Raising Cain (16 page)

The county circuit court judges were in their weekly meeting. It was a private session, closed to the public and other officials.
Every Friday they convened at five to discuss the events of the preceding days. They talked about cases and defendants, warned
of deceptive lawyer tactics, and set the agenda for the future.

“New business?” Judge Danforth inquired. He was chief judge, and he looked the part: a mane of white hair and ruddy cheeks
above a black robe.

“We’ve been receiving calls from the press about this CAIN death,” Judge Harrold said. As administrative judge, it was his
job to handle the media. “They’re asking about the investigation.”

“Refer to the State’s Attorney,” Danforth replied abruptly. “Do not comment.”

“But there’s talk about a cover-up, police involvement—”

“Let Lawson handle it,” Danforth said impatiently. “There is such a thing as separation of powers, remember? We’re judicial.
They bring us a case and we decide. The State’s Attorney is executive. He investigates. He files charges. That’s not our affair.”

“The reporters seem to think that it is.”

“It’s not,” Danforth concluded. “We say nothing, and we do nothing. This is Lawson’s baby and he has to nurse it.”

“But what if the police are involved in the crime?”

Danforth tossed his mane. “We’re judges, not prosecutors. We stay out of it, as I said. Next subject, please?”

Brownie’s house lay on a secluded farm road south of town. He’d bought the white two-story wooden building ten years before
and renovated it himself. As a bachelor he had the time and energy to devote to the project. And, like most things Brownie
tackled, the results were spectacular.

Gardner drove his car into Brownie’s driveway. Bordered by maple trees, the crushed stones curved gracefully toward the front
door. Brownie’s private auto was next to the lab van.

Gardner parked by the grape arbor that screened the walkway. The leaves were browning, and clumps of ripe fruit dangled beneath.
He and Jennifer approached, and Gardner knocked on the door.

“Hello,” Jennifer said. Gardner turned as Jennifer patted Brownie’s collie, Jasper, on the head. He wagged his tail.

“Brownie!” Gardner yelled. There was still no answer. “I’m going in,” he said, testing the door handle.

It was unlocked, so they entered. The living room was a mess. Dishes covered the coffee table, and newspapers were strewn
across the floor. There was an indentation in the couch, in line with the TV.

“Brownie?” Gardner called again.

There were two doors to the rear of the room. One led to the kitchen, the other to Brownie’s workshop. A buzzing sound was
coming from the work area.

Gardner walked to the door and quietly opened it. The room was set up like Brownie’s lab at police headquarters, packed with
test tubes, scanners, magnifiers, and electronics. Brownie was bending over a table, blowing something with a hair dryer.

“Brownie!” Gardner hollered.

The policeman jumped off his chair, dropped the dryer, and pulled a cloth over the tabletop. “Gard!”

The two men looked at each other for a moment. Then Jennifer came in.

“Hi, Brownie,” she said. He was unshaven and bleary-eyed. And he had lost weight.

“Jennifer.” Brownie was awkward, embarrassed.

“We need to talk,” Gardner declared.

Brownie ushered them into the living room and closed the door to his lab. He motioned them to sit and began picking up newspapers
and trash. Jennifer stacked dishes, while Gardner sorted magazines. On top was an issue of
Interview
.

Finally Brownie sat down. “I know why you’re here. I’m afraid things got out of hand. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t.”
Brownie lowered his eyes.

“You have something to tell me?” Gardner asked shakily.

“His rights,” Jennifer whispered.

“No.” Gardner raised a finger. “Brownie is not in custody, and I’m not interrogating him. Miranda warnings only apply to
custodial interrogation
. This is a private conversation.”

“But—” Jennifer protested. Brownie should not be allowed to incriminate himself, not even to a friend. That was in
Brownie’s
best interest.

“It’s okay,” Brownie said wearily. “I know my rights. I should, after all these years. I screwed up, man. I—”

“Hold it!” Gardner interrupted. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t speak.”

“It’s okay,” Brownie repeated. “I
know
the rules, and I’m willing to play. I didn’t kill the man. I sure as hell
wanted
to, but I didn’t do it. I
talked
to him that day. I thought he killed Daddy, and I was pissed.”

