The confession, p.26
The Confession, page 26
Holt watched Valerie Stevens leave the vet’s office. As she did, he wondered what the shy dog-lover really knew about her stepfather’s death.
Trish didn’t put the chess queen in her jewelry box. Instead, she draped the chain over a knob on the case so she could continue to admire it. The look in Keith’s eyes when he gave it to her revealed what he thought about her. She needed to be honest with herself about her feelings.
As soon as she figured out what they were.
Trish turned off the lamp on her nightstand. The faint light from the moon caused the pendant to glisten. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. Keith had changed a lot since high school. If she wanted to relate to who he was now, she had to throw away the paradigms of previous perceptions. She might not have a tingly feeling of excitement when she was with him, but they shared a common faith and were able to communicate about life. Trish turned on her side so she could see the pendant once more before falling asleep.
When she awoke in the morning, her first thought wasn’t about the surprise birthday party or the chess queen pendant. Today she’d have to face Butch Clovis. She went to the kitchen for her glass of orange juice. Marge was awake and oblivious to Trish’s burden.
“Wasn’t that a grand party?” Marge asked. “And the pendant Keith bought you is stunning.”
“Yes, but you don’t ever have to do something like that again.”
“Are you kidding? I had as much fun as you did.”
“I’ll totally focus on your birthday in September—” Trish began.
“And if you make me the center of attention at a big gathering, I’ll be miserable and want to crawl back in my shell. Secondhand glory suits me a lot better.” Marge paused. “Oh, did you talk to Keith about coming over for squash casserole later this week?”
“Yes, he said Friday would be the best day for him. He’s going bass fishing on Saturday with some of his buddies. What else do you want to feed him?”
“I’ll call his mom and find out some of his favorites.”
“I’m not sure it’s smart to compete with his mom’s cooking.”
“Yeah, I never could make banana pudding like your grandma.”
Trish left Marge happily planning dinner. During the drive to work, she alternated between praying for help and worrying about what might happen if God didn’t come to her aid. There was no sign of Clovis when she arrived at the sheriff’s office, and she slipped into her cubicle. Midmorning, the detective stood beside her desk.
“I didn’t hear back from you yesterday,” Clovis growled. “Did you talk to Holt Douglas?”
Without a plan, Trish fell back on the simple, unadorned truth.
“Yes, sir, and I told him I’d like to help with his investigation. He guessed that you wanted me to do it, and I hung up on him.”
“How did my name come up?”
“He was supposed to have lunch with Detective McDermott. When I mentioned that I saw the two of you in the parking lot, he guessed what you’d asked me to do.”
Clovis swore. Trish flinched, not at the language, but at the intent behind it. Negative emotions raced across the detective’s face. Trish was in water so deep she had no hope of survival if Clovis wanted to drown her. She cast off any remaining caution.
“Do you think the sheriff should talk to Ralph Granger?” she asked.
“That thought crossed my mind,” the detective replied in a voice that was slightly less harsh. “The danger is that this could become a bigger problem in trying to control it than if I let it run its course and die on its own. There’s nothing for Douglas to find.”
“What about showing him the information you shared with Detective McDermott?”
Clovis eyed Trish suspiciously. “What information?”
“I don’t know. I’ve not seen anything except the folder that was in the closed files.”
“Keep it that way,” Clovis said. “No more snooping around or asking questions.”
“Yes, sir. What about Holt? Do you want me to call him back?”
“Not until I tell you to,” the detective said.
Clovis turned and left. Trish realized she’d been holding her breath since her last question. She began to breathe normally.
And offered up a prayer of thanks.
34
Holt began getting ready for a calendar call. He’d reviewed the list of cases the previous day and, on the surface, it appeared to be a routine morning. However, that didn’t guarantee the absence of drama. Jim stuck his head through the opening to Holt’s office.
“I’ll take care of the calendar,” the senior assistant DA said. “I’m going to try some misdemeanor cases later in the week and need to confirm the days and times with the judge and defense counsel.”
“I can do everything except—”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it covered. Since you don’t have to go to court, you may want to talk to Ralph.”
Jim disappeared before Holt could ask him why their boss wanted to see him.
Holt stepped down the hallway to Ralph Granger’s office. The DA was talking on the phone and motioned for Holt to come in and sit down.
“No, Carl,” Ralph said to the man on the other end of the call. “I’ll be there, but I can’t promise the case will be resolved at that time. These things depend a lot on the judge, and if he—”
The caller obviously interrupted Ralph, who rolled his eyes at Holt as he listened.
“I realize how many folks in Triplett County listen to you. They’re my best supporters, too. But don’t quote me on that. I don’t want anyone in Ashley County to get bent out of shape about my loyalty to my roots.”
Ralph listened again. “I can’t go to the judge directly. That would be an ex parte communication—”
The caller interrupted again. Holt could see Ralph’s face beginning to turn red.
“I’m not talking down to you,” the DA said when he had a chance to speak again. “It’s a legal term that means I can’t go to the judge in private about a case when there’s a lawyer representing the defendant. But I promise you that I will put on a full-court press with the defense lawyer and try to get this thing put to bed before your family reunion in July.”
