Death Row (32 page)

"That may be, but-"

"The third affidavit is from a man Erin dated, James Wesley. He, too, reports strange behavior on her part. The fourth is from a doctor-of sorts-Erin was seeing. Dr. Jamison Harris."

"He's the candle guy?"

"Uh... yes." Christina paused. If Derek knew that, then Derek had actually read the brief before the hearing-quite out of character for him. Why was he so interested? Was it because this was a death-penalty case? Was it because Ben's name was on the pleadings? Or was there something more? "We also have affidavits from several people connected to Erin's father, Frank Faulkner. Two from his coworkers at the chemical plant. Dr. Conrad Reynolds and Chris Hubbard."

Derek closed the brief and removed his glasses. "Counsel... what is the point of all this?"

Christina braced herself. Here we go. "The point, your honor, is to make it clear that there are a lot of unanswered questions regarding the Faulkner deaths."

"That could probably be said in every murder case, Ms. McCall."

"Your honor, we can't in good conscience allow an execution to take place when we don't know what really happened."

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "Counsel... in every criminal case, there will be uncertainties. Because ultimately, other people are unknowable. In any true sense. Are you familiar with Jean-Paul Sartre?"

He pronounced the name Gene Paul Sar-ter. Ben suppressed a grin. For all his vaunted Yale education, his facility with existentialists hadn't improved over the years.

"Yes, your honor," Christina replied. "I'm very fond of the French language."

Yes, Ben thought, but is the French language fond of her?

Derek continued. "Sartre said, 'Hell is other people.' Do you know why he said that, counsel?"

Because he'd had dinner with you? "No, your honor."

"Because ultimately, no matter how much time we spend with someone, no matter how hard we try to get to know them-we can never really know them. It's sad, yes-but very true. Take it from the voice of experience."

Take it from the voice, Ben thought, of a man who's split up and reconciled with his wife about a dozen times.

"Now, I'll grant you, some of these affidavits are interesting. They raise perplexing questions. Questions to which we will probably never know the answers. But imagine what would happen if we halted every criminal prosecution until we knew
all
the answers. We'd never be able to convict anyone."

"Your honor," Christina insisted, "this is a death-penalty case. There should be a higher standard."

"Not in the eyes of the law. The standard is 'beyond a reasonable doubt'-and that's plenty high enough. A jury has already found this man guilty under that exceedingly tough standard. I'm not going to override their judgment based on a few unanswered questions."

"Your honor, that conviction was based primarily on the testimony of a witness who later recanted."

"So you say. But that evidence is not before the court. And frankly, it never will be. Unless you've got something more for me-I'm afraid this hearing is finished."

"Baxter! Get over here!"

Baxter didn't much appreciate being yelled at, but she figured this was not the time to make a fuss. She was just pleased he was speaking to her; since that brief lip lock in the car, he'd barely been able to look at her. Why did she always screw everything up?

She hustled around to the back of the cabin. There was a sharp slope that descended to the lake, covered with scrub trees and bramble. Mike was standing at the top. "What is it?"

"Take a look at this," he said, pointing at the slope. "What do you see?"

She shrugged. "Typical Oklahoma backwoods scrub."

"Look again."

Baxter suspected she was being tested, and she didn't want to fail. But she saw nothing extraordinary. A few trees with no leaves. Lots of unidentifiable ivy and bramble. Tall spindly plants with long thorns. You could see it anywhere in the state. What on earth did he think-

Wait a minute. There was a section where everything had been pushed down, just a few feet from where Mike was standing. All the brush had been flattened; there were several broken branches and plants. It was as if someone had started to cut a path about a foot or so wide down the side of the hill.

"Something's been here. Recently."

"That's right," Mike said, hustling toward the slope. "And it went down fast."

Together, they carefully descended the slope. At the base, just off the lake, he showed her a deep impression. "And this is where it landed."

Baxter crouched over the spot. The ground was only slightly muddy, but enough to leave a trace of what had been there. She spotted a small shape, outlined in the mud. It seemed flat at the top, but the bottom was three-sided, like the lower half of a hexagon.

She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander. She'd seen that pattern before. It was common. She saw it all the time. But she couldn't place it...

Until she did. "A pants pocket."

Mike nodded. "A jeans pocket, to be precise."

"Sheila Knight was wearing Levi's when we found her body."

"Damn straight. And look here, where the mud has been scraped. I think something was dragged."

"Like a body?"

Mike didn't comment. "And look over here." He pointed to a place in the mud only a few feet from the jeans pocket.

"A footprint!" Only the top part was visible, but it was still undeniably the imprint of a shoe.

"Not much of one, but enough to make clear it isn't Sheila Knight's foot. And they had a heavy rain out here yesterday around noon."

"So?"

"So this footprint was made after that. In the last twelve hours. As was the jeans pocket imprint."

Baxter's eyes widened appreciatively. "She was down here last night."

"She fell down here," he corrected. "Or was pushed."

"The coroner said there were scrapes and bruises on her body," Baxter recalled. "Her leg was injured. And her clothes were dirty. It didn't seem important, given the big hole in the side of her head. But now-" She pondered a moment. "If there was a second person here, why didn't we see him? We were watching the road all night. And the front door." Baxter felt her heart racing. Did this mean she had been right all along? That Mike finally believed her? "Morelli, are you thinking-"

"It's too soon for thinking. We need to collect all the evidence we can and see what we turn up."

"Yes, but-"

"Baxter-round up the troops. I want every available officer in these woods looking for more traces of an intruder."

"You got it."

"And hurry." Mike jerked his thumb upward. "It's about to rain again."

Derek shook his head vigorously. "I'm sorry, Ms. McCall, but I disagree with you one hundred percent. Did your cocounsel, Mr. Kincaid, suggest to you that this was a strong argument?"