“What did you do?” Gardner asked.

“Stopped his car. Interrogated him. “

“Where?”

“Dunlop Road, outside of town.”

“What were you driving? “

“Lab van. I had set up a surveillance.”

“So you were waiting for him.”

“Yeah. I knew his schedule.”

“How did you know that?”

“One of Davis’s reports had a timetable and route map for Ruth plotted out.”

“And Dunlop Road was on it? That’s an odd location.”

“No. I talked to old Gus at the Amoco station. He’d seen Ruth heading into town earlier in the day and hadn’t seen him come
back. I decided to intercept him on Dunlop.”

“So you stopped him,” Gardner continued. “On what pretext?”

“None. I just flashed the lights, and he stopped.”

“What happened then?”

“Asked him back to the truck.”

“Asked?” Brownie just said he was “pissed.”

“
Ordered
him out of the car, brought him back to the van, stuck him in the front seat, and told him I knew he used a snake on Daddy.”

Gardner and Jennifer looked at each other. Snake?

“Daddy was terrified of snakes, enough to cause a heart attack if he had one put on him. A skin fingerprint test showed marks
on his neck that looked like scales. Ruth used snakes in his act. I put it together and made the accusation.” Brownie stopped
talking.

“There was no skin print test in the autopsy,” Gardner stated.

“Yes, there
was
. I ordered it.”

“Shit! So what happened in the van?”

“The man went nuts. Denied doing anything to Daddy, denied hurting anyone. Said he wanted to be left alone, he didn’t hate
anyone, why were people after him?”

“And then?”

“He started crying, quoting the Bible, talking nonsense.”

“What did you do then?”

“I let him go,” Brownie said.

“What about the handcuffs?” Jennifer asked. “They were on him when he died.”

Brownie rubbed his face. “They were mine. I cuffed him before I questioned him in the van. Used my extra set.”

“Why?” Gardner asked. “Was he under arrest?”

“No.”

“So you put him in cuffs, asked questions, then let him go?”

“Yeah.”

“And you removed the cuffs.”

Brownie did not reply.

“You removed the cuffs,” Gardner repeated.

“No. I left them on.”

Gardner stood up. “You released him in
handcuffs
?”

“Yeah.”

“Please, dear God, tell me why.”

Brownie shrugged. “I wanted to jack the motherfucker up. He was loosely cuffed in front. He could still drive. I just didn’t
want to make it easy for him. Let the fucker sweat for a while, find his own way out, I thought.”

“That’s not going to hack it, Brownie!” Gardner snapped. “No one’s going to believe that explanation.”

“But that’s what happened, Gard, I swear to God. I was gettin’ ready to unlock the handcuffs, and I thought, what the fuck?
Why not let him squirm? So I put the keys back in my pocket and turned him loose.”

“So what did he say?”

“He was blubbering some kind of Scripture. But he
did
go back to his car. And he
did
drive away.”

“Still locked in
your
handcuffs,” Gardner said.

“Yeah.”

Gardner looked at Jennifer. There was enough circumstantial evidence against Brownie right now to support a murder charge.
“We have to keep this to ourselves,” he said. “Until we get a lead on the killer, we have to keep this quiet.”

“I know it
looks
bad,” Brownie said.

“That’s why no one can know,” Gardner replied. “If the truth gets out of this room,
you’re dead.
“

Gardner and Jennifer were barricaded in the conference room of the State’s Attorney’s office. A battalion of reporters was
camped outside the door, and the chief prosecutor had left word that he was unavailable. Sallie Allen’s CAIN article had stirred
a national interest in Ruth, and now that the man was dead, the dominoes were falling in the rest of the news world. Every
paper and tabloid show in the country wanted a piece of the action.

“You have to say
something
,” Jennifer advised.

“I do not,” Gardner replied. “The case is under investigation, and I am under no obligation to discuss it.”

“They’re construing your silence as a cover-up. They’ve heard the rumors, and they’re looking for a public denial. If you
had nothing to hide, you would answer their questions. That’s what they’re thinking.”

Gardner swiveled his chair. “I have a right to run this case the way I want. I don’t have to answer to anybody.”

