JD05 - Conflict of Interest

by Scott Pratt

  “You’re worried about me?” I said. “I’m fine. You’re the one who glows in the dark. I don’t even need a light to read when you’re asleep.”

  “I’m serious,” she said. “You look terrible, you’re not eating, you’ve stopped working out, and I know you’re not sleeping.”

  “Sleep is overrated.”

  “I know how hard this is on you, Joe. I can see in your eyes how worried you are, and then when you add what happened with your father and what’s been going on with this case into the mix, I’m afraid you’re pushing yourself a little too far. I know you’re tough. I know you pride yourself on being able to take anything the world dishes out, but I think you need to slow down a little right now, maybe find a support group and talk about how you’re feeling.”

  “I’m not going to a support group, Caroline. I’m not going to go in and listen to a bunch of people whine about their problems.”

  “Lilly is going to one.”

  “I know. She told me, and good for her. If it helps, good for her. But I’m not going. I have a support group. I have you and Jack and Lilly and Sarah. That’s all I need.”

  “You know what the statistics are, don’t you? With metastatic breast cancer? You know there’s a good chance I won’t be around much longer.”

  “Don’t,” I said. “I’m not up for this conversation right now. I don’t want to think about… I can’t, Caroline. I can’t think about it.”

  She reached across and took my hand.

  “You know I’ll fight,” she said. “I’ll fight to my last breath. But if it happens, when it happens, you’re going to have to be stronger than ever. The kids will need you more than ever. You can’t… you can’t quit.”

  I pulled the truck to the side of the road and stopped. I hadn’t really spoken with anyone about Caroline’s illness since the night Jack came outside and talked to me. People had mentioned it, of course. Lilly had posted the news of Caroline’s diagnosis on Facebook, which was something that angered me so much I had to force myself to keep quiet about it. Had I mentioned it to her, I would have said things I regretted and she would have wound up in tears, so I kept my mouth shut. But the news spread quickly, and people felt obligated to inquire about her, to convey their best wishes, to let me know they’d put Caroline on prayer lists at their churches. My response was always a polite, “She’s fine, thank you for asking,” and either a quick escape or an awkward change of subject.

  I slammed the truck into park and looked at her. I felt my eyes filling with tears.

  “I don’t think I can do it, baby,” I said. “Please don’t ask me to go on without you. We’ve been through so much together. I just can’t imagine… I just don’t know how I can…”

  And then I lost it. She scooted across the seat and wrapped her arms around my neck and I cried like I’d never cried in my life. My macho façade melted away and I let grief pour from my soul while she held me and whispered in my ear. I don’t know how long we sat there by the side of the road, but it was a long while. I wasn’t accustomed to sobbing uncontrollably, and the worst part of it was that as I finally began to regain some control over myself, I realized it probably wouldn’t be the last time it would happen.

  “I’m sorry,” I said when I composed myself enough to speak. “The last thing you need right now is a weak husband.”

  She put a finger under my chin and raised it.

  “Don’t apologize,” she said, her eyes glistening. “And don’t ever call yourself weak again. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met.”

  “I don’t feel so strong right now.”

  “I know, but you have to keep going. You have to keep doing what you’ve always done. Let your heart be your guide and keep going.”

  I took a deep breath and wiped my nose on my sleeve.

  “I feel like you’re being punished for something I’ve done,” I said. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve been so arrogant, running around acting like I could save the world or something, like I know better than everyone else what’s right and what’s wrong. I’m such a fool.”

  “You’re not a fool, and you’re not done saving the world. I want you to do something for me, Joe. I want you to stop feeling sorry for me and worrying about me and worrying about what might or might not happen. Can you do that for me? Please?”

  “Probably not, but I can try.”

  “Good. There’s one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  She slid away from me a little and her eyes took on some intensity.

  “You made a promise to me a little while back, and I expect you to keep it.”

  “Promise? What promise?”

  “You promised me you’d find Lindsay Monroe.”

  “No, I didn’t. I said I’d do my best, and I have. But she’s gone, Caroline. She’s dead. She’ll probably never be found.”

  “She isn’t dead. I told you before she isn’t dead and now I’m telling you again. She’s still out there, Joe. She’s still alive. The judge may have kicked you out of the courtroom, but he didn’t kick you out of the fight altogether. Go out and find Lindsay Monroe. Bring her back home where she belongs and put an end to all this madness.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Richard Monroe had continued to disintegrate day by day, bit by bit. His hair was greasy and unkempt, his skin paler, the bags under his eyes bigger and darker. Like my wife, he was losing weight quickly, although the disease that had attacked Richard was eating away at his soul rather than his body.

  A young guard had given me some trouble when I came in. He’d heard about the judge kicking me off the murder case and, as jail guards tend to do, he tried to exercise what he perceived as his power by telling me I couldn’t talk to Richard. It didn’t go well for him, though. A quick phone call to Leon Bates adjusted his attitude.

