The Case Against William (28 page)

"He's
bigger than life."

"Not
anymore. Life reached up and pulled him down into the muck where the rest of
us live."

"I
wish it hadn't."

"I
know, honey."

They
walked on the sand and inhaled the sea. They thought of William, her brother
and his son, and now alleged rapist and murderer.

"
The
Autobiography of Rebecca
… I like that. So does the story have a happy
ending?"

"I
don't know yet."

They
returned to the bungalow to find a fifth player at the poker table on the
porch: Ted, with his shoes and socks off and his trouser legs rolled up. They
stood on the sand as Ted tossed sand dollars into the pile in the center. They
all put their cards down; the four men threw their hands up. Billie Jean
scooped the pile of sand dollars to her side. Dwayne stood and trudged down to
the sand.

"She
cleaned me out. I gotta dig up some more money."

"She's
a good poker player," Frank said.

"Is
she a good lawyer?" Becky asked.

"She
will be."

"You
were."

"Past
tense."

"You
can be again."

"I
know I disappointed you. I'm sorry."

"You
didn't disappoint me. You could never do that. I hurt for you because you
disappointed yourself."

"You
were always the smartest member of the family."

"I
know." Her expression turned serious. "She's in Hungary now.
Mom."

"Covering
the Eastern Bloc."

"Father—"

"I
like 'Daddy' better."

"Sounds
dumb for a grown woman to call her father 'Daddy'."

"Not
to her daddy."

She
smiled.

"Daddy—"

Now
he smiled.

"—I
understood about you and Mom back then. You two just didn't fit together. I
always felt sorry for you."

"Why?"

"Because
she was getting what she wanted from you, but you weren't getting what you
needed from her."

"What's
that?"

"Love."

"Did
I mention that you were always the smartest member of the family?"

"Yes.
Do you think she can give you what you need?"

"Your
mother?"

"Billie Jean."

"She's
too young for me."

"You're
not too old for her. She's interested in you."

"How
do you know?"

"I'm
a woman."

"You
are, aren't you?"

They
watched Billie Jean deal cards as if she were manning a table in
Vegas.

"I'd
better head back to Houston," Becky said.

Frank
hugged her and told her he loved her. Dwayne walked up with a handful of sand
dollars; they watched Becky up to her car and waved when she drove off.

"Got
a text from Herman Jones, the Austin detective on the case," Dwayne said.
"Said I should come see him. Soon. He must have something."

"What?"

"Whatever
it is, it ain't good for William."

Dwayne
returned to the poker game. The alcohol on Dwayne's breath gave Frank pause;
he inhaled the lingering scent. He really wanted a drink. But he waved Ted
down to his office. They shook hands.

"Ted."

"Frank,
sorry to hear about your son. UT's lost two in a row without him."

"So
how's your case going?"

"Better."

"What
happened?"

"I
filed the motion for recusal."

"And?"

"The
judge went apeshit. Called counsel into chambers, screamed at me like I was in
grade school."

Frank
grunted.

"Then he broke down and started crying. Talked about his
son. He apologized. Ordered the prosecutor to hand over all evidence. They
were hiding a surveillance tape."

"And
it proved your client was innocent?"

"No.
He was guilty, Frank. Surveillance camera caught the crime. He did it. He
killed the agent. They weren't hiding exculpatory evidence—they were hiding
incriminating evidence to surprise us at trial. After my client took the stand
and cried and claimed innocence, they would show the tape on the
big screen and the jury would see him shooting the DEA agent pointblank in the
face. They'd give him the death penalty for sure. When I confronted my client
with the evidence, he laughed."

"He
laughed?"

"Yeah.
Because I believed him. He's a seventeen-year-old stone-cold killer, and I
bought his bullshit."

They
walked in silence through the sand.

"I
wanted to believe him, Frank."

