by Geri Foster
"What do you mean? It's my home."
"But after college, why didn't you move away? You could've gotten on the Dallas or Fort Worth Police Force, maybe the FBI, CIA. You earned a degree in Criminology. It's worth a lot more money than being the Sheriff of a small Texas town."
"I like Rainwater. My mom and dad are there, my friends I went to school with are, too. It's where I'm most comfortable." He looked over at her, his blue eyes tight with emotion. "Besides, I didn't want you to think I was following you."
She nodded and tucked her chin, understanding that.
“Still,” he cleared his throat, “I have no desire to live in a big city. I like my horses, my ranch, my dog, and my job. The community means a great deal to me and I consider it a privilege to serve them."
She laughed, "I’m sure all those women flirting with a man in uniform don’t hurt either."
"Oh, yeah. There’s a bucket full of those." The interior of the cruiser grew quiet again. "How did you know I graduated? I thought you and Kendall didn't talk about me."
She brushed her hair out of her face. "That doesn’t apply to my mom. She talked to your mom and you know how it goes from there."
"I think she's on my side."
"There isn't a side. I live in Dallas and you live here. I don't think even if my dad were released today my parents would move back to Rainwater. I probably wouldn't."
"Why not? You grew up there."
She shrugged, "I don't know. I kind of feel like the town betrayed me. Turned against me and my family. Even if most people believed my dad didn’t do it, like you said, and they felt awkward around us afterwards and that’s why they stayed away, they didn’t have our backs. They made us feel like outcasts. I can’t let that go so easily. Those people aren't my friends."
They were silent the rest of the drive, not saying anything until Lucas pulled into the FBI compound in downtown Dallas. From there, the FBI took care of the entire Metroplex, Dallas and Fort Worth. He pulled into a parking spot and turned off the cruiser. "I don't want you to wait out here. Come in with me."
"They won't let me in there."
"Not the evidence room, but there's a lobby where you can wait."
She got out and walked beside him through security and up to the front desk. They had to go through a metal detector and Lucas turned in his gun, then she was given a visitor pass after filling out the required information.
The clerk at the desk handed her the red plastic badge with the word, ‘Visitor’ on it. "You can either wait up here in the lounge over there," he nodded to a glass room with chairs and several vending machines, "or you can go downstairs and wait in a hallway.”
She looked at Lucas and he said, "You decide. I'll check in on you after about an hour."
"Okay, I'll just go downstairs."
He thanked the guard, took her hand and led her to the escalator, never letting go of her. Instead, his grip tightened as several agents walked by and gave her the once over. She smiled. Lucas was a possessive man.
"Do you know what you're looking for?"
"Not really, but I'll be taking my time. So, don't get antsy if I lose track of time in there and I'm gone longer than expected. I want to check the bank records and see if I can tell exactly where the money came from and how they claim your dad got his hands on it."
She wished she’d be in the evidence locker with him so they could both be searching for...what? What did they hope to find? One thing she knew for sure, with how complicated it was supposed to all be, nothing would jump out and grab them immediately. He needed more than a few hours. "Nancy said no money was missing."
"But, I wonder, did she balance all the money in the accounts?"
“What do you mean?”
“Stay with me for a minute. Let’s say Nancy checks out for the night.”
“Okay.”
“Isn’t she just balancing her drawer? She’s not checking every single account, right?”
She considered it, but shook her head, “Lucas, if someone withdrew or deposited money, they went through Nancy.”
She knew by the excitement in his face that he was already lost to his train of thought.
“I’ll check it out, don’t worry.”
They reached the bottom and stepped off the elevator. He pointed her to the chairs lined against the wall. "Wait over there. Around the corner are a couple of vending machines if you need a snack."
"Don’t worry about me. I'll be here when you come out."
And she would be, even though she desperately wished she had the opportunity to go in the evidence locker to see what they had against her dad. How the truth was covered up and how they managed to frame an innocent man. But she couldn't. Instead, she had to sit out in the hall like a child, an outsider. All her hopes hung on Lucas. Her chest felt like a belt had been buckled tightly around it. She struggled to breathe, praying there would be something left that would, at least in her mind, acquit her dad.
She forced a smile as he turned and walked up to the counter where a man waited, his face sober and tight. This place didn't resemble anything on TV. No, there were no rows of shelves with legal sized boxes lined up neatly. No long walkways that went on and on, cutting the storage area into sections. No, between Lucas and the evidence were not only bars and an armed man, but a secure door and a solid wall.
Hopefully, the truth lay within.
Chapter 17
Lucas waited to be led back to the area where the Snyder Trial evidence was held. They wouldn't let him roam the area without supervision. Since he was only a local Sheriff and not an authorized FBI agent, there would be a man with him at all times.
The guy he talked to on the phone yesterday had left a consent form, allowing him to review the evidence, but he couldn't take pictures or copy anything. However, he was given a yellow legal pad and pen to take notes. As they moved through the maze of sealed lockers, each of which held pertinent information pertaining to cases fought by the FBI, he wondered what other mysteries had gone unsolved.
