October Snow (48 page)

The media were going insane over this one. According to them, it was alleged–because it was always quite properly alleged–that Seever believed that Josilyn Kane was hiding his girlfriend, who was pregnant with his child. When she wouldn’t reveal his girlfriend’s location, he killed her. They hadn’t caught on to the abortion aspect of it yet.

Of course, Jack had told him about the abortion, and about the Kane woman taunting him; but even if true, that wasn’t going to make for much of a defense.

He shrugged to himself. It would be a circus for a few more days, and then Josilyn Kane would be tossed on the old-news pile with all the others. This stuff happened all the time. What Steven Patch really wanted to do was to get some kind of a deal–because obviously, the case couldn’t go to trial, with the guy being as guilty as sin–and get on with his day.

Marianne Armor was standing in the doorway to her office. “Steve,” her smile was frosty, “come in.”

“Good morning, Marianne. Tough times, huh?”

“For Josie Kane, absolutely.” She sat at her desk, motioning to the chair across from her. “For me? I’ve never had such a slam-dunk death penalty case land in front of me before.”

He was stunned. “Death penalty? This wasn’t a capital offense, Marianne. It doesn’t fit the statute.”

“Oh, but it does. I have a witness who spotted your client dragging a blonde woman by her neck across his back yard. Then, said blonde woman winds up murdered in his front yard. I think that satisfies RSA six-thirty for kidnapping, don’t you?”

He hadn’t thought of that. “Do you have the autopsy results?”

“Got them right here.” With an expression of disgust, she opened the folder. “We’ll just hit the highlights. Twelve stab wounds, eight of those shallow incisions.” She looked over her glasses at him. “Five of those indicate he twisted the damn knife. In other words, he
played
with her, Steve.” She looked back to the report. “The other four were…One to her left side, one to her lower right abdomen, and two to her back.” She sighed. “Her back. From the blood pattern, and the trajectory, they were both on their feet for those.” She closed the folder and slid it across the desk to him. “He stabbed her in the back as she was trying to get away.”

He studied the coroner’s diagram, his face slack with revulsion. “But none of these were imminently mortal.”

“No. She bled to death on his front lawn. Nice and slow, while he twisted the knife inside her.” She tossed her glasses onto her desk. “I have eleven witnesses from the bar where she first encountered him that night, ready to testify that she ran out of there terrified, and that he was screaming and cussing at her as he chased her out. He was angry enough that the bartender called the police, fearing for her safety.” She smirked. “Rightfully so.”

Steve was nodding thoughtfully, listening. It was worse than he had initially believed, far worse. Jack had left out a lot of the details.

“DNA isn’t back yet, but I would hazard a guess that the chunks of skin under her nails will match your client, especially as he’s sporting quite the scratches on the left side of his face–although DNA is something of a redundancy here, because Seever is now the star of his own dashcam video.”

She watched him shift uncomfortably, still studying the coroner’s report. “Guilt is
not
an issue here, Steve. Combine all this with the fact that he was screaming about what amounts to revenge for an abortion that his ex-girlfriend supposedly had, that he believed Josilyn Kane facilitated, and good luck finding a jury that lets him walk. Or even
live
.”

He looked up. “Supposedly?”

“His ex remains pregnant. There
was
no abortion–just the paranoid rantings of a misogynist.” She began to pale as she added, “Beyond the fact that he’s been immortalized by the dashcam, several people heard him screaming at her, ‘How does it feel to be aborted, bitch?’ When you see him, thank him for giving me the last line of my closing.”

He felt as if someone had punched him. He remembered his smugness, his pride at getting Seever off the hook.

As if reading his mind, she said, “What the hell was this guy doing out there, anyway?” She leaned forward, forcing him to look at her. “You wanted to be known as The Great Liberator. You get lots of extra clients when you earn that rep. And me?” She leaned closer. “I didn’t feel like going up against Schultz and his mollycoddling, tender mercies toward batterers–which
everyone
knows the basis of. He can’t be removed for anything he’s done to date, but he
can
be watched. And trust me when I tell you, he will be.” She sat back again. “Off the record for a minute?”

He nodded.

“What Schultz does–how extreme he can be in his biases–sometimes it makes me think, anyone else who facilitated like he does would go up on felony murder.” Frowning as she studied her notes, she asked, “Are you representing on the issue with the ex-girlfriend and the baby?”

“No. I referred him to Mickey Demares.”

“Terrific. Good job. Another candidate for incitement. I have to wonder how many women and children have been destroyed by what that guy does. Not to mention, what kind of rage he filled Jack Seever’s head with. One of my first cases as an ADA was May Walker’s murder, and wouldn’t you know it, her abusive husband was a client of Mick Demares.” She picked up a pen, tapping it on her hand. “Josilyn Kane was her advocate, come to think of it.”

“Didn’t her husband get off with manslaughter?”

“I was new then, playing ball. I’ve learned a few things since.” She pointed to a file cabinet across the room. “We’re averaging more than one homicide a month just this year from pissed-off exes, and I don’t know
how
many serious assaults, rapes, stalking…I think I’d like to research how many of these cases come from the clients of these father’s rights lawyers.” She raised her eyebrows as a thought occurred to her, and scribbled something on her pad. “You know that Mick will go for some kind of jailhouse-visitation agreement, when the fact is, your client needs his rights terminated. Let’s hope it doesn’t become an issue–the ex-girlfriend is married now to the father of her son.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead for a moment as she set the pad aside. “But, back to it. About your client.” She stared at him with her arms folded, waiting.

He knew he had an obligation to try, and he despised it. “I was going to suggest manslaughter.”

She was aghast. “Under what theory?”

“Diminished capacity.”

