by David Archer
Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, is that all? Heck, I can do that before dinner. Care to point it out to me?”
“If I could, I would,” Jackie said. “What I can do is tell you that if I come across anything I think might be of help to you, I'll give you a call and let you have a copy of it.”
Sam gave her a lopsided grin. “Wouldn't that get you in trouble?”
“It might, but they can't afford to get rid of me. I'll take my chances. Give me your number, just in case I do run across something.”
Sam took out his wallet and handed her his business card. “I appreciate this, Jackie. I was lucky to run into you today.”
Jackie looked through the doorway toward the kitchen, and then back to Sam. “I might have been the lucky one. I'm going to rewrite my report so that it presents this theory of what happened. Maybe it will help your bass player, you think?”
“It just might,” Sam said, “and believe me, she needs all the help she can get right now.”
6
Sam thanked Jackie and Ned for all their help, then started going to the houses close by, looking for anyone who could tell him more about Carlos McAlester. He started with the house next door, on the left, because it appeared there was someone home there. He knocked on the door, and a moment later a woman in her mid-20s opened it and then looked at him questioningly. “Can I help you?”
Sam showed her his ID. “Hi, my name is Sam Prichard, and I'm a private investigator. I'm looking into some matters concerning the death of your neighbor, Carlos McAlester? I was wondering if you knew him, if you could tell me anything about him.”
The woman seemed to brighten a little bit, but then her face became subdued. “Oh, sure, by the way my name is Marcy,” she said in a rush. “Isn't it terrible, what happened to Carlos? I heard on the radio this morning that they're saying his ex-wife did it. I didn't really know her, I mean, I met her a couple of times when she was over there to pick up the little boy, but that's all. We knew Carlos because he comes—well, he used to come over and have dinner with us every now and then.”
Sam smiled. “Then, I take it you knew him fairly well? What kind of a guy was he, can you tell me that?”
“Oh, my goodness, he was just the sweetest thing! He and my husband, Ronnie, they were really good friends, and Carlos was always willing to help out whenever we needed something. He was a whiz when it came to handyman-type stuff, and Ronnie, well, he's got ten thumbs. Whenever we had problems with one of our cars, or something broke around the house, Carlos was always the first one to volunteer to help. Nicest guy in the world, I'm telling you.”
“Really? Did you ever know him to have a temper problem? I've been hearing that he had a tendency to lose his temper, maybe even get rough with people now and then.”
Marcy's eyes went wide. “Carlos? You got to be kidding, I don't think I've ever seen him get mad at anybody. I remember, there was some guy who came to his house a few months ago, stood on his front walk just screaming and yelling about something or other, and I just thought maybe Carlos could use a witness, you know? I went out and stood just under our carport, so I could see and hear what was going on. Carlos came out to talk to the man and he never so much as raised his voice. In fact, he talked so softly that I couldn't really hear what he was saying, but I could hear the other guy crystal-clear. Probably everybody on the block could hear him. Carlos just talked to him softly for a little while, and finally the guy calmed down and left. One of the things we always liked about Carlos was that he was always so calm and levelheaded. Ronnie, he'd get all upset about something and go over to talk to Carlos for a little while, and then he'd come back acting like everything was just fine.”
“Wow, he does sound like a great guy. Were you home yesterday morning, by any chance? From what I understand, Carlos and his ex-wife supposedly got into a big screaming match in his house. Did you hear anything like that?”
“I was home, yeah, but I never heard a thing. I didn't even know she had come over yesterday, not until I saw all the police cars outside. I went out and asked one of the cops what was going on, and all they told me at the time was that Carlos was dead, but then she pulled up a little bit later. I thought maybe they had called her or something, because of Charlie, you know? But even if they had a big fight, we wouldn't have heard anything. That house is about as soundproof as it can possibly be. Carlos, he likes to turn the music up real loud, you know? He did a lot of work to his house, making it pretty much soundproof so he could crank his stereo up as loud as he wanted to go. The only time we ever even knew he was playing music was if somebody went in or out the door, then we'd hear a little bit of it, and then you could tell that it was really loud. Once that door was shut, though, you couldn't hear anything outside, not even if you were standing on the front step.” She grinned. “Okay, maybe that was a little bit of an exaggeration, you could probably hear it if you were standing on the front step, but not from over here, or out on the street. You wouldn't hear a thing.”
Sam thanked her and walked over to the house on the opposite side of Carlos's place. There, a man in his forties opened the door. “Yeah?”
Sam showed his ID and introduced himself. “I'm trying to learn a little bit about Carlos McAlester, your neighbor who was killed yesterday? Did you know him very well?”
“Well, we weren't the best of friends, but I knew him. Super nice guy, always ready to lend a hand whenever somebody needed something in the neighborhood.” He pointed at a house across the street. “See that house over there? An old couple in their nineties lives over there, and you'd see Carlos over there mowing the grass at least a couple times a month in the summer. I know them, and they said he never charged them a penny, just came over one day and asked if he could mow the lawn for them. The old feller, Mr. Howden, he told him he could pay him a little bit, but Carlos wouldn't take it. Said he just wanted to help out, and he knew they were up in years. Super nice guy. Real shame, what happened to him.”
