Miscarriage Of Justice (11 page)

On Wednesday, the envelope Ethan prepared took a new direction. In his many hours of “research” at the library, he’d come across several reports on the evil effects of prison life on the average individual and the toll it takes on the mind due to the struggles and the miserable subhuman standards of living inmates were subjected to. The purpose was not an attempt to justify his own actions, that had been reconciled and forgotten long ago, but rather his aim was to force the impudent D.A. to think about what she had done, to give her a small glimpse of the tortuous misery into which she had sent him. Carefully, he addressed the envelope, once more in the unique flowing style.

Now that he quite definitely had her attention, Ethan set to work preparing the final and most ominous mailing. Using some of the leftover news articles as a guide, he drafted his own story, smiling deviously all the while. After the third rewrite, he was satisfied. Slowly, he read the story, smirking a little at his own sadistic ingenuity.

“District Attorney Found Dead In Home,” proclaimed the headline.

The story followed.

Lincoln County D.A., Mariana Clark, was found dead in her home on Sunday. The exact cause of death has not yet been released. Officials said Monday, they have not ruled out foul play. The case may be ruled a homicide, a spokesman later said.

Clark, 39, the daughter of Thomas and Julian Clark was born in Mason City, Iowa, but moved to Cedar Springs with her parents in the late Seventies. A graduate of Columbia School of Law, Clark served as Lincoln County District Attorney for sixteen years before her untimely death this past weekend. Prior to taking the position with the county, Miss Clark was a junior partner with Ashton, Rausch, and Clark - Attorneys at Law, LLC, in Lewisville.

Burning the first two drafts of his news article, Ethan set out once more for the library. Passing an office supply store on the way, on a spontaneous whim, he swung into the parking lot. Instead of raising suspicion through a continual presence on the library’s computer, why couldn’t he just buy his own? He knew certain risks were involved; namely, anything he typed would be forever preserved, and could be recovered by officials to be used against him. But, if it ever came to that there’d be plenty of evidence to convict him without examining his computer. Should Mariana ever decide she’d been through enough and tell her story, he’d be back in prison in a heartbeat. He was fervently counting on her not doing that. If she did, he decided he’d have to take more drastic measures. A second prison term was not appealing in the least.

After an hour of tediously comparing features and prices, in a seemingly endless array of choices of computers, printers, monitors, keyboards and the like, he threw up his hands in disgust, telling the salesman, “I don’t care. Just put a decent package together and tell me how much it will cost.”

It was a poor way of making a deal, but he’d had enough. Wasting time trying to make sense of their stupid system wasn’t exactly profitable either. If the price the salesman quoted was too much, he could always go somewhere else. Indulgence of sheer idiocy was not exactly in his character.

Another thirty minutes passed before they finally struck a deal. The sale complete, Ethan loaded the boxes into his car, grumbling under his breath. “If I keep spending money like this I’m going to have to find a job!”

Lugging his treasures into the hotel, and up to the tenth floor, he began having second thoughts about his spendy purchase. Inconvenient though the library may be, it was free! Then, as he excitedly opened the boxes and started connecting cables to the various components, he forgot all about the money.

The sun had set hours ago, and still Ethan sat at the table, mesmerized by the scores of programs and seemingly endless games he’d never known existed. He felt like a puppy that had just discovered bones. Suffering from an instant addiction, he would’ve played all night, but shortly after midnight, the hunger pangs convinced him it was time to take a break. Walking to the
Wagon Wheel Grill
, he ordered his usual dinner. Waiting while his food was prepared, he couldn’t help overhearing the conversation in the next booth. Two elderly couples who’d just returned from Las Vegas, had apparently enjoyed their visit, as their annoying recounting of events indicated.

“It can’t be that great,” Ethan muttered under his breath.

He finished his meal as quickly as possible, not wanting to hear any more of the sordid details. Besides, the article announcing Mariana’s death still needed to be typed.

