by Elaine Viets
More media questions battered Mick: “What evidence do you have?” “Will you accept a plea bargain?” “When is the trial?”
He ignored the pack of reporters. “Thank you. No questions. Thank you.”
Angela’s elation was gone. Mick had turned the defense’s victory into a life of misery for Kendra and Jose. Angela couldn’t bear to listen to the gleeful analysis. She switched off the radio and saw the setting sun reflected on the massive brass doors of Monty’s law office. She parked in front of the long, low one-story building.
Once inside, she didn’t have time to admire Monty’s collection of horse paintings or men’s-club decor of leather wing chairs and Oriental rugs. His redheaded receptionist, Jinny Gender, greeted her. “Mr. Bryant is waiting for you. I’m supposed to take you straight back to his office. Would you like something to drink: coffee, tea?”
“No, thanks.” She’d had a week’s worth of coffee this morning.
Monty was tapping at the computer in his book-lined office. She could see the lush Missouri hills through the huge window. She took the chair in front of his carved mahogany desk, and he gave her a welcoming smile.
“You were right,” she said. “The judge split the decision.”
“At least Kendra and her father are off death row.”
“And locked up for the rest of their lives,” Angela said. “Mick is already spinning Evarts’s failure into another success for his office. Did you hear his press conference?”
“Just finished looking it up online. Then I called Gracie to reassure her. That poor woman is on a roller coaster. First, I told her the good news after the hearing. Next, she hears this saber-rattling press conference. I told her it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“Why not?”
“The evidence—if you can call it that—is Jose and Kendra knew the gate codes to the Hobart estate and the Du Pres barn property. But so do UPS and FedEx drivers. And pizza drivers, and the security guards—and sadly, some of those are wacko wannabes. Not to mention the Du Pres’s friends, family members, and staff. It would be hard to find someone who doesn’t know those gate codes. A jury will never convict.” Monty spoke with an easy confidence, as if he knew the world would do things his way.
“Not even a Forest jury, whipped into a frenzy about Jose the Mexican and his predatory daughter?”
Monty looked a shade less confident. “Juries have been known to do strange things.” That was as much as he’d admit.
Angela finally broke the silence. “How is Gracie?”
“Holding together. She’s closed her business until this is sorted out, and she has her staff on half pay. She’s paying them out of her own pocket.”
“That’s really generous.”
“Did Kendra tell you why her father won’t tell me his alibi?”
“Jose was in Chicago seeing a former girlfriend.” Angela gave him the details and said, “Can we get Butch to track down Maria Garcia?”
“Technically he can. The Forest PD is a tiny department, so the detectives are called upon to be generalists. So, yes, Butch could go to Chicago. But police politics are tricky. He may not be too popular with his coworkers if he makes Greiman look bad. I’d rather not put him between a rock and a hard place. My investigator, KJ Lakker, should be back from vacation by now. I can send him to Chicago.”
“How’s KJ going to track down a woman with a name like Maria Garcia? It’s impossible.”
“Kendra gave us a good place to start. Maria’s number is on Kendra’s cell phone. I’ll get her phone from her mother, and KJ can find Maria. Anything else?”
“We almost got a lead from Ann Burris, who called me this afternoon. She says she met a boy who went to school with Zander, and he told her there are two other arsonists—both Forest teenagers.”
“Wonderful.” Monty’s blue eyes were lit with a smile. He sat up and put his elbows on his massive desk.
“Not really. Ann can’t remember the kid’s name or where she talked to him. I told her it’s important that we find him.”
“Important?” Monty said. “It will save two people from a living death.”
CHAPTER 34
Days twelve, thirteen
Angela was at home and brooding, her dinner untouched. Twelve hours ago, she’d been in Lin Kalomeris’s downtown law office, convinced Kendra and Jose would soon be free.
Tonight, those hopes were dashed. The Forest grandees were determined to punish the Salvatos. Kendra’s life would be over before it had begun. Angela had watched the press conference on TV that night. Mick Freveletti had looked positively gleeful at the prospect of putting the Salvatos in prison for life. Angela wanted to slap that smug smile off his campaign-poster face. She’d turned off the television before the so-called news analysis and tried to read, but she couldn’t concentrate.
