The Price of Justice (8 page)

Dani was back at Florida State Prison, sitting across a table from Win Melton in an attorney interview room. Melanie and Tommy had headed straight to West Palm Beach. Dani would join them later.

“I know you’re disappointed with the decision, but we’re not giving up. You shouldn’t either,” Dani said.

Win’s head hung low on his chest, and an aura of melancholy oozed from every pore.

“It should have been enough,” he said, his voice soft. “He confessed—that guy. If he admitted he murdered Carly, how can they execute me?” He looked up at Dani, his face drawn and gray. “I didn’t kill her. I swear to you, it wasn’t me.”

Dani reached over and cupped her hand over his. “We’re going to do our own investigation. Too often, police settle on a suspect and stop looking. I think they did that with you.” She pushed a sheet of paper and a pen over to Win. “I need you to write down everyone you were friends with back then, when you were in your Palm Beach home. And write down the names of Carly’s friends. We’re going to speak to all of them. Put a check next to the ones that knew both of you.”

Win took the sheet and just stared at it. After several minutes, he picked up the pen and began writing. When finished, he said, “Other than one, I don’t know where they are. I became a nonperson to them after my conviction. Not even a letter from any of them.”

“Who’s the one?”

“Max Dolan. He used to be my best friend. Still writes me now and then.”

“Don’t worry about the other names. We’ll track them down.” Dani took the sheet back from Winston. There were fourteen names on the list, three with check marks. It would be the starting point for their investigation.

After she left the prison, Dani scanned the names into her cell phone, then e-mailed the list to Tommy and Melanie. They’d get started right away in trying to track down potential witnesses. She drove back to the airport, then hopped a flight to West Palm Beach. She arrived in time to join Melanie and Tommy for dinner.

“How’s he holding up?” Melanie asked.

“About what you’d expect.”

Tommy bent down and retrieved a sheet from his briefcase. “I ran down the names. Eight are still around, including two of the checked ones.”

“Good. We’ll get started in the morning.”

“Won’t they be at work?” Melanie asked.

“Probably. But we can check at their homes and see if someone there—maybe a spouse, maybe a nanny, maybe a neighbor—knows where they work,” Tommy answered. He turned to Dani. “I think there’s another name we need to add.”

“Who?”

“Greg Kincaid.”

Melanie looked at Tommy quizzically. “Who’s that?”

“The kid who took Carly to the dance.”

C
HAPTER

15

A
t eight a.m. the next morning, Tommy knocked on Greg Kincaid’s front door. The address Tommy had for him was the same one he’d had in high school. The one-story home looked identical to every other one on the block, the only differences being the color of the vinyl siding and shutters around the windows. A woman a foot shorter than Tommy, wearing a bathrobe frayed at the edges and holding a cup of coffee in one hand, answered the bell.

“Does Greg Kincaid live here?”

The woman, her short gray hair still tousled from bed, with dark circles under her eyes, looked Tommy over. “Who’s asking?”

Tommy handed her his card, which she glanced at briefly.

“Whaddya want with him?”

Tommy put on his most reassuring smile. “Just a few questions. We’re representing Winston Melton on his appeal. Are you Greg’s mother?”

“Yeah. And he doesn’t know anything. He told the police back when it happened that he never saw her after she left the dance with that rich boy.”

Tommy glanced past the woman standing in the doorway. On the left of the foyer, he saw a living room with a worn couch and a club chair. Straight ahead was a dinette table. He suspected it was part of the kitchen. He heard a rustling movement coming from that direction.

“Greg, is that you?” he called out.

The woman in the doorway glared at him, but moments later, a young man dressed in pressed chinos and a button-down shirt and tie walked toward him. “It’s all right, Ma,” he said as he approached the door. He took the card from his mother’s hand, then looked at Tommy. “Why don’t you come in? I’m on my way to work, but I have a few minutes.”

“Thanks.”

Kincaid waved Tommy toward the living room, then followed him in.

“Care for a cup of coffee?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Mind if I get one for myself?”

“Go ahead.”

Tommy waited until Kincaid returned, a mug of coffee in his hand. Unlike his mother, who looked like she could lose thirty pounds, Kincaid had a slight build, with a mop of sandy-brown hair falling over his forehead. Despite having ears that stuck out, he had a clean-cut, sloe-eyed face that Tommy thought women would find attractive. Once he sat down, Tommy said, “My office is representing Winston Melton. We’re interviewing everyone who was friends with him or Carly Sobol.”

“I thought they set a date for his execution. The local paper ran the story.”

“They have. But someone else has just confessed to the murder.”

