“What did you tell him?”
“To see you immediately.”
Newly visibly relaxed, as if my answer broke away some barrier between us. “He did. Yesterday afternoon.”
“Now you know everything I know.”
“No. I know more than you know.” The homicide detective got up from the table. “Stay put.” He walked to the door and slid a brass panel that changed the word “Vacant” to “Occupied” on the door’s exterior. Then he turned off the lights.
The two-way mirror on the wall facing me became a window with enough transparency to see a few lights glowing on the other side. Newly cupped his hands around his eyes and leaned close to the glass to better scan the adjacent observation room. Then he turned around.
“Change seats with me so I can see if anyone comes in there.”
I pushed my mug of coffee across the table and moved to the other side. “What’s going on?”
Newly slid his chair so I wouldn’t block his view of the now transparent mirror. “I told you yesterday I would follow the evidence wherever it leads, even if it’s to my partner.”
“I know. And I said I was sorry for doubting you.”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Now the evidence is leading to Hewitt Donaldson, and where some of my colleagues might be reluctant to investigate a cop, there is no such reluctance when it comes to investigating a defense attorney who uses every trick in the book, and then some, to get his clients off.”
“I know that too.”
“Well, as much as I might be at odds with Mr. Donaldson, I’m not one to jump ahead of the process.”
I listened between the words for what Newly was telling me. “You didn’t want to take him into custody, did you?”
“No. Things are a little too pat for my taste. Too circumstantial. But Carter overrode me. And Tuck, well, my partner’s too close to this one, and too ready to bring Donaldson down.”
“D.A. Carter enjoys the headlines,” I said.
“Especially when we’re making national news with this one,” Newly agreed. “Carter’s become a politician first and a prosecutor second.”
I wondered why Newly was telling me this. Maybe he wanted to make sure he held my respect. We’d had our differences, but when his former partner was murdered, Nakayla and I uncovered the killer. That earned us unofficial admittance as good guys in the police world, and the Asheville department extended us every courtesy they could.
I said nothing, waiting on him to explain why he was whispering to me in a darkened interview room.
“So, I don’t want the murders of Molly Staton and Lenore Carpenter to become Carter’s political agenda or Tuck’s personal agenda.”
“I don’t either, but what can I do?”
Newly leaned across the table.
“Donaldson has hired you to investigate. His goal is two-fold—first, find the killer and second, clear his own name of what will likely be a double homicide indictment. I don’t give a rat’s ass about clearing Donaldson, but I do want to apprehend the real murderer. You can focus elsewhere while I’m ordered to concentrate on Donaldson.”
Hewitt had been incorrect about the police becoming fixated on him as the sole suspect. It was the D.A. driving that agenda. Newly must be under a lot of pressure if he felt the need to confide in me.
“What about discovery?” I asked. “Is there funny business going on?”
“I don’t think Carter will risk withholding exculpatory evidence, and so far I’m not aware of any. But he’ll play tight with everything he can and try to surprise Donaldson whenever he can. You know as well as I do every piece of information is a possible connection to something else, something that could be exculpatory but will never come to light unless it’s pursued.”
“You’re giving me access to your case file?”
“I’m giving you my trust in exchange for yours.”
I laughed. “Newly, you know when someone says trust me, it’s the first sign not to trust him.”
Newly’s expression remained grave. “Trust but verify was President Reagan’s motto. He was before your time, but it’s good advice. Trust me to share what information I can, and you can verify its authenticity and follow it wherever you want. I’m trusting you not to use this information in any way that blows back on me. And I’m trusting you to share any leads you uncover, especially as they relate to Tuck. I don’t want any surprises.”
Newly’s motive became crystal clear. D.A. Carter and probably his police chief were boxing him into building the case against Hewitt. He knew Nakayla and I would be turning over every rock we could find in an effort to exonerate the lawyer. Newly was willing to give us some rocks to lift if we told him what we found beneath them. The last thing he wanted was to be blindsided by a partner who’d committed two murders. I didn’t believe Tuck Efird was capable of such a crime, just as Newly had serious doubts about Hewitt Donaldson’s guilt. Both of us were going out on a limb exchanging our information this way, but I was willing to go along.
“All right. It’s a deal.” I stuck out my hand and he gave it a firm squeeze. “Now, do you want to hear about my adventure at the Church of the Righteous?”
“In a moment. But first you need to know where things stand here. Hewitt is demanding a probable cause hearing. It’s his right and he knows his rights. He’ll be confronted with the evidence we’ve unearthed so far.”
“Which is?”
“His fingerprints all over Lenore Carpenter’s home and on items used within the time window of Lenore’s murder.”
“He told you that,” I said.
“Yes, he did. We also found his prints on her washing machine. Her missing gardening clothes and clothes of a different size that we believe belonged to Molly Staton had been run through a wash cycle.”
“Hewitt supposedly destroys DNA evidence while leaving his prints?”
Newly shrugged. “But we’re not just talking about Lenore’s house. We found a wheelchair in the back of his garage with soil samples that match Lenore’s potting soil.”
