The Stolen Hours

by Allen Eskens

  It would take time for Dovey to drive her out, and she vowed to use that time to make a difference. When the time came for her to leave, she would walk out with her head held high.

  * * *

  Just before nine a.m. Lila walked into the conference room, carrying three bottles of water and a legal pad, as it was her job to write down everything Sadie would say, to give to Leo Reecey. Prosecutors can keep no secrets from the defense.

  Sadie entered a few minutes later and the two women shared a smile that went deeper than a simple hello. The black business suit Sadie wore aged her at least five years, and with her hair pulled back she could have passed for a colleague instead of a victim. She seemed far more calm and self-assured than she had at the Rule Eight hearing, but when Lila shook her hand, Sadie’s fingers still held a tremor.

  “How are you feeling?” Lila asked.

  “Good, I think—a little nervous.”

  “There’s no reason to be nervous,” Lila said. “This is simply an opportunity for you and Ms. Fitch to meet—get to know each other. That’s all.”

  “She wants to see if I’m gonna flake out.”

  “Not at all,” Lila lied. “She doesn’t want your first conversation to be when you’re on the witness stand.”

  “It’s okay. I’d want to meet me too, if I was her. To be honest, I’m scared to death. I don’t know how I’ll react…when I see him face-to-face. I’m scared I won’t be able to talk.”

  “You’ll do fine.” The words Lila spoke made her feel like a hypocrite.

  Andi entered the conference room in that get-down-to-business way she had, barely managing to fake a smile as she introduced herself to Sadie. She took a seat directly across from her witness, and in a cold, toneless voice asked Sadie to detail what she remembered from the wedding. Sadie answered with nothing more and nothing less than what she had told Detectives Vang and Lopez. Andi asked Sadie about the evening at the salon, and Sadie again followed the script she’d given the investigators.

  Then Andi asked about after the salon.

  “I wish I could tell you that I remember Gavin Spencer raping me, but I don’t.”

  “Just tell me what you do remember, if anything.”

  “It’s not so much a memory as…Well, it’s more like a dream. I was tired. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. And I felt sick to my stomach. I remember sleeping, and I think I remember the hum of a car, but I’m not sure.”

  “Were you in the car?”

  “I must have been. It was like when I was a little girl and my dad would take me on a drive. The hum of the tires just kind of made me want to sleep.”

  “Anything after that?”

  “I have a vague memory of walking to the river, but that doesn’t seem right. Why would I walk to the river?”

  “Was he with you then? Do you remember anyone with you?”

  “He had to be. I think that’s where we were at when he said that thing about ‘All you had to do was be nice.’ I think that’s where we were, but…” Sadie closed her eyes. “It’s all so murky.”

  “That’s okay, Sadie. You can only remember what you remember. Is there anything else I haven’t asked you about, anything that might be important?”

  “No.” Sadie stared at the top of the table as if embarrassed by her answers.

  “Do you have any questions of me?”

  After a long pause, Sadie looked up and said, “Why me? Why’d he do that to me? I didn’t do anything to him. I didn’t even know him. Why did he think it was okay to hurt me like that?”

  “I don’t know, Sadie,” Andi said.

  “I can’t sleep. I feel sick when I eat. My dad had to take off work to stay home with me.” Sadie’s lip began to quiver slightly. “I know he’s locked up, but I still feel like someone’s following me. I can’t stop looking over my shoulder. I’m trying to get back to normal, but…”

  Lila wanted to reach out to Sadie, hold her hand the way she had for that brief moment in the bailiff’s station, but she didn’t, and Andi offered the woman no comfort. Was this why Andi lived behind that cast-iron shell? Was it better to keep distance from this kind of pain? Lila hoped not. The job might one day eat her up for it, but Lila yearned to carry as much weight as Sadie would allow.

