Light exploded in her rear-view mirror, coursing through her pupils. She threw up an arm to protect her eyes from the glare. Behind her, a pickup truck had charged onto the road. It was crowding her bumper, its headlights almost even with her rear window. It started to pull around her.
She knew with the certainty of panic that if it passed her, the driver would run her off the road, maybe even try to kill her. She swerved to her left, blocking the truck, and back to her right. She struggled to follow the twisting ribbon of black. The curves in the road were like a predator, threatening to shrug off her car as she fought to keep it on the road, desperate to keep the truck behind her. The truck swung back and forth, seeking an opening. The road straightened out for a stretch. She floored her accelerator, but the truck swung wide into the oncoming lane, roared past her, spewing gravel from the shoulder, and cut in, just missing her front bumper. She grabbed her phone to call 9-1-1, but the truck sped off, its taillights shrinking in the distance.
She pulled off to the side of the road, her heart pounding, wetness under her arms. Get a grip. The truck wasn’t after you, it was just trying to get by. She forced her shaking hands to release their hold on the steering wheel. She sat there for a few minutes, willing her body to relax, to calm down.
Her heart had slowed to a near-normal beat. She pulled back onto the empty road, watching for headlights coming from either direction. Perhaps a mile further along, she spotted points of red. Taillights of a truck, its front end buried in the bush. The truck that had just passed her had failed to make the curve, ending up in the trees. A pang of satisfaction. Serves him right. She was tempted to drive by, but the driver was probably in distress. She pulled her car over to the side of the road and sat for a minute, anxiety telling her to keep going. But that was stupid. The driver had just been trying to pass her. She refused to let some fear control her, especially one that had no basis. She took a flashlight from the glove box and walked back to the truck.
“Are you okay? Do you need help?” The night and the forest absorbed her voice. She called out again. The truck’s headlights illuminated the thicket of bush and shrubs that had stopped it from dropping into a gully. From the back of the truck, she shone her light into the rear window. There was a figure inside. She called out again, but there was no reply.
She pocketed her phone and inched forward, easing herself up to the front door of the cab. The window was open. She shone the light into the compartment. A man sat, his head resting on the wheel, a blood-ringed hole blown in the side of his head. She gasped, dropping her flashlight into the gully, watching it disappear into the bush. She retrieved her phone and called 9-1-1.
In the darkness, she started to pull herself back toward the road. A rustling in the bushes. An animal? A snake? The shooter? Should she stay, hidden in the dark, or leave these woods for the safety of the road? Or was the road safe? Maybe she was better off here, hidden by the bush, than exposed in the open. She strained to listen. Silence. No. There was the sound again. Was it closer? Louder? She couldn’t tell. She fought back panic, unable to stay here by the side of the truck, unwilling to move back to the open road.
She eased her way along the side of the truck, trying to avoid making any sounds, knowing her attempts were futile. She hoisted herself over the side of the truck box and dropped down inside. It was no bulwark, but the steel of its sides quelled her panic. She was cowering there when the lights of a police cruiser lit up the bush around her.
The questions were cursory. Did she know the victim? No. Had she witnessed the shooting? No. Had she seen the truck go off the road? No. Had she seen any other vehicles on the road? No. Would she mind taking a gunshot residue test to see if she had recently fired a weapon? No, of course not. An officer swabbed her hands and the cuffs of her coat and told her she could go.
She walked back to her car, forcing herself to stifle her trembling. Back in the safety of her house, she opened her leather folder. Inside was a shred of paper with a scrawled notation, “See how easy it is. Back off or you’re next.”
8
Adam Archer and Colin Grogan were silent, the banter of the first meeting at the Brouer Foundation just a memory. Ruth Janner slumped in her chair avoiding any eye contact.
Kagan had arrived at the meeting with a stranger. “People, I’d like you to meet Gord Travathan. Gord and I have worked together before. He’s a private investigator. I’ve invited him here because this threat to Ruth raises this case to a new level that I don’t think we’re equipped to handle. Gord came to town a few days ago, and I asked him to poke around and see what he could come up with. He’ll tell us what he found out a little later.”
