by Teri Ames
“Let’s send this one straight to Burlington.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I’ll call them.”
Even though time was not of the essence, Colchester Technical Rescue arrived exactly sixty-five minutes after the chief called. They took the temperature of the water, studied the currents and the terrain, then mapped out a plan.
An hour later, they were pulling Shannon Dawson’s body out of Moose Creek. It was an impressive rescue that would have been more impressive if the rescuee had survived. The camera crew behind the yellow tape got footage of the limp body being pulled from the river. Dustin realized the horror of what was being recorded and grabbed a blanket from the cruiser to cover the body until they could get it into a body bag. It wasn’t the smartest of crime-scene procedures, but the chief knew that they weren’t going to get much evidence from a body that had been underwater for several months anyway. He hoped for the sake of the girl’s parents that the media would not show that footage. Dustin should have put the yellow tape farther away, but it wasn’t like any of them had experience with high-profile homicide investigations.
After they shipped the body off to Burlington, the chief and Dustin returned to the MFPD barracks. The chief spent several minutes in his office trying out different versions of the wording before he called Olivia Dawson. He considered driving to her apartment, but he didn’t want to take the time. It would be awful if she heard the news from someone else. He picked up the phone.
“Mrs. Dawson, I’m sorry to tell you that we found your daughter’s body this afternoon.”
Olivia inhaled sharply. “Are you sure it’s her?”
“Yes, the body matches your daughter’s description.”
“Where did you find her?”
“Some kayakers spotted her in Moose Creek.”
“Can I see her?”
“I wouldn’t recommend that, Mrs. Dawson.”
“Why not?”
“The body has probably been submerged for a while. We’ve ordered an autopsy.”
“Then, how do you know it’s her?”
“Mrs. Dawson. Nobody else has been reported missing around here, and there was an iPhone in a pink case zipped into the pocket of her jacket. Just like the one you described for us. We’ll check dental records, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had doubts.”
There was silence for about fifteen seconds. The chief wasn’t sure what to say next.
“Mrs. Dawson, do you have someone who can be with you until your husband gets here?”
“I don’t know anyone here in town.” Olivia Dawson started sobbing.
“Are you at your apartment?”
“Yes. “
“Do you want me to come there and help you figure out the next steps?”
“Yes. Please.”
Olivia was alternately catatonic and hysterical that evening. The chief called a local doctor, who was also a friend, and had him call in a prescription for valium. Then, the chief stayed with Olivia until an advocate from the local women’s shelter showed up. Olivia wasn’t technically a victim of domestic violence, but he didn’t know who else to call, and they were willing to help. He picked up the prescription just before the pharmacy closed and dropped it off for her. Her husband was taking the redeye and would arrive midmorning. Hopefully, he’d be in better shape and could help with the grim task of bringing their daughter home for a funeral after the autopsy.
Chapter 28
Friday, April 11, 2014
THREE DAYS after the body was recovered, Dustin found himself summoned to the state’s attorney’s office with the chief. Fred Dutton had received the autopsy results by email. He handed out copies of the report and gave them a few minutes to study it.
“What do you think?” the chief asked.
“It sounds inconclusive,” Dutton said.
“I agree,” the chief said. “Except for the dental match.”
“Yeah, it feels like the ME is hedging,” Dutton said. “She might have drowned and received the two head injuries post-mortem. Or she might have died from the head injuries and just gotten water in her lungs during the months she spent underwater.”
“It doesn’t leave us much to work with,” the chief said.
“I agree,” Dutton said.
“Can I say something here?” Dustin said. It was really getting to him. All along, Dutton had been saying they couldn’t charge a homicide without a body. Well, they had a body. What the hell was the reluctance about? Of course, he couldn’t say that. He needed to tread lightly.
The state’s attorney nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Nothing in this report is inconsistent with our theory of what happened.”
“Which is what exactly?” Dutton said.
“Keenan and Shannon argued. He assaulted her. She left. He followed her. They argued some more. He killed her. Now, we know he probably hit her on the head. Then he used her car to take her to the river below the falls and dumped her in the water. He drove the car back to the dorm and went home for Christmas.”
Dutton and the chief were both sitting still, obviously thinking.
The chief was the first to speak. “If he had killed her first and then put her in the car, there would have been traces of blood in the car.”
“Not necessarily,” Dustin said. “He could have wrapped her in something.”
“That would have taken some premeditation,” Dutton said, “which I’d be hard put to sell to a jury.”
“Or he could have gotten lucky.” The chief was twirling his pen. “There might not have been much blood. It’s not inconsistent with the autopsy results. It says here the injuries to her head were possibly antemortem.”
“What if they went down to the water and he killed her there?” Dustin got up and started pacing. “Maybe he held her under until she drowned.”
“Then he would have been wet,” Dutton said. “The car seat would have gotten wet when he drove it back to the dorm. The only wet place in the car was the driver’s foot well, and it wasn’t all that wet. No more than you’d expect anyway. Besides, the water would have been cold, even in December.”
