From a Single Seed: A Novel

by Teri Ames

  A few days later, Barry had gotten an email from the chairman of the judicial board indicating that they had decided to postpone the proceedings until after Keenan’s criminal trial. Barry considered it a victory. If Keenan got convicted on the assault charges, the college investigation was moot. If not, they would cross that bridge later.

  For many lawyers, the realization that most clients are guilty becomes an excuse. The system is designed to reward defendants who plead guilty, and it’s much easier to negotiate a plea deal than investigate and try a case. But Barry also knew that, if you dug deep enough, you could frequently find reasonable doubt. The result was that he had secured acquittals for a few clients he honestly believed were guilty. It didn’t bother him much. He figured on the karmic scale he was even because he also knew that a few of his innocent clients had opted for plea deals rather than risk the crap shoot of a jury trial.

  And a trial was always something of a crap shoot. He’d once heard Bob Kessler talk a client into a plea deal with the line, “Are you going to trust your future to twelve people too stupid to get out of jury duty?” Barry wasn’t that much of a cynic. Then again, he knew he was a better lawyer than Bob.

  As soon as his secretary had transcribed the interviews done by the police, Barry went through them carefully. He winced when he read Keenan’s second interview with the police. He always advised his clients to not speak with the police under any circumstances, but people who have done nothing wrong assume that the best course of action is to be helpful to the police. As children we’re taught that, when we’re in trouble, we can always go to a police officer if we need help. That might still be good advice for anyone under the age of eight. But only because children are rarely prosecuted for misdeeds. As far as Barry was concerned, everyone else should avoid talking to the police, especially if there was any chance at all they might be the target of an investigation.

  By the time Barry had done his first thorough pass through the evidence, he knew it was possible that Keenan was telling the truth. It was clear that nobody the police had talked to in the first few days after Shannon’s disappearance had mentioned an assault or even an argument between Shannon and Keenan at the Maple Street party. There had been early reports about how drunk Shannon had been. It wasn’t until after the police had decided to target Keenan that there was any actual evidence of his guilt. It occurred to Barry that Keenan might be a victim of the misinformation effect. It was a possible defense at least. Whether it would be enough to create reasonable doubt, he had no idea.

  Then, Shannon’s body had been discovered, and the phones had started ringing off the hook. Barry hoped things weren’t about to get worse for his client.

  At five o’clock, Marcy poked her head into his office.

  “I’m heading out. You should do the same.”

  “I will. Soon.”

  “The phones have been slowing down, but they probably won’t stop for a while. If you go home, they won’t bother you. Your home number’s unlisted.”

  “That’s a good point.”

  “I also happen to know that you have nothing pressing to attend to tonight. Remember, I keep your calendar.”

  “Are you mothering me again?”

  “Somebody needs to take care of you. Besides, I get away with it because I have job security.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You couldn’t run this place without me. And we both know it.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Good night, Barry.”

  “Good night, Marcy.”

  The phones stopped ringing at about six o’clock. Barry thought about ordering takeout and eating at his desk. Instead, he found leftovers from his last takeout order in his office fridge and heated them in the microwave.

  At nine o’clock, he was still at the office. He couldn’t help it. There was too much to do and too many people depending on him. If there was ever a good day for a glass of scotch, this was it. Just one, like always. He’d rather have it at home, but that wasn’t really an option. He went to his credenza, knelt down, and pulled out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label and a glass from the back of the cabinet. He poured two fingers and took a sip. Then, he put on a jacket, went outside, and sat in the old porch rocker on his back porch. He could see his breath in the light from his office window. The scotch would keep him warm for a few minutes.

  When he finished his scotch, Barry rinsed the glass in the bathroom, dried it, and put it away with the bottle. Time to get home to Sam.

  FRED DUTTON sat on the edge of his bed and watched Olivia Dawson on his television. Olivia was in California for her daughter’s funeral, but was being interviewed by Sarah Chase, the chubby brunette news anchor at Channel 4, through a live feed at a California TV studio. Sarah was in the local studio with Stephanie Beasley, a local law professor and frequent commentator on all things legal.

  “How do you feel about the assault charges that have been filed in your daughter’s case?” Sarah said.

  The screen zoomed to Olivia’s image. “I’m furious. That boy killed my daughter, and he’s going to walk away from this with a slap on the wrist. They told me he’ll probably serve a year in jail. My daughter is missing the rest of her life and he only misses a year. It’s unbelievable.”

  “I’m sure it’s frustrating. Adams County State’s Attorney Fred Dutton has refused to comment so far, but we are joined in the studio today by Professor Stephanie Beasley from Vermont Law School. Professor, what do you think of the lack of murder charges?”

  “Well, I understand why Mr. Dutton declined to file the homicide charges when there was no body. There’s not much precedent in Vermont for homicide charges without clear proof of death.”

  “But now things are different?”

  “Absolutely,” Beasley said. “We now have all the elements of a winnable homicide case.”

  “Can you explain what they are?”