  Sadie pulled a tissue from a box on the table, dabbed her eyes, and wadded it in her fingers. “Last night, I was swimming laps and…I started shaking. I kept seeing his face. I couldn’t breathe.” She knotted her hands into fists and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m a good person. Why’d he rape me? Why did he think he had the right? And for what—sex? He tried to kill me because he wanted sex? How can people like that exist in the world?”

  Sadie swiped the tears from her cheeks with the wadded tissue.

  “I’ll never be the same. I can’t be. I look in the mirror and I don’t see myself. I see…” She paused as the anger behind her eyes turned sad. “I see something broken.”

  Sadie’s words found their way to Lila, passing through some door she’d forgotten to close. And in that moment, Lila hated Gavin Spencer as much as she had ever hated anyone in her life. Sadie probably believed that no one in the world could understand what she was going through—but Lila did.

  Lila had lost track of the conversation but was brought back when she heard her name being repeated. Lila looked at Andi, whose face held an expression somewhere between puzzlement and irritation.

  “Are you with us, Lila?”

  “Um…yeah, sorry.”

  “So…do you have any questions for Ms. Vauk?”

  Sadie looked expectantly toward Lila, the wadded-up tissue in her hand, as though waiting for something.

  “No,” Lila said. “I don’t have any questions…except to say…things will get better. You may not believe that right now, but they do.”

  Sadie smiled at Lila, a silent thank-you. Andi stood, and they all followed suit.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Lila said.

  To Lila, Andi said, “I’d like you to stay for a minute.” There was something cold and empty in her tone that filled Lila with dread.

  “I can find my way out,” Sadie said, giving Lila another small smile, this one to say goodbye.

  After Sadie left the room, Andi turned to Lila and said, “What’s going on? That’s twice now that you’ve disappeared on me. Do I need to be concerned?”

  Lila had disappeared. But Lila couldn’t tell that to Andi. So instead, she pulled the letter from the Board of Law Examiners out of her pocket.

  “I’m fine…but…”

  “But what?”

  She handed the letter to Andi. “Frank Dovey’s coming after me.”

  Andi read the letter, glancing up at Lila about where suicide was mentioned. She finished reading and handed the paper back to Lila.

  “I was hoping,” Lila said, “that you might write that reference for me.”

  “I can’t,” Andi said. “Frank ordered me to run everything through him.” She pointed at the piece of paper in Lila’s hand. “That, I assume, is why. I may not like it, but he’s the head of the division. My hands are tied.”

  Lila sank into a chair, the sense of powerlessness rising around her. “If I can just hold out until Beth comes back.”

  Andi walked to the conference room door and closed it. When she returned to Lila, Andi chewed on the inside of her cheek as if contemplating something, her eyes serious. “Lila, I’m going to tell you something, but it’s confidential. You understand?”

  “Sure,” Lila said.

  “I visited Beth in the hospital on Wednesday.” Andi paused as if rethinking her decision, then said, “She’s retiring. I don’t know if she told Mr. Nelson yet, but if she hasn’t, she will soon.”

  The words blindsided Lila. Within the chaos of her thoughts, one unavoidable truth rang out—she would be out of a job soon. “What should I do?”

  “Don’t quit.” Andi sat down next to Lila. “If you let him win, you’ll carry that regret with you forever. If that’s wher
e Dovey’s going, make him own his decision.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “Not as easy as you may think.” Andi slid a hand toward Lila in a gesture that had all the makings of an offer of comfort, but she stopped short of touching Lila’s arm.

  “My first job out of law school was at one of the big firms. A dream job. About a year in, I caught the eye of one of the partners, but not for my talents as a lawyer. He was a married man, and, like Frank Dovey, a conniving prick. He was careful in how he tested me, and when I refused his advances, I started getting poor performance evaluations. He never left his fingerprint on anything, but after a while, it was clear my days were numbered. Just like you, I was faced with saving my dignity or saving my résumé. I left. That was twenty years ago and I regret quitting to this day.”

  Andi cleared a catch from her throat and sat up straight in her seat, the moment of connection slipping away. “I can’t tell you what to do, but know that if you quit, it will come with a price.”

