My Sister's Grave (16 page)

to bring out the prisoners from the prison,

and them that sit in darkness

out of the prison house.

“Proper English would have been ‘those that sit in darkness,’ but I don’t question the writer,” House said. “Dan have a last name?”

The correctional officer stepped forward again. “No prolonged contact.”

House released Dan’s hand.

“O’Leary,” Tracy said.

“Dan have a tongue?”

“O’Leary,” Dan said.

“So what brings you here, Tracy and friend Dan, after all these years?”

“They found Sarah,” she said.

House arched his eyebrows. “Alive?”

“No.”

“That doesn’t help me. Though I am curious, where did they find her?”

“Not relevant at this moment,” Tracy said.

House tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “When did you become a cop?”

“What makes you think I’m a cop?”

“Oh, I don’t know, your whole demeanor, your posture, the tone of your voice, your reluctance to introduce friend Dan or provide information. I’ve had a few years to make some observations. You’ve changed too, haven’t you, Tracy?”

“I’m a detective,” she said.

House grinned. “Still hunting for your sister’s killer; any new leads you’d like to share?” He turned to Dan. “What do you think about my chances on my latest appeal, Counselor?”

At Tracy’s instruction, Dan had dressed down in blue jeans and a Boston College sweatshirt. “I’d have to review your file,” he said.

“Two for two,” House said. “Watch me go three for three. You already have, and you agree. That’s why you’re sitting here with Detective Tracy.” He looked at her. “They found your sister’s remains and something about the crime scene confirms what you and I discussed all those years ago. Someone planted evidence to frame me.”

Tracy regretted those previous visits. With the experience and training she’d received at the academy and as a patrol officer before becoming a detective, she knew she’d told House too much.

House shifted his gaze between her and Dan. “Am I getting warm?”

“Dan would like to ask you a few questions.”

“I’ll tell you what, when you’re ready to stop playing games and start talking like a normal human being instead of talking in cop speak, come back and see me.” House slid from the table.

Tracy said, “We leave and we don’t come back.”

“I leave and I don’t come back. You’re wasting my time. I have studying to do. I have finals coming up.”

Tracy stood. “Let’s go, Dan. You heard the man. He has studying to do.” She started from the table. “Maybe you can teach in here. By the time you’re done, you’d have tenure.” She got half a dozen steps before House spoke.

“Fine.”

She turned back. “Fine what?”

House bit at his lower lip. “Fine, I’ll answer attorney Dan’s questions.” He shrugged and smiled, but it looked forced. “Why not, right? Like I said, not a lot to do in here.” House sat and Tracy and Dan rejoined him at the table. “At least give me the courtesy of telling me why you came.”

“Dan has reviewed your file. Incompetence of legal counsel might be a basis for a new trial. I’m not interested in that.”

“You want to know who killed your sister,” House said. “So do I.”

“You told me once that you thought Calloway, or someone executing the search warrant, planted the earrings at your uncle’s property. Tell Dan.”

House shrugged. “How else did they get there?”

“The jury concluded you put them there,” Dan said.

“Do I look that stupid? I’d been in prison six years; why would I keep evidence that would put me back in here?”

“Why would Calloway or anyone else frame you?” Dan asked.

“Because they couldn’t find her killer, and I was the monster living in the mountains above the quaint little village, and I made people uncomfortable. They wanted to get rid of me.”

“You have any evidence to support that?”

Tracy relaxed a bit. Now that he was in his element, Dan seemed more assured, confident, and less intimidated by House or their surroundings.

“I don’t know,” House said, looking between them. “Do I?”

“They ran a DNA test on the strands of blonde hair they found in your truck,” Tracy lied. “They confirmed they belonged to Sarah. A billion-to-one odds.”

“The odds are irrelevant if someone else put them there.”

“You told Calloway you’d been out drinking and picked Sarah up and gave her a ride,” Dan said.

“I didn’t tell him anything of the sort. I wasn’t even out that night. I was asleep. I would have been pretty stupid to make up a story so easy to refute.”

“The witness says he saw your truck on the county road,” Dan said.

