The Associate (22 page)

“So do you think that Gene was involved in the Alvarez kidnapping?”

Chisholm thought for a moment before shaking his head.

“No, that was Paul McCann, all the way. But Dobbs got everyone thinking that there was a third conspirator out there, and maybe that gave Gene the idea for his fake kidnapping.”

“I don’t buy it. I know Gene. He couldn’t kill someone, and he worshiped Melissa.”

“Ramon, you’ve been in this business long enough to know that anyone can kill under the right circumstances. Anyway, I’m not saying that Gene’s guilty, but he is a suspect. Maybe this is a wild-goose chase, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Two days later, at nine in the evening, Martin Alvarez’s phone rang. It was Gene. He sounded on the verge of hysteria.

“I’m in jail. They’re saying I killed Melissa.”

“Try to calm down, Gene. Is anyone with you who can hear what you’re saying?”

“Ramon, Norm Chisholm. I know these guys. I can’t believe they’re doing this.”

“I’m coming down now to see you. Be strong and do not say anything. If they try to talk to you ask for the Miranda rights. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Thank you, Martin.”

“Put Ramon on.”

A moment later the DA was on the phone.

“What the fuck are you doing, Ramon?”

“This is hard for me, too, Martin, but we’ve got evidence.”

“That Gene murdered his wife?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit. Gene’s the gentlest person I know. You fucked up.”

“We searched Gene’s cabin, the Meander River place. The clothes Melissa was wearing on the day she disappeared were stuffed into a dresser drawer. They were covered with blood. We haven’t done a DNA test yet, but the lab’s done some preliminary tests. It’s Melissa’s blood type. We also found her car parked behind the cabin.”

“Then someone planted the stuff. Gene’s not stupid. If he killed her he’d never leave incriminating evidence around.”

“I’m not going to get into this with you, Martin. I’m the elected DA in this county and I’ve got to do my job.”

Martin held his tongue. Ramon was right. It would just get Quiroz’s back up if he tried to throw his weight around.

“Can I visit Gene?”

“Yeah, but you’ll become a witness if he talks to you about the case.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. What about you? Are you going to grill him?”

“No. Gene’s so messed up right now that a judge would toss out anything he said. If he killed Melissa I’ll nail him, but I want to do this right.”

They were keeping Gene away from the other prisoners at the end of the cell block. The sheriff had put a suicide watch on him and a guard was sitting outside his cell. Arnold was lying on a metal cot, staring at the ceiling. The guard let Martin into the cell door and he sat on the edge of the cot.

“I didn’t kill her.”

Martin put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know that, Gene.”

“She was everything to me.” His eyes watered. “My life’s . . . I mean, Jesus, Martin . . .”

Gene sobbed so hard that his body shook. He drew up his knees and rolled into a fetal position facing the concrete wall.

“She was going to leave me. She said she was bored, that I bored her. I told her I’d go anywhere, just to be with her.”

“Ah, Gene.”

Martin reached for Gene’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Gradually, Gene’s breathing steadied and he wiped his eyes, but he still wouldn’t look at Martin.

“I don’t care what they do to me.”

“You’ve got to care. You didn’t kill her. If you don’t fight, the real killer will get away.”

“It doesn’t matter. They showed me her clothes. They were drenched with blood. She’s dead. Finding who killed her won’t bring her back.”

“Listen to me, Gene. Nobody knows how you feel better than I do. Nobody. But you can’t give up. You’ve got to fight.”

Gene didn’t answer.

“Do you have any idea what happened, why the clothes and her car were found at the cabin?”

Gene shook his head.

“The cabin is almost two hours away. If the kidnapper was some stranger he wouldn’t know about the cabin.”

That got Gene’s attention.

“There . . . there was someone else. She had a lover.”

“Do you know who?”

“She wouldn’t say.” Gene leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes. “She could be cruel, Martin. There was a side to her that you didn’t know.”

Gene’s head bowed.

“I’m not much in bed. She was so young, so vigorous. I couldn’t please her. She taunted me. Made fun of me. And she said there was this man, someone who . . . who made her feel . . .”

“People say things they don’t mean,” Martin managed. “Stupid things.” Gene opened his eyes and looked directly at Martin.