  “I can’t even think straight right now. I feel like I’m at the end of my rope.”

  “You have a lot more rope than you think, Lila. If only you—” Andi stopped mid-thought, paused for a long moment as if struck by something profound, and then said, “What size shoe do you wear?”

  Lila looked up, confused.

  “About a six, maybe?”

  “Yeah, six. Why?”

  “Have you ever been to Interstate State Park up by Taylor’s Falls?”

  “No, but—”

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “My question stands.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then meet me at the information center there, and wear something athletic. We’re going rock climbing.”

  Chapter 42

  Matty Lopez had earned undergraduate degrees in both accounting and computer science before turning his eye toward law enforcement. He had a gift for numbers and research, which made him a perfect fit for Niki Vang, who thrived in the open air of the crime scene. She sometimes felt guilty letting him do so much of the background work, but he kept reminding her that he enjoyed that part of the chase, so she left him to it. As they drove out to visit Gavin’s mother for a second interview, Matty brought Niki up to speed on Amy Spencer.

  The daughter of a mechanic from Mountain Iron, a small mining town in the heart of the iron range, Amy had managed to stay out of trouble for most of her life, with only a single arrest for underage consumption at the age of eighteen—no conviction.

  But then, at twenty-two, she’d shown up in the Twin Cities when she was questioned in a case of aggravated robbery. According to the victim, Amy came on to him in a bar. After several drinks with this very attractive young woman, he’d followed her out to her car. When they got there, a man with a knife stepped out of the shadows, stole the victim’s wallet, and ran off. The victim, an out-of-town businessman, told officers that Amy didn’t appear to be spooked by the attack, and he’d thought it suspicious that the thief didn’t take her purse. No charges were filed.

  Three years later, Amy married David Spencer, a man who owned a small catering business in South Saint Paul. Gavin was born four months after the wedding.

  Over the course of their two-year marriage, police visited the home of David and Amy Spencer on three occasions, disorderly conduct calls that came in from neighbors tired of the yelling and screaming. No charges were ever filed. David filed for divorce, but before the process played out, he died in a motorcycle accident. A year later, Amy shuttered the failing catering business and went to work as a hostess at the Minneapolis Club.

  “That’s where she met Richard Balentine,” Matty said. “He was a member there.”

  “And Balentine is…?”

  “Amy’s second husband. Drowned in his own swimming pool when Gavin was twelve. Man was rich as hell, and Amy inherited the works.”

  “Sounds like she hit a jackpot. Was the drowning investigated?”

  “They ruled it accidental. Amy said she and Richard were having drinks by the pool one night, two lovebirds celebrating the sale of one of Richard’s companies. She got a little tipsy and went to bed, while Richard stayed up to finish his cigar. In the morning she found him floating in the pool. His blood alcohol was a point two six. Apparently, Balentine liked his Scotch.”

  “Signs of a fight?”

  “An injury to the back of his head. They found blood at the edge of the pool along with a wicker footstool that had been knocked over. The theory was that he stumbled, tripped over the footstool and fell, hitting his head on the concrete. Then, groggy and drunk, he tried to stand up and fell in the pool. It’s plausible, but…” Matty shrugged.

  “But it’s bullshit.”

  “Gavin called it in. I listened to the 911 tape; if it was bullshit, he put on one hell of a show.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that Gavin offed his stepdad?”

  “Who knows?” Matty said. “He was only twelve, but the old man was drunk, so it wouldn’t have taken all that much effort. Honestly, I wouldn’t put anything past that evil son of a bitch.”

  Niki pulled the car into the driveway of a redbrick colonial with a black wrought-iron fence. The house rose two stories, with white pillars, black shutters, and enough ivy climbing its face to tell a story of old money. Now it was the home of Amy Spencer.

  She had been visibly nervous when they’d talked to her the first time, exhibiting the kind of tics that liars often show: fidgeting, delayed gesturing with her hands, looking away at key points as if trying to find an answer, and filibustering—rambling on and on when just a word or two would do. They had gone there to ask a few simple questions about Gavin and his Ford Bronco, but after that first meeting, the detectives agreed that something about the woman was off.