“So why are you here? Won’t they let Win out?”

“It isn’t so simple. We need to prove the killer’s confession is truthful.”

Kincaid just nodded and waited for Tommy to continue.

Tommy took out a picture of Sanders from his folder. “Ever see him before?”

Kincaid looked it over, then shook his head.

“You were the last one with Carly before she left the high school. Can you tell me what you remember about that night?”

“Sure. Carly and I had been dating for a few months. We went to the dance at the high school, sort of paired up, but you know, it was a whole group of us. Anyway, about an hour into it, I saw Win Melton standing in the doorway of the gym.” Kincaid paused to take a gulp of his coffee. “Carly and I were dancing, and when the song was over, I left her to get some drinks for us. When I returned, she was gone. That’s it. I didn’t find out until the next morning what had happened to her.”

“How did you know Win? Were you friends with him?”

Kincaid spread his arm out and waved it across the living room. “Look around. Do you think we traveled in the same circle? No, we weren’t friends. Far from it. But I’d seen him around over the years. I knew who he was when I saw him at the dance.”

Tommy sat back in his seat and took in the surroundings. The furniture, not just worn, appeared to be inexpensively made. The windows had blinds, their slats uneven, without curtains softening the starkness. The floor was covered in thinning carpet. Palm Beach was such a city of contrasts—the huge mansions along the coast, with small, run-down homes not so very far away. Maybe it was the same in every city; Tommy hadn’t traveled enough to know. It was certainly true in Manhattan, where multimillion-dollar condominiums and town houses were just a few blocks away from slums. Such wealth in the face of the less fortunate had to breed resentment.

“When you came back with the drinks and Carly was gone, what did you think?”

“I thought exactly what happened. She spotted Win and left with him.”

“Didn’t that make you angry?”

Kincaid turned his head away from Tommy, biting his lip until he finally turned back. “Of course, I was angry. She came with me.”

Softly, Tommy asked, “Didn’t you want to find her? Maybe confront her?”

Kincaid shook his head. “I knew she was still stuck on Win. I didn’t have a chance against him.”

Tommy wondered whether he would have accepted defeat so passively if it had happened to him. No, he realized. He would have gone after his date, even caused a scene, perhaps. Was he just more hotheaded than Kincaid? Or was Kincaid lying to him?

“So, what did you do the remainder of the evening? With your date gone.”

“I hung around with the rest of the group I’d come with. Danced with some of the other girls.”

“Can you give me their names?”

Kincaid’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in a tight grimace. “Hey, what is this? You think I had something to do with Carly’s death?”

Tommy loved to get people rattled during his questioning. It often led to the most revealing information. He restrained a smile, then said casually, “Just following up on loose strands.” Tommy opened up his notepad and took out a pen. “So, how about those names now?”

Kincaid stood up. Darts seemed to be flying from his dark-brown eyes. “It was years ago. I can’t remember everyone. Now, I’ve got to get to work before I’m late. Sorry, I can’t help you anymore.”

Tommy stood up as well and held out his hand. “Is it okay if I come back when you have more time?”

Kincaid shook his hand and smiled weakly. “I’ve told you everything I know. It’d just be a waste of time for you.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll learn something from my other interviews that will help jog your memory.”

Kincaid reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number. Next time, call first.”

And with that, Tommy’s meeting was over.

C
HAPTER

16

D
ani leaned back in her chair in the open-windowed restaurant overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. She took a sip of her pinot grigio, closed her eyes, and listened to the sound of the waves crashing over the sandy beach. She wasn’t yet ready to discuss the results of the day’s interviews.

“I could go for this life,” Tommy said.

“Me, too,” Melanie agreed.

The gentle breeze off the ocean made the near-ninety-degree temperature feel pleasant instead of stifling.
Doug and I should take a vacation when this case is over. Somewhere in the Caribbean, with its turquoise-blue waters and waiters hovering over us ready to bring piña coladas to our beach chairs.
It had been a long time since she and Doug had gotten away on their own. Once Jonah was born and his condition was diagnosed, they’d been reluctant to leave him with a sitter for an extended period, even a family member, or Katie, the woman who watched over him every afternoon before Dani returned home from work. But he was thirteen now. He’d gone off on his own to camp the last two summers. It was time to slice the string that Dani felt went directly from her heart to Jonah’s. Yes, she could picture herself lying on a beach, slathered in suntan lotion, letting the bright sun warm her body.
As soon as this case is over.
She caught herself. Whenever she and Doug thought about getting away, it was always when the case she was working on was over. But it also had to be when Columbia Law School was on break. And when that time rolled around, inevitably, she’d be locked into another case.
No. During his semester break. That’s when we’ll go. Even if this case is ongoing. Melanie can cover it.

