Truth-Stained Lies (12 page)

M
ax was at Michael’s office when Cathy pulled up. When she went in, he was already reading a copy of the email that Michael had printed out. “I don’t like the reference to Joe and Leonard Miller,” he said without greeting her, “but really, anybody could have written this.”

Cathy dropped her purse and keys on Michael’s desk. “But Miller’s back in town. This is too coincidental. Have you been able to find him today, Michael?”

Michael sat low in his chair, his feet propped on the desk. He looked weary. “Yes. He’s staying at his mother’s, along with his two brothers. They went out around lunchtime and got burgers. He didn’t drive. Doesn’t look like he has a car here.”

“He could have borrowed or rented a white pickup truck,” she said.

“But if he ordered the clown suit, why would he have it
sent here? Why wouldn’t he ship it to the town he lives in now?”

“Maybe he never really left,” she said. “Granted, you haven’t been able to locate him, but maybe he’s just been keeping his head down and using another name.”

Max’s silence irritated her. She watched as he got up and went to Michael’s dry erase board. The disapproval on his face made it clear that he resented Michael’s work on this. Max’s insecurity would be inflamed if his brother had gotten ahead of him on the investigation.

“I’ve been making phone calls,” she said. “Of the three men, we narrowed it down to —”

“What three men?” Max demanded.

Michael pointed to the names on the board. “These three that Cathy’s written about.”

“Of the three,” Cathy repeated, “I think Moore is the most likely. He was in Panama City Monday building a deck. His boss thinks he was there all day, but he’s not sure. But Max, whether it’s Miller or Moore or one of the others, if this is the killer who wrote me, it proves that Jay didn’t do it.”

“There’s no evidence it is the killer. And the fact that this person mentioned Leonard Miller doesn’t mean that Miller’s involved or that he
is
Miller.”

Cathy paced the floor. “But don’t you see? It’s an opportunity, a simple opportunity to wreak havoc and play games with us. You’d think it was enough that Michael lost his career. You gotta figure Miller’s been celebrating over that. Maybe it gave him enough of a rush that he wants more.”

Michael’s feet came off the desk. “I didn’t lose my career because of him. I lost it because of me.”

Cathy hated it when Michael took the blame. “You didn’t bury evidence. You were trying to do the right thing.”

Michael saw Max’s jaw muscle constrict in and out, but he remained silent. He clearly felt the way his parents did — that Michael’s perjury charge had disgraced his family name and allowed Joe’s killer to walk free. “Max, you have to see that this isn’t just some random reader.”

“But this guy doesn’t even refer to Annalee’s murder or say he did it. He could just be a crackpot who heard about it.”

“That’s not true,” Cathy said. “He signed each letter the same way. No one else would know to do that. He warned me something was going to happen,
before
she was killed.”

“Same guy wrote all three notes,” Michael said in a flat voice. “Open your eyes, man.”

Max bristled. “I’m not the cop who makes fatal mistakes.”

Cathy saw the anger in Michael’s face … his ears … climbing in a red tint across his skin.

She tried to intervene. “Sniping at Michael isn’t helping, Max. You know Michael didn’t suppress evidence.”

Michael glared at his brother. So much water under the bridge. So much grief, pain, resentment …

“Of course we’re all sensitive,” Cathy said in a softer voice. “The name Leonard Miller is like sandpaper to all three of us. But now it’s my brother’s life we’re talking about, and my fiancé’s killer. Your brother’s. It should draw us all together, not push us apart.”

Michael had longed for closeness with Max and his parents since Joe’s death, but their silence on the subject was worse than his grand jury indictment. The fact was, he didn’t blame them.

He thought back to that awful day when his brother was
shot dead in the line of duty. Joe was part of a drug bust that had been planned for months, to take down a major source of the drug flow in the Florida panhandle. As the police went in, Joe had seen the perp attempting to flee. When he tried to stop him, the man shot him at close range. Michael was notified minutes later, and he met the ambulance at the crime scene. The perp got away, but several witnesses agreed that he was a white man with a shaved head and a tattoo of a bat on the back of his head. Michael rode with Joe in the ambulance, yelling at him to keep fighting as the life bled out of him. He was dead on arrival.

Later, still in a state of shock, Michael went back to the scene to see if they’d apprehended the killer. A crowd of neighbors stood watching the police activity, and an old woman came over to Michael and claimed she had seen a black man shooting the cop. Her description was completely opposite from the one that most of the eyewitnesses had given — including the other cops on the scene — but he went back to her house with her, took down her statement, and had her sign an affidavit. He realized immediately that the woman had some form of dementia. She said the same things over and over and got confused when he questioned her.

