by Allen Eskens
The case against him would stand or fall on that identification; it would be the prosecutor’s sharpest weapon. Gavin needed to take it away from them—turn it into his own weapon. Sadie had to fail to pick him out of that lineup, or at the very least, struggle.
Gavin went to his bathroom and looked in the mirror. He didn’t have time to grow a beard or lose weight, but he could shave his head. Would she recognize him if he were bald? Would that be enough to trip her up?
In the back of a closet, he found the beard trimmer he’d purchased at a time in his life when he thought that growing a beard might make him more appealing to women. It hadn’t worked. No amount of cosmetic realignment could hide a lisp.
He laid a towel on the floor of the garage, knelt over it, and began shaving. When he finished with the trimmer, he went to the bathroom and used a razor to shave his head clean. Gavin’s pasty white skin gleamed, marking where his hair had been, but Gavin would eliminate that as well. He washed the stubble down the sink, swept the garage, and shoved his towel full of hair into a garbage bag to be thrown away when he stopped for gas later. Then he put the clippers back in the closet and fired up the Lexus.
He drove fifteen minutes to Bloomington and found a tanning salon. There were stores closer to home, but investigators would surely check those out once they understood that he had changed his appearance. The salesperson, a girl in her teens whose own skin was the color of a coconut shell, droned on about discounts and packages.
Being careful not to expose his speech impediment, Gavin interrupted the girl by pointing to the option in the brochure for a single spray-tan session, saying, “I want that.”
The girl shrugged and led Gavin to a stand-up booth, where she explained the procedure, showing him the wipes he would need to keep his hands from looking blotchy. After she left, Gavin stripped down to nothing, stepped inside, and pressed the start button. As the nozzles coated his body with a fine spray of chemicals, he tipped his head to get a little extra color on his crown.
When he’d finished, he looked at himself in the mirror. The bald head made a huge difference, and although it would take a few hours for the chemicals to darken his skin, he could imagine the effect. What else could he do?
He touched his eyebrows with his pinky finger. He could darken those with eyeliner, and maybe draw them a little closer together to make his nose look thinner. And he could put rings under his eyes, provided that he straddled the line between thick enough to make a difference and light enough that no one would be able to tell that it was makeup.
He decided to buy a few items on the drive home and test them out in the mirror. He would have time to spare as he waited for the police to arrive.
Chapter 14
At ten o’clock that same morning, Lila Nash sat in the back of a small courtroom, the Donald Gray file on her lap. Andi Fitch sat behind a stack of files at the counsel table, alongside another prosecutor.
Hearings were set to begin at eleven, and as was the practice, attorneys used the time before to negotiate deals. Defense attorneys approached the two prosecutors in a steady stream, their conversations starting with smiles but usually devolving into scowls. Sometimes their arms would wave around in animation, or a finger might jab the air, but Andi remained impassive, her features carved in stone.
On the elevator ride down to court, Andi had given Lila a short, terse lecture on plea negotiations. “Know your strengths and weaknesses before you make an offer, and once the offer’s on the table, hold firm. You don’t want to get the reputation of being someone who’ll cave at the last minute. Only sweeten the deal if your case goes south somehow. If the evidence doesn’t change, the offer shouldn’t either.”
“Oscar said to start high and meet in the middle.”
“Oscar hasn’t had a trial all year. Defense attorneys know he’ll give away the store if they wait. Give them a reasonable offer out of the gate, and if they don’t like it, go to trial. In time they’ll learn to take you seriously, and your cases will settle faster. We have too much volume to pussyfoot around.”
The elevator dinged to announce their arrival. Andi led the way to the courtroom.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Lila said. “How many trials do you have a year?”
“I don’t keep track—maybe ten or so.” Then Fitch stopped and turned to Lila. “And for God’s sake, don’t be one of those fools who keeps track of wins and losses. When someone tells me they have a ninety-eight percent conviction rate, what I hear them say is that they’re scared to take a close case to trial. You can’t be afraid to lose. This isn’t about you or your percentages; it’s about victims. It’s about getting bad people off the streets.”
