Raising Cain (20 page)

“I
told
you I didn’t kill the man,” Brownie said.

“I know.”

“But that’s all I can really say right now. I had my reasons for doing what I did. No sense talking about it.”

“We’re screwed either way,” Gardner said. “If we work together,we bolster King’s conspiracy case. And if we don’t, we split
the team.”

Brown smiled ironically. “The man’s a fucking genius.”

Gardner sighed in resignation.

“He’s been waiting for this a long time,” Brownie continued. “A chance to cut
both
our nuts off. Between you and me, he’s got a whole lot of scores to settle.”

“So you think this is personal.”

“Paybacks are hell, man.”

“We can’t let him do it,” Gardner said.

“You play it
your way
and I’ll play it mine.”

“We don’t share game plans?”

Brownie shook his head. “Don’t see how we can. King’s gonna watch every move we make and try to take you down, too. You know
that. Right now I’m the only dirty one. You’re
clean
. Best leave it alone.”

Gardner rumpled his hair. There had to be another way.

Brownie stood up and extended his hand. Gardner looked at it as if to say,
What’s that for?
Then he gripped it.

“Take care of yourself,” Brownie said.

There was something frightening about this, a feeling that King had finally changed the rules forever. Gardner squeezed his
friend’s hand. “You, too,” he whispered.

Kent King was back on the job early. In less than a day he’d accomplished more than the cops had managed in weeks. But then,
he was interested in solving the case. The special team was again assembled in King’s office command center, all players minus
one. Lin Song had been dispatched to Lawson’s to claim the space allocated under the appointment order. There was nothing
like getting the morning started with a bang.

“What’s the status on the car?” King asked the detectives. The cops had dropped the ball on this one. Ruth had left the compound
in his vehicle and never returned. The car would be a logical place to search for clues, but it had not turned up yet, at
least not according to the police reports. As with everything else, they had let it slip.

“At the state park,” Ace Dixon said.

“It was in the ranger’s maintenance section,” Handey Randel added, “so
allegedly
no one noticed.”

King looked up from his notes. “I assume it was not logged in at the station.” All visitors to the park were supposed to sign
in upon arrival, but the rule was seldom enforced.

“Correct,” Ace replied. “There were a couple of abandoned cars next to it, and the area is unlit.”

King was incredulous. “So no one saw a brand-new Lincoln sitting there for a week?”

“Apparently not.”

“What was its condition?” He looked at Handey.

“Clean.”

“Locked or unlocked?”

“Locked. Lights off. No accessories operating.”

“Uh-huh.” King made a note. “Keys?”

“Unaccounted for.”

“You checked the area?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about the interior? Anything of interest in the car?”

Handey pulled a plastic bag out of a carryall. “This pad was attached to one of those windshield devices.” He passed the bag
to King. “Nothing on it.”

The special prosecutor examined the small note tablet through the clear plastic. Several pages had been ripped out, but there
was no writing and no indentation of letters impressed in the paper. King handed the bag back. “What else?”

“Nothing, really. The car was
clean
, real clean, right out of the showroom.”

King turned to Ace. “A scrub job?” A clean car was as suspicious as one full of bloodstains.

“Don’t think so,” Ace answered. “
It was untouched
.” That ruled out a struggle.

King motioned to Doc Welk, his forensic man. “Did you dust for prints?”

Welk opened a large folder. “Yes.”

“How many did you lift?”

The doctor sorted through a stack of four-inch cards. On each one was a taped latent fingerprint. “Thirty-five in all. I’ll
be running the classifications and comparisons later this morning.” King had provided him with a computer and an optical scanner
linked to the law enforcement network of fingerprint files. It would not take long to match a name to each print.

“Speaking of prints,” King digressed, “what about the handcuffs?”

Doc smiled and pulled a single card from a pouch in his briefcase.

“Got one print from the cuffs.”

“Good. Who does it belong to?”

Welk put the card on the table. “Haven’t run it through yet, but it’s the first one on my list.”

“Let me know as soon as you have a hit.” He turned back to the detectives. “Great job at Brown’s last night. The shoes are
dynamite, and the files on his father’s death case are going to fill the ‘motive’ blank.”