  Because Richard’s assets had been tied up by a gaggle of lawyers and judges, he couldn’t afford to hire someone to replace me. Judge Wilson had appointed the federal defender’s office, which is exactly what it sounds like – the feds’ equivalent to the public defender. Richard didn’t complain or offer any kind of resistance; as a matter of fact, he didn’t say a word. It was as though he’d already been tried and convicted and sentenced to death.

  He looked at me without a sign of recognition or acknowledgement when the guards brought him in. I knew he continued to live in isolation – they called it administrative segregation – because he was considered to be a suicide threat. They’d stopped making him wear the paper robe, but he spent all day, every day alone. He was also an accused child killer, so putting him in the general population at the jail would have had serious consequences. He plopped down heavily in the chair across from me after the guard walked out and stared at the table top.

  “When you and Mary hired me, you asked me to do three things,” I said. “Protect you from the media, protect you from the police, and help you find your daughter. I’ve failed at all three.”

  “So why are you here?” he said without looking up.

  “Because I’m not finished. The judge says I can’t represent you in court, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop looking for Lindsay.”

  “Lindsay’s dead.”

  “I don’t believe that. I think she’s alive, and I think you can help me find her.”

  “Why? Why do you think she’s alive? What proof do you have?”

  “I don’t have any, but I don’t have any proof that she’s dead, either.”

  “Have you forgotten that she was taken in the middle of the night? That her clothing was found with her blood on it and my semen?”

  “Did you rape her and kill her, Richard?”

  “No.”

  “Then someone is framing you, and if someone is framing you, there’s a chance she’s still alive. Help me find out who it is.”

  His eyes came up and he smiled sarcastically.

  “We’ve been through this, remember? I told you I was being framed and you said I was being… w
hat was the word you used? Ridiculous. You said I was being ridiculous. You said you wanted to play it back for me. You said I was lying to myself.”

  “That was before you passed the polygraph.”

  The sarcastic smile disappeared from his face.

  “You guys are all alike, aren’t you? No wonder everybody hates lawyers. You call me a liar, you ridicule me to my face, but then you hire a whore. The whore hooks me up to a machine that says I’m telling the truth, so now you’re back down here wanting what? More money? So you can go on a knight’s quest to find my long lost daughter? So you can be a hero? Tough luck, counselor. I’m all tapped out.”

  “I’m not here for money. I’m here for the truth.”

  “The truth,” he snorted. “You don’t want the truth. You can’t bill me for the truth.”

  “Then give it to me for free. Tell me where you were for those three missing hours the night Lindsay was taken. It’s the key to this whole thing. Do you know why, Richard? Do you know why it’s the key? Because wherever you were during those three hours, you left some of yourself behind, and whoever you left it with used it to frame you for kidnapping, murder, extortion and theft.”

  “You’re wrong. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then straighten me out. Tell me where you were. Who were you with?”

  “She’s just a kid. She doesn’t have the brains to pull off something like that.”

  Finally. An admission. He was with a woman.

  “Who is she? What’s her name? Where does she live?”

  He shook his head and his eyes went blank again.

  “What the hell is the matter with you, Richard?” I said. “What are you afraid of? That your wife will find out and file for divorce? Or is she under age? Are you looking at a statutory rape charge? Afraid you might ruin your reputation? We’re a little past all that, don’t you think? C’mon, Richard. Now is the time.”

  “She wouldn’t have,” Richard said. “She couldn’t have.”

  “Who is she?”

  “There’s no point in dragging anyone else into this.”

  “Did you have sex with her that night before you went home? Did you leave some of yourself there? Because if you did, and if the polygraph is right and you’re telling the truth about not being involved in Lindsay’s kidnapping, then she needs to be dragged into it. Give me a chance, Richard. Give yourself a chance. Give Lindsay a chance.”

  He lifted his cuffed hands behind his head, laced his fingers around the back of his neck, and started rocking back and forth on the edge of the chair.

  “After Lindsay was born and Mary had the problems, she lost all interest in sex,” he said. “She didn’t want me any more, at least not that way. I tried to understand it, to accept it, you know? But I’m young. I’m too young to be celibate for the rest of my life. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I didn’t do it very often. I didn’t mean to… didn’t mean to—”

  “Her name,” I said.

  “Kayla. Her name is Kayla Robbins.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Kayla Robbins lived alone in an apartment in Johnson City a few blocks from East Tennessee State University. I’d waited until early the next morning, using a tactic I’d seen used by the police on many occasions. The police liked to catch suspects or witnesses who might be difficult just as they’re getting out of bed, before their heads were clear. The combination of surprise and pressure loosened tongues, and I needed Kayla Robbins to talk to me.

  A cold, steady drizzle was falling as I walked through the parking lot to her apartment. I knocked twice, waited a few seconds, and knocked again, this time louder. I was surprised when she opened the door. She was frumpy and had obviously been asleep, but she was every bit as beautiful as Mary Monroe. She was also much younger. Her hair was long, wavy and blonde, her eyes large and cobalt blue. Her skin was smooth and tanned, her lips full. She was about five-seven and wearing a fuzzy, pink robe tied with a belt at the waist.

