The Invisible Cipher - A Jagged Journeys' Novella

by Ida Smith

  Harvey stared at him.

  “Aren’t you going to write this down?”

  “You’re ranting like a madman.”

  “Have you ever defended anyone in a murder case?” Neil thought of his hotshot lawyer brother in Georgia. He should call him. But to do so would inform his dad. Neil could hear his old man already: “So you finally did it. You finally got yourself in trouble with the law.” Nope. He would handle this on his own. His little brother wasn’t going to bail him out of another mess.

  “So have you?”

  “Let’s not worry about that.”

  “You haven’t have you?”

  “Boy…Neil this is rural Illinois. I deal more with cattle thieves, drunks, and wife beaters than anything. This kind of thing just don’t happen around these parts that often.”

  Neil paced—again going over the events in his mind. He took a deep breath. “Alright. I’m going to give you the order of events along with the things you need to check into—like looking for blood, footprints, and tire tracks from the real killer.”

  “What about this business in Missouri? I suppose it wasn’t you who robbed and assaulted a…” Harvey rummaged through the papers, “a Mr. Gordon?”

  “Mr. Gorgons, and yes, I did assault him—if punching a guy for not wanting to pay you what he owes—listen, I worked for the guy, I needed to leave, my girlfriend’s having a baby and I need to get home. He wouldn’t pay me. Said I had to wait until next week. She’s having problems with the pregnancy and needs me.”

  Harvey shook his head. “You just don’t do anything the conventional way, do you?”

  “I was just taking what he owed me. Nothing more. He caught me and accused me of stealing. Threatened to have me arrested. I just wanted to be there for Sunshine.”

  “Sunshine?”

  “That’s her name. I’m really trying to do right by her. She’s a sweet girl. I know it doesn’t look like it but I’m really trying.” Neil’s shoulders slumped. “It’s just that nothing ever goes right. Listen, I’m being honest with you. I didn’t mean to hit Gorgons. I just couldn’t be stuck there.”

  “Instead you’re stuck here.” The lawyer looked at him, a sliver of empathy and belief in his eyes.

  “Yeah,” Neil’s voice was quiet. “It seems fate caught up with me and added revenge.” Neil sat back down, his face in his hands. “Will you contact her for me?”

  “Sure.”

  A clock on the wall ticked one a.m.

  “So how’d you come to be at the Parsons’ place in the first place?”

  Neil looked up. “Parsons?”

  “The victims, Walter and Harriet Parsons.”

  Neil closed his eyes at the image of the middle-aged woman, her face a collage of pain and fear. “My truck broke down.”

  ***

  Neil stared at the ceiling in his jail cell. He’d been here for three days, yet it seemed a month. He felt so alone. How could he have gotten himself in such a mess? How many times had he asked himself that question? But this time it really mattered. He’d told himself he would be a better man—the man he’d failed so many times before to be. From now on, it wasn’t just about him.

  He wanted and needed to be there with Sunshine—to care for her and their baby. Nothing in all his life had ever meant so much to him.

  Neil rolled over on the lumpy jail mattress. He wanted to believe this whole mess would work itself out. That the police and authorities would figure out it wasn’t him and find the real killer. But he also knew how things could go wrong, especially for him.

  He bit his lip, angry with his latest failure. Neil’s hotshot lawyer brother, Kenneth, came to mind. He resisted the temptation to call him. He would soon be a father, it was time he learned to take care of himself and not rely on his little brother.

  No matter how hard Neil worked or how much he tried, things never worked out like he planned. Society’s nit-picky rules and social norms always seemed to trip him up. Sure, some of them made sense to him, but some of the ways people did things, right or wrong, whatever that was, he thought were just a waste of time.

  Ken used to mock him. They’d spend hours, whole evenings arguing. Ken always took the side of ethics and Neil rationalized the economy of convenience.

  “Seems to me your unethical conveniences aren’t very economical or convenient,” Ken taunted on more than one occasion.