She was asleep on the couch when her cell phone rang. She leaped on it.
“Angela! I’ve got him!” Ann Burris was so excited the words tumbled out. “I’ve found the mystery man! He saw the arsonists who burned down the Gravois estate. He has their names! He has proof! He videoed them!”
“He has video? Fantastic! I’ll be right over with Monty and Detective Butch Chetkin.”
“No!” Angela heard real panic in her voice. “You can’t bring them. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“It’s—it’s—the situation is sensitive. I think the three of us can persuade him to talk, but he’s afraid, and for good reason. He’s so young, and they could ruin him. He could lose his job, and he needs it. But we can talk him into speaking up. I know we can. Bryan has a plan.”
“Is he at your house?”
“Not right now. He’s coming back as soon as he gets off work at twelve thirty tonight.”
“That late? Who is he? What’s he do?”
“You’ll never guess. I’ll tell you when you get here. I know it’s late—it’s eleven thirty. But he’ll be here shortly. We can have a drink and wait for him.”
Angela had to force herself to drive the speed limit, or close to it. She wanted to floor the Charger and roar through the Forest streets to Ann’s home. Many Forest mansions were grandiose hulks, but Ann’s was pretty: a white marble mansion with clean lines. The windows and doorways were frosted with creamy baroque designs. The courtyard was a sculpture garden with Greek and Roman statues collected by Ann’s great-grandfather. The marble gods and goddesses were softly timeworn.
Ann’s house was impressive on the outside but warm and homey inside. Ann answered her door in a gold-brown sheath that brought out the highlights in her hair. Bryan, right behind her, wore gray slacks and a blue-and-white striped long-sleeved shirt that Angela guessed was a Thomas Pink.
“Come in,” Ann said.
Angela followed the couple into a room with plush brown sofas and chairs that begged you to sink into them, thick Oriental rugs, and comfortable pillows in restful honey-gold tones. While Bryan fixed Angela a club soda with lime, she joined Ann on the sofa. “How did you find him?”
“We ordered pizza from the Forest Coal-Fired Pizza,” Ann said. “As soon as I saw him at the door with the two pizzas, I recognized him. Our source is Big Al the Pizza Dude.”
“You’re kidding. I know him. Big guy—about six two, lots of curly, dark hair. Looks like a giant-economy-size all-American boy.”
“That’s him. I needed to get cash for his tip, and he stepped in here to talk to Bryan. The TV news was on, and Big Al saw the story where the prosecutor talked about putting Jose and Kendra away for the Forest arson fires.”
“I couldn’t believe that press conference. I was so angry I switched off the TV.”
“Then you missed the station commentary afterward. That was worse. Al heard the announcer speculate that ‘the Mexican’—that’s what he called Jose—burned down the Gravois estate because the family owed him money.”
Bryan returned with Angela’s soda and said, “Big Al said to me, ‘Jose didn’t do it.’ Just like that. I asked,
‘How do you know?’ and he said, ‘I was delivering pizza to Du Barry Circle the night of the fire, and I saw Zander parked in front of the Gravois estate, along with two other kids.’”
“Was Al friends with Zander?” Angela asked.
“Big Al knew Zander, but they weren’t friends. He says Zander was a drug dealer and ran with a wild crowd of Forest kids who went to the Academy. Zander acted like they were his friends, but they weren’t. Zander was their dealer and errand boy. Al avoided them. They made fun of Big Al because he delivered pizza.”
“So then what happened?”
Ann checked her gold watch and grinned. “He can tell you when he gets inside.”
They saw headlights swing into the circular drive and heard a rumble. Ann said, “I bet that’s Big Al in his old Subaru Outback.”
It was. Big Al wore his red, white, and green polyester uniform and smelled like pepperoni. He seemed awkward and a little shy. Ann offered to fix him dinner. “No, thanks, but I’d like a Diet Coke,” he said.