Ted
paid Frank's $50 fee and left. Frank sat on the porch step and stared at the
sea. Two thoughts fought for prominence in his mind: one, could his son
possibly be feeding his father a line of bullshit as Ted's client had fed him?
And two, was the D.A. playing the same game with Frank as the Feds had played with
Ted? Was the D.A. hiding incriminating evidence in plain sight? He finally
answered his questions: no and yes.

His
son was innocent. The D.A. was guilty. The investigators had downloaded all
the content from William's laptop and phone. They had found Dee Dee's phone
number on the phone. The D.A. knew it would be a damning rebuttal to William's
testimony in court:

"I
swear I never met her."

"Then
why is her phone number on your phone?"

A
jury of middle-aged men and women would not understand the ways of young men
and women. That hooking up was considered normal. That girls were happy to be
subs, to be texted for sex. That sex was no more an emotional commitment than
a peck on the cheek after a date back in their time. The jury would sentence
William Tucker to death.

The
law requires that the district attorney disclose all exculpatory evidence to
the defense; it does not require that the district attorney disclose all
incriminating evidence. That's why the D.A. had left William's laptop and
phone in his room. The phone contained incriminating evidence: the victim's
phone number. The D.A. was required to allow Frank access to the phone, which
he did, but not to lead Frank through the hundreds of phone numbers and point
out the girl's number. That was Frank's job. The D.A.'s plan was to surprise
the defense with her phone number at trial. Most bad prosecutors hide
exculpatory evidence; this prosecutor was hiding incriminating evidence that
would inflame the jury and assure the death penalty. Hiding evidence in plain
sight, right there on the phone. All Frank had to do was find it.

He
realized then that there was more to find.

"Chico,
what'd you find on the laptop?"

"Nothing
much. Video clips from his games, videos of girls stripping—"

"At
strip clubs?"

"Dorm
rooms, his and theirs. And homemade porn."

"William?"

"Yep."

Salacious
but not incriminating or admissible. There was more to be found.

"Check
the phone again. We're missing something."

"There's
nothing more, Frank."

"There's
something more."

"What?"

Frank's
mind processed the evidence they had and the evidence the D.A. must have had in
order to be so assured of his son's guilt. It finally came to him—it should
have come to him when they found the phone, but his mind was too clouded by
whiskey.

"How
many photos are on his phone?"

"Hundreds,
maybe a thousand."

"Her
photo is on his phone. That's why the cops left the phone. The D.A. is hiding
incriminating evidence in plain sight."

Billie Jean had driven down to Rockport a few days after
the arraignment with her draft subpoena. She had done a good job. Frank had
approved it, and she had filed it. That day she had driven down early with the
results of the subpoena: DNA test results, autopsy report, trace evidence report,
and a CD of the football game. The DNA test results showed conclusively that William's
blood was on Dee Dee's body. The autopsy report showed that Dee Dee had been
forcibly raped, that cause of death was strangulation, and that time of death
was between midnight and 2:00
A.M.
The trace evidence report showed no other evidence recovered from Dee Dee's
body—no semen, no skin tissue, no saliva, no one else's blood.

Frank
had looked over the discovery then he and Billie Jean had walked the beach while waiting for the
rest of the defense team to arrive. She was easy to talk to. It had been a
long time since he had talked with a woman. His only conversations with Liz
had been about what he could afford for her to buy and the kids' schedules the
next week. Money and parenting, not life and love.

They
were now back at the bungalow. Chuck studied the game tape on
William's laptop. Chico browsed the hundreds of photos on William's phone.
Dwayne reported on their investigation in Lubbock. He held his cop pad in his
left hand and a Sharpie in his right.

"Dwayne,"
Chico said, "why do you always carry that Sharpie?"

"Oh,
this was my trademark back in the day, when I was the top homicide cop on the
Houston PD."

"Trademark?"

"Yeah,
like that TV homicide cop always sucked on a Tootsie Roll Pop."

"Magnum?"

"No.
He was a PI. The bald guy."

"Bruce
Willis?"