Ace and Handey smiled at the mutual pat on the back.

King picked up a file. “Brown had been specifically ordered off the investigation of his old man’s demise. Can anyone here
tell me
why
?”

“They didn’t want him messing with Ruth,” Ace said.

King arched his eyebrows. “Now,
why
wouldn’t they want that to happen?”

“They were afraid of what he might do.”

King smiled and picked up another file with the county seal on it. “Precisely.” Inside was Brownie’s disciplinary record.
Over the years there had been fifteen charges of police brutality filed against him, all unsubstantiated. King raised the
document in the air. “Brown has a tendency to be a hothead. You put him with Ruth, and
wham
!”

“The cops knew that and tried to keep him away,” Ace said.

“Yeah,” Handey echoed. “But it obviously didn’t work.”

After another hour of evaluating evidence, King pointed to Handey.

“Did you obtain the ranger station sign-in sheet?”

Handey dropped several photostats on the table. “Right here.”

“Excellent. What about calls?”

“As soon as we get done here, Ace and I are on it.” Again, the police had been lax. The register listed every person who had
come to the park on the evening Ruth died, a list of potential witnesses.

“Run down each name and get a statement,” King said.

“Will do.”

King surveyed his team. So far, the electronics man, Morgan, had said very little. The special prosecutor nodded at him. “So
what are our chickens up to?”

“They’re busy,” the wire expert said. “Lawson keeps calling Brown.”

King smirked. “Lawson and Brown, the ‘righteous’ brothers. It figures they’d increase communication about now. But it’s not
going to do them any good. You all get back to work.” He dismissed the troops, closed the door, and picked up the phone. Soon
he had Betty Harrison of the circuit court clerk’s office on the line. “Betty, Kent King. How soon can you bring in the grand
jury?”

“How soon do you need them?”

“Tomorrow, or the day after.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Fine,” King replied. “We’re preparing the indictment now.”

Gardner had planned to go right to his office after meeting Brownie, but he was sidetracked by a call from Granville’s school.
The boy had been injured on the playground. They’d tried to call his mother, but she was out. Did Gardner want to come and
pick him up? Despite the fact the child lived with his mom, Gardner, it seemed, always received the call. And he always answered.

Sixth-graders are rambunctious. They run with abandon, and sometimes they get hurt. Granville had chased a classmate around
the building and bumped his head on a wooden swingset frame.

“It’s not serious,” the school nurse had said. “Cold compresses have brought the swelling down, and he won’t need stitches.”
Granville smiled guiltily and followed his dad out to the car. It hurt too much to stay in school.

“Better?” Gardner asked as they drove toward town. Granville had a pretty hard head. He’d taken quite a few bumps and survived.

“Yeah,” Granville replied.

“Yes,” Gardner gently corrected.

“Yes.”

“You want to go home?” They’d finally located his mother, and she was waiting for him at the house.

“Now?”

“Mom’s waiting.”

“Can we stop by Chico’s first?”

Gardner looked at his son. He’d lowered the compress from his temple.

“I thought you were hurt.” Chico’s was a restaurant that featured a video game room. Granville’s crowd loved it.

“I’m better,” the boy answered.

Gardner had a lot on his mind. How could he justify Chico’s?

“Can we?” Granville asked.

Gardner thought about it again, then clicked his turn signal. “Why not?”

Granville had all but forgotten his head. He was ten dollars into the machines and back for more. “Sit down a minute,” Gardner
said. “Take a break.”

Granville flopped himself into a chair.

“Who’s winning? You or the Martians?”

The boy crinkled his nose. “They aren’t Martians, Dad.”

“Venusians, then.”

Granville laughed. “Not Venoosians.”

“Jupiterians?”

“No!”

Gardner shook his head. “Who are those little guys you’re always blowing up?”

Granville looked into his father’s eyes. “They’re Megatrons from the Tenth Dynasty of Zaar.”

“Oh,” Gardner said.

Granville laughed and leaned his head against Gardner’s arm. The swelling was almost gone. Gardner touched the outline of
the bump.