“Ryan Hagen,” House said with sarcasm. “The traveling auto-parts salesman. Convenient he would come forward after so much time had passed.”

“You think he lied too. Why?” Dan asked.

“Calloway needed to put my alibi into question so he could obtain the search warrants. Before Hagen, Calloway’s investigation was going nowhere.”

“But why would Hagen lie and risk criminal prosecution?”

“I don’t know, maybe to collect the ten-thousand-dollar reward being offered.”

“No evidence of that,” Dan said. Tracy had never found any proof of payment from her father to Ryan Hagen, and Hagen had denied receiving the reward at trial.

“Who was going to call him on it?” House let his question linger as he considered them both. “Who was a jury going to believe, a convicted rapist or Joe Q. Citizen? Putting me on the stand to refute it was the stupidest thing Finn could have done. It allowed them to ask me questions about my prior rape conviction.”

“What about the blood they found in your truck?” Tracy asked.

House shifted his attention to Dan. “Mine. I didn’t lie about it. I told Calloway I cut myself in the shop. I went to the truck for my smokes before I went inside.” He looked to Tracy. “And don’t insult me anymore about DNA. If they’d run a DNA test on the blood and proven it was your sister’s, you wouldn’t be sitting here. Why are you here?”

“
If
we were to get involved,” Tracy said, “you’d need to cooperate fully. If at any time I think you’re not telling the truth, we walk.”

“I’m the
only
one who told the truth about that night.” House sat back from the table. “Get involved how?”

Tracy nodded to Dan. He said, “I believe there could be new evidence, unavailable at your trial, which now raises a reasonable doubt about your guilt.”

“Such as?”

“Before I discuss specifics, I need to first know if you want my assistance.”

House studied him. “Do I want to retain you as my attorney, which would protect our conversations as privileged, and in which case Detective Tracy here would need to leave the table?”

“That’s right,” Dan said.

“First, you tell me what your intent is.”

“I’d file a motion for post-conviction relief based on the new evidence and ask for a hearing in order to present it.”

“Old Judge Lawrence still on the bench?”

“Retired,” Tracy said.

Dan said, “The papers are filed with the Court of Appeals. If they grant a hearing, I’d ask that it be presided over by a judge brought in from outside Cascade County. It would pretty much force their hand.”

“It wasn’t the judge who convicted me; a Cascade County jury did that.”

“There wouldn’t be a jury this time. We’d present the evidence directly to the judge.”

House considered the tabletop before lifting his gaze. “Would you get to put on witnesses?”

“I’d cross-examine the witnesses who testified at your first trial.”

“Yeah? Would that include that big shot Calloway? Or is he retired too?”

“He testified the first time,” Dan said.

“What’s it going to be?” Tracy said.

House closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dan looked like he wanted to say more to convince House, but Tracy shook her head to indicate he shouldn’t oversell it. When House opened his eyes, he looked at her and grinned. “Looks like it’s you and me again, Detective Tracy.”

“It was never you and me, and it never will be.”

“No? I’ve been filing appeals for nearly twenty years.” He pointed to her left hand. “No wedding ring. No tan line from a ring you removed before coming here. Narrow hips. Flat stomach. Never married. No kids. What’ve you been doing with
your
time, Detective Tracy?”

“You’ve got ten seconds to make up your mind before we walk.”

House again gave her that sick, beguiling grin. “Oh, I’ve made up my mind. In fact, I can already see it.”

“See what?”

“The looks on the faces of all those people when they see me walking the streets of Cedar Grove again.”

CHAPTER 26

V
ance Clark was wearing a baseball cap and had his head down, but Roy Calloway still recognized him, reading at a table near the back of the bar. Clark looked up when Calloway slid back the chair opposite him. “I hope they have a killer happy hour,” Calloway said. Clark had picked a bar in Pine Flat, two exits down the freeway from Cedar Grove. Calloway removed his jacket and hooked it over the back of the chair as he addressed an approaching waitress. “Johnnie Walker Black with a splash. Don’t baptize it.” He had to speak over the clatter of billiard balls and country music playing on an old-fashioned juke box.