  Neil felt Ken always spoke out of pride. The only reason he argued ethics was to try and redeem himself. Ken argued cases based on the purse. Ken’s pride yelled, ‘this is good, that is bad,’ while he sold his flesh for the highest dollar. He was a whore on a high horse.

  A guard rattled the keys in Neil’s cell door, jolting him from his denunciation.

  “You’ve got a visitor.”

  “I do?”

  Neil entered the small room where he’d met with his lawyer several days earlier. A clean shaven man, probably in his fifties, sat at the table.

  “Mr. Gatlin? I’m Leonard Black.” He stretched out his hand.

  “Do I know you?” Neil awkwardly shook the man’s hand.

  “No.” Leonard shifted his weight. “I’m um, well, I’ve never done anything like this before. I, uh, I just felt I needed to come and talk with you.”

  “Never seen anyone accused of murder and thought you’d come and gawk?”

  Leonard cocked his head.

  Neil could see in his eyes a kindness he wasn’t used to seeing.

  “Gawk, no. I’ve spent the past three days talking myself out of coming. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “Then why now?”

  “I can’t sleep. I lay in bed and hear the stories floating around town and things don’t add up.”

  Neil leaned back in his chair, locked his fingers behind his head. “What doesn’t add up?”

  “First let me ask you a question. Do you know anyone around here?”

  “Only the fellows I met in the pool hall that day.”

  “You’d never met them before?”

  “Nope.”

  A jailer looked in on them.

  “Do you remember their names?”

  Neil nodded and told him.

  Leonard seemed surprised. “You know who the victims were?”

  Neil leaned forward. “A Mr. and Mrs. Walter Parsons, or so I’ve been told. I didn’t kill them. She had a knife in her back when she came to the door.” Neil shrugged. “Why am I bothering to tell you this? You’re not going to believe me anyway.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “No one’s believed me so far.”

  “So how’s it you were there in the first place?”

  “My truck overheated. You’re not a newspaper reporter or something are you?” Neil made a series of long and short taps on the table.

  Leonard smiled. “Don’t laugh, I actually own a farm supply business.”

  “Oh, well, that’s a lot of help.”

  “You nervous?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “I’m sure more than I can imagine.” Leonard pointed to Neil’s fingers. “Do you always tap like that?”

  A small grin spread across Neil’s face. “Habit from childhood. My father was a telegraph operator. He used to telegraph instructions to my brother and I.”

  “I imagine as boys you had fun with that.”

  “Oh, yes. We’d pretend to be war spies.” Neil smiled at that memory.

  A clock ticked on the dull beige wall.

  “So why’d your truck overheat?”

  “I don’t know. I tried to figure that out but my flashlight died.”

  “Is the truck still there?”

  Neil shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “Mind if I look at it?”

  “Why?”

  Leonard traced a scratch in the table. “I have a suspicion about it I’d like to clarify.”

  “You’re not going to pull something on me are you? Like I could do anything if you did.”
r />   “No. I’m just wondering if your truck was tampered with.”

  “Huh! Now there’s a thought.” Neil leaned back and banged on the door. “Guard.”

  Chapter Two - Filtered Perceptions

  Neil attempted to shield his face from the medias’ cameras. Was that a CBS reporter? He took the marble stairs as fast as he could in leg irons.

  Inside, people loitered about the courthouse halls, their conversations hushed when he passed. In a small room Rubens reviewed what to expect.

  “I’m telling you now, Neil.” Rubens arranged his files, tapping them against the table top. “This is going to be a tough case to win. The prosecution has a lot of circumstantial evidence that looks pretty convincing.”

  Neil sighed.

  “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have holes in it.” He made eye contact with Neil. “My job is to expose and open those holes big enough to drive a John Deere through ‘em.”