He cleared his throat. “You’ve all heard what happened to Ruth. I have to keep in mind you are all volunteers for the Foundation, and I’m not willing to put any of you at risk, so I suspended our investigation as soon as I heard about it. We’re here today to decide whether to proceed.”
“Whether?” Archer said. “Are you thinking of shutting this down?”
“Before I answer, let me confess that I haven’t consulted the police as I committed to do. The threat to Ruth came before I met with them, and I figured that putting the investigation on hold applied to me too. So I didn’t follow through.”
“Me neither,” said Grogan. “I was about to gather the court documents for my review when I got your call.”
Archer nodded. “Yeah, ditto.”
“So,” Kagan said, “it seems that only Ruth was able to complete her assignment. Ruth, do you have any idea why the Sandersons were so uncooperative?”
“You mean Larry Sanderson. His wife seemed to be as puzzled by his behavior as I was.” She hesitated. “I’ve dealt with a lot of unpleasant people, but he was something else. People don’t act in such a violent way unless there’s a powerful motivation. I think he was terrified.”
“Terrified? What of?”
“I wish I knew.”
Archer said, “That, plus the note, indicates there’s more to this case than a simple murder that Jake Handley did or did not commit.”
“Did not,” Gord Travathan said. “I met with Handley.”
Kagan asked, “Has he changed his tune about having done it?”
“No. In fact he’s more emphatic than ever and just as uncooperative. But when I asked him why he did it, he gave the same story he told in his allocution, word for word.”
“That could imply,” Grogan said, “that he did it. The truth does tend to be consistent.”
“Except that when I gave him an opening, a suggestion as to a motive that would be more reasonable, he seized on it. He told me she had ridiculed his lack of manhood and kicked him out, so he killed her in a fit of rage.”
“And you don’t believe it?” Kagan asked.
“Of course not. Otherwise, he would have said that in his allocution.”
Grogan said, “Perhaps he was embarrassed. What teenager wants the world to know that somebody thinks he’s incompetent in bed? What adult for that matter?”
“Maybe,” Travathan conceded, “but in that case, why reveal it now, and to a stranger? I think he was trying to invent a motive for me. It collapsed when I implied his lover was a slut. He defended her. So much so that if it hadn’t been for a guard, I have no doubt he would have attacked me.”
“So honor exists.”
“So it appears, but it makes it even less likely he killed her.”
Archer asked, “Okay, but if, as you believe, he didn’t kill her, why confess?”
“That’s the mystery.”
Janner shrugged. “All kinds of people confess to crimes they didn’t commit. The police spend a lot of time chasing up confessions that turn out to be bogus. Why do people confess? Some are disturbed or delusional or less than bright, some want publicity, and some are trying to protect someone else.”
“Okay,” Kagan replied, “do any of these apply to Jake? He wasn’t disturbed or delusional. He seems to have been a well-adjusted, popular kid who
was on his way to university. Did he want publicity? Well, he got it, but so what? He hasn’t given any interviews since his conviction, and I’m told he threatened to beat up some prisoners’ rights group that wanted to use him as a poster boy for a campaign against placing minors into maximum security prisons. That only leaves protecting someone else. But who?”
Archer said, “Well, isn’t it our job to find out? After all, we’re supposed to represent people who have been wrongly convicted, and I’m becoming convinced that Jake Handley is one of them. Look, I know it could be risky, but it’s wrong that someone like Handley, who’s still a kid for God’s sake, is in prison for something I don’t think he did. I’m willing to hang in there. At least for a while longer.”
Ruth Janner sighed. “This sounds crazy, but I’m in too. I won’t let what happened scare me off. After all, I work in the law, and it offends me when people end up rotting in prison for something they didn’t do.”
