Three days had passed.
I was about to head back to the hospital after a quick shower when Rachel Peterson pulled into my front yard.
“How’s she doing?” Rachel asked.
“Little better each day,” I said.
“I know you’re in a hurry, but before I head back to Central Office, I wanted to have one more quick chat.”
I nodded.
I had actually been getting in the car when she pulled up, but wanted to hear what she had to say.
I walked over and we both leaned on her state-issued car, the empty, open Prairie Palm stretching out before us.
She was dressed the way she had been when we first met––in jeans, boots, and a button-down. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail revealing the darkish skin of her face and neck. Her ID and badge were clipped to her belt, hanging down above her left leg.
“Never said how impressive what you did was,” she said. “Surviving what you did is one thing. Doing it with a pregnant woman is another.”
“Could’ve very easily gone the other way,” I said. “Came way too close a couple of times. Without Cardigan and Pine . . .”
“They helped themselves plenty by helpin’ you,” she said. “Whatta you think about Cardigan’s story?”
“Did you find the other camera?”
She nodded. “Like not to have. Shit was hidden like a mofo. Long since recorded over whatever was on it. No help at all.”
“Still might be,” I said.
“It’s no wonder he didn’t mention it until he thought he was gonna die,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“We found two.”
“Yeah?”
“The other was set up in the victim’s bedroom. He was Peeping Tom her in high def, creepy little fucker. Probably why he didn’t mention it as part of his defense––that or he really killed her.”
“If he had been tried for her murder, he would’ve been forced to reveal them, but since he was only facing drug and burglary charges . . .”
“Or he killed her and the footage wouldn’t help,” she said.
“Or that.”
“What did you mean, it still might be helpful?”
“If Cardigan’s not the killer,” I said. “Did you find any connections to Tom Daniels?”
She nodded. “Actually, I did. Not to Cardigan, Reggie Dalton, or any of the officers involved, but to the victim, Ashley Fountain. Phone records show calls between them. That’s all I got so far, but . . .”
I thought about it. “Could’ve been using again, getting his drugs from her. Could’ve been using her other services if she was working as a prostitute. Maybe both.”
“Probably both. We’re still going through her phone records. She was a very popular girl.”
“Find out anything else about the actor?” I asked.
“Not really. He’s been in rehab a few times. Popped for possession twice. So had two strikes, but nothin’ in his background makes sense for him doing a kidnapping. And about that . . . I’ve thought a lot about it. Nobody’s gonna find out about the little field trip you took Ronnie Cardigan on.”
“Really?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
Her bright, gray-green eyes locked onto mine and she held my gaze.
“But I’m the reason Emerson is dead,” I said.
“Actually, it’s a knife-happy serial killer Randy Wayne Davis let out of Closed Custody and loose on the compound.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And you know what I mean.”
“Did you find out why Randy Wayne and the others were doing all this for Perkins, Milner, and Kirkus?” I asked.
“They’re all part of the same corrupt little house of cards. If those three went down, the rest of ’em would. They had all kinds of rackets and schemes going. There are a few others we haven’t gotten yet, but we will. It’s funny, even with all Pine has done, he’s hesitant to give up the others. The department issued a statement that the officers involved are a very small minority and are no reflection on the fine men and women who do a difficult job honorably day in and day out. It’s true, but . . .”
I nodded. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” I said. “We work in an institution where one group has all the power over another.”
We were quiet a moment.
In our silence other sounds could be heard. The Apalachicola River swirling its way toward the bay behind us. The desultory sounds drifting over from Phase I of the Prairie Palm, the one that was actually inhabited. They came to us from across the field and on the other side of a stand of pines to our left. A door slamming. A dog barking. The shrieks and yells of kids playing. Pop music played too loudly, distorted yet muted by the distance and objects between us.
Eventually she said, “What’s bothering you, John?”
“My conscience, among other things,” I said.
“Emmitt Emerson?”
I nodded.
“Let’s talk about the other things,” she said. “What’s bothering you about the case?”
“There’s something we’re not seeing,” I said. “There’s more going on here.”
“Like what?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t see it all yet.”
“Tell me the parts you can see––or at least what you think about them.”
“Why go to all the trouble of blackmailing me to break Cardigan out? They could’ve killed him inside. They could’ve had Cantor do it. And if they wanted it away from the prison, away from them, why get me to do it? They could’ve faked an escape and killed him in the woods or a hundred miles away.”
She seemed to think about it.
“There are other things,” I said. “I don’t know. I’ve got to go. Don’t want to be away from Anna any longer.”
“Okay, but let’s talk about those other things soon. Think of anything in the meantime, call me.”
51
Anna was in Bay Medical Center, the same hospital as Chris, and when I arrived he was in her room with their new baby girl, Taylor Elizabeth Taunton.
Anna had undergone an emergency C-section because of the trauma she and little Taylor had endured, but both mother and child were fine, healthy, happy.
