Wrong Turn (9 page)

She studied Charley’s posture. Her shoulders were slumped, her head bowed and her hands folded neatly on the table in front of her. It broke her heart when she realized Charley’s little legs were too short to reach the floor. They just dangled from the seat, dripping water from her shoes and the cuffs of her pants. Anger rushed in to replace her sorrow. The least they could have done was get the child – any child – out of wet clothes.

At that moment, as if Charley sensed Lucinda’s eye upon her, the girl raised her head and stared straight at the glass. Everything about her demeanor said she was docile, cowed, ready to cooperate – perhaps on the verge of making a confession – except for one thing: Charley’s eyes flashed bright. Lucinda knew that look. Charley was thinking and planning, and biding her time. The expression on her face indicated her determination to find a solution and her commitment to never, ever giving up. A smile crossed Lucinda’s face.

She spoke to Cafferty without turning to face him. She forced herself to restrain her involuntary smile. ‘OK, Cafferty, would you at least let me be the one to inform her father?’

Cafferty paused for a moment and then said, ‘All right. But make sure he understands he needs to get down here so we can question his daughter.’

When Lucinda reached the stairwell, she called Evan on her cell.

‘Lucinda?’ he answered.

‘Yes, Evan. I found Charley.’

‘Oh, thank God! Is she OK?’

‘She’s unhurt, Evan.’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s here at the Justice Center.’

‘I’ll get there as quick as I can.’

‘No, Evan, wait.’

‘What do you mean “wait”?’

‘She was arrested on a serious charge – felony vandalism.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t think she did it, Evan, but she’s in one heck of a mess.’

‘Well, get her out of it, Lucinda.’

‘I can’t. They will not let me talk to her. I got to see her through the glass and she’s doing fine – I can tell because the fire is still in her eyes.’

‘Isn’t there something you can do to get her out of there?’

‘No, Evan. They know of our personal relationship and because of that, my opinion is irrelevant; it’s the way it should be, but it certainly has me frustrated.’

‘OK. Fine. I’ll take care of it. I’m on my way.’

‘No, Evan. There are two things you need to do first.’

‘You’re trying my patience, Lucinda.’

Lucinda wanted to say something sarcastic about that but knew it wasn’t the right moment. ‘You need to do two things before you drive over.’

Evan’s exasperation was apparent in the quality of his sigh. ‘What?’

‘Charley needs a change of clothing, including shoes.’

‘Shoes? Good grief, what happened to her?’

‘She walked through some water, Evan, that’s all. She’s not hurt but still I think she needs to get out of her wet things.’

‘Oh, I see they’re taking care of her really well—’

‘Evan, don’t worry about that now. Just get the damn clothes.’

‘What’s the other thing?’

‘She needs a criminal attorney – a good one. She’s up against a division that has a long history of success in obtaining confessions from minors and doesn’t seem overly bothered if the kid’s story matches the facts at the scene. She needs the protection of a skilled attorney.’

‘I didn’t pick a winner for myself, when I was in trouble. I really don’t trust my judgment here, Lucinda. Who would you call?’

‘Bill Waller. I don’t know if you can get him. He’s really picky about the cases he takes on. But if you tell him that a Detective Cafferty in the property crimes division is pushing your daughter, I imagine, if he’s available this morning, he’ll at least get you through this initial phase.’

‘What’s the name of his firm?’

‘Waller, Clutter and Rea. And if Waller is not available, try for one of the other partners. They’re all good but Waller has the most experience with the tactics that division has used with minors in the past. He’ll know what he’s up against and won’t need to waste time assessing the situation.’

‘OK. OK. I’m on it. You sure Charley’s going to be OK until I get there?’

‘I’ll make sure Officer Brubaker keeps an eye on her. He’s a good guy. If anything looks questionable, he’ll let me know right away. I’ve got to run out to the warehouse but I’ll have my cell on and will not turn it off. Call me if you have any problems.’

The call ended and now Lucinda felt helpless. She’d done what she could do to protect Charley but it didn’t feel like enough. And what if her instincts were wrong? What if Charley was somehow involved? How could she help her then?