Grogan said, “I have to demur. If people are getting shot just to deliver a message, that goes way beyond my willingness to participate. I’m perfectly happy to review files, but not if there are madmen around who want to kill me for it.”
Travathan said, “Let’s get one thing clear. The shooting was not intended to deliver a message to Ms. Janner. It was no threat.” He turned to Janner. “If you had just locked yourself in your car and called 9-1-1, there wouldn’t even have been a chance to deliver the note you got.”
Janner’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowed. “I tried to help someone who needed it. You may think women should sit all pretty and helpless and wait for some strong man to protect them, but that’s not how I work.”
“You were on a remote road late at night in what could have been a dangerous situation. If you had locked yourself in your car, and called 9-1-1, there would have been no message.”
Janner’s face was flushed, her breathing shallow, her voice a snarl. “You can’t deny that this man was shot. How do you explain that?”
“Easy. This man, Andy Frier was his name, was shot by Bob McGregor.”
“Who?” The question was a chorus. “Who are they?”
“McGregor was a business associate of Frier. He came home early from an out-of-town trip to find his wife and Frier doing the horizontal tango. He pulled out a gun and shot Frier who stumbled out of the house to get to a hospital. He didn’t make it. He died just before his truck went off the road. Of course, being blocked by someone in a sedan didn’t help.”
“And you know this how?” Kagan asked.
“The police report. It’s remarkable how mundane the truth is and how easy to find if you’re not consumed by a hyper-active imagination.”
“Wait a minute,” Janner’s voice quavered, whether with rage or fear was hard to tell. “Are you saying I’m responsible for his death?”
“Hell no. The bullet in his brain is responsible for his death. You just got in his way.”
There was silence before Kagan asked, “What about the note? Surely that speaks for itself.”
Travathan shrugged. “I can only guess it was a move of opportunity by someone who happened to pass by, saw the accident, and recognized Ms. Janner’s car. I concede that somebody doesn't want the Foundation investigating this case, and whoever that was must have seized on the chance to add a bit of drama. But is there a real threat? No. After all, the note did say to back off. Do so, and the threat disappears. It is a mystery, but as you said, Max, without the cooperation of the principals, it will remain such.”
Kagan thought for a minute. “This isn’t a case we can win. I agree it’s the kind of thing we normally like to tackle, but we have two problems. First, nobody wants our involvement. Not the convicted kid, not his family, and now, not even the applicant. Frankly, it’s tough enough fighting the justice system when we have allies. Without them, it’s a losing cause. Second, even if there was no direct threat to Ruth, Larry Sanderson’s attitude puts this case on a different level. You guys are all volunteers, and I will not, I repeat, will not, put you at risk. I’m sorry, Adam, Ruth. I understand how you feel. Hell, I feel the same way. But the more I think about this, the more I have to admit this case is not one we can tackle.” He closed the file folder. “I’ll draft a letter to Maureen Sanderson. I thank you for your involvement, and I know we’ll have another case to work on soon.”
The others filed out of the meeting room. Travathan studied his friend.
“What?”
Travathan took a deep breath. “Max, I want this case and I want you with me.”
Kagan looked startled. “But you said—”
“Never mind what I said. That guy, Adam, was it? He was right. So was Ruth Janner. From my interview, I don’t believe the Handley kid killed Sherry Galina, but somebody is going to a lot of trouble to block any investigation. I want to take that on, and I want you to be part of it. Just like old times.”
“You didn’t mention this before. What changed?”
“You put your finger on it. Your normal cases involve willing participants. The investigations are interviews and reviews of documents. Analysis, but no real risk. That’s fine for volunteers, but this case is different. I believe there was a miscarriage of justice, and I also believe there’s danger.”
“You really think there’s danger, despite what you just told Ruth?”
“Of course there’s danger. Look, Jake Handley and the Sandersons are terrified, so much so that Handley is willing to spend the rest of his life in jail. And the Sandersons? They would rather risk the law than cooperate. And somebody left that note in Janner’s car. That spells danger to me. It’s the kind of case I relish, but your volunteers would be in over their heads. Way over. This case needs professionals. It needs you and me. What do you say?”
