Bucket List

by Emily James

  “Is that why you refused to come out of your cell?”

  He nodded. “I can’t trust myself.”

  His wife—Darlene—was right, but the suspicious part of me also thought that it would be a perfect way to continue framing her husband for a murder she might have committed. Mark had been certain, though, that a woman would have had a hard time doing the damage Gordon suffered. Unless Darlene had an accomplice, I could cross her off the list as an alternative way to explain what had happened.

  And that brought us to the real crux of the situation.

  “So what do you want from this? Most people when they hire a defense attorney only care about an acquittal.”

  “I want the truth.” He ran his fingers through his beard. “Darlene and I were high school sweethearts. We were almost a cliché. Football player and cheerleader. We’ve been married 35 years. Now she’s afraid of me. She hasn’t looked at me the same since. Not going to prison isn’t enough if I lose my best friend.”

  He stopped talking suddenly, like he’d forgotten where he’d been going with what he was saying. Now that I understood what was happening, I waited rather than assuming he was done.

  He blinked rapidly a few times. “I already lost a good friend. Gordon was a friend to both of us. If I did this, I need to be locked up where I can’t hurt anyone else. If I didn’t, whoever killed him needs to be punished for it, and Darlene needs to be able to be sure that she’s safe with me.”

  Mark had once commented that it didn’t seem like finding evidence to clear a client was enough for me. I always seemed to want to find the real killer because the truth mattered and someone should be held accountable for causing all that pain.

  Listening to Clement was like hearing my own thoughts parroted back to me.

  If Clement had killed Gordon in a hallucination, we’d talk about best options. I still didn’t think prison was the right place for him, but he would need to go somewhere that he couldn’t hurt anyone else during a moment of delirium.

  Instead of turning Clement over to Anderson as a client, I’d accept Anderson’s suggestion of working this one as co-counsel. It felt like the right thing to do to see this case through. Clement wasn’t trying to get away with a crime, and that’s what I hadn’t liked about working for my parents. And Anderson would be there to skillfully argue Clement’s case if this did end up going to trial.

  I moved as close to the bars as I could so that he could clearly see my face. “I’ll find the truth for you. I promise.”

  8

  As soon as I was out of the police station, I called Darlene Dodd and asked if she had time to speak with me. She told me to meet her at their house. The police had released the scene, and she’d already hired a crime scene clean-up crew to deal with the mess.

  My mind gnawed on that as I drove. The suspicious part of me wondered about how fast she’d moved, as if she didn’t want me getting a look at the scene before the evidence was gone. The rational part of me knew I wouldn’t have waited an additional minute once the police cleared the scene to have it cleaned up either. There’d be no way to process what had happened and start to cope as long as blood coated your house. Besides, the police would have taken plenty of pictures that I would look over.

  Darlene waited for me outside the house when I pulled up. I hadn’t paid much attention to her the day of the murder. Today she wore jeans, and an oversized fuzzy green-and-black coat that looked like it might belong to Clement given the size. Her blonde hair was naturally curly and almost as wide as her face was tall. She reminded me a little bit of a younger Kate Chapshaw.

  Darlene hugged her coat around herself even though the zipper was done up. “I thought I’d meet you out here. We can either talk in the kitchen or the living room, your choice?”

  She turned her statement into a question somehow, like she lacked the self-confidence to choose for herself where it would be best for us to talk.

  I’d made the assumption because Clement said he’d been trying to fall asleep in his chair that he’d been in the living room. The crime scene clean-up crew’s truck was still here, though. “Won’t we be in the way in the living room?”

  She shook her head, opened her mouth, and closed it again like she was searching for words. “It happened in Clem’s office.”

  That was a bit odd. And bad for our case. If someone brought Gordon’s body in, the most logical place to plant him was the living room. They wouldn’t know which room the office was or where it was or how often it was used unless they were intimately familiar with the family.

  “Did Gordon usually go into Clement’s office when he came over for breakfast?”

  Her smile looked stiff around the edges like old leather. “Always. They were the ones who cooked. Even before he stopped sleeping, Clem was the early riser. I hate mornings. Clem came to wake me when breakfast was ready. Gordon makes…made the best blueberry waffles you ever tasted.”

  She had the red around the nose and eyes of someone who’d spent much of the previous day crying, but her eyes were dry now. That struck me as authentic. If she’d been wanting to convince me of grief she didn’t feel, she’d have been blubbering. She wasn’t. She was trying to hold strong.

  Even if Mark hadn’t said a woman probably couldn’t have done that amount of damage to Gordon, I wouldn’t have believed Darlene was responsible now. Her grief was too genuine and I didn’t detect any signs of underlying guilt. She met my gaze, albeit in a shy way, and her responses sounded matter-of-fact. Sad, but matter-of-fact.

  I didn’t usually believe in innocent until proven guilty when it came to potential suspects, but in this case, that’s how I was going to approach it.

  A cold gust of wind lifted my hair and Darlene’s. She touched my arm. “Why don’t we go inside. I’m sure you have questions or you wouldn’t be here.”