When I grow up, I want to be like her, Lila thought.
In the courtroom, Lila took a seat in the gallery behind where Andi sat at counsel table and reviewed Donald Gray’s bail study for about the tenth time, a mix of excitement and trepidation tickling her chest. She would be asking for ten grand in bail, but it would be the conditions she wanted on top that would light the fireworks—at least, that’s what Andi had predicted.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lila saw a man in his late forties approach Andi. He was wearing a blue suit that didn’t quite fit him. He chuckled his greeting, the pleasantries bouncing off Andi’s porcelain façade. She raised a hand to stop the man from talking and pointed to the back door of the courtroom. As they passed Lila, Andi gave a nod for Lila to join them—and like an eager puppy, Lila followed.
The three of them entered a small conference room in the hallway outside, Andi speaking first. “Ed, this is Lila Nash. Lila, Ed Chappelle.” The man barely looked at Lila as he shook her hand. “Ed represents Mr. Gray.”
Chappelle placed a briefcase on the table and clicked it open. Then, speaking exclusively to Andi, he said, “I thought you should know that Mr. Gray’s wife called me yesterday. Wanted to talk. I didn’t speak with her myself, of course. I put her in touch with my investigator.” Ed opened a folder and withdrew some papers. “She gave a statement that you need to read.”
Andi took the pages. “Let me guess. She’s recanting.”
“Like I said, I didn’t talk to her, so this isn’t me coaching her or anything. All I did was set her up with the investigator. Bottom line is she lied to the police. Don never hit her.”
“What’s she saying this time.” Andi turned a page as she read aloud. “She had the black eye…before they drove to the convenience store. Got it playing with her dog?” Andi looked at Ed, her face remaining deadpan. “She’s blaming her dog?”
Ed put his hands in his pockets in a gesture of blind confidence. “She’s a real piece of work, Andi. Their marriage isn’t the best, and so every time she gets a bump or bruise, she finds a way to make a police report out of it. She’s building a case so she can take him to the cleaners if they ever divorce. The man’s a wreck—lives in constant fear.”
Andi lowered the transcript and faced Ed. “The man beats his wife and he’s the one in fear?”
“He didn’t beat his wife. You have it right there.” Ed pointed at the transcript. “I can play the tape if you want. Bring her in and you can ask her yourself. Hell, put her under oath.”
Ed painted the edges of his words with indignation as he continued. “You don’t have a victim, so you don’t have a case. If she takes the stand she’ll say Don never hit her, and if she doesn’t take the stand, it’ll violate my client’s right to confront his accuser. Either way, you’ve got nothing.”
“Have you read the complaint yet?” Andi put the transcript on the table. “We served it on your client this morning—along with the bail study.”
“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.” Ed shifted his tone, turning almost apologetic. “Andi, you and I both know you’re not gonna put the alleged victim on the stand if she’s recanting. Without an accusing witness, you have squat. Why are you talking about bail studies? Your dog ain’t gonna hunt and you know it.”
“I have
a surveillance tape.”
“A little pushing in the car, that’s all. So what? They were arguing. Arguing’s not against the law. She’s gonna take the stand and swear he didn’t hit her. Whatever tape you have won’t beat that.”
“Third-degree assault, and I’ll dismiss the rest.”
“I bet you will.” Chappelle almost laughed as he spoke. “Come on, Andi. My client just spent two nights in lockup because his wife’s gearing up for a divorce. Don’t make this thing drag out. We both know where it’s going.”
Ed put the file back into his briefcase and closed it, clicking the tiny hasps into their locks. He started for the door, but then, in a move that looked rehearsed, paused and said, “Listen, Andi, I’ll grant you that Don and his wife had an argument. Like I said, their marriage is on the rocks. If you offered a disorderly conduct, I’d be willing to talk to him about it. I might even recommend it. At least you’d get something out of this.”
