Raising Cain (30 page)

The sentry shifted his hunting rifle to the other shoulder. “That’s the order.”

“Do you know if they received my letter? I requested a release of Ruth’s medical records.”

The guard looked toward the quarry. “You’re Mr. Lawson, lawyer for the guy who killed Thomas Ruth?”

“
Alleged
to have killed Ruth,” Gardner corrected. “Yes, I’m Lawson.”

“They got a letter. I heard talk about it.”

Gardner touched the fence with his fingers. “Then you know what I’m claiming—that Thomas Ruth took his own life.”

“I heard that.” The man smiled.

“You think it’s funny?”

“Some of
them
do. You didn’t know Thomas Ruth. No way he killed himself. They say it’s a lawyer trick to get his killer off.”

“Were
you
here, then?” Gardner asked.

“Yeah, I was here.”

“You knew Thomas Ruth?”

The guard swept the gun barrel past Gardner’s knees. “Yeah. I knew him pretty good.”

“And you don’t think he could have killed himself?”

He shook his head. “No way.”

“Ever see him angry or upset?”

“Yeah. A few times.”

“Ever see him go into a trance, anything like that?”

The guard stopped pacing. “When he was preaching. But he never preached nothin’ about suicide. We’re into
life
here, not death. This ain’t no Jonestown or Waco.”

“I understand that,” Gardner said. “Do you remember what he got angry about?”

The guard swung the gun again. “You people.”

“Us?”

“He was bein’ harassed.
That
upset him.”

“Do you know who was harassing him?”

The guard laughed. “You’re asking
me
?”

“Yes.”

“The cop.”

“Sergeant Brown?”

The guard nodded. “Thomas Ruth got stopped every time he left the quarry. By a cop. He even went to a lawyer about it. But…
it was too late.”

Gardner suddenly felt burning in his chest. Brownie had stated that he’d only stopped Ruth one time. “Are you sure it was
Sergeant Brown who did this?”

“I know it was a
cop
.”

“But did Ruth ever specify who it was?”

The gun came up. “
I
never heard a name.”

“Did you ever hear anyone say who it was?”

The guard shook his head.

Thank God. Maybe Brownie
wasn’t
the one. Maybe it was someone else in the department. Maybe…

*   *   *

Brownie stopped his car at the gas station on Blocktown Road. It was a secluded spot, away from the major traffic patterns.
He’d spent most of the day before with Gardner, going over endless questions about the case. The suicide option was a possible
way out, but he still felt like a shit. Gardner was trying so hard. Too bad Brownie couldn’t tell him the truth.

Brownie checked the perimeter. The run-down station was empty of vehicles, the single set of pumps unoccupied. Old Man Jakes
was snoozing in his warm office. It was a typical fall morning in the Blocktown shallows.

Brownie walked to the pay phone at the rear of the building. He’d concluded a while back that he couldn’t use his own equipment.
King was probably still monitoring his calls.

He picked up the receiver and dialed.

“Mid-State Cellular,” a feminine voice cooed.

“This is the county police,” Brownie said. “Need to talk to your security chief.” He’d been so tied up with his own case,
he’d not had a chance to follow up the cellular phone lead he’d pried from Henry Jackson at the jail. Now he finally had a
window of opportunity to check it out.

“One moment, sir.”

There was a click-over, and a man came on the line. “Travis.”

“This is Officer Brown from the county police,” Brownie said. “How’re you today?”

“Fine. What can I do for you?”

“I’m workin’ a cellular theft ring and got a lead on some stolen phones. Do you have an updated printout of clone complaints
in the past year or two?”

“Believe we do, yes.”

“How about I run some numbers by you, and you tell me if they’re on the list?”

There was a pause. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Brown, county police.”

“We don’t usually do this over the phone.”

Brownie ground his teeth. He’d expected resistance. “Listen”— his voice went low—“I’m in the field right now. Got a suspect
in the squad car, and he’s spilling his guts. I don’t have enough to lock him up yet, but if you can confirm some of the numbers
he gave me, I’ll bust him on the spot. What do you say?”

There was another hesitation.