“Okay.” Dustin wasn’t ready to give up. “Or he hit her with a rock down by the water and threw the body in. Does it really matter exactly how he did it?”
“Juries like theories that make sense,” Dutton said. “And they like it when the evidence matches the theory. Isn’t it possible that she just slipped and fell into the water?”
“You’d have to be an idiot to be wandering around on an icy river bank in the dark,” Dustin said.
“Or drunk?,” the chief said. “We have witness accounts that she was drinking, but the toxicology report was inconclusive.”
Dustin stopped pacing and shook his head. “The only one who says she was wasted is the Brody kid. And he knew she would turn up in the river eventually. It’s his get-out-of-jail-free card.”
Dutton looked up at him. “What did her friends say about the drinking that night?”
“Just that she’d had a little,” Dustin said.
The chief nodded. “Nobody said she was so intoxicated she might fall in the river and drown. If they had, we might have considered that possibility long before now. I think we have enough to charge the murder, now that we have a body.” Dustin was relieved the chief had finally taken his side.
Dutton started drumming his fingers. “As far as I’m concerned, the real question is whether we have enough to convict. Three months under water destroyed most of the evidence. The way I read this autopsy report, she might have drowned and gotten the injuries postmortem or she might have been killed by a head injury and dumped. If it’s the first one, it’s hard to pin it on the boyfriend.”
“He could have pushed her,” Dustin said, “and watched her drown.”
“I understand what you’re saying. The circumstantial evidence leads to his involvement, but I can’t go in front of a jury and say, ‘We have three theories on how he killed her––pick one.’”
The prosecutor picked up the pace of his drumming. “It’s too messy. And Barry’s too good a lawyer to let me get away with it.”
“So, the kid gets away with murder?” Dustin was shaking his head.
“What about the iPhone?” Dutton said. “Any chance we’ll get more evidence from that?”
“I sent it up to the tech guys in Burlington for a data retrieval,” Dustin said, “but they said they probably won’t get anything we haven’t already gotten from the Macbook and the phone records.”
Dutton nodded. There was a minute of silence while the three men pondered the situation.
“What’s your leaning, Fred?” the chief said.
“I don’t know yet.”
That night, Dustin made macaroni and cheese for Sienna and Quinn. His mom had brought over an old table and chairs. The table was formica with corroded metal legs, and the matching chairs had cracked vinyl upholstery. The set had probably come out of Uncle Vic’s trailer. It was undeniably ugly, and Dustin hadn’t seen that particular shade of orange in a kitchen for several decades. But, for the first time since he had moved out of his former house, he was able to eat dinner with his kids not seated on the floor in front of the television. He even made peas, which would technically meet Joanne’s green vegetable rule and which he wouldn’t have bothered with if he was eating alone. He used his phone to play music while they ate.
It was good. The kids seemed happy. They chattered about school and friends. It was the most normal meal he’d had in a long time. He should have gotten a table months ago. Unfortunately, all his plans for furnishing his apartment had gone on hold when it became clear that he and Joanne were not going to work out the divorce thing without lawyers. He’d scraped up every penny he could to hire a lawyer. Joanne basically wanted to keep everything they had owned together and the kids. She’d offered him visitation every other weekend and two weeks during the summer. Then she’d acted surprised when he’d balked.
“You gave up so many of your scheduled weekends, I just assumed you didn’t want the kids more than that,” she’d said.
“I gave up one weekend.”
“And you had your mom watch the kids a lot when you had them.”
“I was working a homicide investigation.”
“You think the kids care about that?”
“No, but––”
“But nothing. You don’t see me asking you to take the kids on my weekends. Even though it would mean Gregor and I could go away.”
“You work part time.”
“Which means I can make the kids first priority.”
“They’re my first priority too.”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“The investigation is over.”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t even have a suitable place for them to stay with you.”
“I would. If you’d let me have some of our furniture.”
“I don’t think so.”
It usually wasn’t worth fighting with her. Which was why she always won. But there was no way he was going to give up his kids, let some other guy raise them. His kids.
After he tucked the kids into their mattresses on the floor, he got out his copy of Shannon’s autopsy report and spread the photos on the table. There had to be something they were missing. There had to be a logical explanation for how the injuries matched up with his theory of the case. He closed his eyes and imagined Keenan and Shannon. Standing beside her VW. Arguing. Him hitting her.
“Daddy?” Dustin opened his eyes and saw Sienna staring at the photos on the table. “What’s wrong with that girl?” she said.
Shit. He did not want Sienna seeing the photos. “She’s dead,” he said and scooped them up.
“Why’s she naked?”
“Because that’s what they do with dead bodies.”
“How’d she die?”
“Someone killed her.”
“Are you going to catch them?”
“Yes, I am, honey.”
“Because you’re a police officer and you catch bad guys.”
“That’s right. Now let’s get you back to bed.”
