“We have read the file.” Grogan said. “Tell us something we don’t know.”
“Okay. There are two big problems. The first is motive, or rather its lack. This kid was hot for the Galina woman. He didn’t see himself as a victim or her as a predator. From everything he said, he figured he was into a good thing. Why would he want to end it? Remember, you need means, motive, and opportunity. Get it? Motive? Without a motive, his conviction is nonsense.”
“Not necessarily. There was a case just last year when a man was convicted of killing his business partner. The police couldn’t find a motive, but the evidence of his guilt was clear. Just because you don’t know the motive doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“Okay, maybe that’s sometimes the case, but if you’re going to convict someone without a motive, you’d better have damn good evidence. And that’s my second problem. There is no evidence. Nothing points to the kid as the killer. The affair? So what? If we locked up everyone who had an affair, there wouldn’t be enough people working outside the jails to support them. The kid was in a hurry? Again, so what? Maybe he was late for dinner or maybe he hadn’t had enough and was trying to jerk off on his bike.” He nudged Grogan again. “He wouldn’t be the first, eh?”
Grogan pursed his lips. “Speak for yourself.”
“As for the rest of the evidence, it’s vapor. There was no sign of forced entry? Big deal. Maybe she was boinking someone else. Maybe she forgot to lock the door. Maybe someone else had a key. And I’d like to point out that just because you’ve eliminated her husband as a suspect, you can’t assume her lover did it. You still have to go through the annoying task of finding proof, which the cops did not do. No, this was a railroad job. Furthermore—”
“Okay, Adam,” Kagan interrupted. He turned to Grogan. “Colin, what’s your take?”
Grogan paused to consider his words as if he were addressing a client on how to evade taxes without being caught, all the time being recorded by the tax department. “Well, on the face of it and all things considered, I have to agree with Adam that the evidence doesn’t reach even the minimal level necessary to overcome reasonable doubt. However, I don’t go as far as he does in dismissing it. For example, I find the affair compelling. Affairs are often messy. They can lead people to act in ways that violate social norms. I would also point out to my able colleague that we’re not talking about locking up everyone who has an affair, just suspecting those whose lovers end up dead.”
“Point taken.”
“As for motive, maybe she wanted to end it and he reacted violently. Maybe he was feeling guilty about what he was doing and lashed out at her. Maybe it was a sex game that went wrong. As I said earlier, just because we don’t know the motive doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.”
Archer said, “Yeah, but for a conviction—”
Grogan held up his hand and said, “However, all of these fine arguments pale against the one big hurdle we have to face. Jake Handley confessed. To me, that ends the discussion.”
“The hell it does. Okay, maybe I understated the evidence a bit, but I would expect that to get him to confess, the evidence would be stronger. For example, why don’t we have any explanation other than his bland statement during his allocution that”—Archer flipped through the pages of his file—“Here it is. He said, ‘I guess I just flipped out when she wouldn’t stop attacking me. I didn’t know what I was doing.’ Didn’t know what he was doing? Flipped out? Long enough to hold a pillow over her face and suffocate her? And she was attacking him? She didn’t corner him in some place he couldn’t get away, he went to her house. And for a whole month. If he was being victimized, he had plenty of opportunity to tell his parents, a teacher, even just to stay away from her. No, he panted his way there like a stud in heat. I don’t buy it.”
Grogan said, “Studs don’t go into heat. They respond to it.”
“You know what I mean. She didn’t force him to go to her place. That nonsense about her attacking him was just that. Nonsense.”
“But he confessed. And he identified aspects of the crime that the police had withheld.”
Archer sighed. “Okay, he confessed. But so do hundreds of pathetic little men who want some excitement in their lives. As for the withheld information, yes, that’s compelling, but come on. Surely it’s the job of the police and the courts to be satisfied that a confession is valid rather than simply accepting it so they can close their files. And”—Archer leaned back—“I haven’t even touched on my second big concern here. The kid was sentenced as an adult. He was only fifteen. He had no criminal record, and the crime didn’t carry any of the markers of rage such as multiple stab wounds or massive beatings. Why wasn’t he sentenced as a juvenile?”
Kagan asked, “Do you have a theory?”
“Yes, I have a theory. The courts were taking a lot of heat from a few asinine decisions. You remember the Stevens case? This guy gets plastered and runs down three kids waiting at a bus stop. Kills two of them. He apologizes to the court and gets six months’ probation.”
Grogan said, “We all remember that case. What does it have to do with this one?”
“Only that it sets a context for a court that was besieged by critics and decided to show how tough it was on crime.”
“As I read the file, the kid was pretty contemptuous of the police and the courts. He even gave the judge the finger.”
Archer slammed his hand on the table. “He was fifteen. He hadn’t grown a brain yet. I don’t think the judge’s hurt feelings justify an adult sentence. To me, that’s an even bigger problem. Furthermore—”
Kagan said, “Okay. We’ve heard from both of you. Let’s hear from Ruth.”
Ruth Janner frowned as if she had expected to be little more than an observer. She looked ten years younger than her thirty-two years, and unlike Kagan, spent a lot of time in the gym.
“Ruth, what do you think?” Kagan prompted her.