“I don’t think she ever loved me. I think she was escaping from something and used me to get away. As soon as she had the time to really look at me, she realized the mistake she’d made.”

“Don’t run yourself down like this. You’ve been through so much you’re not thinking straight. I’ve seen Melissa and you together. She did care,” Martin lied. “She couldn’t fake that.”

Gene turned away. To Martin he seemed the very image of hopelessness.

Martin made it home from the jail at midnight. His wound ached, but his heart ached more, and his mind was racing. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning in bed, he gave up.

It was a hot night, but there was usually a cool breeze on the veranda. Martin filled a glass with Scotch and ice and sat down by the pool. The stars were bright and there were few clouds. If he had never known Patty, it might have been a perfect moment, but Patty was dead, Gene Arnold was locked up in the Laurel County jail, and someone was laughing at everyone. But who?

Lester Dobbs had testified that Paul McCann called someone on his cell phone after he murdered Patty. Whom did he call? Suddenly Martin sat up straight. Did McCann call anyone? The only reason everyone believed that a third man was involved in Patty’s kidnapping was because Lester Dobbs claimed to have overheard Paul’s phone conversation in the desert.

Alvarez took a sip of Scotch and let his mind wander. What if Dobbs had made up the story about the third man? Dobbs had been out of jail when Melissa was kidnapped. Did anyone know where he’d been at the crucial times? There was definitely another person with Dobbs at the Alvarez drop site, but maybe there were only two people—not three—involved in the plot to kidnap Patty Alvarez.

It was time to talk to Lester Dobbs.

Dobbs had been living in a trailer park on the outskirts of town; a privilege he’d earned when he agreed to turn state’s evidence. His trailer was at the far end of the last row; beyond it were wide-open spaces. Martin neared the trailer door. Somewhere in the hills a coyote howled. The sound unnerved him. He collected himself before knocking on the metal door.

No one answered the knock. Martin strained to hear movement inside the trailer. A stiff wind rattled the metal siding.

“Dobbs! Open up!”

The coyote howled again and an eerie wailing answered his call. The coyotes were hunting. So was he.

Martin took out his .45 and opened the door. He paused for a moment, listening. Then he stepped inside praying that Dobbs was not waiting for him in the dark. Another step. Nothing. Martin touched a switch on the wall. Light filled the narrow confines of the trailer. Martin turned slowly and saw a sink filled with unwashed pots and dishes and a countertop littered with empty beer cans. Dobbs’s clothes were scattered along the floor leading to his bed. Then he noticed a shape under the covers on the bed, and the hair stood up on the nape of his neck.

“Lester,” he called, but he knew that Dobbs was not going to answer.

Martin pulled back the thin green blanket and the sheet, then stepped back and stared. A deep, jagged gash started on one side of Dobbs’s throat and ended at the other. The sheets were coated with dried blood. If Dobbs knew anything about the identity of Melissa’s kidnapper, he had taken the information to the grave.

“He’s been dead for two days,” Norm Chisholm told Martin. They were sitting in a police car. It was seven in the morning. Alvarez was cradling a cup of steaming-hot coffee. It tasted like battery acid but helped him keep his eyes open.

“Did anything in Dobbs’s trailer connect him to Melissa?”

“Nothing so far, and the forensic guys have been over every inch of the place. But I didn’t expect to find anything. We questioned Dobbs as soon as Gene reported the kidnapping. He had an alibi.”

“Then why kill him?” Martin asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Dobbs must have known something that threatened the kidnapper. Maybe he lied when he testified that he didn’t know the person McCann called after he killed Patty.”

“Does this let Gene off the hook?” Martin asked hopefully.

“Afraid not. Dobbs was killed the night before we arrested Gene. Gene was alone all evening. He has no alibi.”

A week after Dobbs’s murder, Paul McCann’s wife was waiting for Aaron Flynn by the door to Judge Schrieber’s courtroom.

“Will you get him out?” Joan asked, anxiously twisting the strap of her purse. Her blue eyes were sunk in their sockets and there were dark shadows around them.

“I think so, Joan, but there are no guarantees in this business.” Flynn patted her on the shoulder and smiled. “We’ll have our answer soon.”

Joan started to say something, but she stopped when she saw Martin Alvarez bearing down on her husband’s attorney.