When they came to the area he needed, he took a deep breath and contemplated if he was up to all this. It’d been a long time since it happened and stepping back into history might be hard for him to deal with.
The man took out a large ring of keys and unlocked the locker. "I’m sorry Billy Baldwin wasn’t able to make it today, but I’ll help as much as I can.” He spread out his hands. “This is where everything about the Snyder case is." Pulling out a box, he pointed several feet away. "There's a table over there if you need it."
Lucas took the box with all kinds of markings on the outside, nodded and moved to a place where he could empty the contents. He pulled out a chair and settled in, picking up a pen. Throughout the trial the prosecutor kept waving around the bank’s record book, which held all the alleged transactions. Rummaging through the box, he found the green, frayed account book and lifted it out. The volume was heavier than he expected. With Bank Accounts written in gold letters on the front and gold binding covering the spine and corners, it definitely looked official.
Eight years ago, the bank hadn’t been automated and things were still done by hand in a ledger. Completely antiquated but, hey, Rainwater was about as small as you could get and still call yourself a town. Computers were finally added shortly after the trial, in order to prevent this type of thing in the future, but he didn’t need that information.
He opened the book and, as he expected, was immediately out of his element. Pages, rows and columns of numbers filled the ledger. He ran his finger slowly down the dates of entries, conscious of his limited knowledge of exactly how the bank ran its business. How was he ever going to get to the bottom of this in a few hours? Placing the book aside, he searched through the box until he found the transcripts of the trial. Following the text the court recorder had typed up, he matched up the evidence to the ledger and everything matched as far as he could decipher.
Disappointed, he gazed at the mountain of evidence and honestly didn't know how
to make heads or tails of the situation. Glancing toward the door, he knew Rachel waited on the other side, and hated to disappoint her. With a deep breath, he turned back to the task at hand and decided to search for Nancy’s message, which should have been handed to the FBI or the attorneys.
No message and not a single thing about Nancy's note.
It was possible she had lied, or the Sheriff thought her statement didn't hold merit, or the FBI simply blew it off. Regardless of how the information was handled, it didn't get included with the rest of the evidence. It was a dead end.
Determined, he spent another hour and a half going through everything listed on the detailed sheet of what they had accrued during the trial, including the final verdict. The word guilty swam before his eyes. the distant sound of the gavel being banged against the Judge's desk echoing through his mind. Then the hushed gasps, the denials, the soft cries. He sat still and allowed all those sounds to barrel over him like a storm out of the west. He listened, putting himself back into that courtroom at that precise moment.
Who else was there?
Judge Mosley in his black robe and balding head with sharp, be-speckled brown eyes. The tall, extra lean court appointed Bailiff that was a part-time deputy. The Judge still lived in Denton, but the deputy had been killed a few years back in a car accident outside Fort Worth.
The jury: seven men, five women. Not one of them entered the courtroom assuming Jim Snyder was guilty. That was how the law worked. The jurors had to have had no connection to the defendant and, in fact, no knowledge of the case at all beforehand.
So, what happened?
Of course, the FBI had a legal accountant who did nothing but solve financial problems with banks. He fought like a bulldog. Convinced from the get go of Jim’s guilt, he was determined to prove it. And he did. In a matter of a few days, he managed to convince every juror. It was a unanimous verdict—guilty.
As he read the trial transcripts, he couldn’t figure out how that could have happened. Before long, he realized not only was the man knowledgeable about money, he was a master at twisting words and swaying the jury into a particular direction. He was as clever as a politician running for office. Stunned, he read the transcript and then read it again. He took copious notes and circled several items he planned to check out later.
He was lost completely in time when the man shadowing him cleared his throat. "You about done? It's my lunch break." When Lucas looked up, he continued. “I can get someone else down here if you’re not finished.”
"No, that’s fine," he replied, worrying about leaving Rachel out in the hall waiting so long. He quickly put everything back in the boxes and replaced the lid. Pushing back his chair, he thanked the guy as he turned to leave.
Rachel was bored out of her mind waiting for Lucas. She checked her phone again. Two and a half hours had passed since he went into the evidence locker. The snack machines sucked up her change, she visited the ladies’ room three times, and paced the small waiting area until her feet hurt.
Finally, the buzzer went off and he came through the door with a pad in his hand. He didn't look all that thrilled and her heart felt like it'd dropped to the floor.
"Nothing?" she asked when he drew closer.
"Not much." He took her hand and led her up the escalators, through security so she could turn in her badge, then out into the cool weather.
"Where are we going?"
"Let's grab lunch and we can discuss what I found."
They traveled toward Elm Street until he came to one of his favorite places to eat. At noon the place was loud and crowded, but they managed to find a table in the back, close to the kitchen. They both ordered quickly so he could get down to the facts. Her attention fully on him, she took a sip of her iced tea and picked up a chip and dipped it in salsa.
"You didn't appear filled with joy when you came out of there."
"For good reason. I didn't find any message or note from Nancy to the Sheriff disclaiming your dad's guilt. Also, the evidence, in my opinion, is pretty sketchy."
