All these years later, Frank still thought the case against Sam had been a good one. Sure, the defense had pointed out discrepancies and expounded an alternative-killer theory—that was what defense attorneys did—but Frank had trouble seeing how the arguments could have been persuasive.
All it took was one juror though, and Sam’s attorney had managed to reach that one. Eleven of the jurors had decided the prosecution’s version of events was correct. The holdout—Eugene Titmus—had given the defense theory more credence. Frank wondered which aspect of the defense case Titmus had found most convincing.
Lacking anything else to work with, Frank had decided to speak with Titmus. He lived in Somerville now rather than Boston, but he’d agreed to meet Frank at a local coffee shop during his morning break.
Titmus was a UPS driver, and Frank spotted him immediately upon entering the shop because of the uniform. The man was slender, bony really, with a large Adam’s apple, pointed chin, and thin mouth. He looked all of about twenty.
“Eugene?”
“You must be Detective Donahue.”
“Retired,” Frank said. “And call me Frank.” He slid into the booth and ordered coffee. Black. Then, spying Titmus’s two donuts, ordered one for himself. Millie would never know.
“So, what can I help you with Detect—Frank? The trial was a long time ago.”
Though his doctor disapproved, Frank had attended much of the trial. But he had focused on the witnesses, not the jury. He tried to remember where Titmus had been seated in the jury box and couldn’t.
“I’m looking over past cases, trying to see what we can learn from those that don’t end in conviction.” It was a plausible explanation, and one Frank hoped wouldn’t put Titmus on the defensive.
“Must be hard for you guys to see your hard work go down the tubes,” Titmus said. There was no hostility in his tone but not much sympathy either.
“It’s the system.” Frank took a bite of donut. Ah, heaven. “Mind if I ask you how old you are?”
“Twenty-five next month.”
“So you were, what, eighteen at the time of trial?”
“Yeah, my first call to jury duty, and I get picked. I couldn’t believe it.”
“How was it?”
Titmus shrugged. “I wasn’t working then, so it wasn’t a problem.”
“Were you in school?”
“Nah, I never went beyond high school. But I was living at home still, trying to figure out what came next. Timing couldn’t have been better from my perspective.”
Frank knew that eighteen-year-olds fought in wars and gave their lives for the country, so he wasn’t sure why jurors that age gave him pause, but they did. “So, what convinced you Sam Russell wasn’t guilty?”
“Oh, I wasn’t convinced he wasn’t. But I wasn’t convinced he was either. That homeless guy was pretty sure it was Russell he talked to that afternoon.”
The homeless man, Ajar Mobje, was the only witness who corroborated Sam’s story about biking the day Lisa disappeared. He’d been walking along the path near Concord where Sam was biking and had stopped to talk to Sam while he adjusted a gear on his bike. It was a short exchange of maybe thirty seconds, but Mobje had been sure it was Sam he talked to.
“The other jurors didn’t pay much attention because the guy was a bum and foreigner,” Titmus said. “His English was pretty bad. They figured he didn’t really know what he was talking about.”
“But you found him credible?” As Frank recalled, the man hadn’t made a particularly strong witness. He’d done fine when questioned by the defense attorney, but the prosecutor had rattled him to the point where he admitted he could be mistaken.
Titmus crammed a quarter of a donut into his mouth and chewed it before answering. “He could describe the shoes Russell was wearing that day. Besides, why would he lie?”
“It didn’t have to be a lie. He might just have been mistaken. And a lot of bikers wear biking shoes.”
Titmus shrugged.
“Was that the only thing that raised doubt in your mind?” Frank asked. He took another bite of his own donut but didn’t enjoy it as much as the first. He started thinking of how angry Millie would be if she knew. She worked so hard to keep him healthy. He pushed the rest away. He realized he ought to be worried for himself and not because his wife would be angry.
“No, there was a bunch of other stuff.”
“Such as?”
“Well, there was that neighbor who’d seen a strange car parked near the house in the days before Lisa Russell disappeared.”
Hardly anything out of the ordinary, Frank thought.
“And there were the two soda cans in the Russells’ trash. One of them had prints that couldn’t be identified.”
“She might have drunk them both herself,” Frank pointed out, though it hardly mattered at this point. “And the unidentified prints could have come from anywhere. Grocery clerks, customers, people not connected with the murder.”
“Yeah, but her having a visitor makes more sense. And given the kind of woman she was ...”
Frank frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You know, flirty, the kind that likes to flaunt her stuff.”
“Where’d you get that impression?” Frank remembered testimony that Lisa Russell was friendly and outgoing, but nothing that indicated she was a tease. Had he missed something?
Titmus gave another shrug. “You can tell. Women who answer the door wearing practically nothing at all or come on to workmen. I’m not saying they deserve to die, but they take risks with that kind of behavior.”
Frank frowned. “Has that happened to you?”
“Me?” Titmus looked embarrassed. “Whoa, that’s a good one.”
“That’s a no?”
“I’m not the type.”
