High Country Fall (13 page)
“Hell, half the people in Lafayette County have fought with him!”
“Then your attorney will undoubtedly depose them and present that as part of her argument when it goes to trial,” I said, sipping my coffee with more calmness than I felt.
Tension was building in the room, and the others looked uneasy.
“If you were still a lawyer,” said June, “could you have gotten him off?”
I considered everything I’d heard yesterday. “Given the circumstantial evidence and lack of a more viable suspect, he would have still had to stand trial, but yes, I can see all sorts of issues that could raise enough reasonable doubt to ensure a not-guilty verdict.”
“Then you
don’t
think Danny did it!” May exclaimed.
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”
“See?” Freeman said, looking around the table with a fatalistic air. “The baby’s going to grow up thinking I killed its grandfather.”
“Oh, it is not!” snapped June.
“No, he’s right,” said Duc, already sounding like a psychologist. “It’s human nature. They don’t find out who really used that hammer, then even if Danny’s lawyer gets him off, people are always going to wonder.”
Freeman nodded. “I don’t want my kids looking at me the way O.J.’s kids must look at him.”
“It’s a mess,” Gary agreed. “The police think they have their man, so they’re not going to look for anybody else unless you do get off. And even then . . .”
“You mean they’re not still investigating?” May asked indignantly.
She and June fixed me with accusing eyes, as I lifted the last forkful of Granny K’s baked toast to my lips.
“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I have absolutely no connection with the sheriff’s department here.”
“You couldn’t get Dwight to give ’em a nudge?” asked June.
“Sorry. He wasn’t even sure who the sheriff of Lafayette County is.”
“But somebody should be working on this,” May protested.
“Ms. Delorey said I ought to hire a private detective,” said Freeman, “but my mom’s already taken out a second mortgage for her retainer and—”
“You reckon
we
could do it?” asked June.
“Chip in for a detective?” May said.
“No, I mean do some investigating ourselves.”
I about strangled on my coffee.
“What?”
“Well, why not?” she asked stubbornly. “Between us all, we know a lot of people here in town.”
“We might could ask around,” May said, falling in with her twin’s suggestion.
“—get Carla and Trish to tell us who had it in for their dad—”
“—check their alibis—”
“Duc volunteers at his geriatrics clinic once a week—”
“Well, yeah,” said that young man, “but—”
By now the twins were picking up steam and they rolled right over his objections.
“Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “This is too serious for you guys to start playing Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys.”
“We wouldn’t be playing,” said June.
“And if we did hear anything, we’d tell Danny’s lawyer right away. Let her handle it.”
Gary looked interested and said to me, “I think it’s cool you’re a judge. Most killers that show up in your court, what did they kill for?”
“I’m not that kind of a judge,” I said. “The only time an accused killer comes to district court here in North Carolina is for a first appearance or probable cause hearing. The actual trials are in superior court. Mostly, though, it’s either a drug deal gone bad or a domestic situation that gets out of hand or when somebody gets dissed and loses his temper.”
“But what about something like Dr. Ledwig? When it isn’t domestic or drugs?”
“In law, we usually ask
cui bono
? Who benefits?”
Gary had heard the term. “Like Carla’s mother?”
“Or Carla and Trish?” asked May.
“That too,” I told them. “But there are benefits other than inheritance. Was he gouging somebody for a lot of money, for instance? Was he planning to block someone from
making
a lot of money? Did he know something that someone didn’t want made public? In other words, whose life is going to be easier with him out of the way?”
“Not Carla’s,” Freeman said promptly, “and not mine either. Once I get my degree next spring, we can make it on our own. Besides, Carla loved him and I think he really loved her. Yeah, he was freaked about us once he heard I had black blood, but she says he would have come around. She never saw any sign that he was a bigot when she was growing up.”
He saw my skeptical look. “Yeah, yeah, I know. A lot of people can talk the talk till it affects them personally. But this was a guy who always voted a straight Demo-cratic ticket and didn’t care who knew it.”