She remained silent for a minute. She wasn’t a lawyer, but she worked in a law office and Kagan had dealt with enough lawyers to recognize the tactic. Stalling allowed them to clarify their thoughts as well as to unnerve their audience. She cleared her throat and said, “I don’t think it matters what the evidence is or how he was sentenced or even if he really did it. Your problems are legal, not investigative.”
“Ruth, legal problems are what we’re best at. We’ve dealt with them with every case we’ve taken on.”
“Not this one, you haven’t. Your other cases were jury convictions, but that’s not true here. As Colin pointed out, Jake Handley pleaded guilty. He never went to trial. I did some research on that. Pleading guilty means that legally he has waived all rights to an appeal based on the evidence or any claim of innocence. The only grounds he has for an appeal is to claim he didn’t understand the consequences of his guilty plea, that he wasn’t competent to make it, or that he was coerced into it. I’ve read the court report, and his chances of winning that appeal are about nil. You’ll never get anyone in authority to even open his file just by casting doubt upon testimony or forensic evidence.”
Archer shook his head. “You’re new here. I can tell you the standard for review is pretty high as it is. All our cases require us to find evidence that is far more compelling than what the prosecution presented at trial.”
“I may not have done a lot of work for the Foundation, but I do work in a law office, and I can tell you the confession places the bar much higher than anything else you’ve encountered. You don’t need compelling evidence, you need proof bordering on the absolute.”
“But absolute proof is an unreasonable expectation. It’s not even possible.”
“Exactly my point.”
The room was silent. Kagan said, “None of you have asked my opinion. For what it’s worth, here it is. In terms of the evidence, I’m with Adam and Colin. I don’t think that even in aggregate, it comes anywhere near being sufficient. And Adam, I’m also disturbed by the adult sentence. In terms of the confession, I ag
ree with Ruth. For us to get this case reviewed, we would need to be able to prove that Jake Handley is not guilty—”
“Jake Handley is guilty,” Janner interrupted. “Guilt is a legal concept and within the law, he has been found guilty. What we are looking for is proof that Jake Handley didn’t commit the crime to which he confessed.”
Archer held up his hands. “Lawyers. My barber got it right. You guys exemplify split ends.”
“When one end leads to jail and the other to freedom, they’re hardly trivial.”
Grogan shook his head. “We have to prove he didn’t do it? How? You can’t prove a negative.”
Kagan replied, “Actually, you can, but it’s hard. In this case, we can prove Handley didn’t kill Galina only by finding out who did, and proving it beyond any doubt. I repeat, any doubt. Reasonable doubt no longer applies here. Look, people, this is the situation as I read it. I don’t believe Jake Handley killed Sherry Galina despite the confession. We are in the business of freeing people who were wrongly convicted. If I’m right, Jake Handley is one of those people. The question is, do we commit our resources to what may be an impossible case, or do we fold our tents and move on to a more winnable one? I need you to think it through and get back to me.”
“I don’t need to get back to you,” Archer said. “I think he was wrongly convicted, I think he was railroaded into adult court, and I believe it’s part of our mission to act on his behalf. I’m in.”
Grogan shrugged. “I’m not as convinced as you seem to be of young Mr. Handley’s innocence. Or should I say, in deference to Ms. Janner’s fine distinction, of the position that he didn’t commit this crime. Nevertheless, I suspect there is a wrong here that needs to be righted, so I am willing to contribute some time to it. However, may I suggest an approach?”
“Go ahead, Colin.”
“I propose we conduct some preliminary investigations, do some basic footwork, and review our results in a week or so. If by that time, we don’t have another suspect or if the evidence against Mr. Handley has not diminished, we agree to drop the investigation and move on.”
“Sounds fine to me. Ruth?”
“I’m not a very good Sancho Panza to your Don Quixote, but I’m not about to duck out just because the case is difficult. I can agree to a few hours for a basic review of the facts and maybe a couple of interviews.”
Kagan sat back, not allowing himself to show his pleasure at their agreement. He hadn’t expected it without more of a fight. “Okay. It’s agreed. Colin, will you review the court transcripts? Adam, I’d like you to look at the police interviews, in particular for anything that might implicate a third party. Ruth, can you meet with Maureen Sanderson? I’m sure she’ll have some valuable background. I’ll talk to the police. We’ll meet back here in one week.”
“What about Handley?” Archer asked. “We need to interview him to let him know we’re working for him and to dig into his background. It might be useful to find out if he’s actually capable of murder.”
“That’s covered. See you in a week.”
7
This was not Ruth Janner’s first time working with the Foundation, but it was the first that gave her any responsibility. Maureen Sanderson was one of the keys to this case, which put pressure on Janner to get it right. Although pressure was nothing new. Her entire career had been immersed in it. She was aware of the impressions her youth and stature conveyed, and she had learned how to use them to her advantage. To lull her opponents into overconfidence. Her payoff came when they relaxed into a smug amusement. She would marshal her arguments, discard her servility, and attack with a ferocity that startled even the seasoned lawyers in her company. So she had been deferential, even shy, when she called Maureen Sanderson and arranged to visit her that evening.