  Neil nodded. “You sure you don’t want me to testify? I—”

  Rubens shook his head. “That would be suicide. That prosecutor would drag you from one end of that courtroom to the next as if you were nothing but a plow and he the tractor.”

  Neil ground his teeth.

  “My best advice is to stay calm, don’t give them any inkling you’ve got a temper.” He straightened his tie. “And if you’re a praying man—pray.”

  He shrugged, but his fingers tapped out: God, if you’re there, help, on the worn, oak table.

  “Neil,” Rubens rested his hand on the table and bent toward him with a look of compassion. “Sunshine called my office yesterday.”

  Neil stopped tapping. “Has she had the baby?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Is she alright?”

  “I assume so. She’s on her way.”

  “What?” Neil ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Told my secretary she’s taking the bus. For all I know, she might be here already.”

  Neil pressed his lips together. “Sunshine. Oh…man. I don’t want her to see me, not like this.”

  There was a knock at the door and Rubens picked up his satchel. “Time to plow up the truth.”

  Neil followed Rubens into the packed courtroom. He guessed everyone in the whole county was there. He scanned the crowd, seeing the three pool players, Charley, Willis, and Scotty, then, before he could find her Sunshine jumped from where she was sitting.

  “Neil,” she cried, then clapped her hands over her mouth.

  He nodded to her, grieved at the pain this brought her. Even with red eyes and her face blotchy from crying she was beautiful. “I love you,” he mouthed.

  Rubens looked at her then nodded to his client. “I see why you wanted to get home.”

  “She’s so beautiful, and you’re only seeing the outside. Sunshine’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met. I want to grow old taking care of her. You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  Rubens looked again at the very pregnant young woman with long, blond hair and go-go boots then back to Neil. “That’s what we’re going to do.”

  Neil noticed people whispering and pointing at her. Then he saw Leonard. They made eye contact. Neil motioned to Sunshine with his head. Leonard nodded and moved to sit by her.

  The judge entered and things got underway with the prosecutor presenting his case. In the jury sat seven men and five women. Most of them looked the age of the victims and probably knew them. A jury of your peers? None of these people were his peers and from the way they looked at him he wondered if they’d already judged him guilty.

  Large ceiling fans made slow, ineffective swipes at the hot stagnant air.

  Rubens leaned into him. “Don’t glare.”

  “What?”

  “Let them see the side of you that loves that little lady back there.”

  Neil tried to relax. He glanced back at Sunshine and tried to smile.

  Across the court sat the prosecutor. It was clear to Neil that neither the man nor his team were from around Cleavemont. He’d obviously been brought in from a larger town in the county. He had several assistants with him, all dressed just about as well as he.

  Every hair on the man’s thirty-eight year-old head was perfectly cut and sang law, order, and control. His face was smooth and clean, his shoes reflected the morning light shining into the courtroom. His name, Thomas William Van Bourgeon.

  In contrast Neil’s public defender wore cowboy boots and a rust-colored polyester suit with large top stitching and looked like he would be more at home selling used cars than defending a murder suspect. Neil wondered if he should have called his brother.

  After an endless parade of formalities the prosecutor began questioning the detective. Neil shuddered as the detective’s description of the murder scene brought the horror of that night back to him. Would he have done anything different?

  The prosecutor grilled the detective. “How do you know the defendant was at the scene of the crime?”

  “His fingerprints were on the murder weapon—”

  “Ahhh. No,” Sunshine exclaimed.

  Bang. The judge struck his gavel. “Quiet.”

  Sunshine nodded through sniffles and Leonard whispered something to her.

  The detective continued. “As I was saying, his fingerprints were on the murder weapon, front doorknob, table, and door molding. He also stepped in Mr. Parsons’ blood and tracked it back through the living room. Some was also found in the tread of the defendant’s sneakers.”

  Neil ran through that horrible scene like he had so many times. Something was missing. Yes, he was sure he’d touched all those things. But there was something else. He grabbed Rubens’ notepad and scribbled, ‘phone.’