Part II
Justice for Shannon
Chapter 29
Monday, April 14, 2014
BARRY DENSMORE sat in his office with the door closed. He had asked Marcy to tell everyone he was unavailable for the rest of the day. It wasn’t fair to leave his secretary on the front line while he took cover, but he didn’t want to deal with the media. And there was certainly a lot of interest in the Brody case that week after Shannon’s body was found. Besides, he had a lot of work to do if there was any chance of getting Keenan Brody acquitted of the assault charges.
Barry knew lawyers who were able to use the media to their advantage, but he’d never been one of them. He never talked to the media until a case was over, and he always instructed his clients to do the same. Albeit for different reasons. He didn’t blame the reporters for getting things wrong any more than he blamed the cops, who seemed to get things wrong more often than they got them right. It was all a matter of psychology. People hear what they want to hear, and they tell things in ways that make themselves look good. The bottom line was, if you don’t say anything at all, you can’t be misquoted. At least in theory.
Unfortunately, Barry feared his policy of silence was harming the Brody kid emotionally. It’s one thing to zip your lip when a few thousand people are speculating whether you’re guilty of a petty crime. It’s another to keep quiet when the nation is judging you guilty of murder.
He wouldn’t care so much if he weren’t also starting to wonder if the Brody kid might be one of those rare but occasionally sighted animals: the innocent client. Most of his clients were guilty, if not of the actual crime they were charged with, then something else, usually something worse. Any lawyer doing criminal defense for a few years knows that. But the Brody kid had been adamant from day one that he was innocent.
Barry remembered his first meeting with the kid at the police station back in January, three months ago. Like most first-time offenders, Brody had looked shell-shocked when Barry walked into the interview room.
“I had a brief conversation with Officer Shores before I came in here,” Barry had said. “You’re being charged with domestic assault of the missing college girl. I take it you knew her?”
“We were dating.”
“Okay, that explains why it’s a domestic.”
“But, I didn’t assault her.”
“I make it a practice not to ask my clients if they’re guilty. It’s usually irrelevant and my job is the same either way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My job is to help you navigate the criminal justice system, make sure that things are done as fairly as possible, and get you the best result I can.”
“But I didn’t assault anybody.”
“Most people don’t realize that the legal definition of assault is broad. You don’t have to punch someone to assault them.”
“I didn’t lay a hand on her.”
“It can also include pushing or slapping, lots of things.”
“You’re not listening. I didn’t do anything to her. This is a mistake. I should have just told the cops my side of the story. Then they’d realize they got it wrong.”
“That would absolutely be a mistake.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s never anything to be gained by talking to the police. Besides, they already arrested you. They wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t have enough evidence to justify the charge. They’re not interested in your side of the story. They’re just interested in tripping you up so they can bolster their case.”
“You’re not interested either.”
“Yes, I am. I’m just trying to set the ground rules. I need you to know that I will represent you to the best of my ability no matter what you’ve done.”
“And I need you to know I haven’t done a
nything.”
“Okay, then. I have a couple more grounds rules. First, from here on, you don’t talk about what happened, or didn’t happen, to anyone but me.”
“Nobody? Not even my parents?”
“You’re going to need their support, so it’s okay to involve them, but you need to be aware that anyone you talk to could become a witness against you. There may be some conversations that you and I need to have privately. Whatever you tell me alone is confidential.”
“Wow. What else?”
“Everything you tell me has to be the truth. You don’t have to tell me anything, but I can’t do my job if you lie to me. Tomorrow you can come to my office and tell me as much as you want to.” Barry had glanced at the camera in the corner of the room. “The police station is not the best place for open conversation.”
The kid had looked relieved. And he had sounded earnest when he came to Barry’s office the next day with his father. Keenan had sworn that he never assaulted Shannon Dawson and seemed genuinely perplexed that there were witnesses who saw him do it.
Most people assume that, when there are witnesses to a crime, it must have happened the way they said. But Barry knew better. Though he would wait to form an opinion until after he’d studied the evidence.
The problem with the case was that it was emotional and political at the same time. That was obvious from the get-go. The night Barry met Keenan, the judge had set temporary bail at $10,000. That was high end for a misdemeanor assault and a first-time offender. Then, Fred Dutton himself had handled the arraignment. As far as Barry knew, Fred hadn’t done an arraignment in at least a decade. He usually left such routine matters to his underlings. Of course, Fred was never one to miss a public relations opportunity.
Fred must have been disappointed that the camera crews hadn’t been at the arraignment. It was probably only because they hadn’t yet gotten wind of the case. They had been at every court appearance since.
To make matters worse, soon after Keenan’s arrest, the college judicial board had summoned him to an emergency hearing. Keenan had called Barry, who met him on campus. Barry understood that there was pressure from the media and Shannon’s parents, but it wasn’t fair to make the kid fight a two-front war. He had needed the college to back off. Barry spent nearly two hours explaining to the board how participation in the college judicial process would make it impossible for Keenan to get a fair trial in state court.