The Judgment (18 page)

“How far?”

“I don’t know,” he said, evidently trying to reckon the distance in some measure they might agree on. “Maybe it was, like, about as far as a football field is. Maybe more, maybe less.”

“So a hundred yards, give or take?”

This was getting silly. “Look, Detective Billings,” I said. “My client has made an effort to be accurate in his own way. I think his analogy to a football field is clear enough.”

“He wasn’t specific earlier about the time,” said Billings, “just ‘after dark’ was all he said. I’m just trying to get him to be specific where he can. I’m sure you want that, too, Counselor.”

I nodded, so did Billings, and Sam picked up his story where he had left off.

Stash had remained silent through all this, as had Sue. They seemed impatient, as if they wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. So did I.

When Sam finished, having described his discomfort and fear at the police roadblock, I put my hand on his, indicating that he was to stop. He had told them all he had told me, and that was enough.

“Well, I give you credit, Charley,” said Stash. “You sure know how to polish a witness. You got all that down in fifteen minutes.”

That was meant to annoy me. It did. “What are you talking about, Stash? He just told the same story he told me. And it’s the same story he was telling you just before I came in, isn’t it, Detective Gillis?”

She held back. “More or less,” she said, studiously avoiding my eyes.

“Then,” I said, rising to my feet, “I think we’ve concluded our business here. Come on, Sam.” I gave him a tug, and he stood up uncertainly, looking left and right and then back at me.

“Wait a minute,” said Stash. “I think we ought to have a talk out in the hall, Charley.”

“Wait a minute yourself. Sam Evans was brought in as a witness, and he’s given you his testimony. I understand that he was a little less than forthcoming in the beginning. That’s only natural considering his youth and inexperience. He was frightened. But he’s told you now what he knows and what he saw. He has nothing to add. It’s up to you now to have his story checked out.”

“Do
what?”
Sue yelled, suddenly exploding as she sprang forward from the wall. “There’s nothing to check! There is no story! He made it up!”

“Far be it from me to tell you your job, Detective Gillis, but I think a visit to Mrs. Belder would be in order. I assume that hasn’t yet been done. She might have a better idea of the time my client left her place than he seems to. That would ease your mind a little on specifics, wouldn’t it, Detective Billings?”

He sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

“And Sam,” I said, “has that clutch in the Datsun been fixed yet?”

“Huh? No, you can’t drive it nowheres.”

“I’d confirm that, if I were you, Detective Gillis. It would tend to support his story, wouldn’t it? What about drivers who were out that night on Clarion Road? Did they see a deserted pickup along the shoulder? That might bear checking out. No, I really think you’ve got your work cut out for you. But it’s work you can do without our further assistance. Let’s go, Sam.”

Stash was on his feet, beckoning. “Charley, come on. Outside. Leave your guy here.”

I’d made my power play. I had no choice but to hear what he had to say. Signaling to Sam to sit down and wait, I followed Assistant Prosecutor Stanislaus Olesky out of the room.

Once out in the hall, he shut the door after us, thrust his hands in his pockets, and walked us a little distance down the hall. He seemed almost reluctant to speak, his deep-set eyes reflecting confusion.

This act of concern on his part was getting on my nerves. “All right, Stash,” I said, “let’s hear it.”

“Charley,” he said, “we want to keep him.”

“Keep him? How can you? You know you don’t have enough to book him.”

“Okay, Charley, on the level, straight up, here’s what we’ve got on him. Number one, we’ve got the footprint which puts him right at the scene. His sneakers match the print exactly—off brand, distinctive tread.”

“He admits he was there.”

“Right. He has to, because, number two, when he was out on the road and tried to hitch a ride, he was recognized by somebody who knew him and drove right by. This person said your boy Sam was a bad kid, and he didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“I’d like the name of whoever that was.”

“All in due time. It’s called the discovery process. Number three, he fled the scene. He was not recognized by that motorist. But he was observed to be acting very suspiciously, and that was why the guy stopped. He was the
one who reported the body in the field. He also told us he’d seen someone running from the scene. We kept that from the reporters, because it was the only lead we had until Sue found the footprint in the mud. Only one clear one, but that was enough, and then the other motorist came forward, the one who’d recognized Sam Evans out on Clarion Road. So they had him identified, and that was enough to bring him in.”

