by Lia Farrell
“You must be Al. Now that I see you again, I definitely remember you from the old club days. Are those flowers for me?” He nodded. “Thank you. Come on in a moment while I get them into water.”
Al followed Dory into her kitchen. She reached for a tall crystal vase, filled it with water, and installed the dozen white roses.
“You haven’t said a word, Al. Can’t you talk?”
Al swallowed, and in a strangled voice said, “I can’t seem to say a word except … wow. You’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Dory said graciously. It was true, after all.
Hearing a beep from the car in the driveway, Dory took Al’s arm.
He leaned close to whisper, “I always envied Elmer for being married to you. Lucky guy. But you might need to put on a little weight. I think you’ve gotten almost too thin.”
“And you’re almost too smooth, my lucky date.” Dory put a hand on her hip and a slow smile spread across Al’s dark face.
Sunday morning dawned crisp and clear. The sun came out and Dory, only slightly hung over, made some coffee and popped a tray of blueberry muffins in the oven. Al did mention her needing to gain some weight, she thought with a smile. Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang and Dory went to let Mae inside. She was standing on the front step. In her right hand was a small white puppy with a black spot over one eye that also covered part of an ear.
“Damn girl, what’d you bring me a white dog for? Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m black! That better not be my present. Return that little critter to your car and then you can come on in.”
“Just hold her for a minute, Dory. I have something else for you.” Mae handed the dog to her before going to her vehicle. Dory took the puppy in and got the muffins out of the oven. She was sitting in the kitchen with the pup in her lap when Mae returned with two stacked bowls, a bag of puppy food, and a small leash held against her chest.
“The supplies are your gift and her name is True,” Mae smiled.
True was licking Dory’s hand. She broke off a piece of muffin, blew on it, and fed it to the puppy before sighing in capitulation. Dory cast Mae an oblique glance. “Okay. You win. Good to have someone be true to me. Lord knows it hasn’t happened often. I’ll keep the mutt, but on one condition. You have to help me with a little problem I’ve been having.”
“What is it?” Mae asked.
“Well, you know that Ben appointed me as an investigator when the puppy mill tip came in, right?”
“I know.”
“I stupidly talked to the press the day of the raid and it was reported later on Channel Three news. They got footage of the knife and bloody rag I found, plus I almost blurted out about you finding the body.”
Mae nodded her head emphatically, blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Ben told me about that. He was furious.”
“Did he tell you that he demoted me for it?”
“No,” Mae frowned. “He didn’t. That’s too bad.”
“I’m just trying to get my previous title back, that’s all. I didn’t pass the physical for my deputy exam, so until I take it again and pass I can’t be a deputy,” Dory heaved a sad sigh. “I’ve been doing everything I can think of to get reinstated, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. Do you have any ideas?”
“Like most men, my boyfriend doesn’t exactly pick up on subtle clues.”
Dory raised her eyebrows and nodded in concurrence, passing another bite of muffin to her new dog.
“So it’s possible he doesn’t even know you want the investigator job back. Plus, he’s really been stressed about work. I think you need to wait it out, or maybe you should talk to my mom. Between the two of you, Ben wouldn’t stand a chance. Or do you want me to talk to him about it?”
“No, honey, that won’t be necessary. But I haven’t spoken to Suzanne in quite some time and she might have some advice. Sit down, child. Have a muffin and tell me what I need to know about this little stray.” True gave a little bark and both women laughed.
When she reached Mae’s mother by phone later that day and filled her in, Suzanne December didn’t have any ideas either.
“I don’t have to tell you how stubborn Ben can be, but don’t let the situation get you down. You just need to be patient and he’ll probably come around. I’ll let you know if I think of any ideas, though.” Suzanne paused. “I can’t believe you kept the puppy Mae brought you without asking first. That is not how she was raised. Besides, we’ve been friends for a long time, and I’ve never known you to have so much as a goldfish.”