“Wild Turkey,” Clark said, though his glass on the table was still half-full.

Calloway sat and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. Clark flipped back to the first page of what he’d been reading and slid it across the table toward him. “Shit, Vance, you going to make me put on my glasses?”

“It’s a pleading,” Clark said.

“I can see that.”

“Filed in the Court of Appeals. In re: Edmund House.”

Calloway picked the papers up. “Well, it isn’t his first appeal, and I’m sure it won’t be his last. Did you drag me all the way out here just to show me this?”

Clark adjusted the bill of his cap and sat back, drink in hand. “House didn’t file it. It was filed on his behalf.”

“He’s got an attorney?”

Clark drained his glass. The ice clinked. “I think you should put on your glasses.”

Calloway pulled them from his pocket and slipped them on, eyeballing Clark before considering the pleading.

“The law firm is along the bottom of the page, right-hand side,” Clark said.

“The Law Offices of Daniel O’Leary.” Calloway flipped through the pages. “What are the grounds?”

“New evidence not available at the time of trial and incompetence of legal counsel. But it isn’t an appeal. It’s a motion for post-conviction relief.”

“What’s the difference?”

The waitress returned and set Calloway’s drink on the table and replaced Clark’s empty glass with a full one.

Clark waited for her to depart before he explained. “If the Court of Appeals agrees, they can remand it for a hearing. House would get to introduce evidence to prove his initial trial wasn’t conducted fairly.”

“You mean a new trial?”

“It’s more of an evidentiary hearing, but if you’re asking whether he’d get to put on witnesses, the answer is yes.”

“DeAngelo seen this yet?”

“I doubt it,” Clark said. “Technically he hasn’t been House’s legal counsel for years. The proof of service doesn’t list him.”

“You talk to him about it?”

Clark shook his head. “I didn’t think it wise, with his heart condition and all. But he’s listed as a witness,
if
the Court of Appeals grants the motion. So are you.”

Calloway flipped the pages and found his name just above “Ryan P. Hagen,” second from the bottom of the list. “Does it hold water?”

“Like the Hoover Dam.” Clark slumped in his chair. “I thought you said you’d convinced her to let this go.”

“I thought I did.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “She’s never let this go, Roy. Not from the very start.”

CHAPTER 27

R
yan Hagen opened his front door and greeted Tracy with a sheepish smile. Then he acted as if he didn’t recognize her. Four years since the trial, it was possible he didn’t, but Tracy saw that moment of hesitation in his expression that indicated he remembered exactly who she was.

“Can I help you?” Hagen asked.

“Mr. Hagen, I’m Tracy Crosswhite. Sarah was my sister.”

“Yes, of course,” Hagen said, quickly resorting to his salesman’s demeanor. He shook her hand. “I’m sorry. I see so many faces in my line of work they tend to blend together. What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions,” she said.

Hagen glanced over his shoulder into the small house. It was Saturday morning, and Tracy heard what sounded like cartoons coming from a television. Hagen had testified that he was married with two young children. He stepped out onto the tiny porch, closing the door behind him. His hair, currently not held in place by hair product, fell across his forehead, and his round shape was more pronounced in a T-shirt, plaid shorts, and flip-flops. “How did you find me?”

“You gave your address at trial.”

“You remembered it?”

“I ordered the transcripts.”

Hagen’s eyes narrowed. “You ordered the transcripts? Why would you order the transcripts?”

“Mr. Hagen, I was wondering if you could tell me the television station you were watching when they ran the report on Edmund House that triggered your memory.”

Hagen crossed his arms and rested them on his stomach. The smile faded. He looked bewildered. “I didn’t say it was a report on Edmund House.”

“Sorry, I meant the report on my sister being missing. Do you remember the station? Or maybe the broadcaster?”

His brow furrowed. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

“I know it’s an inconvenience. It’s just that . . . well, I have the newscasts for that time period and—”

Hagen unfolded his arms. “You have the newscasts? Why would you have the newscasts?”

“I was just hoping you could tell me—”