Had Titmus’s own insecurities colored his perceptions of Lisa Russell? Frank tried to remember the exact testimony from the trial, but it merged with what he knew of the victim from his own investigation. Lisa Russell was nothing like what Titmus suggested. Lisa was a devoted mother and wife and a trusted friend to all who knew her.
“So you think it was someone she flirted with?” Frank asked. He wondered if he and Titmus could actually have sat through the same trial.
“It’s possible, is all. Maybe she got a delivery and invited the guy in for a soda. Things went from there. Even the missing ring sounds more like something a stranger would do than her husband. The husband would know people would be watching him. And an unusual ring like hers, an heirloom, it would be pretty distinctive. He’d have a heck of a time pawning it.”
“That came out at trial? That it was an unusual design?” Frank was familiar with the ring from the investigation—it had been Lisa’s grandmother’s—but he remembered thinking the prosecution hadn’t made much of it at trial.
“Must have.” Titmus polished off his second donut. “I need to be getting back to work.”
“Yeah, thanks for your time.”
“Sure. Glad to help.”
Good God, Frank thought. This ... this kid had built a whole fantasy scenario about another killer, pulling interpretations about Lisa’s character from thin air and mixing them with selected bits of testimony.
And it had been enough to let Sam walk.
CHAPTER 25
Not long after Molly and I arrived home from my dad’s, Hannah Montgomery knocked on the door. It crossed my mind that she might have been following me, but I dismissed the notion as being overly paranoid.
“Did Officer Murphy get the phone tap set up?” she asked.
“First thing this morning.”
“Good.” She shielded her eyes from the sun and waited a beat. “Can I come in?”
I didn’t see the point, but I could hardly refuse. I opened the door wider and stepped back. “I thought you guys were worried the kidnappers might be watching the house.”
She nodded. “But we’re also looking for a missing woman. If I suddenly stopped coming by the
house, it might raise suspicion too.”
“So that’s why you’re here? To make an appearance?”
“Sounds like you’d rather I wasn’t.” The detective brushed the hair from her face. She looked tired, but even tired she looked good. She had a nice smile: warm, friendly, forthright.
I shrugged. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re understandably nervous.”
Nervous was an understatement. But I knew I was acting like a jerk. “You want coffee or something, Detective?”
“It’s Hannah. And a glass of water would be nice.” She followed me into the kitchen. “How are you feeling?”
“Rotten, why?”
“You seemed pretty down last night.”
It was a stupid comment, so I ignored it.
“The worry and waiting have got to be hard on you.”
I handed her a glass of tap water. Normally, I would have asked about ice, but I couldn’t muster the energy to care. Besides, a part of me blamed the detective for being at the bar last night when I was feeling vulnerable. There was no logic to it, but there it was. If she hadn’t been there, I’d never have involved the police.
“I shouldn’t have told you about the ransom call,” I said. “The kidnapper specifically told me not to involve the cops.”
She perched on a stool at the island counter and leveled her gaze at me. Her eyes were an unusual shade of green, almost emerald. It was the eyes that had gotten me in trouble last night, I decided. No way in hell would I have spilled my guts to Dallas.
She took a sip of water. “You think kidnappers ever say, ‘Oh, and be sure to tell the cops’?”
“Funny.”
“Let me tell you about a kidnapping case I worked in LA.”
At least Murphy had been telling me the truth; she had experience with kidnappings. But I was in no mood to be mollified. “Why? So you can impress me with your superior knowledge?”
“It involved a young girl,” she continued, as though I hadn’t spoken. “Nine years old. She disappeared from in front of her house in a quiet, friendly neighborhood. The parents did everything the kidnappers said, including not involving us. They paid the ransom, which was sizable. They followed the instructions to the letter.”
My throat constricted. Given her reason for recounting the story, there was only one possible outcome.
“Their daughter wasn’t at the playground where the kidnappers told them she would be waiting after they picked up the ransom money. They never heard another word from the kidnappers, and they never saw their daughter alive. Some hikers found her body two months later in the canyons above Malibu.”
“So it’s a no-win situation? Damned if you tell the authorities, damned if you don’t?”
Her expression was pained, like it had just dawned on her that instead of making me feel better, she’d made me feel worse. “All I meant was, telling the police is the right way to handle it. I could tell you about cases where we got the victims back alive.”
“This isn’t going to be one of them.”
Her eyes narrowed, no longer friendly. “Why do you say that?”
“I just feel it, is all.”
She seemed to be considering my answer. For all she knew, I’d already killed Maureen. For a moment, I’d forgotten I was still their number-one suspect.
“When they call,” she said finally, “remember to ask for proof that Maureen is alive.”
“Right, alive.” No matter what Maureen’s condition, I reminded myself, alive was better than dead.
“We’ll have someone here with you and a team in the field. You’ll have lots of support.”
“What if they see you?”
“They won’t.” She pushed the water glass aside and set out four photographs. “Do any of these look like the vehicle you were following last night?”
They were all SUVs in different makes and models. “It could have been any of them. It was dark. I wish I’d gotten a better look.”