Dory laughed. “It was a bold move, no doubt, but I do have a soft spot for that child of yours, especially when she shows up looking pitiful in a cast. You know it and she does too. And I can’t believe it myself.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
January 20th
Detective Wayne Nichols
Wayne Nichols didn’t pray often—he didn’t really believe in divine intervention—but since the conclusion of the joint sting operation that led to the arrest of Manny Torres, he had been praying nonstop for Jocelyn. Enid had asked him to locate Becky Wilshire and if possible get a letter of support from her for Jocelyn’s hearing before the parole board.
Wayne’s fingers were shaking as he punched in the phone number he had found for Becky Wilshire. She was living in an assisted living facility in Escanaba called Northwoods Place. It had been tough to find her, but once he got a phone number and called the facility, the director, who had lived in the area for years and knew the Wilshire family, confirmed her presence.
“Northwoods Place,” the receptionist said.
“Can you connect me to Mrs. Wilshire’s room?” Wayne asked.
“Certainly, sir.” Wayne heard the phone ring four times before someone answered.
“Hello? Is this Mrs. Wilshire?”
“Yes,” it was the quivery voice of an elderly woman. “I’m Becky Wilshire.”
“I don’t know if you remember me, Mrs. Wilshire. I’m Wayne Nighthawk Nichols. I was Jocelyn Outinen’s foster child. I came to your house after the Outinen family moved away. Do you remember that?”
“I think so.” She sounded a bit uncertain but then her voice strengthened. “Yes, I do remember you. You ran away, didn’t you? When you were about sixteen or seventeen?”
“I did. I came back about three years later.”
“Why are you calling me?” The old woman’s voice sharpened.
“I found Jocelyn Outinen. Did you know she’s in prison?” Wayne heard Becky Wilshire take a quick breath. “She was convicted of killing Aarne. Jocelyn told me you found her sitting in the field, crying, before Aarne died. Is that right?”
“Yes, I was up on the ridge and heard a scream. I came down the hill and found her. She said Kurt was dead. She should have called the police, of course. I told her to, but she said she wanted to be alone for a while. We were threshing and I needed to get back to help my husband and the boys. When we went over there a few days later to check on her, the place was vacant.”
Wayne was picking his words carefully now. “I’m trying to get Jocelyn released. She’s already served over thirty years, and she killed Aarne in self-defense.” He waited, not wanting to lead Mrs. Wilshire, hoping she would say something about the years of abuse Jocelyn endured or the way Kurt died.
“I knew Aarne beat her. I tried to get her to leave him several times, and then he killed little Kurt, did you know that?”
“Yes, that’s what Jocelyn said, but there was no evidence. They even suspected Jocelyn might have done it.”
“Idiots,” Becky Wilshire said. “My husband witnessed what he later thought was the crime.”
Wayne almost stopped breathing. A witness. Maybe there was a God after all. “Is Mr. Wilshire still alive?” Please, God, let him still be alive.
“Alive and kicking.” Becky Wilshire laughed. “He’ll outlive us all. He’s having coffee with his friends at the Sip ’n Snack, reminiscing about old times. Do you want to talk to
him?”
“Yes, please.” They arranged a time for the call. After a few more minutes, Wayne hung up the phone. His hand was sweating and he could hardly breathe. What Mr. Wilshire saw might not help Jocelyn at all, but it could help Wayne get the record corrected. Mr. Wilshire’s testimony might mean that Kurt would no longer be listed as killed by ‘person or persons unknown.’
It was the day of Jocelyn’s hearing before the parole board. She had always been turned down before and Wayne felt it was unlikely that she would be paroled this time either, although according to Miss Lawton she had been eligible for parole after serving ten years of her sentence. The only thing that had changed for Jocelyn this time was that Enid helped her prepare her application letter and rehearsed her on what to say.