Rambling his way home at one-thirty, Ethan pulled the “news story,” from the stack of papers on the table and began to type, another task at which he was far from proficient. His hunt and peck method though, did get the job done—eventually.

When he’d finished, he printed the short document, sealing the fabricated article in an envelope. Once more, he affixed the artistic address that had become his trademark signature. Before sealing the envelope, Ethan decided to try his hand at creating his own photos. Opening a photo-editing program, he designed a simple picture of a tombstone, adding Mariana’s name and date of birth. Then, for the final touch of realism, he inserted the date of her supposed death, a week into the future. Chuckling to himself, he printed the picture and stuffed it into the envelope.

Ethan was an impetuous creature by nature. He often abandoned the more rational approach of thinking through his actions and planning every move in favor of the spontaneous, impromptu method. In this case however, things were different. He’d had ample time to consider what he was doing and he took immense pleasure in implementing his assault. So far, things had gone according to schedule. Timing was crucial, in games, in war, and in all areas of the broad spectrum of life. So, he was quite surprised when he found himself yielding to the whimsical idea of driving to Cedar Springs right then, instead of waiting until the next morning.

The notion had struck out of the blue, and mulling it over for a moment, he could think of no logical reason to wait; other than the extemporary, spur-of-the-moment idea didn’t follow his pre-designed plan of attack. Then, realizing he’d have a chance to make a quick drive by Mariana’s house with virtually no chance of being spotted, the night run was underway.

“But no more deviations from the plan,” he admonished himself, unlocking the car door. “That’s how things go wrong and the way stupid criminals get caught.”

Driving along the highway toward Cedar Springs, he wondered if he too had become just another stupid criminal. “Maybe this is what happens to all of them,” he mused. “They start with everything well thought out, well planned, but along the way they get anxious, or bored.” Or, it could simply be they were just impatient and wanted to speed things up. Was that the case with him, he wondered? Was he too impatient? No, he finally decided. If anything, he was too focused, too rigid, and too involved. He’d planned everything so carefully, but what if he were missing the obvious? “Maybe
that
is how criminals are caught,” he mused.

As the lights of the city came into view, he slowed to below the speed limit, remembering the city police, not having any real crime to solve, used to sit at the edge of town in anticipation of unsuspecting motorists who were in too much of a hurry, particularly in the wee hours of the morning. He didn’t need to be the subject of a traffic stop, even for a minor offense. He could just imagine how that would play out, considering who the D.A. was.

Cruising through town, Ethan first dropped off his mail and then turned the car toward Mariana’s house. 1542 East Griffen Road. Having lived the better part of his life in Cedar Springs, he knew the area well. Rather than drive directly to the house, he traveled the back roads to the semi-rural neighborhood.

He met no cars as he made his way up the narrow winding road. That, he decided, was a good thing to know—for future reference. Coming to a stop sign, Ethan turned left onto Griffen Road. Mariana’s place, he estimated, should be less than a mile on the right. A few more houses than he remembered dotted the sides of the county road, but for the most part the area was still sparsely populated. Another good thing to know.

A single light burned at each of the nine homes he passed; the normal outside security light. Nothing unique or strange about that and he wouldn’t have paid much attention to it, but for the stark contrast of Mariana’s brightly illuminated property. The lights could be seen over a half-mile away, even before rounding the last corner. Chuckling, Ethan knew it had to be the D.A.’s house. The chuckling turned to full laughter as he slowly cruised past her drive. “A little scared of the dark are we?”

All the bright lights were a good sign. It meant his work was paying off.

Noting the layout of the house, garage, and a couple of small sheds, he studied the grounds. The grass was well maintained, the roses neatly trimmed and manicured, and the flowerbeds were perfect, not a single weed. The house too, was obviously well taken care of. The light blue paint with just the right lavender accent on the window, said a woman lived there. Nothing, not even a single landscaping rock, was out of place.