  “First, we have motive.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The affidavit of probable cause in the assault case describes a love triangle. That’s a pretty strong motive.”

  “Sure. What else do you know about the case?”

  “There’s also a means.”

  “I thought the autopsy report was inconclusive.”

  “Only because of the underwater burial. I understand there were clear signs of blunt force trauma. On the heels of the assault that people witnessed, it’s not unexpected that there was more violence.”

  “But there were no witnesses to the murder.”

  “First of all, on these facts, we’re probably talking about manslaughter instead of murder. And you need to keep in mind that most criminal cases are based on circumstantial evidence.”

  “So, professor, why is Fred Dutton dragging his heels on this case?”

  “You’d have to ask him, but I think he’s being overly cautious. Like I said, I understand why he only charged the assault when he didn’t have a body. A homicide conviction on those facts would have been a long shot. But the facts have changed.”

  Fred clicked the TV off. He had never liked Stephanie Beasley. As far as he was concerned, she was a shameless self-promoter-slash-know-it-all who taught the law because she was too slow on her feet to actually practice it.

  Olivia, on the other hand, he felt bad for. She wasn’t making his job any easier, but under the circumstances, it was hard to hold it against her. He’d probably be doing the same thing if he were in her shoes. The problem was that he had aways prided himself on his integrity as a prosecutor, and he didn’t like outsiders telling him how to do his job. It made him want to dig in his heels. Olivia had sworn to stay in Vermont until her daughter was found and the case was solved. And she’d been a rock in his shoe since he’d filed the assault charges. He hoped to convince her to stay in California for a while, although he had a feeling that would only happen if he filed a homicide charge.

  “You really shouldn’t watch the news about your cases. You know it makes y
ou crazy. Always has.” Kathy Dutton was already in bed, a book in her lap.

  “I know. But I need to figure out how people feel about this case.”

  “You’re not going to figure that out by watching the news.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know. Now come to bed.”

  “I’m still too keyed up.”

  “So, read for a while and then sleep on it. I have no doubt you’ll do the right thing, whatever that turns out to be.”

  “What did I do to deserve you?”

  “I can’t remember. It was too long ago. Now I need to get to sleep. I’m watching Tanya’s kids tomorrow morning so she can go up to the mall. Those two take all my energy.”

  Fred kissed his wife. “I promise to turn out the light soon. Good night, Grandma.”

  KEENAN WATCHED the news clips on his laptop alone in his room. He’d had a double room to himself since the beginning of the term when he had come home from an away hockey game to find his roommate’s stuff gone. He and Brendan had been roommates since the start of freshman year. They weren’t best friends, but they’d been compatible roommates. Or so Keenan had thought. He guessed that Brendan was pressured by his parents to change roommates. It still would have been nice to hear it from Brendan. The college had a housing shortage, so Keenan had expected they would assign him a new roommate from the long list of people who had been crammed into temporary housing. But it never happened. It was probably for the best. He’d been in tears many times during the past months and he’d rather nobody saw him that way.

  Keenan searched his own name on Twitter and realized that he now had his own hashtag, #KeenanBrody. People around the country had retweeted photos of him with captions like “Another college athlete gets away with a crime of violence” and “Hold Brody accountable, make college campuses a safe place to date.” He scanned through the recent tweets, but couldn’t find any suggesting he might be innocent. It wasn’t a surprise, given how much his peers had vilified him on Facebook in the aftermath of Shannon’s disappearance. He’d stopped checking Facebook a while ago. What was he thinking, checking Twitter?

  Most people had retweeted his mugshot, but there were other photos that looked familiar, probably taken during one of the court hearings that Barry said were routine. It seemed the media was always there, even when the hearing only took a few minutes

  He remembered waiting in the courtroom with Barry and his dad before the first hearing. The judge had taken a fifteen minute break so the camera guys could set up.

  “If nothing is going to happen today, why are they here?” Keenan had said.

  “This case is big,” Barry had said. “None of them wants to be the one who missed something. Besides, if something does happen with the case later, they can use the footage from today and talk over it.”

  “So, they’re just here to get footage of me in court?”

  “Basically.”

  “You’re saying I’m the news.”

  Barry nodded, and Keenan felt like he might get sick. He breathed deeply and focused his gaze on the front of the room to control the nausea.

  “Why does the judge allow it?” his dad had said. “It seems awfully disruptive given how many people are here waiting for hearings.”

  “It’s partly the First Amendment and it’s partly political. Judges in Vermont are appointed, but they get reviewed every six years. No judge wants a media campaign against him, especially if he’s nearing the end of a term.”

  When Keenan’s case had finally been called, he and Barry were already waiting at the counsel table. The hearing itself had taken less than a minute. Then, the judge had left again so the crews could disassemble their equipment.

  Thinking about his decimated reputation made Keenan’s stomach churn and the bile rise in his throat, so he popped two extra-strength Tums from a flip-top container he had started keeping on his desk. Then, he called his dad.

