Violent Crimes (22 page)

Nowicki glared at Amanda. “What are you suggesting?”

“I'm suggesting that you and Reginald Kiner were always friends. You were the person who made the evidence that could convict him disappear when he was a detective. And you continued to work with him over the years.

“I'm suggesting that Kiner called you after Dale Masterson hired him to kill Christine Larson and frame Mr. Beatty. You had to act fast. You knew that Tom Beatty worked with Christine Larson and had been arrested for assault, because Detective Hotchkiss complained to you when he was investigating Mr. Beatty's assault case. You came up with the scheme to put Christine's body in Mr. Beatty's house and falsify a search warrant affidavit that would let the police find her. But you needed someone who would be your informant, and you knew Carol White would do anything for the money to buy heroin.

“I'm also suggesting that you learned that the murder investigation was starting to focus on Mr. Kiner and you decided to get rid of the only person who could connect you to the murder of Christine Larson.”

“This is ridiculous,” Nowicki said. His face had reddened with anger and a pulse beat in his temple.

“Can you explain how, on a detective's salary, you are able to afford a condo and a sailboat in the Cayman Islands and bank accounts totaling three million dollars?”

“What . . . what are you talking about?”

“We can present the judge with details about your secret accounts and the condo you own that was bought by a shell company. It took us only a very short time to find that evidence. What would we find with more time?”

Nowicki didn't answer. He just glared at Amanda.

“You've been crooked since your early days riding with the Desperados motorcycle gang. You were supposed to be gathering evidence against the gang, but you were taking money from them to smuggle heroin and kill people, weren't you?”

Nowicki stood up. “I've had enough of this.” He turned toward Larry Frederick. “Why aren't you objecting to this bullshit?”

The DA stared hard at the witness. “I'm not objecting because I've seen the evidence of your secret accounts and talked to a member of the motorcycle gang who supports all of Miss Jaffe's allegations. But you can prove her wrong by taking a lie detector test like Mr. Beatty did.”

“Your Honor, I move to have all the charges against Mr. Beatty dismissed,” Larry Frederick said as soon as the deputies escorted a handcuffed Greg Nowicki out of the courtroom.

“Motion granted,” Judge Chang said with a smile.

Tom Beatty sagged in his chair, too stunned to speak.

“Are you okay?” Amanda asked.

“Yeah, it's just . . . Even after you told me what to expect, I didn't believe it would happen.”

Amanda smiled. “Well, it did, and you're a free man.”

Beatty turned to her. “I don't know how to thank you,” he said.

“I think saving my life is thanks enough.”

Tom blushed.

Kate and Amanda stood up. “I'm going out to face the lions,” Amanda said. “The reporters will have questions for you, too. I advise you to just say you're happy the system worked, then get away as fast as you can, and have Kate drive you home.”

“That sounds good.”

Tom turned and saw Brittney Vandervelden standing in front of the gate in the low fence that divided the spectators from those having business before the court. She smiled at him.

“I'm so glad you're free,” she said. “I never once thought you'd hurt Christine.”

“Thanks,” Tom answered, suddenly shy.

“Look, this is awkward and I'll understand if you don't want to, but you've got to eat and I'd like to treat you to a meal that's not jail food or something you foraged in Forest Park.”

Tom broke into a grin. Then he laughed. “That sounds great, but I don't think I'd make good company tonight. I'm too wound up, and I haven't had a good night's sleep for some time. But I'd love a rain check.”

“Sure,” Brittney said. “Here's my number. And don't call me at Masterson, Hamilton, because I'm no longer there.”

The day all charges against Tom Beatty were dropped, Larry Frederick also dismissed Brandon Masterson's case. Brandon had recovered sufficiently to be sent back to jail, but Larry Frederick had asked for an order from Judge Chastain that kept Brandon out of danger in the hospital after Amanda and Billie Brewster told Frederick about the evidence against Greg Nowicki.

Amanda was waiting for Brandon in the corridor outside the secure wing. He was clean-shaven, his hair was combed, his face was relatively unmarked, he was dressed in a set of clothes his mother had bought for him, and the bravado that had been present during their early meetings was missing. Brandon stopped when he saw Amanda. Then he crossed the distance between them and embraced her.

“Thank you for everything,” he said. “I was such an asshole.”

Amanda laughed and gently disengaged. “You certainly were, but I was pretty certain you were innocent so I didn't let that bother me.”