Ann brought him a Diet Coke in a crystal glass, and he drank it down thirstily. She brought him another. “Delivering pizzas must be dry work. We were telling Ms. Richman what you saw the night of the fire.”
Al shifted uncomfortably in the soft chair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I could lose my job. Those people have friends here.”
“So do we,” Ann said. “We can protect you. If you lose your job, Bryan and I will try to find you another. Bryan thinks he knows of a job that pays more than you’re making now. Why don’t we talk for a little bit, and then you can decide what to tell us? You’re famous in the Forest as Big Al, but I don’t know your last name.”
Al’s pale face flushed. “Most people can’t pronounce it. It’s Shlesinger.”
“Fine old German name. Is Al short for Alan?”
“Albert. Albert Shlesinger was my great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side. He served in the army during the Spanish-American War. I’m named for him. My great-grandfather served in World War I, and my uncle in Vietnam.”
“So you have heroes in your family,” Ann said. “Courage is in your genes. Tell us about the night of the fire. You were delivering a pizza on Du Barry Circle, right?”
He nodded. Ann’s slow, skillful questioning was drawing him out. “And you saw Zander parked in front of the Gravois estate, along with two other kids.”
“Right. One was Judge Charbonneau’s son, Marlon. They call him Duke. The other was Jeremy Raclette, the hedge funder’s kid. He goes by Kip. His red Beemer was there, too. His father bought it for him when he turned sixteen last year. Someone had thrown a blanket over the top of the estate’s spiked fence, and Kip and Duke had climbed over it. Zander was on the other side, tossing big bags over the fence.”
“What kind of bags?” Angela asked.
“Plastic. From Cheap and Easy. Some of the bags seemed very light. Others were heavier. One bag broke open, and a twelve-pack of TP fell out.”
“Toilet paper?” Ann asked. “What did you make of that?”
“I decided they were going to party and maybe TP the estate. I really didn’t spend that much time thinking about it. I had to deliver the pizza.”
“Do kids still TP houses?” Angela asked.
“It’s rare, thanks to security cameras. I see it maybe a few times a year, usually around homecoming. But everyone knew the Gravois estate didn’t have security cameras anymore. I thought Zander and his friends were going to have some old-school fun like Grandpa used to and TP the house.”
“Did you deliver the pizza okay?”
“I did, but that customer doesn’t tip like you, Ms. Burris. His order was nineteen eighty-eight. He gave me a twenty and said to keep the change.”
“That’s an outrage,” Ann said.
Big Al shrugged. “Happens all the time. People don’t understand how little we’re paid. I left. When I passed the Gravois estate again, the two Beemers were still there, but I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t think anything about it until Zander was found dead.”
“Did you know Zander used heroin?” Angela asked.
“Sure. His whole crowd uses it. Most of them use needles, like Kip and Duke. Zander snorted it. He thought needles were for junkies, and he wasn’t hard-core if he snorted heroin.”
“After Zander died, what did you do?”
“Nothing. It’s not like he was a friend or anything. I mean, I felt bad he was dead, and his mom is a nice lady, but I didn’t see him snort the heroin or anything. But now, on TV, they’re trying to blame the fires on Mr. Salvato and Kendra, just because Mr. Salvato has some gate code. The pizza restaurant has the gate codes for every subdivision and most houses, but that doesn’t make me an arsonist. I saw Zander, Kip, and Duke at the estate the night of the fire—and I can prove it.”
Big Al looked startled, as if those last words had slipped out. Ann acted as if he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. “How can you prove it?” she said softly.
“I have a dash cam on my car. I have it here.” He held up his backpack.
“I have a dash cam on my racing Porsche,” Bryan said.
Bryan and Big Al lapsed into tech talk that was way over Angela’s head, but it seemed to relax Al. He called up a video on a small screen about the size of a cell phone’s. Now Angela could see the whole episode.
