The Advocate's Daughter (16 page)

“You didn't mention the part about being found guilty at trial after your parents hired an expensive defense lawyer,” Sean challenged.

Chadwick locked eyes with Sean. “So you do know about my case,” he said. “You're right, I was convicted. But that was before DNA testing was routine and as sophisticated as it is now. Natalie scratched whoever attacked her. She had skin under her fingernails. Six months ago I learned that they still have the evidence samples. The blood type was A positive, the same as mine. But DNA can prove it wasn't me. Abby was going to help.”

Sean examined the man. If he was lying, it was Oscar worthy. But Sean found it hard to believe that Abby wouldn't have mentioned this. And she wasn't even licensed to practice law, so unless the representation was through a law school clinic, something was off here.

“Do you know how Abby found out about your case? Did you contact her?”

Chadwick lifted his gaze to the ceiling, thinking. “I'm not sure how she found out. I didn't contact her. She just showed up one day and asked to speak with me. I don't get many visitors. It was a chance to talk to a woman who wasn't my mother, so I said why not?” Chadwick cocked his chin at the door. “And then this delightful young woman came in. I felt terrible when I heard what happened, and not just because she was helping me. She seemed like a nice person, a good person.”

Sean nodded. On that much the two men could agree. “What did you and Abby talk about when she visited? Maybe there's something I can do.” It was a cruelly hollow offer, but he needed information.

“She just wanted to know anything and everything she could about my life back then. What happened the night Natalie was killed, what happened with my trial, who my friends were then, pretty much everything I could remember.”

“How many times did she visit you?”

“Twice in person, but we mostly talked on the phone, though she stopped accepting my last few calls.”

“Do you remember if she took notes when she interviewed you?”

“Oh yeah, she sat right where you are, scribbling away.”

“Was there anything in particular she focused on? Something she kept coming back to about your background or your case?”

Chadwick moved his eyes to the ceiling again. “She seemed most interested in who could have actually killed Natalie. That's the problem my lawyer at trial had. I mean, if it wasn't me, then who? Abby was obviously focused on the DNA, but she said we needed to give them another reason to reopen the case.”

“And do you have any ideas about who might have killed Natalie?”

Chadwick shook his head. “I don't. Trust me, I've had years to think about it. So me and Abby just went through everyone I knew. Everyone Natalie knew.”

“Can you give me those names?” The officers had allowed Sean to bring in a white notepad and pencil, issued to him at the security check point. He would have to return the unused portion of the pad and the pencil before he could leave the prison.

Chadwick perked up. “Absolutely.” He looked Sean in the eyes. “I've spent my entire adult life behind bars. I was guilty of being a spoiled kid, guilty of drinking way too much, and guilty of being, pardon my language, an asshole. But I didn't kill Natalie.”

Sean didn't respond to the assertion of innocence—a proclamation he was sure had been declared an infinite number of times behind the walls of Sussex. He hunched over the table, ready to write. “Let's just go through the names.”

Chadwick began listing all of his friends from college. His frat brothers, his classmates, Natalie's friends. Sean wrote down each name.

“Anyone else?”

Chadwick thought some more. His eyes flashed. “One more. I can't believe I forgot to mention him. We weren't super close or anything, but my roommate. Mason James. You may have heard of him. He's done really well for himself and even tried to help me out. He's a senator now.”

 

CHAPTER 39

They drove with the windows open, the air humming through the SUV like a wind tunnel. Since he was a baby, the sound had always soothed Ryan. And the push of air helped keep Sean alert. It was nearly nine o'clock and they'd decided to plow through rather than stop for fast food on I-95. They'd spent the first part of the drive talking about Chadwick. It appeared that Abby had been deceiving the man as part of her effort to vet Senator James. Or maybe she really intended to help Chadwick with his quest to reopen his case. Sean had considered keeping the information to himself, but he and Ryan were in this together. And talking about it, hearing it out loud, helped Sean organize his thoughts.

