by Lia Farrell
“Good morning,” he said. “I’m Detective Wayne Nichols. I have an appointment with Counselor Lawton.”
“Yes, sir. She called to say she’s been delayed in court. She should be here in about half an hour, but she said that if she didn’t make it back here in time, you should meet with the governor’s office staffer without her—her name is Carol Kyle-Norris. The building where you’re going to meet is 201 Townsend Street—the Capitol View Building. It’s on the third floor, Room 306. It’s just a couple of blocks from here. You can get something to eat at the little grill opposite the vital records office. It’s also on the third floor.”
“Okay,” Wayne said. “What time should I be there?”
“Eleven o’clock,” the young girl said. “Don’t worry. Ms. Lawton will join you as soon as she can.”
Wayne squared his shoulders. He was intimidated by the thought of meeting with a staffer from the governor’s office by himself, but he had some ammunition now. Jocelyn said she hadn’t been assigned an attorney. If her memory was correct, that could be grounds for her release.
Just as he was about to enter the revolving door of the Capitol View Building, someone tapped his shoulder.
“Are you Detective Nichols?” a woman asked. She was short, ruddy cheeked, and wearing a dark, hooded parka. He recognized her raspy smoker’s voice from their phone conversation. She had caught up with him on a sidewalk that ran in front of the large buildings. The wind was blowing hard, swirling sleet pellets around their faces.
“Yes, and you’re Enid Lawton.”
“I am. And I’m very appreciative of your offer to donate five thousand dollars to our project. That goes a long way on a shoe-string budget like ours. Let’s get a sandwich and talk before we go meet with the staffer from the governor’s office.”
Over stale, plastic-wrapped sandwiches and dispenser machine coffee, Wayne told Ms. Lawton about the years of abuse that Jocelyn endured before she killed Aarne. Enid’s dark eyes sparked when he told her Jocelyn hadn’t had an attorney.
“In the past, the old boys’ network thought a woman, particularly an Indian woman, could be denied due process without any repercussions. That day is over, thank God. And prejudice is waning. Do you know about the process of getting prisoners released, Wayne?”
“No, my work usually involves getting them locked up, not released,” he said and made a wry face.
“Right. There are three avenues of approach. The first is to fill out a commutation form. If that’s denied, then we request a hearing before the parole board.”
“She’s already tried asking for parole twice. They turned her down.”
“Perhaps with me writing the appeal letter asking them for a parole hearing, they’ll agree to hear her case. If that fails, the third option is to get the case re-heard by a judge. The judge can refuse to hear the case, can deny release, or can grant the attorney’s request to release the prisoner. I read the case file Evangeline sent me. Jocelyn should have been convicted of manslaughter and served a maximum of six years. Her murder-two life sentence was a travesty. Were you able to determine what kind of a prisoner Jocelyn has been?”
“I met with the social worker at the prison yesterday after I saw Jocelyn. According to her, Jocelyn has been a model prisoner. She taught inmates how to read and write. She learned sign language and translated for the deaf when they watched movies. She served in the kitchen every day.”
“Okay, that’s good. What about Aarne’s family—would they oppose her release?”
“All dead.”
“It’s usually helpful to have others write letters of support. Is there anyone left we could ask?”
“I learned something from Jocelyn on my visit yesterday. A neighbor woman found Jocelyn crying by Kurt’s grave. Her name was Becky Wilshire. I think she would testify to Jocelyn’s profound grief when she discovered that her son had been murdered.”
“Okay. Try and track her down then. I’m going to hit this with a three pronged approach. First, I’ll submit the commutation form. Assuming we’ll be denied, I’ll also request a hearing by the parole board. They’ll need letters from the social worker and the teachers in the educational unit about Jocelyn’s signing for the deaf and teaching inmates to read. See if you can get those. I’ll also request a letter from the Warden at Huron Valley, providing she’s in support of Jocelyn’s release. At the same time, I’ll start preparing a Habeas writ for the judge to ask for her release on the basis of time served.” Enid Lawton glanced at her watch and said it was time to meet with the governor’s staffer.
