An Evil Mind--A Suspense Novel (4 page)

1

Leonard Barlow was a blond-haired man in his late thirties with a round face and nearly invisible eyebrows. When Mark entered his office, the lawyer gave him a welcoming smile, then stood up and shook his hand.

To Barlow’s right on the desk was a coffee mug, which read: “Lawyer. Someone who writes a 10,000 word document and calls it a "brief."” The crystal clock that stood next to the penholder sparkled in the sunlight streaming in through the open blinds. Hanging on the wall behind the lawyer was a framed diploma from the Emory University.

“What can I do for you, Mark?” Barlow said.

“I want to talk to you about one of your clients.”

Was he supposed to despise Barlow for defending Phillips?

The guy was just doing his job.

So what? The Nazi concentration camp guards were just doing their jobs, too.

“Are you a journalist?”

“No. You represented the man who killed my daughter.”

Barlow shifted in his chair. “What’s his name?”

“Edward Phillips. He was sentenced to death last July.”

Barlow nodded. “Yes, he was. I’m sorry about your daughter. Her name was Helen, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I have a question for you. Do you think Phillips killed my daughter?”

“Why do you ask me? I’m his lawyer, remember?”

“The trial is over. You don’t have to defend him anymore.”

“Mister Phillips maintains his innocence. I believe he’s innocent.”

“But you’re not completely sure, are you?”

Barlow looked at him for a long moment and then said, “I’m his lawyer. I take him at his word.”

“Do you have any proof that he didn’t kill Helen?”

“I don’t want to sound rude, but what’s the point of this conversation?”

“I think Edward Phillips might be innocent. I was hoping you had some proof that he didn’t kill my daughter.”

“Here’s my answer. No one saw Edward Phillips kill Helen, no one saw him near the crime scene. The murder weapon was never found. This is not an open-and-shut case.”

“Did Phillips say he had an alibi?”

“No. He said he was home alone that night.”

“Did he explain how his fingerprint got on Helen’s belt buckle?”

“No, he didn’t. But the fingerprint doesn’t prove he killed her.”

“What did he say about Helen’s blood on his clothes?”

“He doesn’t know how it got there.”

“Do you have any idea how it might have gotten there?”

“Edward might have bumped into your daughter when she had a nosebleed a few hours before the murder. And maybe that’s how his fingerprint got on her belt buckle. Truth is stranger than fiction, they say.”

“I know you’re bound by the attorney-client privilege, but I really need to know the truth. Did Phillips actually tell you he didn’t know how Helen’s blood got on his clothes and how his fingerprint got on her belt buckle?”

Barlow took a sip from his mug and said, “What you’re trying to find out is if Edward confessed to me that he’d killed Helen. Here’s my answer. Edward did not make such a confession, and that’s the truth.”

“Has Phillips ever mentioned the name Sam Curtis to you?”

“No.” Barlow looked away for a moment.

People often broke eye contact when they lied. Did Barlow glance away because he was lying?

“What’s your gut feeling, Leonard? Is Phillips guilty?”

“Why do you care what I think? I could be wrong, you know. The only person who knows whether Ed Phillips is guilty or not is Ed Phillips.” Barlow looked at the clock on his desk.

“I talked to him a few days ago. In prison.”

“You visited Ed in prison?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He asked me to come.”

Barlow picked up a pen and began to roll it between his fingers. “What did you talk about?”

“He tried to convince me he was innocent.”

“That’s odd. It’s not you that he needs to convince of his innocence.”

“I agree.”

“What arguments did he present?”

“He told me about Laura Sumner. Has he ever mentioned Laura Sumner to you?”

“What did he tell you about her?”

“He said Laura and my daughter were killed by the same person.”

“I told Ed about Laura Sumner. He asked me to find a murder similar to your daughter’s, and I found the Sumner case.”

“Did you tell this theory to the police?”

“What theory?”

“That Helen and Laura were murdered by the same person?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think that’s the case.”

If Laura Sumner had been killed before the end of Edward Phillips’s trial, Barlow would surely have mentioned her murder to the jury and the Dallas police to create reasonable doubt.