The video was time-stamped 3:47 p.m., as Al’s car headed toward the Gravois estate. She could see the fence, and in the distance, part of the kitchen addition on the Gravois mansion and the dead topiary and trees—trees that a few hours later would burst into flames like torches. Now the fence was visible—dark metal with a spiked top. Al slowed the video. “That’s Zander in the plaid shirt tossing the bags over the fence. One. Two. Three. They’re yellow Cheap and Easy bags. That white stuff there is the twelve-pack of TP. And see the blanket over the top of the fence? On the other side, those two dudes are Kip and Duke. Duke is on the right, slightly behind Kip. Kip is short and stocky. Duke is taller and skinnier than Kip.”
Both boys wore khaki shorts and polo shirts—Duke’s was washed-out blue, and Kip’s was yellow. As the car and the camera rounded the curve, Angela saw two Beemers parked on the side of the road. “The black one is Zander’s,” Al said. “The red one is Kip’s. You can see the license plates.”
Bingo! Angela thought, but she didn’t dare say it out loud. All the police had to do was check the plates and they could place Zander and Duke at the scene.
“That’s amazing,” Ann said.
“I also have a pizza-run sheet. It shows the date, every time I leave the store, where I’m going, and when I got back. It also shows the order. We’re supposed to put down our tips, but I don’t put down the really big ones.”
“This is incredible,” Angela said. “It places those boys at the scene the night of the fire, with materials that were used to start the fire. The fires were set in several places in the house, including the kitchen. You can see a bit of it on your video. The kitchen didn’t burn completely, and the fire investigator found potato chips and toilet paper, as well as vegetable shortening, plastered on the walls, along with some fingerprints. All those are fire-starting materials. The police found a receipt from Cheap and Easy for both those things in Zander’s car. This could set Jose and Kendra free.”
“All you have to do is tell the police,” Bryan said. “You have your great-great-grandfather’s courage.”
Big Al looked very young and uneasy. “I wish I did. But I can’t lose this job. I need the money. I’m going to college. Kip’s dad is part owner of the Forest Coal-Fired Pizza. I’m also worried about what will happen if I testify. I’ll have old man Du Pres after me. Everyone knows he wants the arson case to go away. If he can pin it on Jose and Kendra, he’ll be happy.”
“You know Kendra and Jose are innocent,” Angela said.
Al said nothing.
“They’re good, hardworking people, Al. You can set them free. They’ll die in jail if Reggie Du
Pres gets his way. That’s not right.”
Silence.
“And those boys—Kip and Duke—killed your friend Zander, or at least let him die.”
“Zander wasn’t my friend. I don’t think it’s right that he died, but I live in Toonerville. I have to work to make it through school.”
“You like cars?” Bryan knew the answer to his question before Al nodded yes.
“I race vintage Porsche 911s. I can’t guarantee you a job, but I know some people at the South County Speedway in Chesterfield. The Forest has no influence there. There’s supposed to be a weekend job opening up. I could put in your name and give you a good reference. Ann would, too. No promises, of course. But think about it. Eighteen dollars an hour.”
“Eighteen,” Al repeated reverently.
“And you don’t have to worry about twelve-cent tips.”
“Please, Al,” Angela said. “You know Kendra and Jose didn’t set that fire. You can set them free—if you’ll talk to Detective Butch Chetkin and show him the video and your run sheet.”
“Well . . .”
“It’s the right thing to do.” Ann looked incredibly glamorous.
“Uh.”
“And no more nickel-and-dime tips,” Bryan said.
“I’ll do it!” Al said.
CHAPTER 35
Day thirteen
Angela called Butch Chetkin at six the next morning with the news about Big Al. “I’m sorry to call you so early, but I have a witness who can place Zander and two other seventeen-year-olds at the Gravois estate the night of the fire. I have their names and a video.”
Butch sounded wide-awake. “I’m up and drinking coffee. If you’re giving me a witness with a video, you can call any hour. Who is he? Do I know him?”
“Probably. He’s Big Al the Pizza Dude. Last name Shlesinger. Goes to Chouteau Forest High School in Toonerville.” She told him what Al said last night.
“And he’s how old?”
“Seventeen,” Angela said.
“He has to be eighteen if he’s delivering pizza. That’s federal law. I’ll pull him out of class and have a talk with him today.”