Chris was beside Anna’s bed in a wheelchair, Taylor cradled in his arms fast asleep.
“Hey,” Anna said when I walked in, her face lighting up.
Her welcome was warm and sincerely enthusiastic, and made me feel a little less like an intruder, a little less like an interloper interrupting a family moment. For whatever else they were, they were a family.
Chris nodded in a not completely unwelcoming way.
I walked to the other side of the bed and sat in the bulky wooden-framed, fake-leather chair there.
“How are the patients?” I asked.
“Better now,” Anna said. “So glad you’re back. Beth is good. Had a good feeding and has been out hard ever since.”
“Beth?” I said.
“Trying it on. Whatta you think?”
“I like it.”
“I like Taylor best,” Chris said, “but I don’t dislike Beth.”
“And Beth’s mom?” I said. “How is she?”
“Sore. Sleepy. Traumatized.”
I took her hand in mine.
Being in the sterile, spartan room made me anxious to get my girls home, but when I thought of my home, of the small rundown trailer that should’ve been condemned long before I ever moved into it, I realized I could never take them there.
“Chris?” I asked.
“Get to go home today.”
“That’s good.”
Where can we live? What can I find for us before Anna and Beth are released?
“I just wanted to stop by, see my girls, and say something,” he said. “You saved my daughter’s life. I’ll never forget that. Anna’s too. That means more to me than you’ll ever know. Now, I intend to win Anna back, to save my marriage and have my family back together.”
<
br /> “It’s too late for that,” Anna said.
“But until I do, I just wanted you to know that I appreciate what you did, and I won’t be causing you any trouble. I’m a changed man. Was before, but now, with little Taylor here . . . I’ve been born again.”
I thought of what Frederick Buechner had written. When a child is born, a father is born.
He started to hand Beth back to Anna, but winced, and realizing Anna couldn’t twist down or lift her, said, “Could you . . .”
I was already walking around the bed to help.
I carefully took her from him, cradled and kissed her, and gave her to her mother. I then returned to my chair.
The door was slightly ajar and from the hallway the sounds of the hospital could be heard––a code being announced, a doctor being paged, some electronic beeps and mechanical laboring, and competing TVs turned up entirely too loud.
“Is it really too late?” he asked. “I thought it never was. Isn’t that what you teach, John? Doesn’t Taylor need her daddy? Wouldn’t it be better for her, for all of us, if we were a family?”
“You helped save us,” Anna said. “Literally saved Merrill’s life. I’m so grateful to you for that. And you will always be Taylor’s dad, and I hope you have changed and will be a good father to her. But I want to be clear about this. I don’t want any misunderstanding or room for false hope. You and I are done. We have been for a long time. I’m with John and will be until I draw my final breath. I’m not trying to be cruel, just clear.”
“But I have changed. And I did save your life––a couple of times.”
“Did you?” I said.
“What?”
“I was just wondering if you really did.”
“Whatta you mean?”
I took a breath, trying to decide if I was really about to do what I seemed to have already begun.
“Here’s an alternative theory. You were behind it in the first place––in on it with Randy Wayne. Anna sensed three different kidnappers at different times. One wouldn’t come close to her, wouldn’t say anything. That was you. You couldn’t get close or say a word without her recognizing you. She knows you too well, is too familiar with everything about you.”
“What the fuck? Are you out of your––”
“In the hospital when you were talking about the kidnappers, you mentioned two guys, not three. That’s because you were the third. You didn’t count yourself.”
“Do you have any idea how absurd you sound?”
“As an attorney you come across a lot of desperate, compromised, and criminal people,” I said. “Like corrupt correctional officers, drug-addicted actors, and students arrested for theft and possession who know a lot about security systems. I keep asking myself, how did you happen to show up at just the right moment at our house? How did you act so heroically?”
“They shot me, for fuck’s sake,” he said.
“Exactly,” I said. “Didn’t kill you like they said they did. Sure, you were shot, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as you pretended it was. You set all this up and made Anna your witness. She didn’t see any of what happened. Just heard it. And while we’re on her, she said she couldn’t’ve been cared for any better. Seems a little strange. The person doing all the talking, the one who sometimes sounds like he’s reading and who calls her my wife to further deflect suspicion off of you, is just an actor playing a part.”
“You sick son of a bitch,” Anna said, pulling Taylor more closely to her, holding her more protectively.
“This is nuts. This is . . . Why would I do any of this?”
“You did it the way you did it to take me and Cardigan out and get Anna back. I kept wondering why the elaborate scheme to get me involved and get Cardigan outside the institution. That’s why.”
“You think I did all this just to get Anna back? That’s––”
“No, I said the way you did it was to get rid of us and win her back. The reason you did it was far more sinister. You and the others had to take Cardigan out.”
“Me? I have nothing to do with––”
“You were sleeping with Ashley Fountain. Buying drugs from her. She was pregnant. Was it your child? Was she planning to tell Anna? Report you to the Florida Bar? They’re still going through her phone records. I bet they find calls between the two of you. Lots of them. You killed her, made it look like suicide, and framed Ronnie for stealing from her, bringing him under suspicion for her death.”