“Have you contacted the detectives handling the Sumner case?” Barlow asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you tell them about your daughter’s murder?”

“Yes.”

“Do they have any leads?”

“No, they don’t.”

“I’m going to keep an eye on the Sumner case. I hope they catch the killer soon. And I’ll be very happy if he confesses to killing Helen.” Barlow put the pen on the desk. “Why did you come here, Mark? To be honest, this is a very odd conversation.”

“As I said, I thought you had some proof that Phillips didn’t kill my daughter.”

“I’m sorry I disappointed you. Why do you think Ed Phillips might be innocent?”

“If we assume that my daughter and Helen Sumner were killed by the same person, then Phillips must be innocent.”

“That’s true.” Barlow nodded. “You asked me what my gut feeling was. Ed doesn’t strike me as a murderer. He’s not an angel, he’s far from perfect, but I don’t think he killed your daughter.”

“Are you handling his appeal?”

“Yes. By the way, what did Ed tell you about Sam Curtis?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Barlow wouldn’t have asked this question if he hadn’t heard Sam Curtis’s name before today, would he? 

Mark stood up. “Thanks for answering my questions, Leonard. I’ll let you get back to work.”

2

An hour later Mark called Assistant District Attorney Frank Backus, the lead prosecutor in the Edward Phillips case, and asked for a meeting. Backus agreed to meet him next Monday.

When Mark checked his inbox at four-twenty, he saw he had a message from the bank that had issued Sam Curtis’s Visa credit card. The email contained a list of Curtis’s credit card transactions from last August. Mark ran his eye down the list and found that Curtis had made a purchase at a gas station in Austin at 4:17 p.m. on August 23. It was the only transaction that had taken place that day. No transactions had occurred on August 24.

Sam Curtis had been in Austin the day Laura Sumner had been killed.

Edward Phillips’s credibility got another boost, and a big one at that.

At five o’clock, Mark received a list of Sam Curtis’s August checking account transactions. Curtis hadn’t used his bank card on August 23 or 24, so he remained a viable suspect.

The information provided by the issuer of Curtis’s MasterCard credit card, which came half an hour later, did not clear Curtis, either: no charges had been made on the card on August 23 or 24.

When he closed his email, Mark realized he was pleased there was evidence that Sam Curtis might have murdered Laura Sumner. Perhaps it was force of habit: police detectives liked it when the tips they received proved accurate.

He decided to follow Sam Curtis for a few hours this Saturday. For some reason, he had a hunch it wouldn’t be a waste of time.

1

On Thursday morning, Mark received transaction records for three of Christopher Novak’s credit cards and one of his debit cards. There were three transactions that had taken place on August 23: the first one at a Chinese restaurant in Dallas at 5:24 p.m., the second one at a gas station in Irving at 6:04 p.m., and the third one at a grocery store in Irving at 9:11 p.m. Only one transaction had occurred on August 24: at a coffee shop in Dallas at 12:05 p.m.

Austin was about two hundred miles from Irving, so Novak could have gotten there before midnight if he had set out shortly after 9:11 p.m. 

At half past four, Mark received a call from Detective Isaac Kearns of the Garland Police Department, who was the lead detective on the Eddie’s Mini Mart case.

“I heard you found a gun used in one of my robberies,” Isaac said.

“Are you talking about the Eddie’s Mini Mart case?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I did find the gun. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you about it. I’ll send it to you today.”

“No problem. Where did you find it?”

“I got it from one of my CIs.”

“Is he the one who robbed the place?”

“No.”

“Does he know who did it?”

“No, he doesn’t. He said he found the gun in an alley in Mesquite.”

“Were there any prints on the gun?”

“Only my CI’s.”

2

When Mark’s shift was over, he headed for Christopher Novak’s place. Novak lived in a low-rise apartment complex called Stonewood Apartments. Mark parked about a hundred yards down the street from Novak’s building. The courtyard gate was locked, and Mark asked the young boy who was playing in the courtyard to open it. The boy obeyed his request.

Novak’s apartment was on the second floor. As Mark climbed the staircase, he unsnapped the safety strap on his holster. About ten seconds after he rang the bell, a man dressed in a T-shirt and underpants opened the door. He had long wavy hair that reached his shoulders. Mark recognized him. It was Christopher Novak.