"No,
the one—"

They
could go on forever, so Frank steered the discussion back to the Lubbock trip.

"So
you met this Cissy girl?"

"Oh,
yeah. Most of the players and cheerleaders back then, they've already
graduated and moved on. We could spend months and more money than we got
tracking them down. No need to, they can't take William's blood off the girl's
body. But we found Cissy Dupre."

He
recounted their conversation with Dee Dee's roommate, all the way through Dee
Dee meeting William Tucker at the Dizzy Rooster.

"He
said he had never met her," Frank said. "But he did since her number
was in his phone."

"And
now the D.A.'s got a witness to say they met that night at that bar. And that
they groped each other like … what did she say, Chuck?"

"Horny
high schoolers. She saw them heading to the back of the bar, they disappeared,
then she saw William later, puking. Couldn't put a time on it."

"Where?"

"Right
there in the bar."

"He
didn't say he was sick."

"You
know, Frank, when I was in the Army, the lifers, they always said they puked
after their first kill."

"Where
was Dee Dee when he was throwing up?"

"Cissy
said she never saw her again."

Frank
considered the news. So far, all the news had been bad. His son's blood on
the victim and the victim's number in his son's phone. But the worst news was
that his son might have—

"He
lied, Frank," Dwayne said.

"I
can't believe that."

"Believe
it," Chico said.

He
turned William's cell phone so they could see the screen, on which was a color
image of Dee Dee Dunston with a "Dizzy Rooster" sign in the
background.

"I
didn't lie. I just don't remember her. I don't remember anything from that
day. I got the concussion."

While
probably medically true, it would be a tough sell to a jury. William felt well
enough to go partying that night, but he didn't remember anything? The D.A.
would exploit that at trial, ask him a hundred questions that would require an
"I don't remember" answer. If, that is, William testified. He could
decline to testify, but it's a risky strategy. Juries want to hear the
defendant tell his side of the story. And juries don't trust a defendant who
can't recall his side of the story.

"I
just can't remember."

The
next morning, Frank and Billie Jean sat in front of William in the interview
room. Frank put the phone with Dee Dee's image on the screen to the Plexiglas.

"You
don't remember taking this photo?"

"I didn't take it."

"What'd
he say?" Billie Jean said.

She
sat next to Frank, but could not hear William.

"Said
he didn't take the photo."

"Ask
him who did."

Back
to William: "Who did?"

"She
did."

Frank
turned the screen back and studied the girl's image.

"He
said she took it herself."

Billie Jean
looked closely at the image.

"Could
be a selfie."

"A
selfie?"

"Self-photo.
Kids take their own photos, post them on Facebook and Twitter."

"Why?

"I don't know."

Back
to William: "Why would she do that?"

"So
I'd remember her. So I'd text her."

Frank
felt a sense of sadness. College thirty-five years ago was simpler; boys
dreaming of sex but not getting much sex. College years filled with random sex
with complete strangers did not seem all that wonderful. William shook his
head.

"Her
phone number, her photo, my blood …"

Frank
hadn't had alcohol in thirteen days. His hands trembled. His son's hands
trembled too, but not from alcohol withdrawal. From fear.

"Do
the police know about her photo?"

"I
think they do."

William
looked noticeably thinner. Almost gaunt, if a man his size could look gaunt.
His blue eyes floated in dark circles.

"Are
you sleeping?"

"Not
much."

"Eating?"

"Not
much."

"Exercising?"

"Why?
My season's over—did you see the game yesterday? Two losses in a row. No
Heisman, no championship. My career's over. My life's over."

Frank
regarded his son. Trial was four weeks away. Would he make it four more weeks
in jail?

"Dwayne
went to Lubbock, talked to the girl's roommate named Cissy. She was at the bar
that night, too. She said you and Dee Dee disappeared, she figured you two had
hooked up."

"We
did?"

"You
don't remember that either?"

"No."

Frank
again put his palm to the glass, but his son put his face in his hands.