They met briefly with Miss Kyle-Norris. She was a skinny woman in her early thirties with dark reddish hair and bright blue eyes. Wayne introduced himself and then sat back while the two women negotiated a time for Ms. Lawton on the governor’s busy calendar. Having the governor pardon Jocelyn would be their last hope if the parole board denied her release again and if the judge wouldn’t hear her case. Walking back to Ms. Lawton’s office, as the wind thudded against them, Enid told Wayne she would get to work immediately.
“Before I file any briefs, though, you need to find Mrs. Wilshire and see what she remembers.”
“I’m on it,” Wayne said. “There’s one other thing you need to know. Jocelyn has stage four lung cancer. She’s going to start chemo soon and they don’t expect her to recover.”
“I’ll use that,” the attorney said in a cheerful voice. Seeing his distressed expression, she apologized. “I’m sorry, Wayne. It’s just that her cancer might make the judge feel more sympathetic. We can ask for compassionate release.”
All the way back to Rosedale, Wayne prayed that Becky Wilshire was still alive—that she would remember the day she found Jocelyn wailing at Kurt’s grave and would be willing to testify to what she saw and heard. None of this would happen, however, if he couldn’t find the woman or if she was already dead.
Chapter Fifteen
January 12th
Sheriff Ben Bradley
Deputy George Phelps bustled into Ben’s office and stopped in front of the sheriff’s desk.
“Yes, George, what do you need?” Ben said, looking up.
“It’s Dory.”
Ben took his eyes from his computer screen. “What about her?”
“She just called.”
As a stand-in office manager or even a receptionist, Deputy Phelps left a great deal to be desired. Dory and Mae had left the office an hour or so earlier, headed out to the Clifton property. Ben was apprehensive about sending Mae out there with her wrist in a cast, but she’d said she wanted to see the conditions at the puppy mill for herself.
“You know you can buzz me, right, George? You don’t have to walk down here.”
His deputy smiled. “I know I can, Sheriff.” George patted his ample belly. “Dory said it’s good for me to get up from the desk and move around. Helps keep me trim.”
“Right.” Ben tried not to laugh and failed. “Did Dory say what she needed?”
“Said she and your lady friend apprehended a suspect. They want you to come on out there and arrest him.”
Ben leaped to his feet. “Why the hell didn’t you say so?”
Deputy Phelps opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. He followed as Ben grabbed his coat and hurried down the hall. Rob Fuller’s door was open.
“Rob, C’mon! We’re going out to the Clifton property. It sounds like Jerrod showed up.”
Detective Fuller put his coffee cup down, stood up, and threw his coat on in one fluid motion. Walking quickly toward the office door, he asked, “Am I driving?”
“Yes, pull up in one of the patrol cars. I’ll be right out,” the sheriff told him.
“Boss,” George spoke up, “what am I supposed to do now?”
Ben shot him a glare. “Call Dory and tell her we’re on our way. And you’re on phones at least until she gets back. If anyone calls in a complaint, send Deputy Gomez to take care of it. And no computer games!”
Rob hit the siren as soon as B
en shut the passenger door and buckled his seatbelt. He drove slightly over the speed limit until they were out of the downtown area of Rosedale and then he floored it. Flying down the narrow, twisting country roads, he gave his boss a daredevil grin.
“Where’d you learn to drive like this? I know it wasn’t the police academy.”
“Gran Turismo.” The young detective’s smile grew even wider. “It’s a videogame.”
Great. “Well, we’re getting close. Kill the siren and slow down. I need to call Dory.” He hit the speakerphone and called Dory’s cell.
“Hi, Ben,” Mae answered Dory’s phone sounding a little breathless.
“Everything all right there? We’re getting close. Is Dory okay?”
Mae giggled. “It isn’t Dory you need to worry about. She’s fine, but she um, I guess subdued would be the word. She subdued the suspect and she can’t talk on the phone right now. What did you say, Dory?” Ben heard Mae and Dory talking. “Right. She’s sitting on his back.”