  She took my coat once we were inside and hung her own up as well. Her shoulders were slightly too broad for her hips, giving her a top-heavy look. Clement mentioned she was a cheerleader. With her strong shoulders, she’d probably been one of the girls on the bottom of the pyramid.

  I accepted her offer of coffee. She left me in the living room. Through the far wall, I could hear muffled voices, presumably the clean-up crew. That was a job I definitely wouldn’t want. Seeing blood in pictures was bad enough. The less blood I could see in real life, the better.

  A chess set that looked like it was made from marble rested on a table in the corner and a red brick fireplace ate up a third of their living room’s far wall. Pictures filled the mantel. Darlene’s temporary absence gave me a good opportunity to poke around a little and get a better idea of their life.

  In the place of honor, where I’d have expected to find their wedding photo, was a picture of a boy of about ten, holding up a fish that was nearly as long as his entire torso. His square face and glasses reminded me of a little Clement, but it couldn’t be Clement as a boy. The picture was too recent. Not taken on a digital camera or phone by any means, but at least into the era of photography where the colors were bright and the image was clear.

  To the right was a picture of a clean-shaven Clement in a graduation gown and Darlene in a dress with unflattering shoulder pads, holding a baby. It looked like Clement got his college degree while Darlene stayed home. The baby was probably the boy in the photo with the fish. It must be their son. Hopefully they’d called him to tell him what was going on. Some people thought it was better to hide bad news from their children.

  To the far left was a picture of a high school football team. I leaned closer and studied the faces until I found Clement. If I hadn’t seen the graduation photo first, I wouldn’t have recognized him. The beard he wore now changed his look dramatically.

  It must be the Fair Haven high school team because a few of the other faces were ones I knew as well—Stacey’s dad Tony Rathmell, the Fair Haven police force dispatcher, my pharmacist Saul Emmitt, and the head of the construction crew that rebuild my historical-replica sugar
shack. Based on what Saul said earlier, I’d thought he might have been born with spinal issues, but it looked like he’d been at least able to manage throughout high school.

  It made me feel even more than I had before that I should listen to his advice. In high school, I’d assumed I’d be a first-class lawyer the way my parents were. My parents weren’t the only ones who were disappointed when it looked like I hadn’t inherited their abilities in the courtroom.

  Gordon wasn’t in the team photo, but he was in one on the other side. Gordon and Clement stood out in the middle of the woods, shotguns beside them. Of course he had to be a hunter. My dad hated defending people who hunted because many jurors had a subconscious bias that people who killed animals for sport were more likely to kill people too. Hopefully we could keep that from coming out.

  “I don’t ever make coffee,” Darlene pushed open the door with her shoulder, “so I hope this is drinkable. Clement usually makes our pot of morning coffee.”

  I’d drunk enough cups of Mandy’s strong-enough-to-clean-your-grout coffee that I was sure I could choke down anything now.

  I moved away from the mantel and took a chair across from Darlene.

  She balanced her mug on her knee, her fingers hooked around the handle just enough to steady it. Her gaze strayed to the office door, but with an I’m-out-of-my-depth look. My instincts said that Clement had probably used his one phone call to hire the clean-up crew rather than that Darlene had hired them. Clement seemed to be the one who handled most things.

  Based on that, maybe the best thing I could do to help her through this would be to let her know she didn’t have to handle it alone.

  “Part of my role is to make sure you and Clement have an ally and an advocate every step of the way, not only to defend him but to make sure everything is taken care of and to answer your questions.” I inclined my head toward the mantle. “Have you called your son to let him know? It’s often helpful if the family is in court showing support for the accused, and it might make it easier for you to have someone around the house for a few days.”

  Darlene’s gaze darted to the mantle and her cup tilted. She righted it at the last minute. “I guess you wouldn’t know. Our son drowned in a fishing accident shortly after that picture was taken.”

  Great. I’d managed to make it worse for her not better by reminding her of her dead child. My voice didn’t want to work, which wasn’t surprising considering I had my foot in my mouth. I cleared my throat. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me about the case?”

  Darlene swiveled the cup back and forth on her knee. “Can they make me testify against Clement?”

  Darlene believed Clement was guilty. He’d said as much when I talked to him earlier, and I could see it in her every movement now. That put her in a terrible position. She loved her husband and didn’t want to feel like she was betraying him. But it looked like he’d murdered their friend.

  More than anything, I wanted to fix that for them by proving someone else killed Gordon.

  “The law protects the spousal relationship. They can’t make you testify against Clement if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t want to,” she said quietly.

  I opened my mouth to tell her that I planned to do my best to prove him innocent, not only in the eyes of the law but also in her eyes as well.

  I snapped my mouth back shut before the words spilled out. I couldn’t guarantee anything, and the last thing this woman needed was potentially false hope. Especially given my misstep a minute ago about their son.

  I sipped my coffee to buy myself a few seconds to reorganize my thoughts. I needed to figure out how to make her understand that we were all in agreement, but to also make sure she knew how important the information she gave me would be. And I had to do it in a non-committal way so she wasn’t crushed if what I found out was Clement was as guilty as Jack the Ripper.