He gave her middle-aged daughter a copy of the affidavit, then promptly forgot about it. Thinking it a waste of time, he didn’t bother to turn it in to the detectives on the case. Later, they caught Leonard Miller, the guy with the bat tattoo, and several witnesses gave a positive identification. Since he was one of the men they’d been investigating, it was easy to make a solid case.

But who could have anticipated that when they came to trial that woman would return to haunt him? The defense attorney called Michael to the stand and asked if he’d ever buried evidence in a police case. Michael said no, he hadn’t.
Had he covered up evidence concerning his brother’s case? the defense attorney asked again. Thinking he was answering with complete honesty, Michael repeated that he had never done that.

Then the old woman’s daughter was called to the stand, and she told how her mother had given evidence disputing the identity of the perpetrator, but that Michael had never followed up. When the defense attorney brought Michael back to the stand and asked him about the affidavit, Michael had to admit that he hadn’t given it to the detectives on the case. The lead went nowhere, and the woman had dementia.

But the damage was done.

The defense attorney exploited Michael’s faulty memory, making the trial and the media circus focus on him and the “corrupt police department” rather than the accused.

The defense attorney rested his case soon after questioning Michael, leaving his contradictory statements burning on the jurors’ memories. When the jury found Leonard Miller not guilty, Michael was left with the stunned realization that his own failure had enabled his brother’s killer to walk free. When the trial was over, Michael was charged with perjury. Though it was a felony charge, he didn’t fight it. Even though he hadn’t meant to withhold evidence, that was exactly what he had done.

And felons couldn’t carry guns or serve as police officers. Everything he’d worked for was gone in one afternoon. While he’d grieved over his brother’s loss, he’d had to forge out a new life.

“I’ve just now gotten my bearings,” Cathy was saying. “Just now been able to stop dwelling on what happened, thinking about him every day, every hour … and now, it’s all dragged back up. I know it’s the same for both of you.”

Max ignored her confession. He was not a touchy-feely kind of guy. “Michael, I don’t want you getting in the way. Let us investigate this case.”

Michael shook his head. “Seriously? You didn’t find the clown suit. You wouldn’t know Miller was back in town if it wasn’t for me. You haven’t even paid attention to the letters to Cathy. Why would I pull out and trust you to get it right?”

“Don’t go off half-cocked, Michael. Oh, wait, I forgot. You can’t carry a gun.”

The comment hit home. Michael resented the condescension, but they weren’t getting anywhere. He forced himself to lower his voice. “I never go off half-cocked. I know what I’m doing. My training didn’t evaporate just because I turned in my badge.”

“Max, get off his case,” Cathy said. “Let him do his work. My brother is innocent. Somebody has to care about that.”

With an exasperated sigh, Max got to his feet, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and took a picture of the dry erase board.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked.

“Taking your notes so I can follow your leads.”

That released Michael’s tension as if Max had opened a pressure valve. “Good. We help each other, we get the perp off the street sooner.”

When Max left them alone, Michael looked at Cathy. Her eyes glowed with suppressed rage. “I don’t get why he’s still mad at you. Your family knows you didn’t deliberately do anything wrong. Everybody in town knows that. How could he treat you that way? Who does he think he is?”

“Max and the rest of my family will always hold it against me.”

“Well, I don’t.” She got up, walked to the window,
crossing her arms. “If I were you, I would probably have done the same thing. The woman had dementia. There was nothing you could do. Her testimony wasn’t helpful, and you had a lot on your mind. Your brother had just died. It’s no wonder you forgot about it.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing. Law enforcement officers don’t have the privilege of forgetting about testimony,” he said.

She turned back to him, met his eyes. “Everything that happened in that case was a travesty. Joe getting killed, Miller walking free, and you and your career …” Her voice trailed off and she turned back to the window, looked out through the blinds. “I don’t understand how these things happen,” she muttered in a barely audible voice. “Especially to you. You’re a believer. You serve God. Why would he let this —?”

“Don’t go there,” Michael cut in. “I trust God.”

“Really?” She turned back to him. “Even after all this? Because I don’t know. I’ve believed in God since I was a little girl, but sometimes things happen no one can explain. Horrible things. And they happen to people who love and serve God as much as they do to others. What’s the point?”

It was the one thing about her that Michael wished he could change. Events in her life had shaken her faith. But how could he help her when he harbored his own bitterness? He got up and faced her, wishing he could banish the tears glistening in her eyes. “God is still there for us, Cathy. He uses everything. And I trust him no matter how this life shakes out for me.”