Ralph paused. “Yes, I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Are you going to cook a whole hog?”
Holt could see the DA begin to relax.
“Okay, I’ll report back to you pronto. Thanks for the call.”
Ralph hung up the phone and looked across the table at Holt. “Do you want my job?” he asked.
Even though Ralph asked the question on the heels of a stressful conversation with a politically powerful constituent, Holt knew not to treat the DA’s words lightly.
“Never,” he said. “I don’t have any political ambitions. I enjoy what I’m doing and want to keep doing it under your regime. Who was that on the phone?”
“Carl Ligon. He’s related to more people in Triplett County than anyone else. Somebody burglarized a business owned by one of his first cousins, and Carl wants speedy justice. The defendant is only nineteen years old and stole a computer that didn’t work. They caught him with blood on his arm that matched blood in a sample they took from a broken window. It’s the boy’s third burglary offense, and he’s looking at the recidivist statute if we don’t work out a plea.”
“Does Carl want the defendant locked up for the rest of his life?”
“He doesn’t know that’s a possibility, so I think I can sell him on anything the defense lawyer convinces his client to accept. There’s no doubt the kid is looking at serious jail time. Judge Lomax will see to that.”
Holt nodded. Most outsiders didn’t realize how much of a prosecutor’s energy was devoted to managing expectations. The recidivist statute, which mandated long jail sentences for repeat felons, was a big, big stick.
“Yeah, let me know if you need me to work on it,” Holt said. “Jim said you wanted to see me.”
“Close the door.”
When Holt retook his seat, Ralph stared out the window to the right of his desk for a moment before turning toward him.
“I’m shutting down your secret investigation into Rex Meredith’s death, effective immediately,” the DA said.
Holt swallowed.
“Did you really think you could get away with something like that?” Ralph continued.
“I was trying to figure out—”
“No,” Ralph said, cutting him off with a chop of his hand. “The sheriff called and gloated about the lack of control I exercise over my staff. I had to act like I knew what you were doing and had a tight rein on you. But, Holt, if word of this leaked out, there would be a bunch of false accusations flying through the newspaper. Just like that call with Carl Ligon, all pigeons eventually come to roost on my doorstep, not yours.”
The DA was right, and Holt knew it. But the image in his mind wasn’t of a pigeon; it was of a snake.
“You’re right,” he said. “I understand.”
Ralph put his fingers together beneath his chin and eyed Holt for a moment. “You may not have political ambitions, but you know how to give a political answer. Agreeing with my assessment of the situation isn’t the same as promising to pull the plug on this. That’s what I’m asking you to do.” Ralph paused. “No, that’s what I’m telling you to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir, what?”
Holt took a breath and exhaled. He was hemmed in without any options as surely as the boy who broke the window and stole the computer.
“I’ll shut it down immediately.”
“Where’s your file? I looked in the cabinet where it should have been, and it wasn’t there.”
“In my office. I never formally reopened it.”
“Bring it to me.”
Ralph continued to keep his eyes on Holt, who shifted in his chair.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you realize how lenient I’m being with you about this, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It could have resulted in serious consequences for your career.”
Holt swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry.”
The phone on Ralph’s desk buzzed, and he picked it up. “I’ll take it,” he said, then spoke to Holt: “Close the door on your way out. I need to keep this conversation private. Get me that file.”
Holt returned to his office. He was frustrated, angry, and embarrassed. Ralph had backed him into a corner and treated him like a kid summoned to the school principal’s office. He grabbed the folder from the bottom drawer of his desk but paused in front of the copy machine. He’d promised to shut down the investigation, but he’d not committed to the destruction of everything he’d collected. Making sure Ralph’s door was still shut, he put the transcript of the 911 call in the document feeder and prepared to press the Print button.
Then he stopped.
He put the papers back in the folder. He was beaten. Ralph hadn’t left him any wiggle room. The investigation was dead and draped over a chain-link fence.
Holt had thought he was Henry. It turned out he was the snake.
35
Trish had sent written summaries of her cases to Holt the previous afternoon but received no reply. Making sure her khaki shirt was neatly tucked into her dark brown pants, she walked into the courtroom. The pendant Keith gave her was concealed beneath her shirt, and she touched it through the cloth to remind herself of how she felt when he gave it to her.
The courtroom was filling up with people. Trish spotted a woman named Maddie Dorman sitting beside a man who looked vaguely familiar. Sitting behind the prosecution table, she opened the woman’s file. Stapled to the right-hand side of the folder was a mug shot of the woman’s ex-husband. The man was clearly intoxicated in the photo, and there were traces of blood on his shirt from the fight that had caused his arrest, but it was the same guy. There was usually only one reason why a man like that would be sitting with his wife in the courtroom. He’d convinced her to ask the judge to give him additional time to catch up on past-due child support. Trish checked the arrearage. Based on the amount of support given by the government to the couple’s three children, it would take a lot more than a few words from his ex-wife to keep the defendant out of jail.