Could Abby have stumbled across something that got her killed? Could he seriously think that Senator James was capable of murdering Natalie Carlisle? Or Abby? There were similarities. Both were young, beautiful women. Both suffered traumatic head injuries. The evidence was inconclusive on whether Abby had been raped, but tests showed that she'd had intercourse shortly before she was killed. But Chadwick didn't seem to suspect Senator James. To the contrary, when Sean pressed him, Chadwick had said, “Trust me, Mason James is the last person in the world who'd rape and kill Natalie.” He didn't explain why.

Lurking in the back of Sean's mind: Was the pain of Abby's murder making him search for something that just wasn't there? The books he'd read about coping with the loss of a child all said that grief does strange things to people. There was proof in Emily's crippling despair. And in his own hunt for Chipotle Man.

Sean gazed at Ryan, who also was lost in thought. His son's brown hair tousled in the wind. The boy seemed older. Ryan tinkered with his iPod and Linkin Park started wailing through the SUV's speakers.

“What are you thinking about?” Sean asked.

Ryan paused for a moment. Gaze still fixed out the window, he said, “Is it true what they say about grandpa?”

Sean turned to Ryan. It wasn't a question he'd expected. “Who are ‘they'? Who said something about your grandfather?”

“On the news, they said that your dad—”

“I told you not to watch that crap, Ryan. I expressly said you're not to—” Sean caught himself. Old habits. “I'm sorry. What did they say about my father?”

“They said he was a hero. That he got killed trying to save some people during an attack at a hotel in Lebanon.”

Sean nodded. “That's true.”

“He was a soldier?”

“No, not when he died. He'd been a general in the Air Force. After he retired, he was on an anti-terrorism commission, which is why he was in Beirut.”

“Why didn't you ever tell us?”

That was a fair question, one Sean hadn't really come to terms with himself. “They never gave me any details about his death, so there wasn't much to tell. But I'm honestly not sure why, Ryan. My father and I had a complicated relationship. When my mother died when I was ten, he kind of checked out of my life. By the time he'd left the country for his new job things were pretty bad between us.” That was an understatement. Another victim of Japan had been their relationship. His father, a one-star general, had been the base's commanding officer. When he wasn't at work, he was at the O-Club, slowly building a reputation as a booze and pussy hound. Sean, in turn, had acted out, drinking and partying and fighting, often being brought home after curfew by the base police. But nothing really seemed to catch his dad's attention. They rarely fought, or even spoke, for that matter. What he remembered most from his teen years was the silence. Heavy silence. And the one time he had come to his father for help—over a killing, no less—his dad had let him down again. The General was a politician. In the military, but a politician nonetheless. So when Sean told him about the storekeeper, his dad chose to hide the problem. Bury it. Within the week, the General had made up some story about a sick relative and shipped Sean off to his aunt in Cleveland, then was stationed back stateside three months later himself. Sean always wondered if leaving the post early in Japan had ended his dad's chance for more stars on that uniform he loved so much.

By Sean's senior year in high school his dad had retired. He'd also managed to get sober. The day Sean was leaving for college his father tried to make amends. Tried to bring up the storekeeper and what had happened. Wanted to talk before he left the country for the new job. But it was too late. The last thing Sean had said to him was, “Go work out your twelve steps somewhere else. We're through.”

Ryan continued, “They interviewed one of your old friends on the news. He said that when your dad died, you didn't take time off school. That you used it as motivation to succeed. He said that's why you may become a Supreme Court justice.”

Sean shook his head at the armchair psychology. Why the hell was the media focusing on his father now? Then he remembered that during his White House meeting, the president had mentioned his dad.
Our plan is to put your name out there again along with some additional information about your personal story and see the reaction.

“It wasn't my father's death that motivated me,” Sean said absently.

“No? Then what was it?”

“Mom. You. Jack. Abby.”