  “Kayla Robbins?” I said.

  “Who are you and what do you want?”

  Her accent wasn’t East Tennessee, and her demeanor wasn’t that of a pretty young college girl.

  “Name’s Dillard. I need to talk to you about Richard Monroe.”

  “You a cop?”

  “Lawyer. Can I come in?”

  “You can say whatever you have to say from right there.”

  “Fine,” I said, raising my voice. “What I have to say involves you being an accessory to kidnapping, extortion and murder, and if you’re going to make me stand out here, I’m going to say it loud enough so every one of your neighbors can hear me.”

  She stared at me in silence for a few seconds before she stepped back and pulled the door open wider. I walked in and she motioned to a couch in a small living room. I looked around and noticed the place was pure college kid. It was sparsely furnished, hardly anything on the walls, an empty pizza box and a couple of empty Coors Light bottles sat on a coffee table and there was a faint smell of marijuana lingering in the air. I sat down on the couch and she took a seat in an overstuffed chair about ten feet away.

  “I’m not an accessory to anything,” she said.

  “But you know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  “I assume you’re talking about Richard’s little girl being kidnapped. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “You were with him a few hours before she was taken.”

  “So? I was with him lots of nights.”

  “How long have you been seeing him?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I already have. I just want to see if you lie to me.”

  She crossed her legs – which were long, tan and exquisite – and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Four months,” she said.

  “How did you meet?”

  “He answered an ad. It isn’t illegal, you know. What I’m doing. It isn’t illegal. I talked to a lawyer about it. I’m just trying to get by.”

  “What exactly are you doing?”

  “Richard didn’t tell you?”

  “Like I said a second ago, I need to make sure you tell me the same story Richard has told me. Don’t worry about what you think he may or may not have said. Just tell me the truth. His life could depend on it. Now tell me about you and Richard.”

  “I want some kind of deal,” she said. “I want you to sign something that says I won’t get into any trouble.”

  I stood up and started walking around the room.

  “This is what I can offer you,” I said. “If you tell me the truth about you and Richard, and especially about the night Lindsay went missing, then I won’t spend a considerable amount of time making your life a living hell. Richard Monroe is about to go on trial for a terrible crime that I don’t think he committed, and I think you have information that can help him. If you choose to withhold that information or if you lie to me, the first thing I’ll do is sue you. I don’t know what I’ll sue you for right now, but you know how lawyers are. I’ll come up with something. I’ll drag you into the court system and keep you there for the next three years. The next thing I’ll do is go to my good friend Leon Bates. He’s the sheriff here and he hates drugs. I smell pot, and there are a couple of roaches in that ashtray on the table. If you use it so much that you can’t hide it from a stranger, then I figure there’s a pretty good chance you do some other things, too. And since you mentioned that you advertise, I have to assume you’re a prostitute. You might not like to think of it that way, but that’s probably what you are. And if I take a really close look, I don’t doubt that I’m going to find a pile of skeletons in your closet from the floor to the ceiling.

  “Now, on the other hand, if you help me, if you’re truthful with me, then I’ll become your best friend. I was the district attorney here for awhile and I have a lot of friends who are cops and lawyers and DAs. In the line of work you seem to have chosen, you might need a favor some day. I’ll be the guy
you call when you need that favor.”

  I crossed the room and stood over her. I had no idea what she knew or what she might be hiding, but the look on her face told me I’d struck a nerve. Her bottom lip was quivering. The bravado she’d shown earlier had dissolved.

  “Talk to me!” I said it with such force that she jerked involuntarily.

  “About six months ago, a girlfriend of mine told me about this website,” she said. “It’s sort of a dating service, only a little bit different. Girls are looking for guys to take care of them and guys are looking for girls to take care of.”

  “So it’s a sugar daddy service,” I said.

  “Whatever. I moved down here from Pittsburgh to be near my mom because she’s sick and all. She and my dad got divorced when I was ten and she had a pretty bad drug problem so I wound up with my dad. But she stayed in touch and she’s sick so when I graduated from high school I came here and I’m in college and I’m trying to get by but it’s expensive, you know? The only jobs out there are crappy, minimum wage jobs, so when this girlfriend told me about this website I decided to give it a try. I know I’m pretty and all that, I mean guys have been hitting on me since I was twelve. And she said I could get a man to totally take care of me, you know? So I paid the money and I put a profile on there and right away I got a message through the service from Richard. We went back and forth a few times and finally I agreed to meet him for dinner over in Kingsport. We hit it off pretty good and we met a few more times and it sort of went from there. At least he’s not some old dude, you know? He’s handsome and all and he treats me good.”

  “How much does he pay you?”

  “Twenty-five hundred a month.”

  “And he’s been doing that for four months?”

  “Yeah, and he buys me gifts, too. He bought me a really nice necklace and a bunch of clothes and he’s taken me to some nice restaurants in Ashville and Charlotte and Knoxville.”

  “And in return for this money and these gifts and meals, you have sex with him.”