Brandon followed Amanda into the elevator. When the doors opened, Sarah Hartmann was waiting for them. Brandon didn't see her right away. He walked out of the elevator, stopped in mid-stride, and stared at his mother. Sarah stared back, nervous, unsure how her son would react to seeing her.

Brandon rushed over and embraced her. “Forgive me, Mom,” he said.

Sarah squeezed him to her. “There's nothing to forgive. You're my son and I love you.”

Amanda stayed out of the way and watched the reunion with a huge smile on her face.

“If it isn't the amazing Miss Jaffe,” Mike Greene said with a wide smile when Amanda let herself into the condo. “Two death cases dismissed in one day. That's got to be a record.”

“You heard?” Amanda said, blushing.

“It's the only thing anyone was talking about at the courthouse. Congratulations.”

“It has been a very good day. Tom and Brandon are free men, and Brandon and his mother have reconciled.”

“And you earned two fat retainers without having to go to trial.”

“True, but no amount of money could match the feeling of seeing Tom walk out of the courtroom, Brandon hugging his mother, and Greg Nowicki being marched out of court in handcuffs.”

“What's Tom Beatty going to do?”

Amanda's smile vanished. “That's a good question. He's got
PTSD, and he killed four men and tortured another. That's been a huge burden for him to bear, even if everything he did was justified. He's talking with Dr. Fisher, and I hope that helps. I told him I would help him get another job when he's ready.”

“You hungry?” Mike asked.

“Always,” Amanda replied.

“I thought you might like to celebrate, so I made a reservation at your favorite restaurant.”

Amanda placed her palm on Mike's cheek. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“I guess I'm just a sucker for bossy, irritating women.”

Dinner was fabulous, the sex that night was great, and it should have been one of the best days of her life. But it wasn't, because Amanda woke up in the middle of the night and remembered where she'd first seen Brandon Masterson before she'd met him in the county jail.

Amanda swam hard. She swam until each stroke was agony and each breath an ordeal. She swam so hard that all she could think about was survival. She pushed herself to the limit so she wouldn't have to think about her talk with Dr. William Cameron, a former state medical examiner. And swimming hard worked until she stopped. Then she couldn't stop thinking about what Dr. Cameron had said.

Amanda was desperate to talk to someone about her suspicions. While she showered and dressed she ran down the short list of people in whom she could confide. She couldn't use Mike as a sounding board because he would have a duty to reopen Brandon's case if she told him what she suspected. Kate was too involved in Brandon's case to be objective. What she needed was someone who knew very little about
State v. Masterson
and could look at it with fresh eyes. And there was one obvious choice.

When Amanda's mother had died in childbirth, Frank Jaffe was totally unprepared to raise a little girl, but he'd put every ounce of
energy he had into the job. Amanda's mother, Samantha, had done all the cooking while they were married, so one thing Frank had to learn was how to cook so he could feed himself and his daughter. For most of her life, Amanda accepted the fact that her dad was a barely adequate chef. Nevertheless, since returning to Portland, she'd made a point of having dinner with her father several times each month. Starting roughly a year ago, Frank, inspired by the Food Channel, had started experimenting. As luck would have it, her father had invited her to his house this evening for an Italian dinner.

Amanda parked in the driveway of her father's green, steep-roofed Eastlake Victorian a little after six thirty. Dinner was almost ready, so she sipped a glass of Chianti while Frank finished setting the table. Frank's minestrone soup and spaghetti carbonara were excellent, and Amanda stuck to small talk while she ate. The night was balmy, so they carried their coffee onto the back porch.

“I've got a serious problem, Dad,” Amanda said.

“What's wrong?”

“I think Brandon Masterson may have killed his father.”

“What?”

Amanda spent the next half hour telling Frank about the evidence in Dale Masterson's homicide. Then she told him what was worrying her.

“When I read the autopsy report in Dale Masterson's case, I was struck by the similarity between the way he was beaten to death and the way Christine Larson was murdered. I was so struck by the similarities that I reread Christine's autopsy report. I thought that Masterson's killer must have had access to Christine's autopsy report. Then I remembered there was another opportunity for the killer to have learned about Christine's injuries.
Larry Frederick showed Judge Chang a graphic picture of Christine's face and read pertinent parts of the autopsy when he argued against bail.”

“What does that have to do with Brandon Masterson?”