Ms. Lawton had emailed Jocelyn’s letter to the parole board to Wayne late the previous day. In the letter, Jocelyn presented her side of the story and the reasons she thought she should be paroled. She included a description of the night she killed Aarne, mentioned the fact that she had no prior criminal history, and listed her accomplishments in the facility, including teaching inmates to read and interpreting for the deaf. She said she had family living on the Potawatomi reservation near Escanaba in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula who would welcome her. Wayne thought it was a good letter and covered the important points. And Enid’s editing had preserved Jocelyn’s voice.
Enid called his cellphone right after Wayne got to the office on January twentieth.
“Detective?”
“Ms. Lawton, thank you for sending me Jocelyn’s petition. What do you think her chances are?” Wayne heard the attorney sigh.
“I’m afraid they’re still not very good. Even if the board grants her parole, it doesn’t end there. The governor can still reject the board’s decision, although I believe we’ve covered that possibility by meeting with his staffer ahead of time.”
“What does the parole board look at when they’re making these decisions?”
“First, they determine whether the prisoner has observed the rules of the institution. There’s no doubt Jocelyn has done so. Second, they ask whether her release would jeopardize the public welfare. Jocelyn is elderly and terminally ill, so she isn’t going to re-offend. The third thing is tougher and more subjective. The parole board must be convinced that her release would not depreciate the seriousness of her crime or promote disrespect for the law.”
Wayne sighed. “So they’re worried that if they release Jocelyn, more women will kill their husbands thinking they can get away with murder? It’s ridiculous. On average, more than three women a day are murdered by their husbands or boyfriends in this country. My girlfriend’s an ER physician. She says over a third of women who come to the ER are there as a result of partner abuse. It’s remarkable to me that more murders aren’t committed by abused women.”
“I agree, Wayne. The hearing’s at three o’clock today. I can be in the room, but I can’t speak. In fact, I’ll be seated behind Jocelyn so I can’t even make eye contact with her. After she makes her case, the board will adjourn to deliberate. When they return, they’ll give their decision. One good thing is that the prison doctor is going to ask for her release, on the grounds of compassionate relief.”
“All of that sounds good. I wanted you to know that I’ve set up a bank account in Jocelyn’s name in Escanaba. All the Huron Valley prison is obliged to do is buy her a bus ticket to her home town and give her twenty dollars. The account has a balance of one thousand dollars right now, and I’ll continue to put money into the account monthly for the rest of her life. I put a check in the mail for two hundred to your office the other day, for you to get some clothes for her to wear if they release her.”
“Yes, it arrived yesterday. I cashed it and called and got her sizes. Our receptionist is going to shop for the clothing today.”
“Thank you. Is there anything else I need to do?” Wayne asked.
“Not for the moment. We should have a decision around five today and I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“Do you think I could speak to Jocelyn before the hearing? I want her to know I’m thinking of her and to wish her luck.”
“I’ll arrange a call for tomorrow, but she’s exhausted right now. Chemo is taking every ounce of energy from her. And her fears that she won’t be released are also taking their toll. I don’t recommend that any of my clients talk to family the day of their hearing. They need to focus on doing the best job they can of convincing the panel of their sincerity and remorse.”
“Remorse ….” Wayne hesitated. “Do you honestly believe Jocelyn feels remorse for what she did to Aarne?”
“Actually, no.” Enid’s voice was dry. “She feels that Aarne deserved it. We’ve gone over this again and again. I’ve told her no matter what she feels, she needs to say she feels bad about what she’s done. The ticklish thing here, of course, is the murder of your younger brother. The parole board’s going to say that Jocelyn was in the grip of rage when she found her son’s grave. Since she killed Aarne later that day, they’re going to say it was premeditated.”
“Guess we have to hope that doesn’t even come up.”
“One other thing,” Enid said. “You told me when we spoke originally that you wanted to have a grave for your brother.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Wayne said.