“Come on, man. The dude is getting restless.”

“All right,” Travis agreed, “since it’s an emergency.”

“That it is.”

“Read me the numbers.”

Brownie pulled a list from his pocket and ticked off the digits Henry Jackson had given him in the jail.

“Slow down,” Travis said. He was entering each one into the computer. “File-searching now.”

“Let me know when you have something.”

“Two hits,” Travis finally replied.

Brownie readied his pen. “Give ‘ em to me.”

Travis read the two cellular phone numbers that had been scanned and cloned.

“Great,” Brownie said. “That’ll fix this bozo’s wagon. Now I’m gonna need some call information on the clones, what numbers
were called in September. Can you hook me up on that, too?”

“You’re going to need a subpoena,” Travis responded.

“Can I send it to you?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Thanks a lot, Officer Travis.”

“It’s just Travis.”

Brownie grinned. “But you
were
Officer Travis at one time.”

“You got me. Badge two-four-six-four, D.C. police, fourteen years.”

Brownie thanked him again and hung up. While Gardner worked his murder case, Brownie was working another. He looked at the
numbers in his hand. Now all he had to do was draft a bogus subpoena, send it to Travis, and pick up the printout. If the
911 call was listed, he’d be halfway there.

Jennifer had slept fitfully. She was still restless and irritated about the sudden change in their lives. The suicide defense
was just that: suicide. She didn’t like it at all, but she wasn’t leading the defense team. Today she’d agreed to do some
fieldwork, to interview a witness who would talk to them: Officer Billy Hill, first cop on the scene the night Ruth died.

The police dispatcher told Hill to wait for a contact by the off-ramp of the interstate highway. When Jennifer arrived, the
rookie was standing by his car. “Hello, Ms. Munday,” he said.

“How are you, Billy?” Jennifer had met him a few times as prosecutor and heard his debriefing the morning after the electrocution.

“You want to talk to me?” Billy seemed nervous. King had tried to intimidate him, ordering all witnesses to remain silent
until trial.

“Yes,” Jennifer replied. “Do you want to sit in my car?” The wind had picked up, and it was getting quite brisk.

Billy declined. “Can we do it here?”

“Whatever you say. I need you to tell me about Ruth’s body position against the grid.”

“He was just hangin’ there.”

“You have to be more specific than that. I know you told Mr. Lawson about this before, but it’s more important now, especially
for Brownie. Think back. Exactly what did you see?”

“The handcuffs were hooked into one of the levers.”

“What do you mean, hooked into?”

“Dunno exactly. The lever was here and his hands were here.” Billy demonstrated.

“Were the cuffs
attached
in any way?”

“Attached?”

“You said they were ‘hooked into’ the lever. Were they attached to it, or were they just draped over it?”

“Dunno.”

Jennifer rubbed her hands together. “Think, Billy. This is important. You had the power shut down, and you removed him from
the grid before anyone else got there. Did you have any trouble unhooking the cuffs, or did they come right off the lever?”

“He was hung up on the lever.”

“I understand that, but did you have any difficulty lifting him off?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then, if you’re asked in court, you could say that the cuffs were simply
draped
over the lever, they weren’t
attached
to it.”

Billy hesitated.

“That’s what you just told me in so many words.”

“Yeah,” Billy replied. “Guess I could say that.”

Jennifer smiled. At last some direct proof supporting suicide. Ruth was not chained to the grid. Gardner should be pleased.

“But…” Billy had a second thought.

Jennifer stopped smiling. “What?”

“That’s not what I told Mr. King.”

“You gave a statement?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“In writing?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And he got you to say that the cuffs were attached to the grid….” Jennifer knew King’s blitzkrieg routine: get there first
and get a statement that supports your theory, factually correct or not.

“Yeah.”

“But that’s not altogether true, is it?”

Billy looked upset. “No, I guess not.”

“All right,” Jennifer said. “At least we know how it really was. The cuffs were merely resting on top of the lever. They weren’t
hooked
to it.”

“Right.”

“If we ask you about it in court, you know what to say?”

“That he wasn’t attached. But what about my statement? Mr. King’s gonna have a shitfit if I change my testimony.”