“The first time I met Brandon, I thought I'd seen him before. Last night, I remembered where. There was a heavily bearded man sitting in the back of the courtroom during the hearing on the motions in Tom's case. I didn't give any thought to him while I was in court, but yesterday I realized that Brandon was that man. After seeing Christine's photograph and hearing the details of her beating, he would have known how to duplicate the injuries Christine suffered when he killed his father.”

“Why would he come to the motions?”

“The only theory I've been able to come up with is that Christine's murder gave him the idea of killing his father and setting it up to look like Christine's killer was responsible.”

“That's a stretch.”

“I know, but Brandon is smart. Maybe way smarter than anyone thinks.”

“Didn't you tell me that everyone concluded that Brandon would never be able to defeat his father in a fight?” Frank said.

“That's true, if the fight was fair. I scanned Masterson's autopsy report and his crime scene pictures to Bill Cameron. There was a depressed skull fracture on the back of Masterson's head. It was just above the knot of bone above his neck. Bill told me that a person like Brandon could knock out someone like his father if he struck a hard enough blow to the back of the head with a blunt object. The victim would be stunned or unconscious, and the killer would have no trouble finishing him off.”

“But what about the blood spatter and lack of marks on Brandon's knuckles?” Frank asked.

“If Brandon planned the murder, he would bring gloves. Let's say he lets himself in with his key. Maybe he catches his father by surprise. Maybe they argue and Dale turns his back on Brandon. Brandon strikes and Dale goes down. Brandon uses a blunt object—a paperweight, a rock. Then he beats Dale to death with his gloved hands. There's some blood spatter, so Brandon covers it with more of his father's blood to make it look like it was smeared on and not the result of spatter. Then he kneels in the blood, knowing a forensic expert will conclude that the blood on his pants was inconsistent with spatter from a wound.”

“That's an awful lot of maybes. And why would he confess?”

“The den looks out at the front of the house. What if he saw Veronica driving up and knew she'd see him. So he confesses, but does his crazy act and hopes he'll get a lawyer smart enough to have a forensic expert examine the blood if the state's expert doesn't draw the conclusion that the blood on his clothes wasn't the result of blood that spattered while his father was being beaten to death.

“His plan was perfect. As soon as anyone heard that Dale had been beaten to death, they looked at Brandon with his string-bean arms and sunken chest and thought, ‘No way could he have defeated an ex-wrestler and football player in a fight.'”

“I don't know, Amanda. Brandon's plan hinged on Tom's being set free.”

“Which became a real possibility when he heard the judge's reaction to my motion to suppress.”

Frank thought over what Amanda had said. Then he looked at his daughter.

“What are you going to do with this? He's your client. You can't tell the cops.”

“I know. And it is just guesswork. But no one else confessed to killing Dale. Veronica Masterson and Mark Hamilton deny they had anything to do with it. Hamilton told Larry Frederick that he thought Reginald Kiner was behind the murder, but he also said that Kiner never told him he was involved. Tom was polygraphed, and we know he's innocent.”

“Let's assume you're right,” Frank said. “Dale Masterson arranged to have Christine killed and he and Mark Hamilton used Kiner to commit other crimes. Dale was a very bad person.”

“So you're saying I should forget this?”

Frank shrugged. “You really don't have a choice. But you can look at it this way: Is letting Brandon walk any different from winning an acquittal for a client you know is guilty?”

Amanda was quiet. Then she sighed. “You're right. I have to let this go. It's just . . .”

“You
think
you want to know if you're right, but you really don't. Let it drop. Enjoy your victories. Tom is innocent and he's free and Brandon . . .” Frank shrugged. “If he's guilty, justice was served when Masterson died. If he's innocent, you saved him. You're never going to know unless you confront Brandon, and you have no reason—other than curiosity—to do that. Let sleeping dogs lie. There's no reason to wake them up.”

Frank and Amanda dropped the subject and turned the conversation to more pleasant topics. Amanda put up a good front, but she brooded all the way home. In the end, she decided that her father was right. Dale Masterson was evil and Brandon might very well be innocent. And he was her client, so the only purpose
that would be served by pursuing this question would be the satisfaction of her curiosity.

After a fitful night, Amanda drove to the office and worked on a brief that she was filing in an assault case. Then she read the investigative reports in a rape case. Later that day a new client hired her and provided her with another distraction. By the time she went home, she had forgotten about Brandon Masterson—almost.