For years his oath had been his motivator. He'd channeled all of his guilt and shame into unbridled ambition. But when Emily came along the focus changed. He wanted to be a better person not for the vow of a distraught teenager, but for
her.
She believed in him, pushed him to be better. She became the family he'd always wanted. And by the time they'd had their third child, he'd long ago siloed away his past. Emily and the kids were all that mattered. It was why he couldn't bring himself to tell her about Japan. He liked the version of himself reflected in her eyes.

“Is Mom gonna be okay?”

“Yes. She's just having a rough time.”

“Don't you think we should tell her about everything? And about what happened at the school last night?”

Sean kept his eyes on the road. “I'm not sure.”

“Why? You think she can't handle it?”

“I didn't say that. I just think she's really struggling right now, and I don't want to pile on. You know what I mean?”

Ryan turned to his father. “You both always say that keeping things to yourself doesn't help anyone. That we need to trust you guys enough to tell you things.”

“I know. But this is different. I've never seen Mom this way. I just don't know if she's ready.”

“I think she's stronger than that, Dad.”

Sean chewed on his lip. “You're a smart kid, Ryan. A really smart kid.”

 

CHAPTER 40

Sean's street was dotted with lamp light as he rolled toward their colonial. The sidewalks were lined with recycling bins and brown sacks filled with plastics, bottles, and cans.

“Shit,” Sean said as the SUV neared their home. Ryan, who'd dozed off, sat up and rubbed his eyes with balled fists. Another news van was parked in front of the house, this one blocking the driveway. Sean pulled alongside the van and gestured for the driver to move aside. The unshaven guy in his thirties, eating a bag of chips, finally noticed him, gave a lazy nod, and started the van's engine. Before the vehicle moved, however, another man, this one in a blazer and holding a microphone, appeared next to the SUV's opened driver-side window.

“Mr. Serrat, I'm Eric Wall with WUSA
9 News.”

Sean held up a hand and shook his head, but that didn't stop the reporter. “Do you care to comment on the upcoming evidentiary hearing? Do you think the FBI committed an illegal search? Should the evidence against Malik Montgomery be thrown out?”

Sean turned to Ryan. “Just look forward and don't acknowledge him.” Sean waved for the van's driver to pick up the pace.

“The NAACP says Malik Montgomery is being railroaded,” the reporter said. “Do you have any doubts about Mr. Montgomery's guilt?”

Sean glanced over the reporter's shoulder to the front of the house. He saw a form in the window. He looked the reporter in the eyes. It must have been a hard look because the guy stopped talking midsentence. Sean's window hissed up and the reporter nodded to the driver of the van, who finally rolled from curb, giving Sean access to the driveway. Sean pulled up the drive. He and Ryan climbed out of the SUV and started quickly toward the door when something troubling caught Sean's eye. In the front yard, near the steps. Ryan's bike.

 

CHAPTER 41

“I've been trying to reach you,” Emily said. She stood in the shallow light of the kitchen. Her eyes were bloodshot, hair a mess. “You can't keep doing these disappearing acts. Why didn't Ryan go to school? Where were you? And why didn't you pick up your phone?”

Sean answered none of it, but turned instead to Ryan. “Why don't you go get cleaned up and I'll make you some dinner. I want to talk with Mom.”

Ryan nodded and disappeared out of the kitchen.

“Em, I'll explain everything. But first, how did Ryan's bike get here?” They'd left the bike at the high school last night.

Emily stared at him. “That's what I've been trying to call you about. They found a dead body at the high school today. You were right over there last night. Maybe the same guys who mugged you…”

Sean's pulse started to thud. He tried to keep his composure, but he felt wobbly. His face was on fire. “Who?” he asked. “Who was killed?”

Emily had a concerned look on her face, and she reached for her iPhone on the counter. She tapped on the device and then held the screen up for Sean to see.

It was a blow to the gut. No, a brass-knuckled sucker punch that left Sean struggling for air.

Chipotle Man.

His real name was William Brice, “Billy,” the story said. He was twenty-seven and had a past conviction for selling drugs. An unnamed source with the Montgomery County police said they believed his murder was drug related, but the investigation was ongoing.