  I set aside my coffee and pulled out my notepad and pen. “If we’re going to keep you off the stand, I need to make sure I know everything useful to Clement’s defense and have alternate ways to bring it in. I’ll need you to answer a few questions for me now. Who would have known Gordon came over every morning at that time for breakfast?”

  She did a headshake-shrug combo. “It wasn’t a secret, but I don’t think anyone specifically knew it was every morning that he came.”

  Someone still could have known about it through the Fair Haven gossip system and decided to frame Clement. Since Gordon had a habit of coming, it wouldn’t have been a sound defense for Clement to claim that particular morning wasn’t one when he’d been invited.

  “Do you keep your doors locked?”

  “It’s a small town.”

  In other words, no. At least I wasn’t surprised. Russ didn’t lock his doors either. It drove me batty.

  Unlocked doors meant we couldn’t even narrow down possibilities. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Gordon?”

  Darlene switched her mug of tea from one knee to the other and frowned. “Why does this matter? Clement doesn’t want you trying to prove he didn’t do something he did.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. That was her first evasive answer. Darlene was still meeting my gaze and her answers weren’t too rushed or too slow. She didn’t seem flushed or sweaty. She wasn’t showing any of the signs I would have expected from someone who was lying to me or had something to hide. She could be a psychopath or a sociopath, but that didn’t fit with the way she chose to show emotions in private and hide them in front of me. A psychopath would manufacture emotions when someone was watching.

  So what was going on here? What was I missing? Maybe she didn’t believe Clement’s story about seeing a bear and suspected that he’d planned Gordon’s murder.

  “Did Clement have a reason to want to kill Gordon?” I asked.

  “No. And I did tell the police that.”

  If she gave the same vibe to the police as I was getting now, the police would have probably suspected the same thing. I could hear my mom’s teaching prompting me to be a little firmer with her. As much as I hated it, this time I agreed. “You don’t want to testify against Clement, but you don’t seem to want to help him either.”

  She glanced at the door that must lead into the office where the clean-up crew was working. “I love Clement. I’ve loved him since I was fifteen years old. But I didn’t know the man who was standing over Gordon.”

  Her voice took on a scratchy quality.

  This I’d seen before. After a tragedy, human nature seemed to be to vocalize one’s confusion. You heard it anytime the neighbors or family of a murderer were interviewed. I just don’t understand it, they’d say. They’d say it to the police. They’d say it to the press. They’d say it to each other. And what I was coming to realize more and more was that even when a motive was revealed, they’d keep saying it for the rest of their lives, because none of us liked to think we could be deceived about the character of the people we knew.

  Darlene’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and her body had tensed throughout her speech. People couldn’t smell fear, but I could almost feel her fear coming off of her. And I could hear what she hadn’t said. She loved Clement, but she no longer felt safe with him. She no longer trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her or someone else because Gordon had been a long-time friend to them both. If Clement would kill him, seemingly randomly, then he could do the same to anyone.

  She felt like I wouldn’t care about that. Defense attorneys didn’t have the best reputations, even in small towns. If we were going to make progress, I had to rectify that.

  “Clement made it clear to me that if he did kill Gordon, he wants to make sure he’s put someplace where he can’t hurt anyone else. I’m going to fulfill his wishes. Since he can’t remember what happened, though, I want to make sure we have all the facts first. Is there anyone else who might have wanted to kill Gordon?”

  She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth for a moment. “Gordon and his brother
hadn’t talked to each other since their mother died. That’s the only person I can think of. And his brother’s the only person I can think of who knew for sure Gordon came here for breakfast every morning.”

  9

  Considering how my assumptions got me into trouble during Clement’s interview with Chief McTavish, I wasn’t going to make a similar mistake and walk into a meeting with Gordon’s brother without some sense of direction. Besides, not speaking to a sibling didn’t necessarily mean you’d want to murder that sibling. My dad and Uncle Stan were the perfect example. They hadn’t spoken in years, and yet my dad wouldn’t have killed Uncle Stan.

  Even though Gordon’s brother looked like my best option for finding someone who might have had a reason to kill Gordon, it was still a long shot and I needed more information.

  I started to dial the number for Hal, the private investigator I’d used to help dig up information during my last case, but stopped before I’d finished entering his number. On that case, I’d been working solo so I paid Hal myself. This time, I was technically working with Anderson. We hadn’t discussed specifics for invoicing contractors.

  I deleted Hal’s number and entered Anderson’s instead. When he answered, I explained what I’d learned so far and asked about procedure for hiring Hal.

  “At first I thought you were going to want me to join you when you met with the victim’s brother.”

  I hadn’t gotten that far in my thinking, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Chances were Gordon’s brother was innocent. But chances also were that six separate criminals wouldn’t attempt to kill the same person in the span of a year, and I’d proven those odds wrong. I didn’t take chances anymore.

  “I would like you to come along. My dad always felt two lawyers should attend every interview. Extra perspective.”

  Anderson sighed. “That’s another reason I need to hire an extra lawyer.”