Since Lafayette County has gone Republican every election since Eisenhower, he had a point. It takes a committed liberal to swim against the strong tide of conservatism out here.
“Listen,” I said to the twins, “if it makes y’all feel like you’re doing something constructive to ask questions while you’re out and about between your classes and your jobs, fine. But would you please remember that it’s not as clear-cut as television cop shows make it seem? People aren’t going to roll over for you just because you ask nicely, and you could be putting yourselves in danger. Whoever hit Ledwig probably didn’t mean to and probably regretted it the instant it was done, but all the same, it’s somebody who gets violent on impulse, so no one-on-one confrontations in lonely places, okay?”
“Okay,” they promised.
As I went out the door, June said, “See, Danny? I told you she doesn’t think you did it.”
If only it were that simple, I thought. Clearly the twins and those other two boys thought Freeman was innocent, and he was certainly giving off innocent vibes. But I’ve seen too many people who, in the heat of the moment, have done things so bad that they’ve gone into instant denial—
Only a monster could do this. I am not a monster. Ergo, I did not do this
.
Was that Danny Freeman?
Thank God I don’t have to make life-and-death judgments. Give me the speeders, the shoplifters, the druggies, the check kiters, the shoving matches, the DWIs any day of the week.
Riding up to the Ashes’ party with Billy Ed Johnson last night must have inoculated me—that or realizing that I was later getting out of the condo than I’d planned and would have to jog down those steps if I wanted to get to court on time. Whatever, I threw my robe onto the front seat of my car, slid my laptop in on top of it, and brushed a handful of bright yellow leaves from my windshield. Then, gearing the engine to its lowest setting so that I wouldn’t have to stand on the brakes, I eased my car down that long steep drive.
As is often the case when I make myself do something I dread, the reality wasn’t anywhere near what my imagination had painted. I did not pass out with vertigo, I did not flip ass-over-teakettle, I did not burn out my brakes. A few prosaic minutes later, I successfully turned into the courthouse drive-through. Someone else had parked in Judge Rawlings’s space, though, and I had to drive on down a ramp to the visitors’ lot and enter through the lower level, where the sheriff’s office and jail were.
“Judge Knott, is it?” asked the lawman in plain clothes who held the door for me as I approached.
I looked at him more closely. Late thirties, slim build, about five-ten, brown hair, a gray corduroy sports jacket that didn’t quite hide the gun on his belt. “Have we met?”
“No, ma’am. I’m with the detective squad here. George Underwood. Major Bryant told me to keep an eye out for you.”
An unexpected spurt of happiness suddenly bubbled up inside. “You know Dwight?”
“Well, I can’t say as I really
know
him. I think we might’ve met at one of the training sessions down in the Raleigh area. He and a good buddy of mine are friends, though, and Jack must’ve told him I work up here. Anyhow, he called to say hey and to tell me you were holding court in Cedar Gap this week. Guess he wanted some boots on the ground in case you needed anything.” He grinned. “Or something like that.”
“Or something like that,” I agreed, smiling back.
“Anything I can do for you, you just let me know.”
I assured Detective Underwood—“Call me George”—that I certainly would, and for starters had him point me toward the elevator.
Mary Kay was just bringing a fresh carafe of coffee when I got to Judge Rawlings’s office. I still had about fifteen minutes before court convened, and I used it to call Dwight.
There was a time when learning he’d phoned someone like Underwood would have annoyed the hell out of me. Today, for some reason, it only amused me. Amused me, but also gave me an strange sensation I couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t like feeling protected, exactly . . . more like cherished.
Cherished?
I’ve been loved a time or two, and guys have brought me flowers and candy and even an occasional piece of jewelry, but cherished? I found myself remembering something Minnie once told me when we were talking about romantic gestures.
“Your brother Seth’s not one for mushy talk,” she said, “and he might forget my birthday or our anniversary, but I’ve never once left the yard to drive somewhere overnight that he hasn’t checked the oil and fluid levels in my car. In all these years we’ve been married, I’ve never had a radiator belt break on me or had to change the wipers or pushed the washer lever and found it empty. And you know something, Deborah? I must not be very romantic either, because that means more to me than any big bunch of roses.”