“Yeah, a real shame. Listen, did you happen to see his ex-wife come over yesterday morning? I understand they got into a real argument, did you happen to know anything about that?”
The guy gave Sam a sly look. “You ever known a man who didn't get into arguments with his ex-wife? Especially if he has custody of the kid? That woman, every time she came over they'd get into some kind of a fuss or other. I think it was usually about her visitation, I think she wanted to take the kid more often than what the court said. Least ways, that's how I heard it.”
“But did you hear any of the argument yesterday? Did you happen to see when she got here, or when she left?”
The man shrugged. “I didn't see her when she first got there, no, but I did see her leave. She came running out the door like her ass was on fire, jumped in her car and roared away. Probably wasn't fifteen minutes later when the cops started showing up, then she came back, maybe twenty minutes after that, acting like she didn't have a clue what was going on. I could tell she was lying, so I'm sure the cops knew it, too. I saw when they shoved her into a squad car and drove her away, and then one of the cops that was still there told me she killed Carlos.” He shook his head. “Real shame, he was a super nice guy.”
Sam got similar responses from everyone else on the block, including the elderly couple across the street. It seemed like everyone who knew Carlos thought he was some kind of an angel that was pretending to be human. Sam had expected at least someone to dislike the man, after what Candy had told him. The way she talked, to know Carlos was to hate his guts, but that certainly didn't seem to be the case around his neighborhood.
He was just walking back to his car when his phone rang again. “Hey, Sam, it's me again,” Chris said. “She just called me. She said they told her she's charged with first-degree murder, and the prosecutor said he wanted to go for the death penalty, because Charlie was there when it happened.”
Sam's eyes went wide in a hurry. “The death penalty? Colorado hasn't executed anybody in forever,” he said. “They c
ouldn't even get the death penalty for James Holmes, there's no way they're going to get it in this case.”
“Aww, geez, Sam, it doesn't matter if they get the death penalty or not,” Chris said. “Sam, if she gets convicted of this murder, she's looking at spending the rest of her life locked up in a women's prison. She said she'd rather they just strap her down and put her to sleep than to spend the next forty or fifty years locked up somewhere.”
“Yeah, I guess I can understand how she feels, but tell her not to give up. I've run across a couple of things that lead me to think she's telling the truth, and I've even enlisted a couple of allies. I'm gonna keep digging until I find the evidence we need to get her out of there, so tell her to hang on and don't let depression set in.”
Chris laughed. “Yeah, right,” he said. “How is she supposed to keep that from happening?”
“I know, Chris,” Sam said. “Just let her know that I'm still on this, and I'll come by and see her again tomorrow. Maybe with the things I've learned, she'll be able to give me some other ideas.”
Chris sighed. “Okay, man, I'll tell her. Do me a favor, willya, let me know if you come up with anything?”
“Sure will,” Sam said. “Keep the faith, Chris.”
Sam ended the call as he got into his car, but then the phone rang again. A glance at the caller ID told him that it was Indie calling. “Hey, Babe,” he said. “You come up with anything?”
“Not so far,” Indie said. “Like I said, cash deposits are hard to trace. There isn't anything in the transaction history to explain them. How about you?”
“Well, I found out that all of Carlos's neighbors think he must've been about the greatest guy who ever lived, which doesn't fit with what Candy says about him. She made it sound like anybody who knew him was a likely suspect in his murder. On the other hand, I happened to run into an old friend of mine from the crime lab at his house, and we noticed a couple of odd things about the whole situation. I'm not sure how much good it will do Candy, but it's enough to make me think she's telling the truth.”
“Good, because there's no way I could believe she's a killer. What kind of odd things?”
Sam started the car and pulled away from the curb as he talked. “Well, it looks to me, and the CSI tech agrees, that whoever killed Carlos either came in through the back door after Candy left, or was hiding somewhere in the house the whole time, somewhere toward the back. Carlos was stabbed in the living room with a butcher knife that was taken from the kitchen, but the way his body was lying suggests that he probably didn't see it coming. It looks like he might have been standing at the window right after Candy left like she said she did, maybe watching her drive away, and then turned away from there and came face-to-face with his killer. It had to have been someone he knew, because it doesn't look like he put up a fight at all. He probably got stabbed the first time without ever expecting a problem. By the time he realized what was happening, he was basically already dead. The knife got him in the heart, and he probably died in less than a minute or so from loss of blood to the brain.”
“That's terrible, but it's good for Candy. It gives credibility to her story, right?”
“Yes, and the scratches on her arm match up with her story, too. We kind of role-played it, and the way Carlos's fingernails scratched her arm says he probably did grab her the way she claimed. She yanked her arm away, and got scratched in the process. I found a couple of people who said they saw her come running out of the house and drive away in a hurry, which fits with her story, except that Carlos must have died no more than ten minutes or so after that. Little Charlie came out of his room, saw his dad bleeding on the floor and called 911, so the cops showed up within minutes. By the time Candy got back, the police were all over the place and the neighbors were already being told that he was dead.”