“Trish,” a male voice said.
It was Holt. He’d entered the courtroom through a side door while she was studying the file.
“The Meredith investigation is shut down. I was going to call and let you know, but I didn’t think you’d talk to me. Ralph found out about it and made it clear he doesn’t want a hint of what we did becoming public, especially to the newspaper.”
Trish didn’t like Holt’s use of the words “what we did.”
“Butch Clovis may already know it’s closed,” Holt continued, “but in case he doesn’t, you can tell him. Hopefully, that will get him off your back. I’m sorry for all the hassle this has caused you, and I hope we can cooperate as well on your cases in the future as we have in the past. You do a great job.”
“Thanks.”
Apologies and compliments were nice, but they didn’t change the truth. Judge Lomax entered and everyone stood. Trish watched Holt orchestrate the calendar. He didn’t act like a horrible person hiding a terrible lie.
When the case involving Maddie Dorman and her ex-husband was called, both of them came forward. Trish joined Holt in front of the judge. Often, she testified standing in place to save time. Holt swore her in and asked her to summarize the seriously delinquent status of unpaid child support for the couple’s three children.
“Judge, I’d like to say something,” Ms. Dorman said when Trish finished.
“Put her on the stand,” Judge Lomax said.
The woman took the witness stand, and Holt administered the oath.
“Before he asks me anything, I want to speak,” Ms. Dorman said, turning in the chair so she could see the judge.
“Ma’am, I have a full calendar,” the judge replied. “I’m not going to listen to long speeches that won’t have an impact on what I have to decide. Go ahead, but I’ll stop you if you get out of line.”
“Yes, sir. Mickey is behind on support, and I know the state has paid out a bunch of money so me and the kids don’t starve and so we have a roof over our heads. But he’s gotten his life turned around. He’s stopped drinking, and we’ve been to church together every Sunday for the past month. He’s living with his mama and started a new job two weeks ago. He gave me half of his first paycheck.”
“Judge,” Holt interrupted. “Child support payments have to be made through the clerk of court. Deputy Carmichael, is there any record of payment by the defendant in the past month?”
“No, and we’d ask the court to hold the defendant in contempt until such time as he—”
“The state has no objection to continuing this matter for ninety days,” Holt interrupted.
Trish’s mouth dropped open. She turned to Holt. “He’s had two years to do what he should—”
“Deputy Carmichael,” the judge said. “If you want to discuss this with Mr. Douglas, please don’t take up the court’s time doing so. I’ll put the case at the end of the calendar so the two of you can agree on the state’s position.”
Red-faced, Trish returned to her seat behind the prosecution table. Mickey and his ex-wife walked past her. Trish was sure she detected the hint of a smirk on the defendant’s face. Using jailhouse religion to reduce a sentence was one of the oldest ploys in the history of criminal proceedings. Granted, Mickey hadn’t yet gone to jail. He simply adopted the tactic to avoid being locked up in the first place. Trish fumed while Holt handled several matters in which she had no interest. At 10:30 a.m., Judge Lomax tapped his gavel on the small square block of wood on the bench before him.
“The court will be in recess for fifteen minutes. If you’ve received a subpoena, you are not excused and should be back in your seat when court resumes.”
People began moving around. Holt had his back to Trish. She leaned against the railing that separated the gallery from the area where the lawyers sat.
“Well?” she asked, clearing her throat. “Are we going to agree on the state’s position?”
Holt continued to keep his back to her for a few irritating seconds before turning around. He had a slightly sheepish look on his face.
“When Ms. Dorman explained what happened to her husband, the thought crossed my mind that maybe he’s really had a change of heart.”
“He had two years to repent,” Trish responded.
“Sometimes it takes longer than that.”
Trish eyed Holt for a moment. “And there’s more to it than words. Ask Bishop Pennington. Most of the time, genuine repentance involves action.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m going to give Mickey Dorman ninety days to prove he’s legit. If he’s not, he’s going to have a free place to stay behind bars for a while.” Holt leaned a bit closer to her. “Is it really so much extra work for you to verify that he makes his payments to the clerk’s office? If you don’t have time to do it, I can assign it to someone in my office. They’ll do it without giving me any pushback.”
Holt’s condescending tone was infuriating.
“I’ll do my job,” Trish responded crisply. “And unless you need me to stand beside you while you tell the judge what you’re going to do, I’m going to go back to the sheriff’s department.”
“You’re not under subpoena, so you’re free to leave.”
Holt turned around. Steaming, Trish marched up the aisle to the rear of the courtroom.
Holt was miffed that Trish had barely acknowledged his attempt at an apology and reconciliation. For a while he would have to be on guard around her. He didn’t want his unspoken frustration to pop out in an inappropriate comment.
Judge Lomax returned and accepted Holt’s recommendation regarding Mickey Dorman. Holt then asked the defendant and his ex-wife to remain in the courtroom. Shortly before noon he called them over to the prosecutor’s table.
“Do you know what’s going to happen if you don’t follow through with your child support obligations, including extra payment to start reducing the amount you’re behind?” Holt asked Mickey.
