Raising Cain (39 page)

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, Benny. Thanks a lot.”

Brownie hung up and looked at the name again: Barton Graves, a man with no driver’s record and no apparent identity. He probably
used an alias to get his license and other cards. Graves might even be an alias, like Ruth. And if it was, his defense was
headed down another dead end.

“Chief Gray,” Kent King said to Larry Gray, who was on the stand as a prosecution witness. “Please take a look at state’s
exhibit number five, and identify it for the jury.”

“What is state’s exhibit five?” King repeated.

“Handcuffs.” Gray’s voice was low. A reluctant witness, he was unhappy about testifying.

“Can you tell us where they came from?”

“The department.”

King eyed the jury. “You mean the county police department?”

“Yes.” Gray avoided looking at Brownie.

“When were they issued?”

“Sometime in the nineteen-seventies.”

King held up the bag containing the cuffs. “For what purpose?”

“Police work.”

“What exactly does ‘police work’ entail?”

“Objection,” Gardner said.

“Grounds, Counsel?”

“He’s drawing an illicit inference, inferring guilt from a use of the cuffs that does not conform to police standards. “

“I’m entitled to do that,” King replied.

“I agree,” Rollie said. “Overruled.”

“What is ‘police work,’ Chief Gray?”

Gray kept his eyes lowered. “Investigation, detention, arrest, and processing of persons involved in criminal behavior.”

“So the handcuffing of a person not involved in criminal behavior would fall outside of that definition?”

“Objection!”

“Overruled. Please answer.”

“Yes,” the chief responded softly.

King hefted the evidence bag. “Were handcuffs of this nature issued to the defendant, Joseph Brown?”

“Objection.” Gardner rose. “We do not dispute that the handcuffs belonged to the defendant. His fingerprints were on them
and he admits they were his. Sergeant Brown did possess the cuffs on the day in question, and he did put them on Thomas Ruth,
but that was as far as it went. This line of inquiry is moot.”

The judge looked at King. “Where are you going with this, Counsel?”

“Bear with me, please, Your Honor.”

“Don’t beat a dead horse.”

“I won’t.”

“Proceed.”

“Was Sergeant Brown on the force at a time when this type of handcuff was standard equipment?” King continued.

“Yes.”

King went back to the prosecution table and took two pieces of paper from Lin Song. He gave one to Gardner and handed the
other to the clerk. “Please mark as state’s exhibit thirty-three.”

Gardner scanned the page. It was an outdated police review board complaint form.

“Take a look at this document,” King said.

“Object!” Gardner bounded to his feet.

“What’s wrong now?” Ransome asked wearily.

“This is an atrocity!”

“Approach the bench!”

Gardner was adamant. “Mr. King is attempting to introduce a brutality complaint from twenty years ago. It’s totally irrelevant!”

“Let me see.” Rollie reached for the paper.

King handed it up, and the judge skimmed the contents. “What is this, Kent?”

“What it purports to be. A few years back, a citizen made a complaint against the defendant regarding the use—or
misuse
, I should say—of a set of handcuffs identical to the ones at issue here. It seems Sergeant Brown left a man chained to a
fence for over three hours.”

“You contend this is relevant?” Ransome inquired.

“Yes, I do. It establishes a pattern of unprofessional behavior with respect to handcuffs. The defendant employed them once
before to punish and intimidate someone. This prior bad act has a bearing on his motivation here.”

The judge turned to Gardner. “What’s your position?”

“That is absurd!” Gardner pointed to the complaint. “The act of a rookie officer in a difficult situation had nothing to do
with punishment or intimidation. There was no disciplinary action taken against the defendant at the time, so the allegation
must be regarded as unproven. It’s not relevant in any event.”

The judge looked at King.

“The allegation was confirmed,” King countered. “The department chose not to sanction him, but what is alleged to have happened
did happen. And that is the important part. The facts are true. He used handcuffs as a weapon.”

“No!” Gardner’s cheeks reddened. “That’s not what happened.”

Ransome read the complaint form again, then looked down. “It is an old incident, but…”

Gardner’s heart sank.

“I think it does have a bearing on the defendant’s state of mind toward the victim. Objection overruled.”

