Strangers (5 page)

The address on Parfrey's card was 311 Juniper Street. For once I was grateful that Kerry and Tamara had talked me into installing a GPS in the car; I'd programmed it for Mineral Springs on arrival, and it directed me to 311 Juniper at just past nine o'clock. There seemed to be a lot of construction going on in town—testimony to the high price of gold and the prosperity it had brought. But the prosperity didn't seem to have extended to Sam Parfrey. His building was an old one in need of refurbishing, a block away from a sprawling, gray-and-white, institutional-looking structure that an American flag and a Nevada state flag identified as the Bedrock County courthouse, and his offices were on the second floor above a store that sold metal detectors and mining supplies.

The lettering on the door was the same as on his card: S
AMUEL
M. P
ARFREY
, A
TTORNEY AT
L
AW.
Behind the door lay a cramped anteroom presided over by a middle-aged woman pecking away at a computer keyboard while a printer in distress made clacking, wheezing noises. Her smile was as pallid as her greeting, and it vanished when I gave her my name and one of my cards. She said in neutral tones, “Oh, yes, I'm sure Mr. Parfrey will want to see you right away,” took the card through a closed inner door without knocking, came back out almost immediately, and ushered me in.

The inner office was double the size of the outer one, rimmed with law books, and as tidy as any lawyer's private sanctum I'd ever seen. A functional metal desk was set before a window that looked out toward the highway and the dun-colored desert beyond. The man standing behind it looked to be as neat and functional as his surroundings, but not in a way to inspire much confidence in potential clients. Forty or so, short and pear-shaped, thinning reddish hair, plain features. The solemn expression he wore, if I was reading it correctly, meant or was intended to mean that he took his commitment to the practice of law with all due seriousness. But as he stepped around the desk to give my hand a strong but perfunctory shake, there was a hint of something in his pale blue eyes and downturned mouth corners that might have been disillusionment. Man gone as far as he would ever go in his profession and his narrow little world and all too aware of the fact.

We got the introductory small talk out of the way, and then sat down and looked at each other across his desk. He seemed a little ill at ease, maybe because of the magnitude of the rape case, maybe because he wasn't sure how to deal with a professional who operated outside his frame of reference. Pretty soon he blew out a breath and said, “I'll be frank with you. I don't think there's anything you can do for Mrs. Hatcher or her son.”

“Meaning you believe he's guilty?”

“Meaning the circumstantial evidence against him is strong and there may well be another piece that's damning.”

“The DNA evidence the sheriff and the D.A. are waiting for.”

“Yes. Even if it turns out to be negative or inconclusive, they have enough to try Cody Hatcher and likely get a conviction no matter what kind of defense I put up.”

“You could always request a change of venue.”

“It would be denied.” He began fiddling with a turquoise and silver ring on his right hand, rotating it—another indication of his unease. “Things are done differently here than where you're from. Like it or not.”

“
Do
you think the boy is guilty?”

“He swears he's innocent and his mother is convinced he's telling the truth. What I think isn't important. I'll do my best for him, of course, but as she may have told you, I have no background in criminal law.”

“Then why did you take the case?”

“I've known Mrs. Hatcher casually for some time. I often eat at the restaurant where she works.”

“Doesn't quite answer my question.”

“Most attorneys in Mineral Springs are either involved with the mining industry or specialize in personal injury cases or family law. None with experience in criminal law would touch it. I happen to believe that everyone is entitled to a legal defense, even a young man who has allegedly committed a series of highly inflammatory crimes.” Another blown breath. “Frankly, I'm working for Mrs. Hatcher more or less pro bono.”

Good for him. “You're aware she's the victim of harassment?”

“Anonymous phone calls and a rock-throwing incident, yes.”

“More than that. Last night somebody tossed a rock through her kitchen window and set fire to the shed in her backyard. Not much damage, but there could have been if the fire had spread.”

“My God. I never thought the harassment would go that far, that she was in any real danger.…”

“The arson attempt change your mind? You know this town, I don't.”