He seemed like a harmless fellow.

“What do you want?” Novak asked.

A faint smell of marijuana wafted out of the apartment.

“Good evening. Are you Christopher Novak?”

“Yes.”

Mark flashed his badge and said, “I’m Detective Hinton. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?”

“Your friend Edward Phillips.”

Novak hesitated, then said, “Just a second.” He closed the door. When Novak returned, he wore sweatpants. He let Mark in, and they went into the living room.

The room was a little messy: various articles of clothing were strewn on the chairs, a few pairs of socks lay scattered on the floor by the couch, an empty pizza box, two crumpled paper bags, and five empty beer bottles stood on the coffee table.

“How close are you with Edward Phillips?” Mark asked when he sat down.

“He… He was a friend. I’m not really close with him right now.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s in prison.”

“How close were you with Edward before he went to prison?”

“As I said, he was a friend.”

“Was he your best friend?”

“I wouldn’t say so.” Novak scratched his shoulder.

“How long have you known Edward?”

“About ten years.”

“Do you keep in touch with him?”

“No.”

“Do you know why he’s in prison?”

“Yes. He killed someone.”

“You visited him in the county jail on December twentieth. What did you talk about?”

“I asked him how he was doing. He said, “Not too good.””

“What else did he say?”

“He said he was innocent.”

“Do you think he’s innocent?”

Novak shrugged. “I don’t know. I kinda want to believe that he didn’t do it.”

“You visited him again on January twenty-fourth. What did you talk about that day?”

“Ed said that he didn’t want to talk and told me to go home. He asked me not to visit him anymore.”

“Did he explain why he didn’t want you to visit him?”

“He said he was depressed.”

“Has Edward called you since January?”

“No.”

“Did you follow his trial?”

“Not really.”

“Do you know how he killed the victim?”

“He stabbed her to death with a knife.”

“Did Edward tell you that?”

“No. I read it on the Internet.”

“What did Edward tell you about the murder he was convicted of?”

“Only that he didn’t do it.”

“Did he ask you to help him with an alibi?”

“No.”

“When was the last time Edward called you from jail?”

“It was in December. I don’t remember the exact date.”

“Did he trust you?”

“I guess so.”

“Why didn’t you visit Edward after the trial?”

“Because he asked me not to visit him.”

Novak looked longingly at the muted TV.

“Where were you on the night of August twenty-third?”

“I don’t remember. It was so long ago.”

“Did you visit Austin in August?”

Novak shook his head. “No, I didn’t. What day of the week was August twenty-third?”

“Wednesday.”

Novak grabbed his cellphone from the coffee table and tapped on its screen. “I think I know where I was on that day.” He scrolled down the screen and said, “I was in Waco visiting my cousin.”

Waco was one hundred miles from Austin.

“When did you go home?”

“The next morning.”

“I need your cousin’s name, phone number, and address.”

After giving Mark the requested information, Novak said, “What are you investigating?”

“I can’t tell you that. Can I have your cell number?”

Novak told Mark his number, and he wrote it down.

“Did Edward ask you to help him prove his innocence?” Mark asked.

“No.”

“Did he ask you to kill anyone?”

“What?” Novak raised his eyebrows. “Kill?”

Mark nodded.

“No. He never asked me to kill anyone.”

“I’m going to listen to recordings of your conversations with Edward, and if it turns out that you lied to me, you’ll be charged with obstruction of justice. It’s a serious offense. You could go to jail for a year. So let me ask you again: Did Edward ask you to kill anyone?”

“No, he didn’t. I swear.”

4

Later that day, Mark called Novak’s cousin, whose name was Randy Polansky. Randy said that Novak had been in Waco from eleven p.m. on August 23 to nine a.m. on August 24. 

He thought about talking to Jeff Phillips on Friday but decided it could wait until next week.

On Friday, Mark contacted Edward Phillips’s last cellphone company and found out that Phillips had never received any text messages or calls from Sam Curtis, which meant that they hadn’t known each other before becoming cellmates.