew it I had to head over to the
courthouse. Craig was waiting for me in the cubbyhole of an office he had
there. He was originally from Queens, New York, and had moved to Bradley about
the time I had joined the force. I wouldn't say we were ever exactly friends,
but back then we used to talk a lot, or more precisely he used to talk a lot to
me. For the most part it was a running monologue. He used to seek me out so he
could tell me how sick he had gotten of New York and how glad he was to be able
to have a quieter and more wholesome life in Vermont.

As
I took a chair by his desk, I barely recognized him. He didn't look like he was
enjoying the wholesome life he had hoped for. Craig was only a couple of years
older than me, but his tight curly hair that used to be a reddish brown had
turned gray and had receded to almost the top of his skull. He had also gotten
a lot wider and heavier since I'd last seen him. As he sat behind his desk and
frowned at me, he looked like a bitter, flabbier version of Larry Fine from the
Three Stooges.

'What
the hell happened to your face?' he demanded.

'You
really want me to tell you?'

'What
do you mean?'

'You
could always ask Dan Pleasant, but if you want I'll be happy to tell you all—'

'Never
mind,' Craig said, stopping me. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't
want to deal with this type of problem.

'But
Craig, you sent Dan after me, didn't you?’ I don't know what you're talking
about.’

‘Didn't
you notify Dan that I missed our meeting the other day?'

'What?
I didn't say anything to him about that.'

So
Dan was either guessing about me missing my parole meeting or he had one of his
boys watching the courthouse. Sonofabitch!

'Really?
Well, let me tell you what happened—'

'I
said never mind.' There was some panic in his voice. He picked up a folder and
flipped through it before putting it down and forcing a stern, almost laughable
look onto his face. 'Now about you missing our meeting—'

'I'm
sorry about that, Craig. As I said in the message I left you, I had a job
interview. By the way, I didn't get the job.'

I
could tell he was relieved that I let the other matter drop. He made a loud
sucking noise as he breathed in a lungful of air.
'You
have to take this seriously, Joe. If you violate your parole
I have to send you back to jail. If I do that you'll serve out your complete
sentence. That could be another seventeen years.'

I
guess I smiled then. It just seemed to be the least of my worries.

'This
isn't funny, Joe. I think maybe the problem is you still think of us as
colleagues rather than what we are. We're no longer colleagues. We're not even
friends. You're a paroled felon and I'm your parole officer. That's our
relationship now. You need to accept that.'

'I'm
sorry, Craig. And I do accept how things stand.’ I hope for your sake that's
true because you can't be missing our scheduled meetings, understood?’

‘Understood.'

He
picked the folder back up and frowned at it. 'You moved out of your parents'
house without telling me,' he complained, his voice bordering on whining.

"They
threw me out.'

'This
is what I'm talking about,' Craig said, his cheeks mottling pink and white as
he got excited. 'You knew that you were supposed to stay with your parents
until you found a permanent residence, and you knew that I was supposed to be
kept informed of any address changes. All you had to do was behave yourself.
So
what did you do to make your parents throw you out?'

'Someone
took a shot at me while I was in their
house.'

His expression showed that he didn't understand
a word I said.
'What do you mean?' he asked. He had a
small idiotic smile on his face, as if I were telling a joke he didn’t get.

'I was in the house with them. Someone from
outside took a shot at me through the window. Whoever it was missed me by
inches. If that much.'

The meaning of what I was saying started to sink
in.

'I
didn't hear anything
about that,' he said. 'I'm surprised. I gave a full report to the police. I
would've thought somebody would've told you.’

‘Nobody told me anything.'

He
started to fidget with the folders and pens on his desk. This was more than he
had bargained for. Most of his parolees were just ordinary screw-ups. Maybe
they served time for drug offenses or borderline petty thefts or an occasional
assault and battery because they were shitfaced with alcohol at the time.
Usually they were just ordinary folk who were going to toe the line once they
got out. He could deal with them. I was different. I brought along troubles
that he didn't want to get anywhere near.

'Where
are you staying now?' he asked. He realized he was fidgeting, and stopped
himself by clasping his hands in front of him. He still couldn't look at me.

'Right
now I'm staying in motels. I'd like to permanently move someplace else.'

'What?'

As
I looked at him giving his best older bewildered Larry Fine impersonation, I
made up my mind about something. Ever since I saw those pictures of my girls I
couldn't help thinking that I could move to Albany. I wouldn't force myself
into their lives, but I'd be there for them. If I survived this mess, that was
what I was going to do.

'I'd
like to move to Albany,' I told him. 'That's where my daughters are.'

'I
don't know about that—'

'People
here are trying to kill me, Craig. If I stay in Bradley, somebody's going to get
hurt.'

He
looked scared now. This was far more than he ever bargained for, especially the
idea that he might have to explain to the parole board why one of his clients
ended up being killed under his nose. He cleared his throat and asked what I
would do in Albany. I told him that
I
was
planning to go to a trade school and become a plumber.

'I'll
see what I can do,' he said.

'
The
sooner I leave the better. I was hoping to move to Albany by the end of the
week.'

'I'll
work on it. I'm not making any promises.'

He
still couldn't look at me. His eyes were frozen on his clasped hands. As I sat
and watched him, he seemed to get more uncomfortable. After a while he was just
about squirming in his seat.

Anything
else you need from me?' I asked. He started to shake his head, but stopped
himself. 'You haven't used cocaine since you've been out?’