Christina bit her lower lip. Either way she answered that question would give Derek an opening to make a caustic remark. She wasn't taking the bait.

"Because I can assure you it is not," he continued. "A habeas corpus petition is a request for extraordinary relief. And you have presented a most unextraordinary case. Didn't you tell me at the last hearing that you were exploring a new theory? That there were two assailants involved in the Faulkner tragedy?"

Christina tilted her head to one side. "Ye-es..."

"So where's the evidence in support of that?"

"I would suggest, your honor, that all of these affidavits..."

"Don't play coy with me, young lady. I've read the affidavits. None of them addresses the issue."

"Nonetheless, your honor, as you yourself have said, they raise questions. Serious questions. Not only about Erin Faulkner's death, but about the murder of her entire family."

"And that's as good as it gets?"

Christina paused. Honesty or advocacy? "I will admit we have nothing that directly supports my theory-"

"That's what I thought."

"But it isn't reasonable to expect that someone is going to sashay through our office doors admitting to being an accomplice to one of the worst crimes in the history of the state."

"The bottom line here is that you have nothing."

"I strongly disagree. We may not have anything conclusive, but we have uncovered many intriguing facts. That the police department missed."

Derek clicked his tongue. "And based on that, you expect me to release a convicted man from death row?"

"Not yet, your honor," she said. "All we're asking at this point is that you postpone the execution date. Give us more time."

"I can't do that."

"You must!" Christina implored. "An innocent man is about to be murdered!"

"Don't tell me what I must do," Derek said, rising out of his chair. "I will not tolerate that type of behavior in my courtroom. Maybe your cocounsel thinks that sort of thing is acceptable, but I can assure you it is not."

"Your honor-"

"If you were better informed, you'd realize your advocacy is inadequate and your behavior is appalling."

Christina couldn't hold back any longer. "And if you could get past your decade-old petty grudge against my partner, you'd see that you're about to allow the execution of an innocent man."

Derek's eyes blazed. "Now you listen to me, young lady-"

"And I am sick and tired of this sexist,
young lady
crap. You will address me as you would any other attorney!"

"How dare you-!" He extended a tremulous arm. "You, Ms. McCall, may deposit another five hundred dollars with the clerk of the court on your way out of here. And if I hear another word from you, you'll be spending the night in jail!"

Christina so wanted to speak she could taste it. But she had to think of Ray first, and she knew that wouldn't be in his best interest. She held her tongue.

"Because of the gravity of the sentence passed, I have given you and your petition an enormous amount of leeway-and you see what my reward for that is. Open the door a crack to lawyers of this caliber, and they kick it wide open. It has always been my policy to go the extra mile with habeas petitions. No one wants to see an innocent executed. But the fact is, we do have the death penalty in this state, and your client was convicted of the first-degree murder of no less than eight human beings, and you have not presented the slightest evidence in support of any of your theories of innocence."

He settled back into his chair. "I am not a jury, and I will not circumvent the decisions of the duly appointed jurors of this state. Not absent extraordinary circumstances." He paused, drawing in his breath. "Accordingly, I rule against the petitioner."

Ben's eyes closed. That was it. The last chance. Gone.

"At least leave the door open," Christina said quietly. "Give us an opening to return if we discover something new."

"I will not," Derek said firmly. "A death-row defendant always has the option to file a new petition based upon newly discovered evidence-"

"We've exhausted our statutory remedies."

"-but I will not continue this hearing. Not a second further. This charade has gone on too long already." He slammed his gavel. "Petition denied. This court is in recess."

Fifteen crime-scene techs spent the rest of the day combing the wooded area behind Sheila Knight's cabin. The area was not that wide or that deep, but micro-scrutinizing every square inch of thick brush was time-consuming. Fortunately, the weather cooperated. A light drizzle fell for half an hour or so, but it was not enough to slow them down. By the time the sun was setting, they had found four different torn scraps of clothing, most of them from Sheila's blouse, but at least one definitely not. They'd found two more partial footprints, both matching the first. Mike and Baxter continued to hunt for something more helpful.

"Mike!"

She slapped her hand across her mouth. She'd called him by his first name! That was a first. Well, she supposed she couldn't be suspended for that. She'd just gotten so excited-

"What is it?" he asked, running beside her.

"Proof positive, that's what." She was holding a small twig-a backwoods substitute for evidence tweezers-and on the end dangled a metal ring with a silver pendent. The pendent bore some sort of stylized engraving.

"Any idea what it is?" Mike asked.

"Looks like part of a key chain to me. Must've broken off. Perhaps during a chase. Or a struggle. Or while hauling a body up the slope back to the cabin."

"Could it be Sheila's?"

Baxter shook her head. "Her keys are in the cabin. With one of those keyless car-lock chains."

"Of course, this could've been here before Sheila took her fall. The rain wouldn't have washed it away."

"But still-"

Mike nodded. "But still. It's our first real clue. Something we can trace." He pushed himself up. "Let's get back to Tulsa. I expect Blackwell is pretty desperate to talk to us. And for that matter-I want to talk to him."

Baxter tried to restrain her excitement and maintain her oh-so-stoic professional exterior. "Does this mean... you're not going to try to close the case? That you think I'm right?"

"Let's not jump to any conclusions, Sergeant. Let's just collect the evidence and see what we find."

Her face fell. "Right."

"But Baxter?"

"Yeah?"

He looked at her directly. "Good work."

Gabriel Aravena threw the paper down to the floor. Sheila Knight was dead!

He held his hands before him, staring at them as though they were not connected, as though they belonged to someone else. How had all this happened? He never meant to become a monster. But somehow, somewhere along the way, everything got turned around, messed up. Nothing came out the way it was supposed to.