She held up her hand as he was about to continue. “Forget it. Sergeant Derosa’s dashcam was on your client from the moment he and Maxine Allen got there. Seever looks like he’s firing on all cylinders.” She leaned forward again. “Josie Kane was on the ground, ninety-five percent dead, and–
on tape
–he drops the knife and then
kicks her in the face
.”

He visibly flinched. Seever hadn’t mentioned that, either. “I get it. Let’s talk second degree.”

She sighed impatiently. “I’m going to bottom-line you. Fast-track this one with me, and I’ll sell first degree, if for no other reason than to spare Josie Kane’s loved ones. Avoid a media circus, let them go on with whatever lives they can make after something like this. But that’s
it
. Take it to trial, and I’m going for capital murder.” She held the folder up. “Look at the facts, Steve. I’ll win.” She tossed it down on her desk, and waited.

“One more offer.”

She folded her arms again.

“He won’t agree to first, because he’ll never get out. Believe me, he’ll take it to trial, because he’d rather die than be confined with no hope of ever getting out.”

“Where’s the part I care about?”

“Write it up with a thirty-year sentence. I can sell that–he’ll have hope of seeing the outside again. And include with it a termination of his parental rights. To save his own skin? He’ll sign it.”

She started to speak, then a smile spread slowly across her face.

“Let’s do something more than justice here, Marianne. Let’s make the things that we can,
right
.” He held his breath for a moment while she considered it.

“Tell him he’d better grab it now.
Today
. I get the slightest pressure from upstairs, and we go to trial. Those are the options.”

He was relieved to have it resolved, to be able to rid himself of Jack Seever. And maybe, make even the slightest of amends; but one of the most satisfying aspects of the situation would happen in the next half-hour. He would tell Seever that no abortion ever took place. “Write it up. I’ll tell him.”

John stood over his sleeping brother. It was starting to concern him, that Matt was sleeping so much. Too much.

“Matt.” He shook him gently. “Come on, Matt, wake up. We have to go soon.”

“Five more minutes,” he moaned, rolling over to face the wall.

“You’ve had twenty minutes worth of five more minutes.”

Matt rolled back again, his arm over his eyes. “I can’t do this, bro.”

“We have to.” He stood, holding his hand out.

Matt moved his arm over his head, staring at him. “Okay. I’m awake.” He pushed John’s hand away.

“I’ll go make us some breakfast. Hurry up.”

There was a knock at the door as he got to the bottom of the stairs. He opened it to find his father and Shelly standing there.

“Good morning,” they said in unison, and it struck John as being a little too perky for what the circumstances were.

“Good morning. I’m flat-out at the moment. What do you want?”

“We’ve been calling you. How have you been?” Keith touched his shoulder awkwardly, and John stepped back.

“Great. Hey, it’s a nice day out. You know, they’re reading Mom’s will today. How’s about after, we go golfing?”

In the voice that had once terrified his sons, Keith said, “There’s no need for sarcasm, John.”

It didn’t have the intended effect. John found himself studying his father, noticing–where he hadn’t before–that he was getting old.

For a few moments, he wanted to retaliate for the harshness of the tone his father had just used. Maybe take a swing at him, but the idea quickly lost its appeal. John wanted to hate him, but there was something so synthetic about him–about his new wife, as well–that he thought it to be akin to hating a character on TV.

He remembered what his mother had said a thousand times:
Don’t let it into your heart, Johnny. If you can hate anyone, then you can hate everyone.

Something inside him shifted from the desire to hate to a gut-wrenching pity. It occurred to him that the contempt his father and Shelly had for his mother–the loathing for her that they had tried so hard to pass on to her sons–was the rotting glue that held them together.

His stomach was churning again, like it had for days, thinking about the easygoing laughter he and Matt used to share with their mom. In a more gentle voice, he said, “I really do have to get going.”

“We thought we might take you and Matt to breakfast.” Shelly smiled broadly. For the first time, John understood how she could do so–and the compassion he felt, although still just a seed that his mother had planted, was authentic.

“No, Shelly. We really do have to go. But thanks.”

Her face turned hard. “Then we want to see Matt.” She was instantly demanding, her face petulant. “I understand that Josilyn died some kind of a martyr, but I really don’t think it’s fair for that to come between you boys and your father.”

John gaped at her, not fully comprehending the fact that she had spoken those words. He looked at his father, who was nodding his agreement, his expression that of someone who had just been greatly insulted.

“Okay. Here I am.”

John turned to see Matt standing on the stairs behind him.

He sauntered down the last several steps, his face crimson with what appeared to be rage. As he stood beside his brother, John put a hand on his shoulder.

“Matt, it’s okay…”

“It is? Really?” He pushed John aside, then grabbed his father by the lapels of his jacket. Shelly gasped and backed up a few steps.

He brought Keith’s face within an inch of his own, speaking so softly that John had to strain to hear him. “Too bad she’s being cremated, Dad. You and your bride won’t be able to piss on her grave.” He shook him hard. “Or dig her up and lecture her one more time on being a better
Christian
.”

Keith seemed, at the same time, both hostile and petrified. John was shocked by the hatred on his father’s face.

It didn’t seem to affect Matt. “Because of you and your bitch, Mom died thinking we didn’t care anymore. When you live with that fact in the same way that
we
will, let me know.” He let him go with a hard shove. “Now get her the hell out of here before I say what I really think of your
wife
.” He backed away then, and with his hand on the door, “Pray on
that
for a while.”

He slammed the front door; after a moment, he turned to look at John, breathing hard, trying to regain control.

“Matt…” He needed to say something that would reach him.

“Leave me alone.”

“Let me say this.”

He didn’t answer, and John took it as an opening.