A
t the warehouse, Lucinda went straight to the audio/video-tape storage area. She pulled the box for the Sherman case and rummaged through until she found a set of three tapes labeled ‘Lisa Pedigo’. She signed them out and went back to her office, double-checking her cellphone along the way to make sure she hadn’t missed a call.

She stopped at Brubaker’s desk before going up to her office. ‘Hi, officer, have you been able to check up on Charley Spencer lately?’

‘Better than that, lieutenant, I have a buddy up there keeping a close eye on her. But the big news is that her father got here just a couple of minutes ago and he came with an attorney.’

‘Did you recognize the lawyer?’

‘Oh yeah, couldn’t miss him – it was Bill Waller.’

What a relief, Lucinda thought. ‘Are they questioning her now?’

‘Not yet. A policewoman took her down to the restroom to change into the dry clothes her father brought in for her,’ Brubaker said and then grinned. ‘I hear that the officer gave Cafferty a piece of her mind for letting that child sit in that room so long in wet clothes.’

‘I bet that didn’t go over well.’

‘Sure didn’t. Cafferty got up in her face and threatened to write her up for insubordination.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Lucinda said.

‘Not to worry. Apparently Lieutenant Overby overheard the conversation, stepped in, and told Cafferty to shut his pie hole and get back to work.’

Lucinda applauded with delight.

Brubaker grinned. ‘Another good day for the good guys, lieutenant. You want me to call when Cafferty starts questioning her?’

‘Just let me know when they finish up. Thanks again,’ Lucinda said, and ascended the two flights of stairs to her office.

At her desk, Lucinda slipped the first of the tapes into a cassette player. All she heard was hiss. She waited. It would start soon. Two minutes later, the sound hadn’t changed. She fast-forwarded, stopped and listened again. Still nothing but tape noise. She repeated the process several times until she reached the end. She flipped it over, concerned but convinced that it was only one-sided and she’d put it in the wrong way. But she got a repeat of the first side.

Something was wrong. She put the second tape in the machine. Again, she ran through one side and then the other. Nothing but hiss. She slammed the third cassette into the slot, hoping her suspicions weren’t true. Another blank tape.

By the time she was finished, her heart was pounding. Had the recorder malfunctioned and the interview never captured? Couldn’t be. The transcript was here. Someone had to listen to the tape to do that. Maybe that person accidentally destroyed the tape.

Right, and coincidences happen all the time. But erased tapes and a redacted original transcript in the same case? Not hardly. She pulled out the witness lists from the trial. Lisa Pedigo was not called by the state or the defense. Was there a problem with the witness? Or a problem with the investigation and prosecution?

Lucinda thought back to her initial involvement in the Emily Sherman murder investigation. The homicide division had looked a lot different in the old building – one large room with lots of desks, little room to negotiate the space and absolutely no privacy. She had been talking to a detective about the unproductive door-to-door canvass in the vicinity of a fatal shooting of a young man suspected of drug trafficking.

She paid little attention to Lieutenant John Boswell who answered an incoming call, until he shouted, ‘Sergeant Pierce!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Somebody spotted a car abandoned behind Merchants and Farmers Shoe Factory building on Bridge Street. Blood’s all over the interior. Wanna come with me to check it out?’

Lucinda had dreamed of joining the homicide squad since before her graduation from the police academy. For now, going on a call with the legendary Detective Boswell was as close as she was likely to get. She agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

As they left, the other detective quipped, ‘Watch out, Boz, she’ll be gunning for your job in no time.’

Lucinda’s pride absorbed the sting of Boz’s laughter at the remark. The homicide division was an all boys’ club and she imagined they all suspected – and hoped – it would stay that way.

Bridge Road was a narrow, twisting street that zigged and zagged for no apparent reason. It was littered with bridges over small creeks that that led directly or indirectly to the James River. Boz drove down it at a speed that she thought was unreasonable, causing him to brake sharply at every curve and causing the car to bounce over each water crossing. She hung on to the strap as if she feared she’d be thrown from the vehicle at any moment.