“You remember anything more about the license number?”
“Just what I gave you.”
“Anything distinctive about the vehicle?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of something. I should have paid better attention.” Another way I’d screwed up. “I take it you haven’t had any luck locating it?”
“Not yet. We’re narrowing down the possibilities.”
“To these four?”
“No. These are file photos from our vehicle-identification portfolio.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “We’ve pretty much eliminated the local cars that match.”
“So you think it was someone out of the area?”
“You’re sure the vehicle you saw turned onto El Dorado from Buckey?”
“Positive. I’d been waiting there for just that reason.”
She put the photos away. “Your dad and brother—do they know about the ransom call?”
“My dad does. I had to ask him for money. But not Chase.”
“Anyone else?”
“No. Except for the mess I made of last night, I’ve done everything they asked.”
The detective tilted her head and looked at me. “How do you and your brother get along?”
“Fine.”
“No tensions? Jealousies?”
“Not really.”
“Even though you’re a doctor and he’s running a forklift?”
“He’s doing okay.” It suddenly dawned on me what she was getting at. I shook my head. “No way. Chase wouldn’t do anything like this.”
She seemed about ready to ask another question but instead got up and refilled her water glass. The silence between us was broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the sharp staccato of a barking dog from outside.
“If the kidnapper contacts you and he’s got her,” the detective said kindly, “the chances are good we’ll find her.”
My ill-placed anger with her had faded. She was, after all, doing everything she could to bring Maureen home safely. What’s more, I sensed her concern was genuine. Hannah Montgomery was a hard woman not to like. But I was too distraught to feel encouraged.
“I feel so helpless,” I told her.
“You’re doing all the right things, Sam.”
To my mind, I’d done nothing right, starting with the moment I’d woken in my car with no memory of the previous evening. Hell, even before that. I could see now that I hadn’t loved Maureen enough. Not in the way she wanted to be loved. She’d told me once that Dr. Laura always said a loving husband would swim through shark-infested waters to bring his wife a lemonade. I’d made a joke of it, but I knew in my heart what she meant, and I knew that if Lisa had asked me to do just that, I would have. I think Maureen knew it too.
“I should have been a better husband,” I protested. “I should have made sure she knew how much she meant to me.”
“With luck, you’ll still be able to tell her.” Hannah placed her glass in the dishwasher then turned to face me again. “Regret is normal, you know. It’s human. Don’t let it get the better of you.”
There was so much she didn’t know. Part of me wanted to tell her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “So, what do we do now?” I asked. “Just wait?”
“I’m afraid so.” Her mouth twisted into the barest hint of a smile. It lit up the soft green eyes. “You can’t give up hope, Sam.”
I looked around the kitchen. Maureen’s apron hung near the stove; on the counter next to it rested the cappuccino machine I’d given her last Christmas. A photo of the two of us looked back at me from a magnetic frame on the front of the fridge. So many joyful memories. But all I felt was despair.
Hope didn’t have a chance.
CHAPTER 26
The water was hot, almost scalding, the way Hannah liked it, leaving her skin crimson where the spray drummed against it. She turned her back to the shower and indulged herself for a moment longer before shutting off the faucet and stepping out into the
cramped space of the bathroom. She grabbed a towel from the hook near the door and was drying her legs when Josh—the cowboy with the cute butt she’d met a couple of nights back—poked his head into the room. His gaze skimmed her nude body as he handed her the phone.
“Some guy. Says it’s important.” There was an emphasis on the says.
Hannah wrapped herself in the towel, pressed the phone to her ear. “Hi, Dallas.”
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Who else would call me on a Saturday evening with something important?”
“You’ve got a problem, you know that? Your life’s too predictable.”
That was the least of her problems, Hannah thought. A rivulet of water ran down her neck and into the hollow of her spine. She hoped this call wasn’t what she thought it was.
“Have I caught you in the middle of something?” Dallas asked. There was an unmistakable leer in the question.
Hannah glanced at Josh, who was standing in the doorway in his boxers, hair still damp at the ends. He wasn’t Malcolm, but he was a step above what she usually dragged home. She’d been looking forward to the rest of the evening.
“We were just winding down,” she said, ignoring the protest in Josh’s expression.
“Good. We got a report of a body. Female.”
Hannah’s gut tightened. She had a bad feeling about this. “Maureen Russell?”
“I don’t know, I just got the call. But it could be. Caucasian, late twenties, early thirties.”
The feeling intensified. “Where?”
“A house out on Eagle Point.”
An upscale neighborhood. “Whose house?”
“Guy by the name of Ben Albright,” Dallas said. “He’s in Europe. A lady friend of his discovered the body. She’s staying there for a couple of days while her floors are being redone.” There was a burst of static. “I’ll pick you up in about ten minutes.”
“Give me fifteen, okay?” Time for a touch of makeup—a necessity at her age. And for an apology of sorts to Josh.
Hannah dropped the towel and pulled on her underwear. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“At this hour?”
“I’m afraid so.”
The Only Suspect Page 17