Andi didn’t even blink. “Your client has the complaint and bail study. We can talk after you meet with him.”
Ed shrugged and left the conference room.
Andi gave the transcript to Lila to read. “He’s going to be pissed when he finds out we’ve charged Donnie-boy with false imprisonment. In a few minutes, he’ll come storming in here, beating his chest. He’s what we call a gorilla.”
“Gorilla?” Lila said.
“Attorneys like Ed will come at you like a gorilla charging out of the bushes. He’ll yell and throw sticks, jump up and down, but the more he beats his chest, the more I know he’s scared. That’s the biggest tell of them all. You don’t make a big show of it if you have a superior case.”
“He seemed pretty calm just now.”
“He was on his best behavior because he thinks he has the upper hand with that recantation crap, so he’s keeping things understated. That whole I’ll do my best to sell the disorderly conduct crap was an act. He had that in his pocket before we walked in here. Most cases are won or lost before we ever set foot in court. Like a train on rails, it’s just a matter of riding the case to its inevitable destination.”
“And you know the destination for Mr. Gray?”
“I think so.” Andi paused a moment as though collecting a thought. “Here’s the thing, Lila. As prosecutors, we get to choose the battlefield. We get the evidence first. We pick the charges. We have that advantage. The general who chooses the battlefield should almost always win.”
“I never looked at it that way.”
“Sure you have.”
Lila gave Andi a blank stare.
“This morning, you told me to refer the Woggum case to the feds. How did you come to that conclusion?”
“Well…I thought I saw a weakness in the case. I wanted to shore it up.”
“You were surveying a battlefield. You went through contingencies in your head, looking at moves, and countermoves. You played the case out from beginning to end and saw a flaw—so you suggested taking the fight to a more advantageous battlefield. You did well.”
Lila smiled at the compliment, although she tried not to. “Thanks, Ms. Fitch.”
“Andi.”
Again, Lila felt like a puppy—this time one getting tossed a rare treat. “So, where’s this case going…Andi?”
“When Ed gets back from meeting with Mr. Gray, he’s going to be in a lather—all insulted that we would dare to charge his client with a crime that requires a predatory offender registration. Even if I offered Gray the disorderly, he’d have to register now. Ed will argue that the tape doesn’t show enough to get a conviction for false imprisonment. He’ll thump his chest and set the case for trial.”
“You think he’ll take it to trial?”
“Not in a million years. He’ll challenge probable cause, and as we’re waiting for that hearing, he’ll tell me what a great guy his client is, and how this will ruin him. He’ll put the wife out there and accuse me of re-victimizing her. But his only real leverage is to hope that I’m afraid to go to trial—and by now he knows better.”
Andi looked at her watch, causing Lila to look at hers. They had ten minutes before court would convene, which made Lila nervous, not wanting her first hearing to begin with the judge lecturing her for tardiness. But Andi didn’t seem fazed.
“Then, just before the probable cause hearing,” Andi continued, “he’ll propose a plea to misdemeanor assault and ask me to agree to a finding of no probable cause on the false imprisonment. With that, he’ll at least have an argument against predatory registration. I’ll agree to no probable cause on the false imprisonment, but only if Gray pleads to the felony assault. Give him a stay of imposition of sentence and call it a day. Ed will piss and moan, but in the end, that’s the deal his client will take.”
The door to the conference room swung open and Ed Chappelle stepped in, red-faced, a crumpled-up copy of the complaint in his hand. “False imprisonment!” The words came out half yelled and half snarled.
A gorilla, Lila thought.
“You charged him with false imprisonment? Are you out of your mind? There’s no way in hell that’ll fly. I’ll have an acquittal before the jury can order lunch. This is bullshit and you know it.”
Andi stood. “Lila will be doing the first appearance. We’re asking that your client have no contact with the victim pending trial.”