Dani smiled to herself. She already felt refreshed just thinking about taking a vacation. Now she was ready to delve back into Winston’s case. “Who wants to go first?”

Melanie reached for her notes. “I’ll start. I met with three of Carly’s friends: Alison West, Rebecca Engles, and Rachel Gordon. They were consistent. Each one said that Carly had been devastated when Winston dumped her. Greg Kincaid was just someone to fill her time until she left for college.”

“Did he know that?”

Melanie shook her head. “He was obsessed with her.”

“That’s interesting,” Tommy said.

The two women looked at him.

“Well, their description doesn’t sound like someone who knew his girl was still pining for someone else. But that’s not what Kincaid told me. Said he knew he didn’t have a chance against Win Melton.”

“Is that true?” Dani asked as she turned back to Melanie. “Did her friends say she was still stuck on Win?”

“Pretty much. They said she was furious when he broke up with her, but she admitted to Rachel that she’d take him back in a heartbeat.”

“Okay, let’s mark that for a follow-up.” Dani scribbled on her yellow-sheeted notepad. The markings would be indecipherable to anyone looking it over. It was her own version of shorthand, a technique she’d developed over the years to capture the ramblings of whomever she was interviewing while still attending to every word uttered. Something didn’t feel right about this case. Hadn’t felt right from the outset. The evidence against Winston had always seemed flimsy—especially for a death-penalty case. One strand of hair. Explainable by Winston’s admission that he was in the woods with Carly.

“Did you ask her friends if Carly had been intimate with Winston?”

“Yep. According to them, she was. Even had a pregnancy scare before they broke up. Turned out to be nothing.”

Then why would Win have raped her? Dani wondered. Carly wanted him back; they’d had sex before. Logic told Dani that Carly would have willingly given herself to Win.

“Anything else?”

Melanie shook her head.

Dani turned to Tommy. “Your turn.”

“I headed to Kincaid first—thought I might catch him before he left for work, and I did.”

“What did you make of him?”

“I’m not really sure. Claimed he didn’t see Carly after she left the dance with Winston. But—” Tommy paused, took another sip of his whiskey, then continued. “His answers just seemed too pat. I want to follow up again with him.”

Tommy told the two women about his interviews with the other names on his list—more of Carly’s friends. What they had told him lined up with Melanie’s interviews.

Dani had managed to track down only two of Win’s friends, and they hadn’t been particularly close to him. Just saw him when he vacationed here, both had said. Neither thought he’d ever exhibited behavior that jibed with his being a rapist and murderer. “But I guess you never really know another person,” one had said. “I mean, we all carry secrets inside us, don’t we?”

Most of Win’s former friends lived in or around New York City—some in Manhattan or Brooklyn, a few in Connecticut. His closest friend, and the only one who still wrote to him, lived in New Jersey.

“I’m going to head back to New York tomorrow,” Dani said. “You should return, too, Melanie. Get started on the appeal. Tommy, you poke around a little more here. See if you can find any other evidence of Sanders being in the area when Carly was killed, someone besides the motel clerk.”

Tommy nodded. “Tough assignment, having to stay here in the sun, watching the babes stroll by in their bikinis. I think I can
handle it.”

Melanie slapped him on his shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”

Tommy just grinned.

Dani put her notes back in her briefcase, then looked at each of her colleagues. “Enjoy the sun, joke around, have fun. With what we do, we need to blow off steam now and then. But remember, we have a client facing execution, and so far, we’re not any closer to proving his innocence.”

Early the next morning, Tommy headed south on Interstate 95 to the seedy motel he’d visited before. He entered the lobby and saw the same young man sitting behind the desk, his head bent down, seemingly absorbed in an automotive magazine. Tommy cleared his throat, and Billy looked up.

“Remember me?” Tommy asked.

“Sure. You were asking about that guy—I forget his name.”

“That’s right. I was wondering if I could speak to your cleaning staff.”

“I suppose.”

“And where would they be now?”

“I guess cleaning rooms.”

“Have any clue as to which rooms they’d be cleaning now?”

“I dunno.”

Tommy bristled. With all the unemployment around, this guy should be grateful he had a job. Any job. Since he didn’t seem like a Phi Beta Kappa, his options were probably limited. Even so, each time Tommy had seen him, he appeared to do as little as he could. As the first person customers met on entering the motel lobby, he should be greeting them with a friendly smile and a willingness to help. Instead, it felt like anyone who approached was viewed as an intruder, interfering with his personal pursuits.