“Ramon told me what you’re trying to do, Flynn.”

“I’m trying to do my job, Martin. This isn’t personal.”

“It’s personal to me,” Alvarez said in a chilling tone. “Your client is safer in jail, safer on death row, than he’ll be if he walks out of this courthouse.”

“Martin, this is not the way,” Flynn said in a conciliatory tone.

“McCann killed my wife. If the law doesn’t punish him I won’t wait to find out if God will. Let him know that.”

“You’re asking for a new trial, Mr. Flynn?” Judge Schrieber said. He had read Flynn’s motion and the memorandum of law in support of it and he looked very troubled.

“Yes, Your Honor. My memo sets out the relevant cases and statutes. Read together, they hold that you must order a new trial if an appeal can’t be prosecuted because the reporter’s notes have been lost or destroyed through no fault of the defendant, every reasonable effort has been made to find a substitute for the missing record, and the defendant has made a prima facie showing of error or unfairness in the trial.

“I’ve submitted a list of potential trial errors that I would have asserted as bases for reversal on appeal. There is no substitute for the missing record of Mr. McCann’s trial. The police have made every reasonable effort to recover it and the record is missing through no fault of Mr. McCann.”

“What do you say to Mr. Flynn’s argument, Mr. Quiroz?” the judge asked.

Ramon rose slowly, as if trying to delay the inevitable.

“I agree that Mr. Flynn has raised several issues that could lead to reversal, though I don’t think they actually would.”

“But that’s not the test, is it?” Judge Schrieber asked. “He doesn’t have to prove he would win. You aren’t asserting that?”

“No. I agree that Mr. McCann has met the test of making his prima facie case on the possibility of error in the trial. I don’t agree on much else, though. For instance, the police have searched pretty thoroughly, but they’re not through looking. I think the court should give them more time.”

“Where are they going to look, Your Honor?” Flynn asked. “They searched both of Mr. Arnold’s residences, Mrs. Arnold’s car, her office, his office. This appeal has to be prosecuted quickly. We can’t wait indefinitely in the hopes that years from now the transcription tapes may show up.”

“Mr. Quiroz,” the judge asked, “do you have anything more than wishful thinking that leads you to believe that the lost record in this case will soon be recovered?”

Ramon shook his head. “No, Your Honor, I don’t. I just feel that it’s too soon to give up.”

“Is there a substitute for the missing record?”

“No, Your Honor. None that I know of. It seems that the notes and backup disks for every case that Mrs. Arnold had on appeal were with her when she was abducted and there are no copies.”

“If that’s so, and you have no real hope of finding the originals, and the defendant had made a prima facie case for the possibility of reversal, what choice do I have except to grant this motion for a new trial?”

“We would argue that Mr. McCann is at fault here. How do we know that he wasn’t involved in the kidnapping of Mrs. Arnold?”

“Your Honor,” Flynn retorted, “this is an argument that grows out of sheer desperation. Mr. Quiroz prepared the warrant that led to the arrest of Gene Arnold for his wife’s murder. There has never been a hint of a suggestion that Mr. McCann, who was in jail at all times relevant to the Arnold case, had anything to do with the second kidnapping.”

“Mr. Quiroz?” the judge asked.

Ramon knew when he was whipped and he simply shook his head.

“Mr. Flynn, if I could find any legal reason to deny your motion I would do so,” the judge said. “But there isn’t any and I am sworn to follow the law, even when I don’t want to.” He paused. “I am going to order a new trial for Mr. McCann.”

“Your Honor, I have a further motion,” Flynn said quickly. “I move for an order dismissing the charges against Mr. McCann. If this case were retried today it would have to result in a judgment of acquittal as soon as the state rested. Mr. McCann has always maintained his complete innocence and we have always contended that Lester Dobbs accused Mr. McCann in order to escape his just punishment for Mrs. Alvarez’s murder. Without the testimony of Lester Dobbs there is no evidence connecting Mr. McCann to the kidnapping of Patty Alvarez.”

“Mr. Quiroz, is there an official copy of Mr. Dobbs’s trial testimony?” Judge Schrieber asked.

“No, sir.”

“Did Mr. Dobbs testify in the grand jury?”