“Getting better.”

Granville hugged him, and Gardner felt a tiny pain in his heart. He pictured Jennifer, a baby, and himself, and Granville
in trouble. And he suddenly realized that he might not be able to answer the call.

Handey Randel and Ace Dixon were on the final leg of their witness quest. They had followed King’s advice and obtained the
ranger log from the night Ruth died on the electrified rack. Seven people had signed the register in addition to the Allisons,
who had found the body. The detectives had tracked down six of them and taken statements. No one had seen anything, knew anything,
or was particularly anxious to talk. They’d all hiked in the woods and come home.

Now the former cops had one more name: Julie Beane. She’d signed into the park at 4:45
P.M.
, and out at 6:30, the time frame of the electrocution, according to the medical examiners. She was the final hope for obtaining
an eyewitness.

Julie was a hard-bodied twenty-six-year-old with a blond ponytail and perfect teeth. She had no problem talking about what
she did that night.

“So you were
power-walking
,” Handey confirmed as they sat in the living room area of her efficiency apartment. “What exactly is that?”

“High-aerobic, low-impact exercise,” Julie replied.

“I see. And you were wearing your Walkman.”

“Yes. My ‘Stormy Seas’ tape.”

“And what route did you take?” Ace laid out a map of the park on the coffee table.

“Let’s see,” Julie mused, “I started here, walked to here, cut across to here, and ended up back
here
.”

Ace looked at Handey. She had come very close to the crime scene.

“Now, did you see anybody when you were out there?”

Julie touched her chin, then looked at the map. “I
did
see someone in this area.” She pointed to a spot that was within several hundred yards of the power station.

“Can you describe the person?”

“It was a quick glimpse. I was on the trail, and he was off in the woods. I was startled and wanted to get out of there.”

“Can you describe him?” Ace repeated.

“He was big, I remember that much. Well built.”

“How was he dressed?”

Julie closed her eyes for a second. “Can’t say. He was behind some bushes, moving away.”

Handey turned up the volume on the recorder. “What else can you tell us about him?”

“That’s about it,” Julie said. “He was big. He was a man. He was moving away from me.”

“What was his
race
?’

Julie hesitated.

“Was he white or black?”

Julie closed her eyes again.

“Try to remember, Miss Beane.”

Her eyes opened. “There was no way to know.”

“Why not?”

“He had a hood over his head.”

The grand jury had been in session all day, and the jurors were tired. They had been listening to Kent King lay out his case
in the death of Thomas Ruth. Fingerprint cards, handcuffs, documents, witness statements, photographs, clothing, and a pair
of shoes lay on the table. King had summarized it all in a persuasive and effective argument. His prime suspect had motive,
opportunity, and the means to carry out the crime. There was physical evidence against him, eyewitness testimony, and a propensity
for violence. Now all the jurors had to do was vote. If they agreed that there was probable cause to hold the suspect for
trial, they should cast their ballots to indict.

Kent King left the room, and the grand jury foreman took over. Legal precedent required secrecy. Whatever the jurors did behind
closed doors was inviolate. But today there was no possible dissent, no argument. Their decision could go only one way.

“You’ve heard the presentation,” the foreman said. “Is there any discussion on the facts?”

No one spoke a word.

“Is there any discussion on the law?”

Again, silence.

“Very well,” the foreman said, “it’s time to vote. All in
favor
of the indictment as drawn, please signify.”

Every hand went up.

“Very well. I certify this a true bill of indictment.” The foreman turned the page and signed it.

At the top was the caption: “STATE OF MARYLAND V. JOSEPH BROWN, JR.” And the charge: “FIRST DEGREE MURDER.”

*   *   *

“Place your hands on the car, and don’t move,” Ace Dixon said. He was pointing his sidearm at Brownie’s head. “I got nothing
against you personally. The warrant says we got to arrest you, and that’s what we’re doing. You can make it easier on everybody
if you just cooperate.”

Brownie put his hands against the unmarked vehicle and leaned forward in the spread position. He’d been pulled over on his
way home from the grocery store, and his bag of ice was beginning to melt.