“Okay, so they brought him in, and they questioned him, and—”

“One more thing.” He interrupted me. “Sam Evans did not volunteer information. He did not make a separate report of finding the body that night; He did not come forward the next day. And for the first hour of interrogation, he denied even being out on Clarion Road that night. This is not the sort of behavior you might expect from an innocent witness, Charley. You know that and I know that.”

“But it’s not the kind of behavior that gets someone booked on a murder charge, either,” I said. “You know what we’re dealing with. He’s not very bright. You probably wouldn’t have to dig very deep to find evidence of physical abuse by his father. Evans didn’t even understand that I was his lawyer, what my function was. He’s got no idea of the legal process. He was scared shitless, Stash. That’s why he ran. That’s why he shut up about what he’d found. That’s why he denied everything.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not psychologists.”

“That’s for sure,” I said. “But listen, there’s a big hole in the facts just as you presented them. It’s obvious he wasn’t the one who dropped the body off in the field.”

“Why?”

“He was on foot. The truck broke down, and he was hiking along trying to get a ride when he was spotted. Did the person who identified him say he was carrying anything?”

“I didn’t say there weren’t some inconsistencies. Granted, the body had to be moved to the scene in a vehicle.

I say it all becomes a question of where the truck broke down, if the truck broke down. And as you so helpfully pointed out, there are a few points in his story that ought to be checked.”

Stash gave me a sly look and waggled a finger at me. “It’s not nice to tell cops how to do their job, Charley, especially when one of them’s your girlfriend.”

“Let’s keep it professional, shall we?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s why I called you out here to talk this over. Now, the case is at a point where further investigation is required. I admit that. For good and sufficient reason, we intend to detain Sam Evans while that investigation proceeds.”

“What’s this good and sufficient reason? You don’t have enough to book him and take him to the Grand Jury, and you know it. What I’ve heard from you simply doesn’t constitute a ease against him. You think he’ll run away on you? He won’t. He’s too scared to try, and too dumb to get far, even if he does.”

“All right, Charley, I said I’d give it to you straight, so here
it
is. You’ll find out soon enough, anyway. The prosecutor let it out that there’d been a break in the case. He wants
it
to happen, and so he decided this was it.”

I sighed. Leave it to his boss, the very famous Mark Evola, Kerry County’s posturing prosecutor, a handsome hot dog who thought he was on a par with Vincent Bugliosi in his heyday. I was Evola’s least ardent fan and he was my biggest adversary. We’d gone up against each other and I’d beaten him in the Angel Harwell murder trial, but then the superambitious Evola had jumped at the chance for appointment as a circuit judge. He loved life on the bench and cherished the robes, but when it came time for reelection, Evola tanked. Now he was back to being Kerry County prosecutor, Stash’s boss and my nemesis.

“To whom did our esteemed prosecutor communicate this bit of wishful thinking? He wasn’t stupid enough to call a press conference, was he? Should I get the thrill of
my life and check
Eyewitness News
tonight?”

“Here’s what happened. That guy Evan Magarshak who’s been covering it for the
Free Press
had him on the phone and asked him if there’d been any new developments. Strictly routine. He’d just heard that Sam Evans had been brought in for questioning. Maybe Sue built it up a little. He was all pumped up about it, so he said there’d been a break and that we expected to have an announcement soon, tomorrow at the latest.”

“Great. He didn’t give Sam Evans’s name, did he?”

“No.” He shook his head reassuringly. Somehow I wasn’t reassured. “But he did decide that he shouldn’t play favorites, so he had the same information passed on to the
News
, the
Times-Herald
, and the three network stations. And that was when he sent me over to sit in on the interrogation.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“You might want to slip out the back door. I understand they’re already starting to gather out in front.”

“All right, now look, Stash, you know you’re not going to book him on homicide, so you must have some kind of holding charge in mind.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“What could you possibly come up with that could be made to fit?” I really wanted to know. I was more than curious.