She straightened, then leaned closer, lowering her voice. "What do you mean? You think the trial was rigged?"
He shook his head. "No. What I mean is, I read everything that was said twice, and in my mind, I don’t see where anything at all was proven. There was a lot of double-talking, lots of possibilities and innuendos, but no real facts."
She tilted her head and shoved the chips and salsa away. "I thought the FBI had a clear-cut case."
"So did I. But, after reading the copies of the transcripts, any decent lawyer should've had a lot more questions that Stan Mayer did."
"So, my dad had a lousy lawyer. That doesn't explain how the jury found him guilty."
He leaned back as their hot plates were placed in front of them. They both ordered enchiladas because they didn't want to waste time scouring the menu for something else.
"Will you need anything else?" the waitress asked, in a hurry to get to her next table.
"No, thank you," Rachel said. "We're fine."
"Perhaps more iced tea when you get a chance," Lucas added.
The waitress left, and she and Lucas stared at their hot plates. "This smells delicious," she said. "I didn't know I was hungry until now."
He picked up his fork. "They make great food."
Slicing into her food, she held the fork up and blew. "It's hot."
"I know, and spicy too." He gazed at her with his smoky colored eyes. "You used to love spicy food. Remember?"
"I still do, but there are times it doesn't like me," she laughed. "Remember the time we ate at that place by the lake and you tried to impress me by eating a whole bowl of jalapeño peppers?"
He used his napkin to wipe his mouth as he laughed. "Crazy."
"Yes."
"Did I impress you?"
She smiled. "Of course, you did. Everything about you was amazing when we were younger." She put down her fork and rolled her eyes. "I not only thought you hung the moon, I swore you were the moon." Propping her chin on her folded hands, the smile slipped from her face. "So much has changed."
"Not for me it hasn't. I love you as much today as I did eight years ago."
He said it so matter-of-factly that she straightened, her heart beating out of control, while he continued eating. "How easy it is for you to say that."
He stilled and glanced at her. "Listen, I'm not a complicated guy. I like good food, an occasional beer and the comfort of my own house and a friendly dog. I have been in love with you so long, Rachel Snyder, I don't know how to not love you."
"But after my dad—"
"That has nothing to do with us." He leaned back, his face serious and stern. "I didn't do right when your daddy went to jail. I realized that pretty quick. What I should've done was gone after you and dragged you back here and married you. But, I didn't, because I wanted you to come back on your own. I never imagined after all these years you would still be mad."
"What did you expect, Lucas? My dad was taken to prison and you were treating me like I was as guilty as the jury thought he was."
"Not my best performance, I admit. I didn’t think about how you were seeing my actions. I was thinking about my job and, when that was secure, I guess I just thought you’d be there waiting for me. I was young and a damn fool."
"But, he didn't do it. Yet you were so adamant he belonged in jail."
"No, I was determined not to let my personal feelings interfere with my job as a deputy. I knew my career was on the line. If Sheriff Townson or the President of the bank, or the FBI noticed one bit of hesitation on my part, I wouldn't ever have become a full-time deputy, much less Sheriff."
"So, you gave it all up for that badge." She pointed to his chest. "I hope it was worth it."
He lowered his eyes and shook his head. "I didn't see it like that. I didn’t know I was losing you in the process. But, then, you left and you wouldn’t take my calls. I figured out I’d messed up, huge, but I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. I ne
ver thought your dad was guilty. Never. But the law judged him that way, and I couldn’t go against that. I believe in the law, Rachel. It’s why I’m Sheriff.”
"So what are you doing helping me now?"
" I'm older and wiser. I know what’s important. That’s you, Rachel. You are the most important thing in my life. I will never deny my gut feelings again in order to secure my career. I’ve learned that the law is not always just, it can be manipulated, and that is why good deputies and sheriffs and detectives are needed. Checks and balances. From what I learned today, I was right back then to question the case—there are a lot of questions I plan to find answers to."
Her heart beat erratically, from both his confession and from the sliver of hope he was offering that they might just be able to help her dad. "Like what?"
"Finish eating. We'll talk on the way home.”
"If you think I'll sit still and wait that long, you're crazy. I already waited two and a half hours while you were in the evidence locker." She took a sip of her tea. "Tell me, what did you learn?"
"Well, like I said. Even after all that time I spent going over evidence, I didn't see clearly how they proved your dad took the money, and very few of the figures added up. Those that they put out there, anyway."
"I now wish Mom would've let me go to the trial."
"I don’t think that would have made a difference. Everything rested on the President's statement that Jim had been siphoning off money from various funds."
"Okay?”
"But, those funds weren't short." He continued eating. "Even your dad's lawyer saw that. And he didn't say much through the whole proceeding."
"How did he end up with Stan Mayer anyway?"
"He was appointed by the court. I don't know why your dad didn't hire his own lawyer, but I'm sure cost played a factor in that."
"That’s true. We certainly didn't possess the kind of money needed for a high-powered attorney willing to go up against the FBI's legal eagles."
"Well, there should've been a lot more of an investigation done than what happened. I'm not so sure what Nancy said isn't the truth."