Parfrey thought about it, pinching and rotating his ring again. “No. It's a cowardly act, like the phone calls. No one has any reason to do her deliberate physical harm. If she had cause to fear for her life, then so would I. Cody Hatcher's mother, Cody Hatcher's attorney.”

“Have you been hassled, too?”

“Verbally a time or two. That's all. It hasn't made me think twice about representing her son, and won't. I'm not a quitter.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Neither am I.”

“I know. Your reputation precedes you.” I raised an eyebrow, and he said, “When Mrs. Hatcher told me you were coming, naturally I wanted to know more about you. I had my assistant Google you and your agency.”

Good for him again. He might be in over his head, but he was apparently efficient as well as steadfast.

He folded his hands—thick-fingered, the backs red-furred—on his neat desktop. “Well, then. I imagine you have some questions.”

“Several. To begin with, what are my chances of a brief interview with Cody Hatcher?”

“Slim and none, I'm afraid. Mendoza and Sheriff Felix won't even allow his mother to see him.”

“Mendoza being the district attorney?”

“Two terms now, yes. But that
cholo
has bigger political aspirations. He views this case as a stepping-stone to a state office.”

Cholo.
Derogative term with racist overtones. But it didn't necessarily make Parfrey a bigot. His obvious dislike of Frank Mendoza might be a matter of professional jealousy, his use of the slur one of those stupid mouth farts that pop out without malicious intent.

“What about Felix?” I asked. “How would you categorize him?”

“Another two-termer, but not nearly as politically motivated. Happy right where he is, or seems to be.”

“Dogmatic? Runs his department with an iron hand?”

“What makes you think that?”

“I met him last night. He responded to what happened at Mrs. Hatcher's home.”

“And that was the impression he gave you?”

“More or less. Not true?”

“Well, he's a better man than Frank Mendoza,” Parfrey said. “Tough enough, and uncompromising at times, but essentially competent and fair-minded.”

“Can you get me an audience with Mendoza?”

“I'm not sure. It might do more harm than good, if he wants to make an issue of your unofficial status.”

“Better to steer clear of him, then,” I said, “at least for the time being.”

“That would be my advice. Proceed with caution, no matter what you intend to do.”

“I haven't made up my mind about a course of action yet. Still feeling my way along.” I shifted position on the cushionless client's chair; the older I get, the more my butt muscles protest sitting on hard surfaces. “Mrs. Hatcher had company when I went to see her last night, before the trouble started. Her brother-in-law, Matt Hatcher. What can you tell me about him?”

“Not very much. Works as a supervisor at the Eastwell Mine.”

I made a note of that in my book. “He seems to have pretty strong feelings for her that she doesn't reciprocate.”

“Yes, now that you mention it. Aggressive and full of himself, if my brief acquaintance with him is any indication. A man who won't take no for an answer.”

“Do he and his nephew get along? Didn't seem that way to me last night.”

“I don't know for sure, but I doubt it. Since you're asking for my opinion, I'd say he hopes the boy is guilty.”

“That's the impression I got, too. Views Cody as a rival, would like him out of the way so Mrs. Hatcher would be all alone and he'd have a better chance of moving in.”

“Exactly.”

“How long has she been a widow?”

“… She didn't tell you?”

“The subject of her late husband didn't come up.”

“Oh? I had the impression that you and she were … well, very close at one time.”

“For a short period more than twenty years ago. I haven't seen or spoken to her since we parted ways.”

“But you came right away when she contacted you.…”

“My motives were and are professional, Mr. Parfrey, not personal.”

“Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Well. Glen Hatcher. He died … let's see, four years ago last August. Heart attack caused by hypertension and overwork. Sad case—he was only forty-seven.”

“What was his job?”

“Metallurgist. Also employed by Eastwell.”

“And Cheryl has been alone ever since?”

“Except for her son, yes. Not that she hasn't had other opportunities—she's a very attractive woman. But she doesn't seem interested in another permanent relationship.”