He didn’t know if her silence was contemplative or angry. Was she just biting her tongue, letting him believe what he wanted?

As their gazes locked, he took a step toward her, pushed
the hair out of her eyes. The brush of his fingertips against her skin was like an electric jolt between them, and color climbed her cheeks. He put his hand back in his pocket. He should know better than to touch her. “I hope you haven’t stopped believing, Cathy.”

“I still have a few things to work out with God,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “It’s hard to see sunshine from the bottom of the pit.”

Michael hoped she would let him pull her out. But first he had to get himself on solid footing.

He held her gaze for a moment longer. Her misty eyes were a rich brown, sharp and deep. Misty. “Thank you for being such a good friend, Michael,” she said. “You’re always there for me.”

He swallowed. “Ditto.” That guilt rose up to drown him again. How could he have such strong feelings for his dead brother’s fiancée? It felt like a betrayal of Joe.

She broke their gaze. “Well, I guess I better go.”

He knew it. He’d made her uncomfortable. He stepped back to give her space.

“I want to try to see Jay before visiting hours are over. Now that I’m not his attorney, I have to go during visitation like everybody else.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know if anything happens.”

“I will.”

“And Cathy?”

She turned back to him at the door.

“Be careful. This guy is paying very close attention to you. Don’t let your guard down.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry.” As she stepped out into the twilight, he watched her look both ways. Michael wondered if the perp sat nearby, chuckling at the fact that they were all
putting their heads together now, talking about him. The narcissist’s dream.

He couldn’t let her go alone. He got his keys and waited for her to drive away, then went out to his Trailblazer and followed her. He would watch over her whether she agreed to it or not.

C
athy drove to the jail, pulled into the parking lot, and sat in her car for a moment. Her heart was still racing from Michael’s touch. What was wrong with her?

What would Joe think, knowing that she had feelings for his brother? Would it hurt him? Of course it would. She had no right. And Michael probably just saw her as a little sister, someone who needed protecting.

He had been there for her every day as she dealt with the shock of Joe’s loss. When she heard that her fiancé had been murdered, she’d retreated into her bed. Juliet, Holly, and Jay surrounded her, along with many of her friends. There was no shortage of food to eat, but she couldn’t swallow any of it. She wanted to be left alone in a dark room with the covers pulled over her head.

It was during those days that Michael was the only one who was comfortable to be around. He would come over
and she would manage to get up for him. They spent so many hours sitting and staring at a TV screen, neither one of them registering what was on it. Silence cloaked them like a warm blanket.

Joe had been Michael’s best friend. They saw and talked to each other several times each day. The holes in his day were as gaping as those in Cathy’s. When Cathy wept, Michael wept with her. When he smiled, she managed to smile too.

There were days when he would come over and say, “Let’s go for a ride,” and she would get in the car with him. They would park at the beach, staring out at the ocean until the sun went down and the moon rose high in the sky, neither of them saying a word. She wasn’t sure when the grief had lifted, when that heaviness lightened and daily life began to overshadow the tragedy. It had happened for them around the same time, and eventually they began to laugh and joke and talk.

When she decided to quit practicing law, Michael was the only one who understood. Their passion for finding justice for murder victims was stronger than ever. As she started her blog, Michael helped her in his spare time, investigating some of the things she was writing about, encouraging her and cheering her on.

But their bond was like brother and sister, wasn’t it? She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. He would never stand for it.

She pulled down her visor, looked in the mirror, wiped her eyes. Flipping it back up, she whispered, “Please forgive me.”

She shook off the thoughts and went into the jail, signed in. She’d visited this place many times as a prosecutor, but she had gone in through the back door. Now she had to sit in
the waiting room like all the other family members, hoping for fifteen short minutes with her brother.

As she waited, she looked around, wondering what everyone here was thinking. Was this old hat to some of them? Did they come here week after week for years on end, trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship with an incarcerated loved one? She prayed that wouldn’t be the case with Jay. If he went to prison for murder, he’d be moved to a state facility miles from here. How would he maintain his relationship with Jackson? She hoped his attorney was working hard. They had to get him out of here.

When they finally called her name, she went into the small room lined up with desks and chairs and found the one where Jay sat on the other side of the dirty glass. He looked pale and tired, and he’d already lost weight. She smiled at him, but he didn’t return it. He picked up the phone and so did she.

“You okay?” she asked him.

“No, I’m not okay,” he bit out. “Cathy, what is my attorney doing? Why hasn’t he gotten me out of here?”

