Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery (36 page)

The next morning I woke up at five a.m., took a quick shower, and put on some makeup. I looked for a sweater that wasn’t completely shapeless, and found a black cashmere V-neck that Ellen had given me for Christmas. She could be annoying as hell, especially when she was right, but she had good taste. I pulled on a pair of jeans and my favorite black half boots, and even added earrings. My hair was still in need of a cut, but the gray was gone.

“Getting there,” I said to the mirror. “A facial, some eyebrow reshaping, and an exercise program and I might be okay.”

I popped in a Dan Fogelberg CD as soon as I got on I-55, trying to get myself in a Peoria state of mind. It didn’t work. As I passed the exit for Dugan, I made one more attempt to reach Tim and Brick. Instead I got Joanie Rheinbeck.

“I thought you were done shooting,” she said.

“I am. I’m just concerned about the inmates I interviewed.”

“I told the warden it was a bad idea, your coming here,” she said. “It riles them up, gives them ideas. It’s hard enough when family visits and
reminds them of the outside. You were getting them to talk about the past.”

“Are they okay?”

“Look, Kate, I’m sure you’ll do a good job with this piece, but I just want to get things back to normal.”

Then she hung up.

I got to the Peoria police station at just a few minutes after nine. Phil Garrett was waiting for me. He was a large man, near retirement age but still powerful-looking.

“Mrs. Conway,” he said as he stretched out his hand. “I’ve been regretting agreeing to this ever since we spoke.”

“Why?”

“Sad case,” he said. He showed me to an empty interrogation room, where several file boxes were sitting on the table. “J. Campbell” was written in black marker across each box.

“She was very young,” I said.

“And pregnant.”

“And a drug addict. It can’t be unusual for someone in her circumstances to meet an untimely death.”

I sat across from Garrett at the table and waited as he pulled out the crime scene photos, pushing them over to me one by one. Jenny was lying in a pool of blood, her eyes open, her arms outstretched and marked by stab wounds. Near her was a kitchen sink with dishes and food in it, and the floor next to her body was black with dirt. It’s always sad to look at crime scene photos, but this beautiful girl dead next to garbage made the photos almost painful to view.

“She was from a nice family,” Garrett said. “Her parents were good people. Not rich, not poor, just good people.”

“Like Tim Campbell’s family,” I said.

He seemed confused. “Campbell’s family?”

“His father was an accountant for Caterpillar. Wasn’t he?”

“Campbell tell you that?”

“Yeah.”

“Ma’am, I don’t
know how you feel about Tim Campbell, but if I may say so, I think he’s full of shit. Pardon my language.”

I looked at Garrett, and knew what was coming. This was why I was here, I reminded myself. “Why?”

“His father is doing time in a federal prison. His mother is dead, at least I think she is. She was a drug addict, same as her son. Left the family when the husband went to prison. Hasn’t been seen since.”

I let it settle in my mind. Tim had lied. Not just about Jenny, but about his whole life. It didn’t shock me. Somewhere inside me I’d known the whole time that Tim was, as Brick had warned me, just another con artist. Still, it left me feeling empty.

“What really happened?” I asked.

“The night of the murder? Oldest reason in the book.”

“She was leaving him?”

“The other old reason.”

“Money?”

He nodded. “Jenny turned tricks to make drug money. Once she found out she was pregnant she decided to stop, clean herself up. That’s what she told their neighbor.”

“Cody Daniels.”

“That’s the one.”

“Tim said Cody was their drug dealer. He said Cody tried to rape Jenny and that’s how she was killed.”

Garrett frowned. “Cody Daniels was dealing. Though he probably used more than he sold. He used to get into trouble, bar fights and the like, right up until one night about three years before Jenny’s murder when he pissed off the wrong guy and got shot for his trouble. He ended up in a wheelchair and he’s been there ever since.”

“So you’re saying he couldn’t have forced himself on Jenny?”

“He’s got the use of his arms, so he could have grabbed at her, but nothing below the waist works on Cody, and frankly, ma’am, Jenny could have gotten away from him quick if she wanted.”

“But your version is that Tim stabbed her in front of a witness?”

“That’s what Cody said. Tim got mad that Jenny wouldn’t go out that night, earning. They got into a fight. He picked up a knife and he
went after her with it. She locked herself in the bedroom until Tim calmed down, then she came out again thinking it had blown over. That’s when he stabbed her multiple times, even while she was on the floor, helpless. Cody said Jenny raised her hand to Tim as she was dying.” He raised his arm in just the same way Tim had during our first interview. Then, like Tim, he let it drop. “She tried to hold his hand but Tim pushed it away and just watched her die.”

“What was Cody doing there?”

“Waiting for his money. He told Tim that there wouldn’t be any more drugs until he was paid what he was owed. Tim told him that Jenny would get the money that night, but of course, she wouldn’t do it and things just got out of control real quick.” He shook off the memory of it. “Tragic. All round. That Tim Campbell was a smart fellow. A psychopath, but as bad guys go, he was okay, if that makes any sense. Respectful, smart. Maybe could have been someone under other circumstances.” He smiled sadly. “Tim was always looking for someone to latch onto, like a drowning man. Trouble is Campbell doesn’t get saved. He takes the other person down with him.”

I don’t think he meant it as a warning, but I took it as one. I never had to go back to Dugan. I could throw the temporary cell phone in the trash and move on without ever confronting Tim about his lies. What good would it do, anyway? But I knew I wouldn’t leave it alone. I wanted the confrontation I deserved, and I wanted it on tape.

Garrett reached into the box one more time and pulled out another photo. “Her high school graduation photo,” he said. Jenny had straight brown hair, caramel brown eyes, and a friendly smile. A cheerleader type, except for a slightly sallow complexion that suggested to me she’d already found drugs.