No surprise there. Two marriages that ended painfully, tragically. The first to a Tom Something she'd caught in bed with another woman and who'd unintentionally killed himself and his girlfriend in a drunken accident six weeks after she threw him out; she'd been on the mend from that one when I met her in San Francisco. And the second to Glen Hatcher, which apparently hadn't been a bed of roses, either, except for the union having produced her only child.

I said, “The man who claims to have seen Cody running away from the Oasis Mobile Home Park—Stendreyer. What can you tell me about him?”

“Well … he's a hermit who calls himself a prospector, and a desert scavenger, but he evidently has another, illegal source of income.”

“And that is?”

“Marijuana.”

“Oh? Rumor, or has it been substantiated?”

Parfrey's mouth bent wryly at the corners. “Cody admitted to me, privately and under pressure, that he's bought joints from the man. I have no reason to disbelieve him.”

“Does his mother know he smokes dope?”

“No. I certainly didn't tell her. Or anybody else except you.”

“Good. Do you think Felix and the D.A. know about Stendreyer's sideline?”

“If it's true that he's a dealer, then yes, Felix is probably aware of it. But can't prove it or Stendreyer would be out of business.”

“Does Stendreyer have a police record?”

“Not in this state. Arrested once in California three years ago for possession of marijuana, that's all.”

“Felix must be aware of that, too. Seems to me he and the D.A. would be leery of accepting a suspected marijuana dealer as a reliable witness against Cody Hatcher.”

“Not when the man claims to abhor sexual violence,” Parfrey said, “not given the pressure they were under to put a stop to the assaults, and not after Felix found the hunting knife and ski mask in the boy's Jeep.”

“Are you planning to bring up the dope dealing in court, to try to debunk Stendreyer's testimony?”

“No. It's highly unlikely the presiding judge would allow it, and even if he did, no matter how many witnesses I might be able to convince to attest to it, it's hearsay and would do more harm than good with the jury.” The wry mouth again. “Mendoza would make sure to equate marijuana use with depraved sexual desires.”

“Assuming Cody's innocence, the evidence was planted. Is it possible Stendreyer did the planting, that he's the rapist?”

“No, that's definitely out. He's too old—fifty or so. All three victims described their attacker as young, teens or early twenties.”

“I still want to talk to him. He lives in an old ghost town?”

“What's left of one. Lost Horse, about ten miles northeast of here.”

“Okay. Is there anybody besides Stendreyer who might have it in for Cody?”

“Well, the boy says he has no enemies. You can take that for what it's worth.”

“He has at least one—the real rapist.”

“Unless he was framed at random.”

“Possible, but not too likely,” I said. “The perp figures to be local, and in a small town like this, everybody knows everybody else. How well liked is Cody? Lot of friends?”

“Not a lot, no, but the ones he has expressed shock and disbelief at his arrest.” Parfrey paused, playing his ring rotation game again. “There is something you should know about one of them, Jimmy Oliver.”

“Yes?”

“He's Sheriff Felix's nephew.”

“And he doesn't believe Cody is guilty?”

“No. Defends him vehemently.”

“What does Felix think about this?”

“Dismisses it. So does his sister, Jimmy's mother, for that matter.” Parfrey added irrelevantly and with distaste, “She's a religious fanatic.”

“What about registered sex offenders living in the area? Young men with records of violent crimes?”

“None of the right age. There are two registered sex offenders in Mineral Springs but they're both over forty.”

“Okay,” I said. “I'll need names and addresses—the rape victims, Jimmy Oliver, Cody's girlfriend, Alana Farmer, his other friends, and anyone else you think I should talk to.”

“I had Doris, my assistant, print out a file for you. Everything pertinent to the case we've gathered to date.”

“Good. Thanks.”

Parfrey stood when I did. “I'll see what I can do about getting you a few minutes with Cody and me,” he said, “but as I said before, there's very little chance of it.”