Ben was at a loss for words. He looked helplessly at Rob Fuller, who was shaking with laughter.
“Where is the suspect?” Ben finally asked. “The one she’s sitting on, I mean.” May as well keep the comedy rolling. Rob was laughing so hard, he started to cough.
“We’re in the field behind Jerrod Clifton’s house,” Mae said. “We wanted the suspect to stay in the garage so we could tie him to something, but he’s been very uncooperative. He tried to get away and then he sassed Dory, so she tripped him and sat on him. Just drive past the house and the barn and you’ll see us out here.” He heard a dial tone.
“The garage?” Rob looked at the sheriff. “I didn’t think there was a garage at the Clifton’s. Not by the house anyway.”
“I didn’t notice one either.”
Rob turned into the long gravel drive that started at a thick tree line and continued into open fields up to the house and barn where Jerrod Clifton had been running his puppy mill. He drove past the house and out into the field, which was rutted and still held traces of snow. Ben could see Mae standing in the distance. Her hair was blowing away from her face like a bright flag tossed in the wind. There was a building even farther beyond her that Ben thought must be the garage.
“Over there. Do you see her?” Ben pointed to the right.
Rob aimed the patrol car toward Mae and rolled to a stop a little ways away. She was standing close to Dory, who was, indeed, sitting on the broad back of what looked to be a full-grown man.
Ben got the cuffs out and he and Rob exited their vehicle.
“How’s it going there, Investigator Clarkson?” the sheriff asked. He winked at Mae. Rob was chewing his lower lip in an effort to maintain his composure. Ben knew he could not make eye contact with him or it would be all over.
“It’d be going a whole lot better if you’d cuff this man.” Dory gave him a look reminiscent of his ninth grade algebra teacher—an ogress of a woman who’d been known to reduce Varsity football players to tears. “While you were taking your sweet time about it, your girlfriend and I had to apprehend this fool on our own.”
Dory rose to her feet, Rob hauled the suspect to a standing position, and Ben put on the cuffs. He was a stocky man with dirty-blond hair and a short beard.
“Jerrod Clifton, you have the right to remain silent,” Ben started to Mirandize him.
“I’m not Jerrod!” the man burst out. “I tried to tell these crazy women, but they wouldn’t listen. They cornered me out in the garage and then the old one called your office. I tried to get away and then she pulled some judo move on me. I’m gonna lodge a complaint for police brutality.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” Detective Rob Fuller said. “You’re a big guy. Nobody will believe that Dory Clarkson, who isn’t even an officer of the law, brutalized you. With the help of a woman in a cast! And if you’re not Jerrod, who are you?”
“I’m Jerrod’s brother, Mike. My ID’s in my car over yonder. I was looking for Jerrod out by the garage back there. He wasn’t in the house or the barn. Then these skirts showed up and chased me out here. She tripped me and threw me on my face in the field.” He glared at Dory, who had started toward him at the word “skirts.”
“Stand down, Investigator Clarkson.” Ben turned to his scrappy investigator and his lovely girlfriend, both of whom were giving him guilty looks. “Is that true? And why were you all the way out in that garage anyway? That’s way outside the scope of the animal cruelty investigation.”
The two women glanced at each other and then started to speak at the same time.
“One at a time, please,” Ben said, looking at Mae. His head was starting to pound.
“We were done looking around the house and getting ready to go when we noticed a car parked behind the barn,” Mae began after another glance at her accomplice. “Then I saw the garage from across the field. It looked familiar and I convinced Dory we should go check it out.”
“That’s right.” Dory nodded her head. “And we found this guy out there skulking around.”
“Just a minute.” Ben looked back at Rob, standing patiently beside Mike Clifton. “Detective Fuller, why don’t you take Clifton to the patrol car and put him in the back seat. You can wait in the car with him. I’ll just be another minute.” He turned to Mae once more. “So the garage looked familiar?”