  “Why, hello, detectives. I wasn’t…expecting…Um, come in.”

  Amy wore an outfit that probably looked great on the mannequin at Forever 21: a loose V-neck sweater over skinny jeans, and a pair of Chelsea boots, an ensemble that seemed as mismatched on her as rhinestones on a work glove. Her desperately youthful clothing seemed designed to draw attention to the obvious augmentation she’d done to her fifty-one-year-old frame.

  “Sorry to bother you again,” Niki said, “but we just had a couple follow-ups.”

  “If you’d called, though, I could have had coffee ready.”

  “That’s okay,” Niki said. “This won’t take long.”

  Amy showed the detectives to the same room where they had convened on their last visit, a room that held a leather chaise across from two matching Queen Anne chairs. Niki and Matty sat in the Queen Annes while Amy struck a pose of nonchalance on the chaise.

  Niki spoke first. “I wanted to ask you if you had any updates on Gavin’s Ford Bronco. We’re having some difficulty locating it.”

  “I haven’t seen it since…Well, it’s been probably a month or two, but I don’t know where he keeps it.”

  “Where was it when you last saw it?” Matty asked.

  “I suppose it was in his garage.”

  Niki and Matty had watched the video of Amy’s jail conversation with Gavin, so they knew she was putting on a show.

  “The thing is…” Matty flipped through a small notebook. “Last time we were here, you told us that he didn’t own it anymore. You said…” Matty stopped flipping and read. “Here it is. You said, ‘He used to own one some time ago, but he sold it.’ Now you’re saying you saw it a month ago in his garage?”

  Amy looked at the floor near her left foot, her brow furrowing as she searched for a response. Her tells were easy to spot. “I don’t remember saying that. I mean, I don’t keep tabs on Gavin, so I can’t tell you anything about his vehicles. He and I, we see each other sometimes—not a lot, not enough that I know what’s going on with his cars. I know he’s working and stuff, but, like…what he buys or sells, I don’t keep tabs on that kind of thing. But I do seem to recall seei
ng his Bronco lately, now that I’ve had time to think about it—although I couldn’t say for sure.”

  Again with the filibuster.

  Niki said, “What can you tell us about his photography business?”

  “Oh, he loves photography. Started taking pictures when he was just a boy.”

  “Does he get hired a lot?” Matty asked. He already knew the answer because he had seen Gavin’s bank accounts. Gavin didn’t bring in more than thirty grand a year as a photographer. The nice house he lived in was one that Richard Balentine’s money bought for him.

  “I suppose so. I can’t really say. Like I said, I don’t keep tabs on him.”

  Matty said, “But you still support him—financially—isn’t that right?”

  “Support him? I don’t know…”

  “You put money in his bank account every year?”

  Amy put her hands together on her lap, one cupping the other. “I give him an allowance of sorts. I have means, you know.”

  “An allowance?” Matty said. “According to his bank records, you gave him over two hundred thousand dollars last year. I wish my parents gave me that kind of allowance.” Matty chuckled to keep the mood light, but Amy didn’t seem to find it funny.

  “Like I said, Detective, I have means.”

  Niki said, “I understand you have a swimming pool. Do a lot of houses around here have pools?”

  “I don’t think so. We’re just lucky, I guess.”

  “Could we see it?” Matty asked. “I love pools. Always wanted one, but…you know.” He shrugged and grinned. “A cop’s salary.”

  “I…suppose so.” Amy stood. “It’s this way.”

  They walked through a kitchen big enough to quarter an army. Beyond that, Amy led them through a set of French doors and onto a concrete patio.

  Niki went to the edge of the pool. It had been sixteen years since Richard Balentine died there, so she knew she would find nothing of evidentiary value—but she looked anyway. “Has Gavin ever had any girlfriends that you know of?” Niki asked.