The lights were intended as a deterrent and may have been so to a normal individual. Ethan was not normal. At first glance, it appeared no one could get close to the house without being spotted. And yet, there were vulnerabilities. He was pleased to see the large rosebushes surrounding the house. Several magnificent elm trees cast their dark ominous shadow, almost obscuring the radiant glow emitted by the numerous floodlights. Ethan shook his head. For a District Attorney she wasn’t too smart. Eliminating possible hiding places for potential intruders would have been at the top of his list. He was willing to bet there was an alarm and probably surveillance cameras, yet he easily identified several places an intruder could conceal himself.

Making another mental note of the useful information, Ethan continued on, resisting the urge to pull into the drive. “Don’t want to frighten her unnecessarily,” he quipped. “She hasn’t received her obituary yet.”

In an unusually upbeat and lighthearted mood, Ethan returned home. Stepping from the elevator on the top floor just as morning was breaking, he methodically unlocked the door and, feeling the effects of staying up all night, collapsed onto the bed. Outside, the town was coming to life. Tires screeched, horns blared, and sirens wailed as people started their day. The noise drifted up to his hotel room, but already asleep, Ethan didn’t hear a thing.

CHAPTER NINE

Mariana’s usual Saturday routine of opening a week’s worth of mail had been abandoned with the continual arrival of the easily identifiable packages bearing her name and address in Ethan’s flowing handwriting. Sorting mail had now become a daily ritual. She found herself looking forward to each of the packages, almost eagerly. The rest of the mail, she still piled up on the desk.

The discovery of these letters had been accidental. Strictly by chance, when the first of the mailings had come two weeks before, the package from Ethan had ended up on top as she carried the mail to the house. The fancy cursive writing had caught her eye and instantly captured her curiosity. The package seemed to be begging to be opened and Mariana complied, tearing off the end of the envelope, spilling the small clippings on the kitchen table. Her natural curiosity had turned to perplexity, as one by one, she read the articles with her name highlighted by a yellow marker. Why would anyone, even Ethan, bother sending her all these stories? It made no sense. If he were trying to harass or intimidate her, this certainly wasn’t the way to go about it. Yet, she spent most of the day thinking about it.

Two days later, the next envelope arrived. Mariana spotted it immediately and opened it just as fast. The strange fascination she had already developed for the small manila envelopes with the calligraphy-styled address was baffling, but for some reason she felt increasingly compelled to see what Ethan had sent. Finding the extensive case history, a catalog of her life and her whole career as the D.A., only added more confusion to her already bewildered mind. What was the man up to?

“He needs to get a life,” she grumbled, thinking of all the time it would’ve taken to search out this much information about her. It was an eerie feeling to know he was so obsessed with her. Not only in the matter of the letters, but also the phone calls, which kept coming daily.

Abruptly then, Mariana dismissed the thought. Although it was all very creepy, the letters didn’t really present much of a threat. Neither did the phone calls. As long as Ethan’s retaliation was limited to mailing articles with her name in them and calling, frustrating though it may be, he was harmless. Peculiar and twisted, and aggravating no doubt, but harmless. The guy, who was admittedly innocent, must have emerged from prison slightly demented. Mariana couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

“Only time will tell,” she philosophically concluded.

The next Wednesday, the package holding the detailed account of Ethan’s case was delivered. Reading the short history made her cringe, not with fear, but with guilt. Just a little. She quickly recovered. The trial may have been hard on him, but callous though it may be, she had benefited immensely from it. She had no regrets. Sure, it wasn’t fair, she thought, but nothing in life is. “You gotta make the most of what comes your way,” she said. Someone had told her that long ago, though she couldn’t recall just who.

By the time the fourth package had been opened, the amusement had worn off, replaced by a growing uneasiness. Instinct, and experience, told her the man’s behavior was unhealthy, not only for Ethan, but more to the point, for her! Due to the circumstances though, she wasn’t in a position to do much about it. With grim certainty, she knew not a word of this could ever be breathed to anyone, not even to her best friend, Jessi. Yet, an increasing awareness in the back of her mind told her she would have to do something—and soon!