That hit me like a slap in the face. Especially since I was the one who told them to look for a wheelchair. Without trying to sound defensive, I said, “Again, he doesn’t deny spending time at her house.”
“Additional soil on the wheels that appears to match the mica-rich ground at Helen’s Bridge.”
I said nothing.
“And then there’s the photograph.”
“What photograph?” My stomach knotted because I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.
“That photographer who was on the scene when Molly’s body was dropped from the bridge.”
“Collin McPhillips,” I said.
“Yes. He framed a vertical shot. The Japanese all had horizontal framing. As a result, his image includes the top of the bridge. One of the shots in his rapid-fire sequence shows the blur of Molly’s body as it’s being rolled over the bridge wall. It also shows the blur of a shoulder and a shirt. A Hawaiian shirt. A Hawaiian shirt in the same colors worn by Hewitt Donaldson on Friday night.”
“Interesting,” was all I could say.
“That’s one reaction. The discovery enabled us to get a more extensive search warrant for his property grounds, and we’re pursuing another search warrant for his office. The office is going to be a screaming nightmare because of confidential files and attorney-client privilege. We’ll work with Hewitt and his staff as best we can, but Carter’s confident he’s got enough already for an indictment.”
“But you’re not.”
“Oh, he’ll get his indictment, and we’ll explore every nook and cranny of Donaldson’s life big enough to stick our nose in. But, like I said, it’s too neat. My gut doesn’t like it.”
“Then I’ll look into the wheelchair and shirt. Anything else?”
“No, but that could change
hour to hour. The ME is expediting the autopsy on the two bodies. I should have a preliminary by tonight.”
“When’s the hearing?”
“Nine tomorrow morning.” Newly stood. “Let’s swap places and turn on the lights. Then you can tell me about the good Reverend Brooks.”
***
“What’s the status of the voicemail?” Nakayla asked the question as soon as I finished telling her the details of my conversation with Detective Newland.
“He hasn’t received an analysis. He’s also submitted a request to the phone company for the call records for Hewitt’s landline.”
Nakayla slipped off her shoes and tucked her bare feet into the seam between the leather sofa cushions. We sat in our office. She nursed a cup of green tea. I sat in my customary chair across from her and sipped a glass of straight soda water in a futile attempt to purge cop coffee from my taste buds.
“I don’t think he believes Horace Brooks is involved, and after meeting the preacher, I’m inclined to agree.”
Nakayla nodded. “I did a little digging into his background. He’s a graduate of Princeton Theological Seminary and was a promising young theologian at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. Until his wife and one-year-old son were killed by a hit and run driver on the Upper West Side. He was on the opposite side of the street watching them cross. He was meeting them for ice cream.”
“Jesus. Did you get this from an Asheville source?”
“No. A national data search going back twenty years. Brooks doesn’t wear his tragedy on his sleeve. Evidently he abruptly quit his professorship and went off the radar. He and his tent surfaced here in Asheville two years later.”
“And I bet he hit rock bottom somewhere between New York and North Carolina,” I said. “Sounds like he’s rebuilt his faith on simplicity.”
Nakayla pursed her lips. “Maybe it’s more a case of simplifying his message. His office library looked pretty deep to me.”
“More volumes than Hewitt’s law office,” I agreed. “I was impressed he didn’t have any pictures of himself.”
“Or his family.”
“Yes, or his family.” I thought how painful it must be to lose them right before your eyes. I’d seen men die in battle and I’d survived an attack targeted to kill me, but to witness your wife and child run down in front of you must have tested every conceivable theological tenet Brooks held dear.
“Did Newly say anything about Junior?” Nakayla asked.
“Junior Atwood? I didn’t ask him. I was focused on linking Brooks to the voicemail.”
“But Junior set you up with the microphone this morning. He’s demonstrated he’s not above playing a dirty trick.”
“Maybe. Or if it wasn’t Brooks, maybe Cletus did it on his own. Either way, I don’t think the voicemail’s going to lead us anywhere that connects to the murders. Our priority is to learn how Hewitt got tagged with the hard evidence—the wheelchair and the photograph with a lookalike shirt.”
“Did you tell Hewitt that Newly’s helping us?”
“No. I didn’t speak to Hewitt. But Newly told me Hewitt’s notifying Carter that he plans to be his own attorney, and that as the defense attorney, he’s hired us as his investigators. I also think we should hire him.”
Nakayla set down her tea and crossed her arms in obvious disapproval. “Hire him for what?”
“For a dollar. We’re seeking his legal counsel on whether we have any liability as organizers of the fundraiser. It’s my idea to build an extra wall of attorney-client confidentiality.” I leaned back in the chair with self-satisfaction. “I’m not as dumb as I look.”
“I wouldn’t test that in court, hotshot, unless justice really is blind. Should we look for an explanation for the shirt?”
“Not yet. There’s nothing we can do between now and his hearing. Why risk Newly’s confidence? If Carter’s playing his cards close, he’ll know any leak about the shirt came from inside. I’ll confide in Hewitt once he’s out on bail.”
“You think he’ll get it?”