Jennifer pushed back her glasses. “Don’t worry. You just tell the truth, what you
really
saw. Let us worry about King.”

She said good-bye, got in her car, and drove away. At the very least, Hill’s testimony wouldn’t hurt them. But it wouldn’t
do them a lot of good, either.

“
Breaking and entering in progress at the high school; intruders are armed and dangerous,” the dispatcher said on the radio
in Brownie’s squad car. Brownie flicked on his siren and sped toward the scene. He arrived at the hill leading to the school
and stopped his car. He drew his service weapon, ran to the front door of the school, and kicked it in. He could hear voices.
He crouched, entered a room, and people scurried for cover. There were books and papers strewn on the floor, and the walls
were spray-painted with graffiti. Brownie dropped behind a desk and pointed his weapon. “Come out, motherfucker!” he screamed
.

A head appeared from a pile of overturned chairs
.

“
Hands up,” Brownie ordered
.

The person stood but didn’t comply
.

“
Hands up!” Brownie shrieked
.

The person didn’t move
.

Brownie squeezed the trigger to the last possible stop point. “Do it!”

The person changed into a child just as Brownie fired, just as he realized who the person was
.

“Aahhh!” Brownie sat up in bed. He rubbed his eyes, and mopped the sweat from his forehead. He turned on the light; his heart
was racing, his sweat dripping. For a few minutes he sat there, trying to calm down. Then he opened the drawer to his nightstand
and withdrew a phone book.

Brownie lifted the phone and dialed a telephone number in Washington, D.C.

It rang eight times before a groggy voice said, “Hello?”

Brownie couldn’t do it. He hung up the phone and sat in silence. He had a lot to say to Paulie. But when he tried, nothing
came out.

Gardner held the telephone to his ear as he stood behind his desk. He was back at work, pursuing the CAIN guard’s comment
that someone in the police department had been harassing Ruth before he died.

“Don’t do this to me, Larry,” Gardner told Larry Gray, the police chief. “The information I’m looking for isn’t privileged.
I’m entitled to it.”

“Take it easy, Gard,” the chief replied. “I’m giving it to you straight. I was unaware of any sting operation against Ruth.”

“He was being hassled by a cop,” Gardner countered, “and I’m certain it
wasn’t
Brownie.”

“Well, whoever it was didn’t have official authorization. I haven’t heard anything about it. You’ve got to believe me. I’ve
got nothing to gain from saying otherwise.”

“I believe you, Larry.”

Gardner thought about his options. “Can you give me Frank Davis’s patrol schedule the week preceding Ruth’s death?”

“Davis?”

“Maybe
Frank
knows something. He was assigned to that beat, remember?”

“You never give up, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re always after Davis. Why don’t you leave him alone?”

Gardner pressed his knee against the desk. “The guy’s a loose cannon.”

“That may be, but we told you before he was not involved in the killing. We confirmed that right after the fact; he has an
alibi. He’s been cleared of involvement.”

“By whom?”

“By
us
.”

“By you, maybe, but not by
me
. I want his schedule.”

“You can have it, but it won’t do you any good. His time has been accounted for.”

“Please fax it to me,” Gardner said.

“Sure,” Larry answered. “Right away. Gard…”

“What?”

“I really
do
want to help.”

“I appreciate it, Larry.”

“Give Brownie my best. We’re all pulling for him.”

“I’ll tell him,” Gardner said as he hung up. They had been close, he and Larry. But now that he’d changed sides, it wasn’t
the same.

Gardner picked up the phone again and dialed the clerk’s office. The CIAIN guard said Ruth had seen a lawyer; if it was true,
then the logical thing for that lawyer to do was file a civil injunction. Maybe Judy Field had heard something about it.

“File desk,” Judy answered.

“Gardner Lawson here.”

“Hi, Mr. Lawson. How are you doing?”

“Getting by. Judy, I have a request, and it may sound strange….”

“What?”

“Before Thomas Ruth was killed, I believe that a police officer was harassing him. Did you ever hear anything about that?”

“There
was
something, as I recall,” she said hesitantly.