“It’s the one I came across when I got lost during the snowstorm. The visibility was so bad that day I never saw the house or the barn,” she said with a little frown. “I thought it might be the same one when I saw the outside, but when we went inside I knew it was—same place, same pile of copper pipes near the door. Then we saw Mr. Clifton. We were both so mad about the treatment of those poor dogs, and we thought he was Jerrod. I guess we didn’t give him a chance to say who he was ….” she trailed off.
Dory chimed in. “He sure acted guilty when he saw us. And he looks a lot like the DMV photo of his brother. We thought we’d made a big collar.” She looked abashed.
Ben closed his eyes briefly. “All right, Rizzoli and Isles. That was an honest mistake. But do both of you realize that what you did could have been dangerous?” They nodded, giving him big eyes and looks of sincere contrition. What a pair. “Detective Fuller and I will take it from here. I’ll see both of you later.” He gave Dory a sharp look, kissed Mae on the cheek, and went to the patrol car. Climbing in on the passenger side, he tried hard not to grin.
Ben watched out the patrol car’s back window as Mae and Dory walked across the field, climbed into Dory’s red T-bird and drove off. “My apologies, Mr. Clifton,” he said, looking into the back seat at Mike. They really had no grounds to hold him, let alone arrest him, and Mike Clifton had no reason to cooperate with them. Ben had to try, however. “Let’s get those cuffs off, Detective.” Rob got out and went around to the back, freeing the man’s hands, then returned to the driver’s seat. “I’m not going to detain you any further, but it’s urgent that we get in touch with your brother.”
“I’d like to get ahold of him too,” Mike muttered, rubbing his wrists and frowning. “He told me to come up here—said he needed my help with something. I get here and he’s not around.”
“Would you be willing to come to the office and answer some questions?”
Mike’s brown eyes were wary. He didn’t answer right away.
“Do you know Jerrod’s cellphone number?” Rob asked. “We need to speak with him about leaving his dogs without anyone to care for them, and we need his help with another matter as well.”
“It’s on my phone,” Mike told him. “Along with my ID. I can get you the phone number if you’ll let me out of the car. Maybe I’ll come to your office tomorrow; maybe I won’t. I’d like to wait and see if Jerrod turns up before then, all right?”
“Sure,” Ben told him. “Drive back over to the barn, Rob, and we’ll let Mr. Clifton get on with his day. Are you staying at your brother’s house tonight?”
“Only if my brother shows up. I’ve got no way to
get inside the house without him. Otherwise, I’ll get a motel room.”
Rob put the car in park and got out to open the back door for Mike, who stood up and inclined his head toward the old white Pontiac with South Carolina plates parked behind the barn. Rob and Ben followed him over to the rusty vehicle, and Mike grabbed his wallet and cellphone from out of the center console. He flipped the wallet open and presented his driver’s license to Rob. The detective read it and nodded at Ben.
“So Mike, could you give me your brother’s number? We need yours, too.” Ben took a business card out of his breast pocket and handed it to Mike Clifton.
“Yeah, here’s Jerrod’s.” He read the number off his phone and Rob entered it into his own cell. Mike gave his own mobile number to the detective.
“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Clifton,” the sheriff informed him. “Let us know if you hear from your brother. And don’t leave the area.”
Chapter Sixteen
January 13th
Sheriff Ben Bradley
Ben called Detective Wayne Nichols on his way to the office. The chief detective was driving back to Tennessee from Michigan, and Ben told him the tale of Dory’s first ‘collar.’ The two lawmen shared a laugh, then Ben said, “We called the number that Mike gave us for Jerrod, but he didn’t answer.”
“I’m thinking you could take this Mike Clifton to the morgue,” Wayne replied. “He might be able to identify the floater. But even if he can’t, it’ll probably shake him up. You might learn something.”
“That’s a good idea. Thanks, Wayne. Will you be in tomorrow?”
“I will as long as the weather holds. These roads are pretty bad today—snowed a lot last night. If it starts snowing again it might slow me down a little bit.”
“All right. Take it easy and we’ll see you soon.” Ben clicked the off button.
He decided to heed Wayne’s advice and take Mike Clifton to the morgue, in case he could identify the stabbing victim. When he got to the office, Rob Fuller was already at his desk.