“He’s working on it,” she said. “Has he been by to see you today?”

“Yes, but he’s moving too slow. I need to be with my son. Everything is crumbling apart!”

“Try to stay calm. We’re all working on it.”

“Stay calm?” he asked. “Are you kidding me? My wife is murdered, my son is taken away from me, I’m thrown in jail accused of murder … You think I can stay calm?”

“We just have to keep clear heads and think. The best thing we can do for Jackson is get you out of here. I know you’ve racked your brain for the police, but if you could think of anyone else who might have it in for her or you …”

“I’m thinking. I gave so many names to them, but what do they care?”

She stared at her little brother for a moment, and sorrow overcame her. Before her mother died, she had asked to talk to Cathy and Juliet alone. “Watch over Jay and Holly,” she’d whispered. “Take care of them. I don’t feel like I finished raising them.” She and Juliet had promised they would, but they’d done a crummy job with Holly. And Jay … Who could have seen
this
coming?

She burst into tears, rubbed her forehead to hide them, and looked down at the table where someone had drawn a profane picture. She felt her brother watching her. “Hey, look at me, Sis.”

She looked up, met her brother’s eyes.

“No crying, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. I can’t stand to see you cry.”

She tried to pull herself together. “It’s okay. I don’t know what’s going on either. It’s like God just has it in for our family.”

Jay wiped his own eyes and drew in a long breath. Sitting straighter, he said, “Not God. Satan.”

She breathed a laugh. “God isn’t putting up much of a fight.”

“We don’t have any idea how much of a fight he’s putting up. There could be angels and demons slugging it out all around us.”

Were they switching roles now? Was he the older, wiser sibling? She didn’t want to pop his bubble. Faith had gotten Jay through the last year. Who was she to douse it with her own doubts, when he needed it most?

She forced herself to nod. “The truth will come out.”

“I just need you guys to work as hard as you can from your end. Don’t leave any rock unturned.”

“We won’t,” Cathy said, blotting her eyes. “You won’t believe this, but Michael recruited all three of us to be part-time private investigators.”

His eyes rounded. “What?”

“You heard me right,” she said. “Michael’s following up on a lot of leads, and he can’t do it all himself, so he asked us to help him.”

“Holly a PI?” Jay asked. “Juliet?”

“That’s right,” she said, chuckling. “Can you imagine?”

“I can’t believe he talked Juliet into it.”

“We all want to help you,” she said. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I knew I could count on my sisters.” Tears sprang back to his eyes again, and he rubbed his mouth.

“Stupid clown,” he said. “It isn’t even believable to me. How can anybody else believe me?”

“Well, we think we’ve got a lead on the clown suit. We found where it was ordered.” She told him about the name and post office box.

“Thank God,” he whispered, clutching the phone. “If you can find the clown, that’s the smoking gun.”

“We will find him. Holly and Juliet are watching the post office box as we speak. I’m waiting for another call from the judge about Jackson.” She switched gears. “So are you okay? Is it awful in there?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had better digs, but it could be worse. Just trying to keep my head down.”

Their time came to an end. Cathy left and went back to her car, sat and stared for a few more minutes. She’d never in her wildest dreams imagined she’d see her brother in jail. Her mother would have been so devastated. Cathy had gotten Holly out of jail a couple of times for DUIs, but she had
been so mad at her that she hadn’t grieved over it. Holly deserved what she got those times. But not Jay.

She closed her eyes. Through gritted teeth, she said, “God, I still believe in you, but I’m not sure I believe you care about me.” The words thrust her deeper into the pit of grief. “I need your help. You know Jay is innocent. You know who did this. We could really use a miracle.”

If God only heard the prayers of the faithful, then he was certainly not going to hear hers, she thought. Her faith was as flimsy as a spider web. She expected nothing.

Juliet had said so many times that God was there, listening, even when it didn’t appear that he was. Bad things happened because we live in a fallen world. Evil reigned. Satan was prowling around looking for someone to devour. He had devoured Joe and now he was devouring Jay and Jackson. Cathy couldn’t get her head wrapped around that. Why hadn’t God stopped these things? Why wouldn’t he answer the simplest prayers of a child whose father had walked out? Why wouldn’t he answer the prayers of a woman whose heart was breaking? Why did some families have tragedies over and over, while others sailed on without a blip?

Sighing, Cathy started her car and decided to go home and try to call the judge again. If she could get him to answer the phone or call her back, maybe she could get Jackson back tonight. At least one thing would be settled.