Jennifer picked up a file. “Speaking of the case,” she said, “what have you decided to do about Brownie?” Gardner had been
in a state of shock since last night, barely talking since his friend confessed.

“What do you mean,
do
?”

“We have to find Ruth’s killer, that’s first priority. But what do we do with Brownie in the meantime?”

Gardner squinted. He was still ticked that Brownie had put himself in such a dangerous situation. If the handcuffs were identified
as his, it would all be over. They’d never be able to keep that under wraps. Thank God Chief Gray was sitting on them. “We
keep him secluded while we follow other leads.”

Jennifer was studying the file. “What leads?” So far all of the circumstantial evidence pointed to Brownie.

“There must be something else the investigators came up with, some other evidence.”

Jennifer shook her head. “They didn’t find anything at the scene. No physical evidence. And we know there were no witnesses.
The cops exerted very little effort after they saw which direction it was heading.”

Gardner made an entry on his legal pad. “Then it’s up to us to get it back on track, in the
right
direction this time. Let’s look at motivation. Who, other than Brownie, had a motive to whack Ruth?”

“Someone from Blocktown?” Jennifer asked. “As a preemptive strike in response to the Sallie Allen article?”

Gardner nodded. “Possibly. There was gunfire out at the quarry. That puts everyone in Blocktown in the kill column.”

“What about Reverend Taylor?”

“He’s got the rhetoric down pat.”

“So do we include him as a suspect?”

“Yeah. Might as well.” Gardner noted his name.

“How about Fairborne? Like you said earlier, there could have been a power struggle within the church.”

Gardner added that to his list. “No question. His attitude alone makes
him
suspect.”

“Davis?”

Gardner smirked. “You heard the chief. He’s innocent.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

Gardner wrote “Frank Davis” on his pad. “He was bird-dogging Ruth, and he hates Brownie’s guts. That makes him a qualifier,
too.”

“But what would his motive be?”

Gardner put his pen to his lips. “Motive…” There was something odd about Davis, something he couldn’t pinpoint. The man was
a schemer.

“Maybe he still wants that promotion,” the prosecutor said finally.

“So there are a lot more possibilities than just Brownie.”

“Right,” Gardner answered. “Now all we need is some evidence to support the suspicions.”

“But Davis is still on the case, and the chief knows nothing about Brownie’s true involvement. Who is going to investigate,
dig out the proof?
Us
?”

Gardner was about to answer when the phone buzzed. Jennifer picked it up, listened for a moment, then recradled. “Reporters
are disrupting the office. They’re trying to interview the secretaries and law clerks. You have to stop it.”

Gardner rubbed his eyes. He’d rather wrestle alligators than go out there.

“Give them a statement,” Jennifer said. “Something pithy, noncommittal. Just get them out of there.”

Gardner stood up. He couldn’t hide forever. Sooner or later he would have to face the press.

When the door opened, the reporters swarmed. They were gathered in the waiting area and the hall outside. “Mr. Lawson! Mr.
Lawson!” they called, elbowing each other for position.

Gardner raised his hand. “Please. I have a comment to make, then I’ll have to ask you all to leave.”

“Was it a police officer?” a reporter called.

Gardner stared her down as the others thrust their microphones forward. “There’s been a lot of speculation about the Ruth
investigation,” Gardner began, “but let me assure you now that there have been
no
conclusions drawn at this point. The case is still open, and there are no suspects that I can discuss publicly. When we have
something conclusive, you will be notified. In the meantime, I have nothing further to say.”

“Is the suspect a police officer?” a reporter asked.

“Are you withholding evidence?”

“Is an officer on suspension?”

Gardner raised his hand again. “I’ve said all that I can say. Please have the courtesy to vacate my office. Thank you.”

“Mr. Lawson!” they called.

But Gardner retreated into the conference room and cut them off.

*   *   *

Outside the office, a reporter had set up for a remote broadcast. She was dressed in a silk blouse and wool skirt, her face
freshly blushed. “You’ve heard it from the man in charge, John,” she said to the camera. “’No conclusions.’ That would support
the rumors that are flying all over town. They say a police officer was involved in the death of Thomas Ruth, and the authorities
are dragging their feet because they want to protect him.”