“But,” Gardner protested, “handcuffing does not equate to killing. It’s an illogical inference!”

“Enough!” Ransome said sternly. “You’ve heard my ruling. The document will be allowed into evidence.”

Gardner and Brownie slowly returned to the defense table. Again, King had hit below the belt. The brutality complaint was
garbage. It had nothing to do with this case, but it did paint Brownie as a wild man with a set of cuffs.

King called four more witnesses after Larry Gray and finished filling in the cement. He established that Brownie’s father
had died under mysterious circumstances; that Brownie was grief-stricken and Brownie had threatened Ruth; that Brownie was
with Ruth within hours of the electrocution; that he had diagrammed the power station before the crime; that a man Brownie’s
size was near the scene at the exact moment of death; that Brownie’s handcuffs were on Ruth’s wrists; that Brownie had Ruth’s
shoes in his possession; that Brownie had a temper, was reckless with handcuffs, and had no credible alibi.

*   *   *

By four-thirty in the afternoon, the pace was slowing. “Call your next witness, Mr.King,” Rollie advised.

“The state rests,” King said.

Gardner looked at Brownie with shock. What the hell was this? There were still twelve witnesses on King’s discovery list,
enough to keep them busy for another week. The defense was not ready to proceed.

“Something wrong, Mr. Lawson?” the judge asked.

“We were under the impression that the state had more witnesses.”

“I guess they don’t. Are you ready to go forward with your case?”

Gardner glanced at King, who was well aware of the havoc he’d just caused. “No,” Gardner said. “Not at this time.”

“When
will
you be ready?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“That’s impossible,” Rollie snapped. “The jury’s in the box. I’m not going to make them wait. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning,
no later!”

“Your Honor—” Gardner protested.

“Court’s adjourned until nine A.M.!” The gavel sounded, and Rollie left the bench.

Gardner sat silently as the court emptied.

“King did it again, huh?” Brownie said.

“Yeah. And I know why.” Gardner pointed to the prosecution witness list. The next name was Fairborne, and the rest were other
members of CAIN. “He didn’t want me to ask them about Ruth’s mental condition. He knows he’s got enough to convictwhy risk
it? He just destroyed our chance to establish a suicide case from the inside? “

“So why can’t we call the same witnesses?”

“I considered that, but it won’t work. If we call them as our witnesses they’ll insist Ruth was sane the day he died and every
day before that. I’ve got no leverage on direct examination, not like I’d have on cross, even if Rollie let me have leeway.
I could have gained some ground by attacking them on cross. King knew it, so he pulled the plug.”

“So now we hustle,” Brownie said.

“Now we hustle,” Gardner echoed. “I’m going down to the VA hospital tonight. You have your assignment from this morning. We’ll
meet up at my office later.”

“Good luck.”

Gardner headed for the door. He had a lot of territory to cover by the next morning, and a little luck would certainly help.

Gardner and Jennifer sat in the rear booth at Russel’s. “I can’t believe that fat bastard,” Gardner complained, “allowing
the brutality complaint into evidence, then not giving us more time!” He squeezed some mayonnaise out of his BLT.

“He’s screwing you,” Jennifer said.

“No kidding. We are A-number-one screwed.”

“You make it sound hopeless.”

“It is.” Gardner dropped his sandwich on the plate. “We’ve lost the jury. There’s no doubt about it.”

“What about your new evidence, the background leads?”

“They’re a long shot at best. We still haven’t come up with anything firm.”

Jennifer took a sip of her soup. “But you do have a track on Ruth’s identity. That should get you something.”

“What? What can it get me?”

“Psychiatric records. If you get them, you’ll win.”

Gardner shook his head. “They are no doubt destroyed along with every other document relating to his true self. We’re never
going to find any records. “

“Then why are you wasting time with it?”

Gardner gave her an exasperated look. “What else can I do?”

“You could go after Paul.”

“Jeez, Jen, that’s out of the question.”

“So you refuse?”

Gardner pushed his plate away. “Of course. I confronted Brownie about it, and he stonewalled, as you’d expect. I cannot look
in that direction.”