“Misprision of a felony?”

I laughed at that, not very long or hard, and partly for effect, but I did laugh. “Now I know you’re bluffing,” I said. “Nobody uses that, Stash. If failure to report a crime were a legitimate charge in the State of Michigan, half of Detroit would be behind bars. It’s a Federal charge. We both know that.”

“Just thought I’d try it out on you,” he said. “No, what I had in mind might make you laugh just as hard, but I really think I can make it stick for the day or two we need.”

“Let’s have it. What is it?”

“Leaving the scene of an accident.”

“But that’s a traffic law—hit-and-run. That’s crazy. This wasn’t an accident, it was homicide, and it didn’t even take place on Clarion Road.”

“We don’t know that for sure. And as far as it being homicide, the medical examiner’s report isn’t in yet, so that’s not official, either.”

“Sam was on foot.”

“He entered Clarion Road in a pickup truck, didn’t he? If he fled the scene on foot, that changes nothing. I’ve looked at the law, Charley. Nowhere does it specify the means of departure.”

“You’ll never make it stick, Stash.”

He made it stick.

Stash Olesky knew something I didn’t. I took his advice and slipped out the back door. But circling the building, I saw them hanging out in front of Kerry County Police Headquarters, and still arriving. The Channel 7 news van pulled up as I all but tiptoed past. Nobody paid any attention to me. I went unrecognized even by the little crowd of locals that had gathered. They were probably there out of curiosity regarding the presence of the media, rather than having any real interest in what might be announced from the steps of the building. I hoped the reporters would be disappointed. So far Sam Evans’s name hadn’t been mentioned. I didn’t see how Stash would dare bring it up in connection with that phony holding charge. But you could never tell just what his boss might do or say.

I cut across the parking lot behind them, jumped into my car, and headed straight back to the office. I was relieved to find that Mr. and Mrs. Evans had gone, maybe over to Police Headquarters to get a report from me. Well, let them wait. I had nothing good to tell them. I stood over Mrs. Fenton while she whipped out a
Habeas Corpus
form. She was always fast and efficient when it mattered most. She printed it out and handed it over. If she had
been twenty years younger and not such a sourpuss, I might have given her a kiss on the cheek. As it was, she had to settle for a hasty thank-you as I hurried out the door for the Kerry County Courthouse.

Normally I don’t get quite so urgently involved in this kind of legwork, so why was I doing this for Sam Evans? I wasn’t even sure he was telling the truth. Maybe a part of me wanted to believe he was being straight, but frankly the whole Evans family gave me the creeps. You just never know where evil lurks.

And I sure wasn’t doing it for that father of his who had backed me up against a wall with his peculiar brand of moral blackmail so that I’d take on his strange son as a client. So why was I doing this?

The closest I could figure was that it was pride. Stash had out-and-out offended me with the ludicrous traffic charge. I took it personally. I hadn’t spent my whole life in the law—bad times and good—to fall for such blatant chicanery. I was out to show Stash that he just couldn’t get away with it.

But he knew something I didn’t. Maybe I should have been aware that a notice had been posted in the courthouse for a week or more. But I hadn’t been inside since the day I got Ernie Barker off on that gun charge, and to tell you the whole truth, I am not an inveterate reader of bulletin boards. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry and had paid better attention to that miscellaneous collection of county communications, I might have seen a neatly typed announcement to the effect that all proceedings of the Kerry County Court would be suspended at 1 P.M. on that day only “due to the Annual Conference of Southeastern Michigan County Judges to be held at the Hyatt Hotel, Southfield, Michigan.”

I noticed it only on my way out. By that time, I had pounded on the doors of the judges’ chambers and found them locked, looked into the courtrooms and found them as empty as the halls and offices. It looked like the last scene in
On the Beach.
Everybody had gone home early.

They may as well have locked up the building. I couldn’t figure it out. It was only then, the
Habeas Corpus
still flapping in my hand, that I stopped and surveyed the bulletin board, looking for some explanation. That’s when I got the message.