“She was very pretty.”

He nodded. “Too easy to forget the victim.”

“Maybe I could get a copy of this,” I said. “For the show. It’s about Tim’s time in prison, but it would be nice to have a reminder of why he’s there.”

A
fter I left the station, I looked for an address near the university. Angela Thompson, Tim’s young cousin, or whoever she was, had given that address when she signed in to the visitors log. I wasn’t sure what she could tell me, but I was here, so I thought I might as well ask her a few questions.

The neighborhood looked a little run down, but Angela’s house was tidy. Maybe in need of some paint, but clean and well cared for. She was out front, building a snowman with a child no more than three. When I pulled up she waved, then realized I wasn’t someone she knew and seemed to shrink a little.

“Do you remember me?” I asked as I approached her.

She looked at me a long time. “The TV lady?”

“Yes. Tim Campbell introduced us.”

“I remember. I don’t want to do any interviews. Tim said you were trying to get him to give you all the gory details on his wife’s death,” she said. “Said it made for good television.”

“It would,” I told her. “He said you were his cousin, but that isn’t true, is it?”

“He didn’t want you bothering me.”

“You’re the mother of his child.” I pointed down to the little boy.

“Tim doesn’t get conjugal.”

“But it can be arranged, if you give money to the right person. A few minutes in a closet,” I said.

“Is that what you’re here about? Because it’s none of your business.” She wrapped her arm around her son.

“No. I’m here about Tim.” I looked at the woman, so young and small-looking. She didn’t look like a drug addict or a woman in crisis. Just lonely and stupid. Easy prey for the likes of Tim Campbell. He must have thought the same about me.

“What do you want to know about Tim?” she asked.

“How did you meet him?”

She smiled. “Online. There’s
places that inmates can post and if you want you can write ’em; you can. My girlfriend met her husband that way. He just got out after five years in Pontiac, and I figured it was worth a try. I saw Tim’s post and I thought he sounded nice, you know, sweet. So I wrote.”

“But he’s in prison for the rest of his life.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Tim’s got someone helpin’ him. Some rich lady that helps wrongfully convicted people. But even if she doesn’t get him out, we love each other and we’ll manage.”

“How does your family feel about your being with someone in prison?”

“I’m an orphan. Like Tim,” she said. “We have that in common. That’s how I knew I could trust him.”

I debated whether to set her straight, but I knew it was pointless. She wouldn’t believe me, and even if she did, Tim could find a way to justify his lies and she’d find a way to believe him. But if I couldn’t tell her anything useful, maybe she could help me.

“Angela,” I said, “Tim told me that you bring him things. Things he can’t get in prison.”

She turned red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s okay. I’m not going to put it on TV. It’s just that he asked me since I was coming to Peoria anyway, if you had anything that I could bring into the prison. You won’t be there for a while….”

She took a breath. “I usually just bring him some money, and a little weed,” she said. “I don’t know if he wants any more of that other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“Magnesium citrate. It’s to help Tim, you know, with constipation. They don’t give him anything at the prison, so he suffers, poor thing.”

“He really depends on you,” I said. She lit up at that. “I think you’re all that’s keeping him sane. Maybe you and that little guy.” I pointed to her son. “What’s his name?”

“Tim junior,” she said. “I think he looks just like him, but Tim says he favors me. But he’s only seen him in pictures.”

I patted the boy’s head. “When did you bring the magnesium citrate to Tim? I can get him more if he’s run out.”

“The last visit.”

“The day we met?”

“
No, the day before. He had me go to a store near my hotel and get it. It was a bitch sneaking it into the prison. I had to pour it into sandwich bags and hide ’em in my bra,” she said. “I’ve done it for him before. He really goes through the stuff. The constipation, it keeps him from going to work at the library sometimes, and he hates that.” She shifted her weight and looked me over. “You can probably just walk it in, bein’ in TV.”

“Probably,” I said. “I’ll ask him if he needs it.”

Magnesium citrate is used for constipation, so maybe Tim was telling the truth. Or maybe he’d added a couple of doses to Brick’s morning juice the day I called the prison about seeing Brick for visitation. I’d said I was coming alone, without Victor or Andres or a camera. I was a lonely widow kind enough to bring Brick a dozen books just to get a good interview, and Tim knew that. I could only imagine what he’d hoped to get out of me with claims of innocence.

I didn’t really have any other questions, so I said good-bye and headed to my car, but something hit me as I opened the driver’s-side door. “Did Tim ever tell you he played the violin?” I asked.

She looked puzzled. “No. Why?”

“No reason. Did he tell you he played any instrument?”

“No. Tim was in the choir in high school, just like I was.”

“It’s like you were meant to be.”

She giggled. “Isn’t it?”

I watched her turn back to her son and add a scarf to the snowman, then I drove a couple of blocks in search of the expressway. I saw Avanti’s, the restaurant Tim had mentioned as the place he wanted to get his last meal. I stopped in and got some pizza bread to go. The bread had a sweetness to it that went great with the salty cheese, and I finished it quickly. It was good, really good. And it was one of the only things Tim had said that turned out to be true.

I
stopped a few times on the way back to Chicago, getting coffee or gas, going to the bathroom, checking e-mails…anything to delay returning home. I was fighting with myself. The small part of me that believed in human decency was getting pummeled by the large part that knew better. Hadn’t I worked enough true crime to have seen right through Tim? The fact that there had always been doubt was no comfort, because it wasn’t so much that I’d believed him; it was that I’d wanted to believe him. That made me a sucker for a happy ending, an intolerable fault in my line of work.

I tried Vera on the way, but she hadn’t learned anything more about what had happened to Doug and started crying whenever I tried to ask her questions, so I suggested she call her attorney and see if he could get information for her, and I got off the phone as quickly as possible.