“Then maybe you need to look within yourself.”

“What?”

“You’re not a defense attorney.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jennifer.”

“I’m not putting you down. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.… Why are you so tormented by what you’re doing? Why is
it so hard?”

“It would be a hell of a lot easier if you were back in our bed.”

“I don’t want to talk about that. This is about the law. Defense attorneys don’t care about the truth. You do. You always
have. You are not a defense attorney, not at heart.”

“At least I’m trying. It’s driving me nuts attempting to raise reasonable doubt, generating smoke. But goddamnit, at least
I’m trying!”

“Maybe you should consider changing directions.”

“You mean go against my own client?”

“I mean go for the
truth
. That’s what you really know how to do. That’s what you’ve done all your life. That’s the real you.”

“I can’t, Jennifer. I made a commitment to Brownie to see this through to the end, and that’s what I am going to do. We’ve
got one more lead on the Ruth ID. I’m checking it out tonight.”

“At the VA hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Gardner shook his head. “No. I’ve got to do this alone. But it would be nice if you were at the house when I got back.”

Jennifer didn’t reply.

“No deal, huh?”

“Let’s get through
this
crisis first.”

“Then work on us?”

Jennifer nodded.

“But what if we don’t get through? What if it all blows up?”

Jennifer touched his hand. “You can’t let that happen.”

Gardner flicked his turn signal and moved into the exit lane of the Virginia interstate highway.S
OUTHEAST VETERANS HOSPITAL
, the sign said. This was it, the last viable lead, a name that had surfaced three times in the
Fugitives
call-backs. Two people on Brownie’s list and one on Gardner’s identified Ruth as Barton Graves. That had to be more than
coincidence. It had to be a match. And of the three, only one had had more than a fleeting contact with the mystery man: Lieutenant
Adrian Anders, a Vietnam vet who said he’d known Graves during the war.

Gardner parked beside a red brick building and walked to the door. It was evening, and perimeter lights illuminated the four
corners, casting knife-edged shadows across patches of hardened snow. The place looked more like a prisoner compound than
a hospital.

Gardner entered the reception area and encountered an elderly nurse at the desk. “Here to see Lieutenant Anders,” he said.

She checked the roster. “Room six-two-five. Take the elevator to the top floor, turn left, and go to the end of the hall.
It’s right there.”

Gardner thanked her and went to the elevator. Soon he was in a drab, foul-smelling corridor lined with the rooms of forgotten
heroes. He found 625 and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice called.

Gardner entered cautiously. The light was off, and it was dark as a well inside. “Lieutenant Anders? It’s Gardner Lawson.
I’m here about Barton Graves.”

“Come in, Mr. Lawson. I’ve been expecting you.”

Gardner fumbled in the murk. “Mind if I turn on the light?”

“Sorry. My eyes are hypersensitive. Prop open the door with a chair. That will let light in from the hall.”

Gardner located a chair and propped open the door. In a moment his vision had adjusted, and he could make out the image of
a man in an adjustable bed. He was under the covers, and by the lay of the sheets, body parts were missing.

“Sit over here,” he said, “by me.” Anders retrieved a pair of thick glasses. “I took a hit of white phosphorus in the face.
I can see, but the brighter the light, the more painful.”

Gardner focused on the man’s face. An ugly scar roped across his chin and cheek. “You knew Barton Graves,” he began.

“Yes,” Anders said, “I did, but…” He was struggling with a pillow. “Uh, can you help me?”

“Certainly.” Gardner adjusted his pillow. Up close, the man’s face was more grotesque, the odor of medication strong.

“Thank you. I can talk easier now.”

Gardner took out a notepad and moved into the shaft of light from the hall. “Tell me about Graves. What makes you think he
was Thomas Ruth?”

“I saw the
Interview
magazine article, the one about the snake church and the preacher. I
can
read, you know.… At first I didn’t make the association. Another off-beat cult, I figured, but then I began thinking. Something
about Ruth was familiar. The picture was wrong. His face was different when I knew him. But then, when I saw the
Fugitives
show—I can watch TV, too—anyway, they were asking to identify him, and I began to think that maybe I
did
know who he was.”