by Dan Decker
A locked door could imply that something had been going on, an open door would just be business as usual.
I looked out at the parking lot and noticed Veronica was still around, but everybody else had gone.
After we were seated in my office with the door shut, I gave Stephanie an awkward smile.
“Have ballistics come back on the weapon yet?” I asked.
“I hope you didn’t call me here just to play twenty questions.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah, it’s the murder weapon.”
“Any prints?”
“No, it’s clean. So is the brass. There should have been something on one of those.”
I nodded, I had been afraid Timothy’s prints might be found, but the fact they were clean helped my case, although not by much.
“You see the thing is,” I began slowly, measuring every word, “I found something else that morning that I did not think was important until today.”
Stephanie blinked. “What?”
“When I got to the apartment I was just looking around and didn’t think much of it when I found a tube of lip gloss in the couch. I figured it was no big deal since you guys had already been there. On the off chance that it was important I put it into a plastic bag that I kept in my briefcase.”
“You did what?”
“I know, I know.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Right when I was about to bring it up, you used the same lip gloss. I was afraid that you had left it and I wanted to save you the embarrassment.”
“It wasn’t mine. I can guarantee it.”
“Well, that was my motivation. Sorry.”
Stephanie put a hand to her head. “I don’t need you looking out for me.”
“Just take a look at it, see if anything turns up on it.”
“I really hope you’re not monkeying around with evidence.”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Stephanie, you know me far better than that. I took pictures before I picked it up. I can prove it was there.”
She held out her hand.
I pulled up my briefcase from the side of my desk and took it out, handing it to her. “I thought it was unimportant until today.”
“Until you figured out that Timothy’s dad has been sleeping around?”
“Yeah.” I was surprised word had got to her so fast, maybe Frank was taking my tip more seriously than I thought. I flipped around my computer monitor where I had a picture up of where I found the lip gloss.
Stephanie nodded and then stood to go. “Don’t worry. I believe you but it was a boneheaded move. I’ll have put a memo into the file about what happened, but I’ll do what I can.” She gave me a searching look. “I owe you one.”
“I would appreciate it.”
“I’m not making any promises. Don’t do something like this again.”
37
Jun 11 – 8:00 am
Ellie was already there when I walked into the office Tuesday morning, she was on a call so I was able to avoid her gloating smile about beating me to work. She could sometimes be fiercely competitive about strange things. I had a lot on my mind today and was glad to not have the interruption.
I shut the door as soon as I walked into my office. It had been a sleepless night. As much as I believed I had done the right thing the previous day, when I got to bed I had not been as convinced.
It was difficult for me to say why I had reached out to Cynthia Cooper and got her involved. If she had wanted to remain aloof, I should have let her.
I’d acted on instinct more than logical deliberation and it always bothered me afterward when I did that if it didn’t work out as I wanted. There had just been something about the way Timothy was so devoted that he was willing to go to jail to protect her, either from knowing about his father’s affair or from exposing her to a criminal action, that made me want to get first-hand information on her. I did not think she was as naïve about the whole thing as Timothy wished to believe.
The more I had thought while I tossed and turned, the more convinced I became that she knew full well about Ron’s indiscretions. The fact that she had not reacted when I had brought up her husband told me that this had been par for the course for years.
It was something she was used too.
I felt empathy for her but could not help but wonder if she had become cold and hard, and that was why her son had come home and found Gordon dead in his bedroom.
But every time I came to that conclusion I asked myself the question, would she really set up her own son?
I wanted to say the answer was no but something held me back.
It was the calculating look in her eyes.
I pulled out my notepad and reviewed all the notes I had made on this case. After I had done that I looked at the disclosures from the DA’s office. Finally, I reviewed Winston’s file. I had been hoping that the review of all this information would give me additional insights, perhaps even motives for the actions of the people involved above what I already suspected, but I soon found myself pacing the floor while I tried to think of a plausible plan of action, feeling like I had not gained much.
If Frank Ward did not find a connection between Ron Cooper and the apartment, even though we had evidence of Ron’s indiscretions, it was not enough to make Frank drop the charges against my client.
All I really had at this point was basic supposition and guesses. I needed far more than that. Unfortunately, juries did not look at adultery in quite the same way as in years past. While some might be bothered by Ron’s behavior, it would hardly be enough to convince them he was capable of murder.
No, I needed something more and I did not want to trust Frank or even Winston to find it for me. Not when it was down to the wire. I could see Timothy taking that offer, and unless he actually killed Gordon, I wanted to keep him from doing that.
I picked up my keys, opened my door and left. Ellie was still on the phone so I just gave her wave as I passed. I drove over to Timothy’s apartment building and was soon standing in his room. It looked much the same as it had when I had last been here. I imagined Stephanie and her team had been over it thoroughly since that time and was sure I would not find anything else they might have missed.