“Have you tried the Unclaimed Person’s Database? It’s part of the Department of Justice database and contains information about deceased persons who have been identified by name, but for whom no next of kin or family member was available to claim the body for burial. Only medical examiners and coroners may enter cases in the UCP database. However, the database is searchable by the public using a missing person’s name and year of birth. I imagine that Jocelyn gave them Kurt’s name when she was arrested.”
“Thank you, Ms. Lawton. I’ll do that today. I’ve been afraid that he was buried in an unmarked grave by now.” Wayne took in a strangled breath.
“I obtained Kurt’s death certificate and autopsy report. His autopsy said he was killed by gunshot wounds to the chest. I’m sure they still have the bullets in the evidence locker at the police station, since it was an unsolved case. I can’t talk any more right now, Wayne, but I’ll tell Jocelyn you’re thinking of her.”
“Tell her I’m praying for her,” Wayne replied quietly. He knew if the bullets from Kurt’s body came from the gun in an old shoe box on his closet shelf, it would constitute conclusive evidence that Aarne was Kurt’s killer. But no amount of wracking his brain brought Wayne any closer to a way to get the gun to the Escanaba police without implicating himself.
At four-twenty Wayne’s phone rang. “They turned us down,” Enid Lawton said, and Wayne’s hopes crashed around him.
“We’ll try the judge next, and then the governor.” At least Enid wasn’t giving up. “But it’s a long shot. Michigan is known as one of the states that’s the most reluctant to release prisoners. And nobody cares about abused women prisoners, nobody,” she said bitterly.
A short time later his phone rang again. The name on the display was Mark Schneider.
“Yes, Mark. What’s up?”
There was a hesitation and then Mark said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Detective. The day you came over here, the captain asked what I’d been doing to help you. I told her I was trying to help you find the fugitive you were chasing. When I told her I found Mrs. Outinen in prison, she said the fugitive you were hunting wasn’t a fugitive any more. I think Captain Paula’s going to talk to Sheriff Bradley and tell him to deny your leave.”
Wayne saw the handwriting on the wall. He logged on to his computer and withdrew his request for a leave of absence. He would talk to Ben about it again after the murder was solved.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
January 24th
Dory Clarkson
Dory had been looking at Jerrod’s cellphone records until her eyes blurred. During the period between January first and seventh, Jerrod h
ad made four phone calls to Web Johnston and several to his brother, Mike. Jerrod’s parents lived in Mississippi. He had called them on January first and then again on the fifth. Dory approved of that. Jerrod had also called a low-level hood named Manny Torres several times. Because of the successful sting operation, they knew Manny was the head of the copper theft ring. Clifton had made calls each day during the target period, but Sheriff Bradley was still not buying Jerrod’s alibi.
“He could have made those calls from Rosedale, Dory,” Sheriff Bradley said. “Did you get the OPC codes?”
Dory looked blankly at the sheriff.
“Originating point codes. That will tell us where he was when he made those calls. Once you get those, I want you to go over to the lab; they aren’t answering the phone. Check with Emma and Hadley to see whether there was a GPS on his truck. Maybe we can get into the history on that device.” Ben’s features tightened. “Even though the initial DNA wasn’t a match, I just know Jerrod murdered Web Johnston.”
“Not such a big loss,” Dory said, under her breath.
“Are you being dismissive about murder?” Ben rose to his full height, a picture of righteous indignation. “I don’t care what kind of man Web was, he didn’t deserve to be killed. And Jerrod’s a thief and a druggie who’s already been convicted of animal cruelty. Not such a great guy either, you know.”
“Sorry, sir,” Dory said. “I’ll go around to the lab and see what they found in the truck.”
She rose from her desk, grabbed her coat, and went outside. Walking around the back of the building to the lab entrance, Dory pulled her coat more tightly around her. A cold rain was beating down, and Dory felt increasingly discouraged. She had hoped all this scut work might reinstate her in Ben’s good graces, but it hadn’t. There were days she wondered why she still bothered to work for the sheriff’s office. She was old enough; she could retire.