“Gord, I’d love to work with you, but we just can’t afford you. We use volunteers because we don’t have any money. And—”
“Money? Max, for God’s sake. Look, you know I’m going to go ahead with or without your support, but it would be easier with it.”
Kagan studied his friend. “Gord, what’s going on. After the Brouer case that we worked together, you were clear it would be the last. What’s different now?”
“Max, times change. I’ve changed. I’ve gotten bored chasing cheating spouses. This case is compelling. It’s exciting, and I want to pursue it. Come on. Despite what happened last time, we were a great team.”
Kagan shook his head. “Gord, I’m swamped. We have an appeal in another case coming up, and between stick handling that and reviewing the stack of applications, my time is taken. I wasn’t planning on getting involved in this case at all except in the preliminary stages.”
“Fine, but at least let me use the authority of the Foundation.”
Kagan sighed. “You know, Gord, sometimes you can be a pain in the ass.” He thought for a minute. “All right. Go ahead. I’ll offer whatever support the Foundation can provide, but I can’t participate personally. I’m afraid you’ll have to go it alone.”
Travathan frowned. “That doesn’t work, Max. I need a sidekick. Someone who can watch my interviews and read case files with a different point of view. Someone who can challenge my thinking and frankly, someone who is able to make leaps of imagination. I can’t. I have no imagination at all. You know me. I see everything in linear terms. I need someone who can—”
“Think outside the box?”
“You’ve been to too many motivational seminars, but yes, I guess that cliché is as good as any.”
“Gord, I have to admit I’m tempted. I’d love to take on this case. But I have responsibilities.” He shook his head. “Damn, that sounds so stuffy, but I’m the only one who can handle this appeal. The Foundation relies on me to keep it going. It would be great to work with you again, but I can’t afford to indulge myself.”
“Max, you’re developing maturity. That’s a curse. Okay, how about one of your volunteers?”
Kagan shook his head. “No, I won’t put any of them at
risk. I’m responsible for their safety.”
Ruth Janner strode into the meeting room and slammed the door behind her. “You’re talking about going ahead with this case?”
“Ruth, I thought you’d left.”
“I came back to ask you a question, and I overheard your objectionable friend trying to recruit you. Max, I know this case, and if the Foundation is going ahead, I want to be part of it.”
“I’m sorry, Ruth, I can’t allow it. There’s risk, and I’m not willing to expose my volunteers to danger. Besides, it’ll be Gord who would be investigating, and my guess is that after his comments here, he’d be at more risk from you than from whoever wants to keep Jake Handley behind bars.” Janner wasn't smiling. “My God. You’re serious about this. Gord, tell her it’s a bad idea.”
Travathan studied her. “Well, Max, there is some danger, which might be a good reason to get her involved.”
“A good reason to get her involved? Are you serious?”
“Think about it. She’s already attracted attention to herself, and once this investigation is under way, I’m not sure she’ll be safe whether or not she participates. I also suspect she’s headstrong enough to start her own inquiries, and I sure don’t want her getting in my way or risking herself any more than she already has. If she’s working with me, I can keep an eye on her.” He turned toward her. “Ms. Janner, clearly you believe the investigation into the Handley case should proceed.”
“That should be obvious, although if you’re implying I need a babysitter, you’re even more insulting than I thought.”
“All right. If you want to participate, convince me I should involve you.”
“Convince you? I don’t have time for games. If there’s anyone who should be doing the convincing, it’s you.”
“Well, as you said, there is a problem with Jake Handley’s conviction, and I intend to take a crack at solving it. This won’t be an official Brouer Foundation investigation involving the usual cast of volunteers, it’ll be more a quiet, background probing. If you want to be part of it, I’m in charge. I expect you to cooperate, to follow my lead, and not get in the way. Do you have a problem with that?”
A Vicious Balance: A Mystery Thriller Page 5