I was here more for context, than anything else.
The dishes in the sink had still not been done. I found myself chuckling, thinking about how he had initially explained the tension between him and his roommate. At this point if I were him, I would just leave them for the landlord to deal with.
In the living room I stopped in the approximate place where I assumed the shooter had stood and looked into Gordon’s room. I had a clear shot but it was more than fifteen feet away.
When I was a prosecutor I had gone shooting with some of the cops and had trouble hitting the target with a pistol from that far. Stephanie had informally told me that the 9 mm pistol I’d found was the murder weapon, but I still did not have the report from the prosecutor’s office.
A pistol was the murder weapon, I thought, not a rifle.
I brought up my hand and formed it into a handgun while imagining what might have happened that night. Gordon had been fully clothed despite the late hour, so it did not sound like he had been awoken in bed; moreover, the pictures I had received of the crime scene had his body on top of the made bed.
Perhaps he had been with the shooter and gone back into the bedroom for something. Or maybe he had just arrived home and the shooter had entered afterward. Or maybe the shooter had been waiting for him.
I imagined him turning and seeing the gun pointed at him. If they had not expected him to turn, they might have pulled the trigger on instinct, rather than deliberate intention.
In such a tense situation I did not believe I would’ve been able to make a headshot like that.
Whoever did this knew what they were doing.
I walked over to the apartment door again and looked carefully at the door jamb. There were a bunch of tiny scratches, but those could easily be explained
as just wear and tear. I next examined the deadbolt keyhole, looking for scratches there. Again, nothing jumped out at me as out of place.
Like I’m going to find anything when Winston couldn’t.
“Either they had the key,” I said to myself, “or they were an expert lockpick, just like they were a good shot.”
I shut the door and went back inside, standing again in the same spot. The couch was in between me and Gordon’s room.
I walked around and stood in front. In my mind I pulled the trigger again, imagining how the shell would have been ejected from the pistol. I had a hard time believing it would have fallen behind the loveseat from here.
Regardless, I went through the same mental exercises as before. It was about five feet closer to Gordon and while this would have been a more comfortable shot for me, I still didn’t think I could have shot him in the head with my limited experience.
I shook my head.
Whoever had done this was experienced with a pistol. There had been nothing in Ron Cooper’s background to lead me to believe he had experience with firearms. Timothy had mentioned firing a weapon once at his summer camp—I thought of his dead bunkmate and Frank’s bluff—but that was a rifle, not a pistol.
I examined the walls in Gordon’s room, looking for any other damage besides the one that came from the bullet.
One shot from fifteen feet away into the head.
One bullet.
No sign of forced entry.
There were not many people who could make a shot like that without regular practice.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Winston.
“You got a minute?”
“Sure. I have something for you too. It’s not much, but something for you to chew on.”
“Great, I’ll go first. Have you discovered if any of our suspects knew how to shoot a firearm?”
“The summer camp Timothy went to had firearm training, but we’re talking .22 rifles, not 9 mm pistols. Hardly the same thing. Not even close.” His whiskers brushed against the microphone as he shook his head. “But other than that, nothing.”
“Barbara Smith Howard, have you had a chance to look at her yet?”
“Some. I haven’t completed my check on her, but from what little I’ve seen I would be surprised if she had firearms experience.”
I nodded. “What do you have for me?”
“I don’t have as good of contacts at the restaurant as I do the motel, so I don’t have receipts. I have however confirmed that they have been seen there from time to time. I cannot prove they were there the night of the murder.”
“The prosecution is looking into that, let’s leave that to them for the moment. I want that deep dive into Barbara as quick as possible, I need everything you find.”
“Will do.”
Winston disconnected and I slid the phone into my pocket.
I stood next where Gordon died, letting the situation take on great detail in my mind as I imagined each potential suspect doing him in.
Naturally, I started with Timothy because he was the most obvious. I tried to imagine him staring down Gordon with a pistol and killing him in one shot.
It was easy to imagine the anger and the will, I just wasn’t sure about the technical capabilities.
Next, I went onto Cynthia Cooper, but had a similar thought. She could not have done this either, and wouldn’t it have made more sense for her to kill Barbara or her husband?
I spent a considerable amount of time thinking about Ron. He was in decent shape, might have had a key to Timothy’s apartment, and had the right temperament to do something like this. The biggest issue was learning if he had the capability.
Barbara, was a greater unknown. She had less of a professional online presence and was a firebrand. But even if she had been afraid enough to kill Gordon to keep her husband from knowing about her affair with Ron Cooper, I still had a hard time believing she could make that shot.
No, the more I thought about this, the more I came to believe it had to be somebody else.