“Well, how about looking up which rooms are empty?”

Billy sighed deeply, then put his magazine aside as he stood up and clicked some buttons on the computer. “You can try 205. Someone might be there.”

Tommy thanked him, then set off for Room 205. The door was open, and he stepped inside. A middle-aged woman was cleaning the bathroom. He knocked on the door, and she looked up.

“
S
í
?
”

“Do you speak English?”

“
S
í
.
I mean, yes. A little.”

“Did you work here seven years ago?”

The woman nodded.

Tommy took out his picture of Earl Sanders and showed it to her. “Do you happen to remember if you saw this man here around that time?”

The woman shook her head.

“I realize it was a long time ago. But could you look closely? Is there anything familiar about this picture?”

“No, señor. But I don’t pay attention to the customers. They all look the same to me.”

Tommy thanked her, then meandered down the halls and looked for other open rooms. He found one more housekeeper and showed her Sanders’s picture. He got the same response—she didn’t remember seeing him.

He got into his car and drove up the street, looking for nearby restaurants. He passed by McDonald’s and Burger King. Too transient. Even if they had the same staff filling orders—and that was a long shot—it was unlikely anyone would remember Sanders. Fast food meant fast impressions, not lasting ones. He kept driving until he saw an IHOP, then pulled into that driveway. He stepped inside.

“Just one?” the hostess asked.

She looked to be in her late forties, with makeup piled on that seemed to age her instead of covering up her years. Tommy gave her his most winsome smile. “Hi, sweetheart. You work here seven years ago?”

“Sure did, honey. Been here fifteen years. What can I help you with?”

Tommy took out his picture of Sanders. “Do you remember ever seeing him before?”

The hostess held the picture close to her eyes. “You know, I think I do. He kept ogling one of the younger waitresses, made her feel so uncomfortable she asked me to switch her table. I sent a man over to finish his order.” She looked up at Tommy. “He was a real creepy fellow. Came in every morning for six days. I sat him at a male waiter’s table each day after that first one. We all were real glad when he stopped coming.”

“Do you remember when this was?”

The hostess scrunched her face, then scratched her head. After a few moments, she smiled. “Well, how about that? I do recall when he was here. My daughter was waiting tables then, and I was real happy I hadn’t given her his table that first day. It was her first week on the job. Let’s see, when was that?” She appeared to be counting on her fingers, then said, “Seven years ago, in December. Two weeks before Christmas, that’s when he was here.”

This is good, Tommy thought. That was the week Carly was murdered. Another person testifying to Sanders’s presence in Florida at that time. Another fact to support HIPP’s basis for a new trial. Tommy wrote down the hostess’s name, address, and phone number, then got back in his car and drove to the next restaurant along the roadway. He stopped and went inside six more eateries and found no one else who remember Earl Sanders. Even so, the one witness he’d found served to corroborate the motel clerk’s testimony.

He drove back to his motel, changed into bathing trunks, then headed over to the beach. His interview with Greg Kincaid felt unfinished. He decided to pay him one more visit, in the evening, after he’d returned from work. With the afternoon free, he figured he might as well enjoy himself. And watching the bikini-clad women sunbathing on the warm sand was about as enjoyable as it got.

He settled into a beach chair and thought, once again, about retiring in Florida. He liked working at HIPP, liked the camaraderie, liked feeling good about his part in freeing innocent men and women. It was a lot different from his days with the FBI. There, he was zealous about putting away criminals. He was on the good guys’ team, and the people he went after were bad to the bone. It had never occurred to him then that someone convicted by a jury could actually be innocent. Still, as much as he liked his job, he felt his years, felt how his body was slowing down. It was strange how, in his head, he was still a young man, still vigorous, still filled with enthusiasm. But his body didn’t lie. He felt all of his fifty-eight years. And so, he often thought about retiring, sitting on a beach like this one, watching the young women and pretending that he was young again with his life ahead of him.

As much as that life appealed to him, he was at least ten years away from turning the dream into reality. His youngest child was only twelve years old. He wouldn’t leave New York until she had finished college. Family was the most important thing to him. He would always put his wife’s and children’s needs first. But he could still dream about it.

At seven o’clock, Tommy pulled into Kincaid’s driveway. He’d called in advance to make sure he’d be home. Kincaid opened the door quickly after his first knock.

“C’mon in.”

Tommy walked inside and followed Kincaid into the living room.

“Want a beer?”

“Thanks, but no. Wouldn’t mind a glass of water.”