  When the prosecutor finished Rubens began his questioning. “Officer Jennings. Weren’t there also bloody footprints leading out the back door?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did those footprints match the defendants’?”

  The detective shifted in his seat. “No, sir.”

  There was a stirring in the courtroom. Sunshine wiped her eyes, a look of hope flickered across her soft, light complected face.

  “How were they different?”

  “They were smaller with different tread.”

  “And were there bloody fingerprints on the back door?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did those fingerprints match those of the defendant?”

  “It’s hard to say.”

  “And why is that?”

  Officer Jennings glanced at Neil. “Those prints were smudged.”

  “Smudged. Hum.” Rubens paced in front of the jurors. “So my client’s fingerprints were very clear everywhere except on the back door?”

  “Yes.”

  “The same back door with different footprints?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wasn’t there even a partial print that could be identified?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “Objection,” said the prosecutor.

  “Sustained.”

  “In your experience, have you seen blood stains where someone was wearing gloves?”

  “Yes.”

  “How similar are the finger smudges on the back door to those glove produced stains you’ve seen?”

  “Fairly similar.”

  “So, Officer Jenson. The fact that we have different footprints and possibly gloved finger smudges, would you conclude that there was someone else in the home the night of the murder?”

  “Objection.”

  “Over ruled.”

  “It looks as though there might be.”

  “Might be?”

  “Probably was.”

  “You mentioned several places where my client’s fingerprints were found. Were his fingerprints on the phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “But wasn’t the phone line cut?”

  “Yes.”

  A surge of excitement swelled inside Neil. He gla
nced at the jury. Their attention was riveted on the exchange.

  Rubens now rubbed his chin. “Why would a murderer try to use a phone knowing he’d cut the line?”

  “Maybe to make it look like he didn’t commit the crime.”

  Neil grimaced. Why had Rubens asked that question?

  Several jurors leaned back and looked at Neil.

  How should he respond so they wouldn’t believe he had?

  Rubens tried to side step the comment. “Or, someone coming upon the crime could have picked up the phone to call for help, not knowing the line was cut.”

  The detective stiffened. “Yes.”

  “That’s all for now.”

  The prosecution called a physician who described the manner of death.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Sunshine said to Leonard in the middle of the grisly description.

  “Quiet.” The judge’s gavel echoed through the courtroom.

  Bystanders fanned themselves.

  Neil felt sorry for Sunshine. She shouldn’t have had to hear this, especially in her condition.

  When it was his turn, Rubens asked if it was possible for Harriet Parsons to come to the door with a knife in her back. The doctor pondered the question for a minute before stating that, while Mr. Parsons’ wounds were instantly fatal, those of his wife were not.

  Several women wept during his testimony.

  The judge pounded his gavel. “Court will recess for lunch and resume at two-o’clock.”

  Neil looked at Sunshine. She was exhausted. He wished he could talk with her, hold her, tell her everything would be alright.

  As people crowded the court’s aisle to leave Charley stood on a bench above the crowd. “I hope they give you the death sentence, Neil Gatlin. I offer you my Aunt and Uncle’s hospitality and you murdered them. You deserve to die.”

  There was a collective gasp followed by whispers and glares at Neil.

  People watch as a guard pulled Charley off the bench and out of the courtroom.

  Rubens glared at Neil. “You were invited to the Parsons’ home?”

  “I—”

  The lawyer held up his hand. “We’ll talk about this in private.”

  Neil shuffled out of court, the chains thwarting his otherwise long strides. Once in their small meeting room Rubens shut the door hard and turned on Neil. “You never told me that you’d been invited to the Parsons’ home. I thought you said you didn’t know anyone in this town.”

  “I don’t. That guy was one of the guys I played pool with. He said I could probably stay in his aunt and uncle’s barn. He said they lived fifteen miles from town. He never even gave me their names, that I remember.”