The Sandersons lived in an upscale community at the end of a two-lane road that wound through miles of forest. Glass and cedar houses perched on cliffs surrounding a cluster of inlets and islands. When Janner negotiated her way around the maze of crescents to the Sanderson home, the sun was setting, painting the clouds in orange and red, the colors reflected in the waters of the inlets.
The woman who opened the door made it clear by her expression that Janner was about as welcome as a door-to-door evangelist. “I’m sorry. You’ve come at a bad time. My husband just got home early from a business trip. Can we get together tomorrow?”
“Please, Mrs. Sanderson. I’ve come a long way, and I just have a few questions. I won’t take a lot of your time.”
“Who is it, dear?” A man’s voice came from within the house.
“Oh, just someone selling something. I’ll be in in a minute.” She turned to Janner and said, “I’d really rather talk to you alone. My husband is especially sensitive about Jake, and I don’t want to get his hopes up until I’ve got a better idea about whether or not your Foundation can help us.”
Janner started to object when the door flew open wide and a man, his face tight, pushed past his wife. He towered over both women. The muscles of his arms and chest had not fully yielded to time. “Look, my wife just told you to go. I don’t know who you are or what you’re selling, but when we say go, you go.” He started to close the door.
She pushed back, annoyance in her voice. “Mr. Sanderson, I’m with a law office, and I would advise you not to shut me out until you have heard what I’ve come to say.”
The door opened again. “A law office?” Sanderson looked at his wife. “What’s going on, Maureen?”
“It’s about Jake. She’s asking questions about Jake.”
Sanderson’s face tightened. “We have nothing to say. Now get the hell off my property.”
“Mr. Sanderson, you have a choice. Either give me a few minutes now or several days in court.”
Sanderson scowled at her. “Court? What do you mean? What’s going on?”
“We’ve been contacted with respect to your nephew and his conviction. We’ve received claims that I, as an officer of the court, am obliged to investigate. If you refuse to cooperate, I will see that you are charged with obstruction of justice. That’s a criminal offence that can carry a stiff fine, even a jail term. Now, you can slam this door and embark on a long, costly, and unpleasant legal battle, or you can let me in and answer a few of my questions now.” She held her breath hoping that neither of them had the legal training to challenge the inaccuracies in her statement.
Sanderson turned his back on her and strode into the house. Janner followed.
Once inside, Maureen Sanderson’s propriety emerged enough to offer Janner coffee as they sat down in the living room.
“First of all,” Janner began, “I’m sorry about Jake and about his parents. That must have been hard on you.”
“It was,” Larry Sanderson snapped. “But you didn’t come out here to sympathize over something that happened three years ago. Get to the point.”
“All right.” She turned to Maureen Sanderson. “Your application was thorough. It’s clear you believe Jake didn’t commit this crime. We’ve reviewed it, and we see some merit in your arguments. I’m here to—”
Larry Sanderson interrupted, “What application? What’s going on?”
“Mr. Sanderson, I’m with the Brouer Foundation for the Wrongly Convicted. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“No. What is it?”
“We examine cases in which there seems to have been a miscarriage of justice, and we attempt to get the courts to re-open the case files. Your wife submitted an application for us to review your nephew’s conviction, and—”
“She did what?” He thrust up from his chair, his voice a shout. “Maureen, why would you do such a thing without talking to me first? You know how I feel about all of this, and yet you applied to have the case re-opened?”
Maureen Sanderson started to cry. “I just can’t stand the thought of Jake being in that terrible place without putting up some kind of fight. I read an article in the paper about this Foundation, and I thought maybe they could hel
p get him get out of prison. He’s suffered enough.”
“Look, I understand about Jake, but there are things going on that you don’t know about. We’ll talk later.” He turned to Janner. “This meeting is over. If you have to lay some kind of charges against us, we’ll deal with that when it happens, but there’s no way that we’re going to talk to you or anyone else about Jake. Now, get out.”
“Mr. Sanderson, I just want—”
“I don’t care what you want. Either leave now, or I’ll pick you up and physically throw you out.” He towered over Janner. “How do you want to leave this house?”
Janner stood up. “I’ll go, but don’t think for a minute this is over.”
She strode out into the night air, heard the door slam behind her, and in the darkness that had descended since she had arrived, made her way to her car.
She slumped in the car seat, the tremor in her hands easing, her breathing slowing to normal. Her career had had its share of confrontations, but none that carried the urgency of violence that Larry Sanderson had delivered. She was sure he would have carried it out.
She let the darkness soothe her, replaying what had just happened. What could she have done, what could she have said, what retort could she have made that would have changed his mind? And why was he so angry? After all, she was trying to help them. His anger was not only distressing, it was baffling. She recalled someone from her past saying that anger was a convenient mask for other emotions such as fear. That fit Larry Sanderson’s reaction. Could it have sprung from fear? If so, it was closer to terror.
She pulled the car onto the road that wound through the forest, focusing on the road and the car’s headlights pushing back against the blackness. A touch of unease intruded. Some warning, perhaps induced by the night and the forest, began to invade her mind.
A Vicious Balance: A Mystery Thriller Page 4