Gravel flew in the air, pinging on the metal, when he turned into the neglected drive to the old factory. The car jerked and lurched through the smaller potholes and swerved to avoid the mammoth ones. The multi-storey brick building loomed like a blind monster over the weed-filled, pocked landscape surrounding it. The windows on the bottom two floors were covered in plywood; those on the top had been shattered from thrown rocks, birdshot, or whatever projectile trespassers could find to break the glass.

Behind the derelict structure, a patrol car was parked next to a Cadillac of recent vintage. An officer emerged from his vehicle and said, ‘The caddy is registered to Martha Sherman. She reported it stolen six days ago.’

‘Andrew Sherman’s wife?’ Boz asked.

‘Think so,’ the man in uniform responded.

‘Isn’t that the guy whose daughter is missing?’ Lucinda asked.

‘The wealthy guy whose daughter is missing, yeah,’ Boz said.

Boz and Lucinda walked over to Martha’s car, peering in the windows. Dark, blackened stains covered most of the back seat. Blood spatter splashed across the interior of the windows, all over the headliner and the upholstery on the doors and on the back of the front seats.

‘Holy shit,’ Boz said. ‘If that’s the girl’s blood in the car, everybody from the mayor and police chief, all the way down the chain of command, are going be coming down on me to get this case closed.’

Lucinda didn’t hear from Boz for a couple a days. He called her again to tell her that the tests confirmed that the blood did belong to fifteen-year-old Emily Sherman. ‘My captain cleared it with your patrol supervisor. You’re assigned to me for the duration of the investigation.’

‘Really?’ Lucinda said, incredulous at the turn of events.

‘Yeah, kid, you wanna be a homicide cop, it’s time you learned the ropes.’

Lucinda couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather have as her teacher than Boz. He had the highest closure rate of anyone on the force in any division.

Together, they interviewed Martha Sherman on several occasions. They both had difficulty believing that the woman was capable of committing a crime with that much brutality, violence and bloodshed. But Andrew Sherman had the district attorney’s ear and he was screaming long and hard for the arrest of his wife, Emily’s stepmother, Martha Sherman. The pressure from above was relentless.

One afternoon, Lucinda was drafting a section of the investigative report when she got a call from Boz. ‘Hey, Pierce, we were right. Martha didn’t do it. I’ve got the proof that she couldn’t have done it – it was impossible. I’m on my way back to the Justice Center. As soon as I speak to the DA, I’ll come tell you all about it.’

Hours passed before Boz finally returned to the homicide division. He looked tired, defeated and depressed; strain seemed to drag his whole face downward. ‘Are you OK, sir?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a long day, that’s all.’

‘So what did you find out? What kind of evidence did you get?’

‘False alarm, kid. Nothing but a false alarm. I’m calling it a day. You might as well go home, too.’

She should have pressed him for more details. She shouldn’t have accepted his assessment at face value. She should have protested. But she didn’t. Instead, the next morning, she accompanied Boz and two patrol officers to assist in the arrest of Martha Sherman.

For days, she was bothered by lots of questions. The seemingly tailored anecdotes from Andrew Sherman about Martha’s horrible mistreatment of Emily – tales that no one else could confirm until some of Andrew’s friends and employees started popping up at the station to back up his story. She took many of their statements and each one sounded hollow and no matter how much she pressed, every one of them was vague about details.

Whenever she meekly pointed out some of her concerns to Boz, his dismissive responses caused her to back down right away. She should have questioned Boz’s attitude. She should have challenged his judgment. But Boz was the experienced detective and she was just there to observe, learn and assist Boz in any way that he asked. She believed Boz always did the right thing. And that was the attitude that sent her careening around the bend, down a very wrong road.

Now, back in the present, she went to her computer and got an address for Lisa Pedigo. At the time of Emily’s murder, Lisa had lived in a house across the street from the Sherman residence and two houses closer to the intersection leading out of the cul de sac. She now lived in Mechanicsville. Did she tell Boz something about the Sherman family that no one above Boz wanted to hear? Did Lisa see something in the neighborhood that didn’t fit the official theory? And was Boz complicit in an effort to conceal evidence from the defense? She did not want to believe that about Boz. The only person who could answer her questions was Lisa Pedigo. She had to talk to this woman as soon as possible.