The phone rang twice.
“Bryant here.”
“Hey,” I said.
“Deb’rah? Well, hey yourself, shug. I got your e-mail and just sat down to write you back. How’s it going?”
“I met your friend George a few minutes ago.”
“Oh?” From the wary tone of that one syllable, I knew he thought I was fixing to chew his hide.
“You checking up on me?”
He heard the laughter in my voice and relaxed with a warm chuckle of his own. “The eyes of a lawman are everywhere.”
“No escape?”
“No point in even trying.”
“So how are things down in the flatlands?”
“Same as when you left. Let’s see now . . . Mama and I had Sunday dinner with Rob and Kate, then your dad and I aggravated some bass right before dark. Let ’em all go, though. And yesterday we set a few roadblocks around Widdington.”
“Because of the increased drug activity they’ve had lately?”
“Yeah. It was the usual DWIs and expired licenses, but we did pick up a few ounces of this and that. Caught one guy with eighty thousand dollars in his trunk.”
“And of course he didn’t have the least little clue as to how it got there, right?”
“And since he said it wasn’t his, we took it off his hands,” Dwight agreed. “Maybe it’ll buy a new school bus or two on down the line. Everything going okay up yonder in the hills? Seen much of your cousins?”
“Late and soon,” I said and told him about yesterday’s probable cause hearing, the twins’ partisan defense of Danny Freeman, his unexpected presence at breakfast this morning, and how they hoped to uncover other suspects.
“You’re not getting involved, are you?” he asked with a touch of his old bossiness.
“Don’t worry. It’s absolutely nothing to do with me.”
An attorney from yesterday’s court appeared in the doorway with an order that needed a judge’s signature, so I told Dwight I’d see him Saturday morning and reached for the document.
Lucius Burke was passing in the hallway and stopped to say hello.
“Norman Osborne get home okay last night?” I asked, sliding my arms into the sleeves of my long black robe.
He shook his head. “And Sunny’s already called me twice because the sheriff doesn’t want to put out a missing persons report on him yet. I’m going down now to talk to him about it.”
I zipped up my robe. “Could I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have the whole file on the Ledwig investigation?”
He nodded.
“I was wondering about the older daughter’s alibi.”
“Carla Ledwig? What about it?”
“She has one, right?”
“I guess. I couldn’t tell you what it is off the top of my head, but I’m sure someone checked or I’d remember since it was her boyfriend who did it. Why?”
“No real reason.” I explained about the twins and how they’d said Carla Ledwig had been with them all afternoon. “I was wondering if I could read their statement since they’re my cousins.”
If my explanation sounded lame, he was kind enough not to call me on it.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll have my secretary pull it for you.”
“’Preciate it,” I told him and headed for the courtroom to try and dispense a little justice.
The first case was being called before I realized I hadn’t noticed his green eyes at all.
Lucius Burke was as good as his word. A few minutes before the morning break, a woman handed the file to Mary Kay and I took it back to chambers with me to see if I could figure out why the twins had lied about where they were.
“In the library,” May had said.
“In Carla Ledwig’s dorm room,” June had said.
I read it through twice and was even more puzzled. According to the officer who took their statement, Carla and the twins had worked in the same restaurant that afternoon. Carla was a hostess there, and her unbroken presence was confirmed not only by the twins but by several prominent-sounding customers.
Now why would they lie to me about that?
I was halfway through the pre-lunch session before the answer hit me square in the face.
TUESDAY, 9:30 A.M.
In the house at the top of Old Needham Road, Sunny Osborne paced the stone terrace outside her bedroom like a restless golden tiger.
A golden tiger tethered by a telephonic chain.
She wished that she could call Tina Ledwig or Carolyn Gimpel or any of the others whom she regularly met for tennis at the club. See if Tina was sober enough to play. Waiting had never been easy for her. She had always been a woman of impulsive physical action. She needed to be chasing after a ball, slamming it back across the net, working off the tension that had her keyed tighter than a guitar string.