This was all conjecture and guesswork, of course, but it fit and since I had come this far, I was going all-in, shoving my entire pile of chips to the center of the table.
“I don’t know if you knew before then that he had such an elaborate surveillance system or found out when you broke in,” I said, “but my guess is you already knew. So when Randy Wayne or Kirkus or whoever you represent––something that won’t be hard to determine––called you about what they had done to Reggie Dalton, you told them exactly who could help with the surveillance system.”
“Do you know how many clients I’ve represented over the years?” Chris said. “So what if a couple of COs from PCI are my clients.”
“You made sure your partner represented Ronnie,” I said. “You couldn’t do it yourself, but you wanted to stay close to the case, keep an eye on things. The case against Ronnie was weak, but you made sure he got sent away.”
“Upton helped you with this?” Anna said.
“No,” Chris said. “There is no this. This is insane. This is a CO making up shit to try to cut a deal. No one will believe any of this. There’s no evidence to support any of this ludicrous bullshit.”
“Actually,” I said, “Cardigan had two cameras far more hidden than the others. One was in Ashley’s bedroom. One was in the closet where his system was so he could see who stole it. You’re on both. The one in her bedroom shows you not only sleeping with and doing drugs with her but giving her gifts––gifts that can be traced to you.”
He looked at Anna. “You know I cheated. I’ve sworn to you that I’ll never do it again. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t set up anyone. I took the cameras because I didn’t want you to ever have to see any of that. I was so ashamed. So guilty. I felt so bad. I’m so sorry. You have to believe me. You know me. You know I couldn’t kill anyone.”
“Like the actor? What was his . . . Karl Jason?”
“That was . . . He was . . .”
“There’s no way that kid was going to shoot Merrill. You told him to pretend to so you could kill him. Eliminate a witness. Make yourself look heroic. It’s premeditated murder.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Anna said. “And stay the fuck away from us. Now you don’t just need a divorce but a criminal attorney. And I hope they’re both the most incompetent, overcharging charlatans on the planet. After you, of course.”
52
Tell me again how you got him to confess all that,” Rachel Peterson said.
It was two days later.
We were standing outside the duplex once shared by Ronnie Cardigan and Ashley Fountain. Inside, the FDLE crime scene unit was taking the place apart––literally, forensically.
Chris was in custody. He had been offered a plea deal if he’d testify against Randy Wayne and the others, but in case he didn’t, in case, instead of confessing, he decided to claim his innocence and demand to see the evidence against him I had mostly made up, FDLE, TDP, and Rachel’s office were not only processing Ronnie and Ashley’s duplex, but going through his old phone and bank records and interviewing Anna to see what help she might be able to provide.
“I mean, you had nothing, right?” she said.
“Didn’t have much.”
“You had nothing.”
“I had enough,” I said.
“Yeah, to hum a few bars and fake the rest.”
“Sometimes that’s all you got.”
“How much did you make up?”
“More than a little. If he hadn’t believed we had him on camera . . .”
“I thought he might believe Cardigan was good enough and paranoid enough to have more cameras than he’d found. I knew if he had seen himself on the footage captured by the ones he took, he would actually picture himself on the others. I made up him giving her gifts, but I figured a guy like him was the type to give shiny trinkets to buy, bribe, and impress a young girl like Ashley.”
“Did you know you were going to do it when I stopped by your place?”
I shook my head. “Didn’t know I was going to do anything until the moment I did. Some of the pieces began to come together on my drive over to the hospital, but I planned to check more of it out before I said or did anything.”
“And call me.”
“And call you, of course.”
“That whole checking more of it out thing would’ve been a good idea,” she said.
I nodded. “It was an impulsive, amateurish mistake,” I said, “which may have had something to do with him being . . . who he is.”
“Anna’s ex.”
“Yeah, that.”
“Can’t remember the last time anyone surprised or impressed me,” she said. “You’ve done both this week. Twice. I look forward to doin’ some blood work with you John Jordan. I really do.”
After leaving the crime scene, I drove around the neighborhood for a few minutes, trying to prepare myself to face Tom and Sarah Daniels––and Susan if she happened to be there, though I suspected she had long since moved back to Atlanta.
I hadn’t liked the way things had ended between us, and had been trying to get in touch for a very long time. After speaking with Tom by phone earlier in the week, I had been curious to know what he thought I had figured out, what he thought I knew that he didn’t want me knowing.
Was it connected to his calls to Ashley or something else entirely?
I had to know. I couldn’t get this close to his home and not stop in and look into his eyes.
I probably shouldn’t. I should probably be glad the entire family is out of my life. I should probably just let all that had happened––and them along with it––go, but I couldn’t. Something deep inside was compelling me to knock on his door and see what happened.
Innocent Blood; Blood Money; Blood Moon Page 58