But just because none of them are not the shooter, it doesn’t mean they didn’t order a hit.
One bullet. One body. No burglary. No visible signs of forced entry.
One of my suspects was either better with a pistol then I guessed or they had brought somebody to do it for them.
I could see Cynthia or Ron doing that, not so much Timothy. Why would he stay at the apartment right afterward?
Finding a hitman was not an easy thing to do, it wasn’t like an internet search would return a viable result for that. I doubted Timothy would have the resources or the connections. Cynthia and Ron would have more opportunities for that sort of thing. I could see Ron getting worked up and doing something he regretted in the heat of the moment easier than I could see him ordering a hit.
Now Cynthia, I had no problem thinking her capable of hiring somebody.
Cynthia.
I still came back to the question: why set up her son?
I also needed to know more about Barbara.
She was the wildcard.
She did not fit into my assumptions as primly as Cynthia, Ron, and Timothy.
Perhaps she was one of those people that drifted through life, always taking the path of least resistance. Maybe she had come in contact with people who did have that kind of experience. Perhaps it was an old retired policeman or a former member of the military. Or somebody who had played too many video games and got bored with a non-exciting life.
I could envision her coming in contact with men like that.
The more I thought about it, the more she seemed like the most logical connection to a hitman.
One day, I thought. We have today. If we find nothing, we’ll see if Frank actually files amended charges.
38
Jun 11 – 11:05 AM
I spent several hours in Timothy’s apartment rifling through everything, trying to come up with anything that might be useful. I was not likely to find any more direct evidence, but there might be pieces and tidbits that could help me form a better picture.
All computers and electronic devices had been taken for further examination. The report on Timothy’s computer had returned nothing of interest, apparently, they could not even find his internet search history so I didn’t even have that to pick through.
I did find several textbooks for online courses in Gordon’s personal effects, but they had gathered considerable dust.
I did not find any of Timothy’s law books, but that was hardly a surprise, considering how much time he spent at the law school. He probably kept them all there. I did find a small photo book that Timothy kept beside his bed. It contained pictures of his family, mostly pictures of his two siblings and mother. There was one picture that included his father. Timothy had not been smiling in that particular shot. I suspected he included it because his mother had his arm around him.
After I was done with the apartment I returned to my office. I asked Ellie if there had been any messages and was disappointed to find it had been a quiet morning.
I had several other cases that I could work on, but lacked the motivation.
I hated waiting.
That happened a lot, most of the legal profession knew that it took months or sometimes years to find resolutions.
I was waiting for Winston.
I was waiting for Frank Ward.
I called Susie into my office and asked her if she’d found anything, but she had nothing of significance. She said she was still looking, but I suspected that coming across that story about his bunkmate at summer camp had rattled her belief in his innocence. She had learned Timothy had not had many friends in high school. The one or two she had tracked down had appeared to still be close with him, so she had not wanted to reach out without first getting my approval.
I told her to forget about it for now and took note of her relief.
After she left, I paced in my office.
Days like this made me want to pull out my hair. I
took out the case file and reviewed it all again, by the time 2:00 PM rolled around, I still had not had any more breakthroughs. I took the seat at my desk with a blank notepad, intending to start brainstorming other possibilities, but just found myself doodling.
My phone buzzed an hour later, after I had just sat down for a late lunch.
Britney.
I was in a bad enough mood that I was tempted to just let it go to voicemail, but I picked up and tried to sound more cheerful than I felt.
“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Britney said.
“Yeah, I’ve been really busy with a case. How are things for you?”
“Not bad. I was calling to see if you wanted to come out this weekend, it would be nice to see you. What has it been, three weeks?”
“Yeah.” I must not have sounded enthused, because her level of excitement was fast evaporating. I felt bad and wanted to do something about it quickly, but couldn’t think of how to pull myself out of it other than to open up a bit.
“It’s not you,” I said to forestall any concerns that there might be some issues developing between us. “I’m just in a standstill on a case right now. I don’t like it and I’m trying to get past it. I’m also waiting to hear back from Frank Ward on something, and it is never fun trusting the prosecution to do their job.”
“Why don’t you come out today if you have nothing to do?”
I paused, considering the idea, it would be a two-hour drive and I could easily be back before morning, but I felt I should continue to work on the case even though I was just spinning my wheels. I had even thought of driving to Ron Cooper’s office and home, not to go meet with him, but only to look around and see what his life was like.
It was one thing to look at his website, it was another to experience a little bit of his world. I still liked him as the primary suspect on this and was hoping that doing that would give me something more to think about.
I was grasping at straws and I knew it.
“Tempting. Very tempting. I just can’t right now. I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” She sounded a little crestfallen while doing her best to cover it up. I felt bad.