“It’ll be stiff, but Hewitt’s a lifelong resident, and I doubt if the judge will see him as a flight risk. Hewitt can argue that imprisonment would cripple his abilities to act as his own attorney.”
Nakayla nodded. “Okay. And in the meantime we do what?”
“I want to talk to Collin McPhillips and learn if he remembers anything about his photographs. And I’d like to see Hewitt’s garage where they found the wheelchair. Any sign of forced entry will help his defense.”
“I still think the voicemail is important. Someone tried to link Hewitt to the call, and that’s exactly what’s happening with the other evidence.”
Nakayla had a point. Just because we’d eased off Horace Brooks didn’t mean the phone threat was less relevant.
My cell rang. I pulled it from my belt and recognized the number. “It’s Newly. I’ll mention Junior.”
I pressed the green accept icon. “Yeah?”
“Can you talk?” Newly’s voice was low.
“Yeah.”
“Here’s a heads up. You know that voicemail you got at one-thirty?”
“Nakayla and I were just talking about it.”
“Well, our audio techs isolated and amplified the background. It’s a bar. You definitely hear snatches of conversation and glasses clinking.”
Hewitt’s alibi suddenly evaporated. “Was it from the Thirsty Monk?”
“We haven’t been able to penetrate beyond Donaldson’s number.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why spoof your own phone?”
“Why, indeed? I can only think of one reason. To build the defense case that someone was framing you. To confuse a jury. No one does that better than Hewitt Donaldson.”
Nakayla looked at me, trying to follow the conversation from my side alone.
I shook my head. “I don’t know about a jury, Newly, but it sure as hell is confusing me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nakayla and I replayed the voice message five more times. I could hear the murmur of conversation and the clinks of glasses, although nothing clear enough to identify the exact location.
“The voice doesn’t sound like Hewitt,” Nakayla said.
“Newly’s techs reported it had been filtered and modulated more than once.”
“Why so many times?”
“If the voice were run through a single effect, a reverse process could bring it closer to the original. Multiple filters make it difficult to reconstruct the initial sound frequencies.”
“So, the D.A. can’t prove the call’s from Hewitt?”
“No, but he can introduce the number from which it was placed.”
Nakayla frowned. “I thought Hewitt’s number was spoofed.”
“There’s no definitive proof yet. Newly says if it’s a spoof, it’s damned sophisticated. And Hewitt was in the bar till two. Nathan Armitage will confirm that. Odds are either Nathan or Hewitt went to the restroom and left the other alone at some point. I doubt if they can swear they were together at precisely the time the call was made.”
“Has Newly accessed the records of Hewitt’s cell phone?” Nakayla asked.
“In the process. But Carter’s not waiting. He thinks he’s got enough for his indictment and he’s pressing ahead full throttle.”
Nakayla swung her feet off the sofa and planted them squarely on the Persian carpet. “Then we’d better get moving. I’ll contact Shirley and let her know what’s going on. She’ll have a number for Collin McPhillips. I guess we should see him as soon as we can.”
I stood. “Ask Shirley if Hewitt ever had a wheelchair. And we need to look at his garage to see how secure it was.” I reached into the pocket of my sport coat. “Now I’m going to make a phone call of my own.” I held Pastor Brooks’ card in front of Nakayla’s face. “He off
ered his help and I’m taking him up on it.”
“Why?”
“Somebody went to great lengths to mask the voice on that message. You’re the one who pointed out his dirty tricks.”
“Junior Atwood?”
“He’s the resident audio expert at the Church of the Righteous. I’d like Brooks to arrange a little meeting, and then we’ll replay the message for both of them. Their reactions could prove interesting.”
I reached Brooks and told him I’d like to speak with Junior and him. I said Junior’s experience with audio equipment could be very helpful to an investigation. Since I understood there might be some hard feelings because of my role in Clyde Atwood’s trial, I told Brooks I’d appreciate if he would sit in. I wouldn’t need much time.
The preacher said Junior hauled farm-raised mountain trout from Asheville to Nashville every Monday and Tuesday where he delivered fresh fish to Tennessee wholesalers. But he’d be back for the Wednesday evening service. Brooks suggested we meet at the church at six o’clock.
“Can I tell Junior what you’re looking for?” Brooks asked.
“I’ve got some recorded sound that’s garbled. It’s for another case, not the custody dispute.” That was true. The case would be Hewitt’s murder trial. “Wheezer told me Junior had been an audio specialist in the military.”
“Okay,” Brooks agreed. “We can meet in my office. You know the way.”
When I hung up, Nakayla was still talking to Shirley. Rather than eavesdrop, I stretched out on the sofa to think.
“Wake up, Sam.”
“I was just resting my eyes.”
“From the drool on your chin, I’d say you were also resting your lips.”
She took my customary chair. “So, tell me about your talk with Pastor Brooks.”
I sat up and took a deep breath to clear my foggy brain. “We’re set for six o’clock Wednesday evening. By then Newly should have confirmation on whether it was Hewitt’s phone that made the call. How’s Shirley?”
A Specter of Justice Page 12