Ed choked on whatever words were in his throat, and Lila worried he might have a full-blown conniption fit. “They’re husband and wife. They live in the same damn house.”
Andi gave Lila a go-ahead nod, and Lila spoke. “It’s the third time your client has assaulted his wife, Mr. Chappelle.”
Chappelle looked at Lila and let loose his anger. “Those other cases were dismissed. She’s preparing for a divorce. Weren’t you listening?” Then he looked at Andi. “Tell your girl how this works.”
Andi’s face went cold, and she took a step toward Chappelle. “The way it works, Ed, is that Ms. Nash is handling your client’s case today and she has my full support. And if you ever treat her with that kind of disrespect again, I’ll burn you. I’ll file an ethics complaint and let all these female judges know what a misogynistic asshole you are. You owe Ms. Nash an apology, and I’ll expect it in writing by the end of the week.”
Andi made for the door, and a stunned Lila followed.
Once outside, Andi remained expressionless as they walked back toward the courtroom, but she whispered to Lila, “What’d I tell you? A gorilla.”
Chapter 15
Sadie had given Niki Vang two guiding stars to follow, in separate constellations but at least the same sky: the salon and the wedding. They agreed that Matty would go to the salon, a crime scene technician in tow, and Niki would track down the recent bride and groom.
She found the newly christened Mrs. Halloway at home in a small house in a tightly packed neighborhood, the kind of neighborhood where, she imagined, dreams had to fight to stay alive. The new husband wasn’t home when Niki arrived, having gone to work his shift as a mechanic at a plastics plant. No honeymoon for the happy couple.
Janelle Halloway appeared at the door looking unkempt in her sweatpants and T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The color in her cheeks drained away when Niki introduced herself as a detective and asked to come in.
All around the house lay remnants of their wedding: stacks of gifts, flowers brought home from the church, a wedding dress draped over an ironing board. “Excuse the mess,” Janelle said, moving a box of new dishes off the couch so that they could sit down. “We just got married on Sunday. Still puttin’ stuff away.”
“I understand,” Niki said. “Actually, the wedding is what I came here to talk about.”
“Did we do something wrong?”
“Not at all. But Sadie Vauk…she was one of your bridesmaids, correct?”
Janelle’s “Yes” held threads of fear and hope and curiosity all balled up together.
“She was attacked last night.”
“Oh my God.” Jane
lle brought her hand to her mouth. “Is she okay?”
“She’s in the hospital.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s bad, but she’s going to be okay.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t go into it, but that’s why I’m here. I want to ask about your wedding photographer. What was his name?”
“The photographer? I don’t understand.”
“What was your photographer’s name?”
“Um…Gavin…Spencer, I think.” Janelle stood and walked to the dining room table, where she picked through a stack of papers before pulling one from the pile. “Yeah, Gavin Spencer.” She returned to the couch and handed Niki a price quote from GVS Photography—Gavin Vincent Spencer, proprietor.
“Do you know Mr. Spencer well?”
“No. I mean, we met when I hired him, and then at the wedding. A friend referred him to me. She said he was cheap but good. Did he do something to Sadie?”
“We’re just gathering information right now. Did he have anyone working with him? Maybe someone named Kevin?”
“No. He worked alone.”
“Was anyone else named Kevin taking pictures at your wedding, a family member or friend, maybe?”
Janelle thought for a long moment before answering. “I have an uncle named Kevin, but I don’t think that he took any pictures.”
The price quote listed the website of GVS Photography, so Niki punched it into her phone and found an extensive gallery of photos, broken down by category: wedding photography, corporate events, senior photos, fraternity and sorority parties, and children. Nowhere on the site could Niki find a picture of Gavin Spencer himself.
“Do you know if Mr. Spencer paid any special attention to Sadie?”
Janelle thought about it. “Honestly, I didn’t notice. I was just—you know—enjoying my wedding day.”
Niki’s phone buzzed. It was Matty. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
Niki left the house, answering the phone as she walked to her car. “Got something?”