  “They’re saying I killed her,” Keenan said.

  “I know,” his dad said.

  “Why is this happening?”

  “I don’t know. Only God knows. How are they treating you at the college?”

  “No different than before they found her. The only person who still talks to me is my friend Aarav.”

  “What about your teammates?”

  “Now that the season’s over, I only see them in the weight room. But, yeah, they avoid me too.” For the first time in his life, Keenan was glad that the hockey season was over. Normally, he thrived on the locker-room camaraderie, enjoyed the good-natured teasing that seemed to get piled on everyone in turn. But, even before Shannon’s body was found, it was clear his teammates had their doubts about him. The locker room had become eerily silent every time he’d walked in. The bus rides to away games had seemed longer, sitting alone, not talking to anyone. He’d been thankful for the earbuds that he wore even when he wasn’t playing music. At least his teammates hadn’t let their distrust affect their play. On the ice, they had still passed to him, let him do his job as a defender. After all the years of training and playing, the game must be too ingrained to ignore.

  “Do they really think you killed Shannon?” his dad asked.

  “It sure feels that way,” Keenan said, remembering that Rob McPherson had pretty much said so to a reporter.

  “I’m sorry, son. All I can say is that it will all blow over, eventually.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  “And if it gets too bad, you can always come home.”

  “There’s nothing I’d rather do right now, but I need to try to stick this out. If I leave, everyone will assume it’s because I’m guilty. Besides, a degree from Masterson College is a big deal.”

  “I’m proud of you, Keenan.”

  “Yeah, right. Your son, the accused murderer.”

  “You’re still the same kid to me. I know none of it’s true.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Somehow the media had gotten Keenan’s cell phone number again. He had gotten a new one after his arrest when he’d been barraged by calls. These past few days, the calls had been constant again, so he powered down his phone as soon as he was done talking to his dad. He would walk to the Sprint office in town and get a new number the first time he could make time. Or more accurately, muster the energy.

  Keenan made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner. His weight was down at least fifteen pounds since Christmas. He should probably go to the dining hall more often, but the only person who had sought out his mealtime company was Aarav. They had eaten together a couple of times, but Keenan had been hyperaware of the accusing stares in his direction and decided early on to minimize the amount of time he spent in the dining hall. He’d gotten in the habit of having cereal in his room in the morning. The mini-fridge fit two gallons of milk, which he could stretch out to a week. One of the advantages of living alone was that he didn’t have to leave room for his roommate’s food. He should probably stock up on snack food again soon.

  Chapter 30

  Saturday, November 30, 2013

  JAKE ARRIVED at Amy’s apartment on time and the doorman buzzed him up. When Shannon opened the door, he swooped her into a big hug, picking her off the ground and swinging her around.

  “I can’t believe we haven’t seen each other in three months,” Jake said. “It’s so great to see you.”

  Shannon introduced Jake and Amy.

  “How was your Turkey Day?” Amy asked.

  “I went to my cousin’s house in New Jersey,” Jake said. “Now I see why Shannon decided to stay with you. Nice place you have here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are your parents here?”

  “No, they’re both at some emergency association meeting. Someone in the building must have broken a rule.” Amy rolled her eyes.

  “I’ll call you later, Amy, okay?” Shannon said.

  “Sure. Enjoy the city, guys.”

  “Thanks. It was nice to meet you.” He shut the door and, before
Shannon could say anything, pulled her into a kiss. Shannon closed her eyes and kissed him back for a second before she remembered that she shouldn’t. She pulled away.

  Jake grinned at her. “I have a few ideas for today,” he said. “I was thinking we could be tourists.”

  “Sounds like fun,” she said.

  “Super. I already got tickets.”

  “Tickets for what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Shannon wasn’t sure when she should tell Jake about Keenan. He seemed so excited that she didn’t want to ruin the day by starting off with the bad news.

  It turned out the tickets were for the ferry to Liberty Island and the crown of the Statue of Liberty. They stayed on deck for the ride to the island and watched the wake from the back of the boat.

  “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” Jake said. “Us being here in New York City together. It’s a long way from Solana Beach, California.”

  “It sure is.”

  “I’ve missed you. I’ve been so busy with school that I didn’t realize how much until I saw you.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Jake.” It was true, but she knew she needed to tell him the rest.

  Without warning, he kissed her. His lips felt cold against hers, but familiar. This time she just let it happen. As the kiss deepened, she tasted his breath. Jake. It was like coming home. But better, because when she opened her eyes she could see the New York City skyline.

  Jake pressed his forehead against hers. “I’ve wanted to do this,” he said, “see the statue, that is, since I got to New York. But I’ve been saving it for your first visit. You should have come down here sooner.”

  “It’s not like you came up to Vermont to visit me.” This was the perfect segue. “If you ha––.”

  “––I know. It’s just been so overwhelming. The architecture program here is brutal. Pre-med at Masterson is probably just as bad. Aren’t you overwhelmed?”