“And nobody saw anyone else go in or out of the house, right?”
“Right. Charlie was in his room while his parents were arguing, and came out after he heard his dad scream, he said, but there's something off about that, too. That house is about as soundproof as any place I've ever seen, including the recording studio. I stood in Charlie's room with the door closed while Jackie went into the living room and screamed her head off, and I could just barely hear anything at all. It didn't sound like a person screaming, just like a high-pitched sound, like a siren. I'd like to talk to Charlie and get his story firsthand, but he's living with his grandparents, Carlos's parents, and Grandma isn't about to let me near the kid.”
“Well, he's a kid, and look what he's already been through. You can't really blame her.”
Sam sighed. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Trouble is, right now he's a kid who found his father dead and thinks his mother killed him. I think it might do the boy a lot of good if he could help prove his mother is innocent.” Sam glanced at the clock on the car's stereo and saw that it was after four. “Hey, I'm gonna call Karen and tell her some of this stuff. I should be home in about a half hour.”
“Okay, Babe, I'll see you then. Love you!”
“Love you more,” Sam said. He ended that call and dialed Detective Parks. “Karen, it's Sam. I happened to stop by Carlos McAlester's neighborhood and ran into Jackie Porter. She let me take a look around inside the scene, and we came up with a couple of things.”
“I know, I know,” Karen said. “Jackie called me. She says there's a possibility the vic was killed by someone who came in the back way unexpectedly. Sam, there's also the possibility he was killed by little green men who beamed in from the mothership; possibilities are going to make little or no difference from my point of view, or the prosecutor's.”
“Yeah, I know that, but it's something else we have to look at.”
“Of course we're going to look at it, I already told Jackie to do everything she can to either confirm it or eliminate it as a theory. I checked the report from yesterday, and the first officers on the scene say the back door was closed and locked when they got there, but that doesn't completely rule out this possibility. Somebody might have come in that way and locked the door behind them, then left through another exit after killing the guy.”
“Or maybe had a key, and could lock the back door from the outside,” Sam added. “I know this isn't the absolute answer, but it definitely allows for the possibility that Candy is telling the truth.”
“Yeah, and Jackie says she's probably telling the truth about the scratches on her arm, too. That's all great, and if this ends up going to trial it could even be useful for her defense, but it doesn't do anything to counter the evidence we've got at the moment. Mrs. McAlester was definitely there shortly before the victim was killed, her own son is convinced that she killed her ex-husband, and there's no corroboration of her story that she was gone at the time it happened. Can you honestly tell me that if you were in my position you wouldn't feel pretty sure you had your killer?”
“No,” Sam said, “I'd probably be thinking just like you, and if it wasn't for the fact that I know Candy, I might be less inclined to believe my own alternative theories. I'm not asking you to take my word for anything, Karen, but I am asking you to keep an open mind.”
He heard her chuckle. “Sam, if there's one thing I've always known, it's that Sam Prichard was the best investigator the Denver PD ever had, and I haven't forgotten how you saved me from sending an innocent man to prison last year. You can count on me keeping an open mind on this case. Just bring me whatever evidence you can find, and if it backs up your friend's story, I'll do all I can to help you prove it.”
“Thanks, Karen,” Sam said. “That's all I'm asking. I'll be back in touch as soon as I have something more to give you.”
7
As a private investigator, Sam could visit a client in jail even outside of regular visiting hours. At eight thirty the following morning, he was waiting in the interview room when Candy was brought in.
One look at the girl's face told him that she wasn't handling her incarceration very well. She had obviously been cry
ing, and didn't look like she'd gotten a lot of sleep the night before. Under the circumstances, Sam could certainly understand, but he smiled brightly when he saw her. Candy threw her arms open and rushed to him for a hug, and he let her cling to him for a couple of minutes, with her weeping as she did so.
When she got herself under control and sat down, Sam began telling her what he had learned the day before. As he talked, he saw a tiny bit of hope begin to return to her eyes. “Now,” he said, “this isn't enough to convince the cops or prosecutors that you're innocent, but it definitely shows the possibility that you're telling the truth. In a worst-case scenario, it might be enough to convince a jury that there is reasonable doubt. Don't get me wrong, I'm not giving up, I'm just keeping you posted on what I know so far.”
Candy managed a weak smile. “Well, at least you're giving me a little bit of hope that I'm not going to be here forever. Thank you, Sam, I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, that's what friends are for, right? I do have some things I need to ask you about, though, so think real hard. When I talked to Carlos's neighbors, it seemed like everybody around there thinks he was one of the greatest guys they'd ever known. Yesterday, though, you made it sound like he didn't have any friends at all. What can you tell me about that?”
Candy shrugged, and shook her head. “Well, I guess I don't really know his neighbors. He bought that house after he and I split up five years ago, so I've only met a couple of them, different times when I've been over there. I didn't know he was so well liked by his neighbors, because back when we were together all the neighbors we had couldn't stand him.” She scrunched her face, deep in thought. “I know a few of the guys he worked with, and I can tell you that they didn't think much of him. Talk to Leon Schmidt, or Dean Calloway. You'll get a completely different story, I guarantee it.”