You Think You Know Me Pretty Well

by David Kessler

  “What do you mean?”

  Burrow’s breathing was heavy, as if not daring to hope.

  “He’s offering you clemency – but it’s conditional.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he’s ready to commute your sentence to life if you ‘fess up.”

  “That’s it?” said Burrow, letting the air out of his lungs.

  “No, there’s one more thing. You’ve got to reveal where you buried the body.”

  The smile vanished from the condemned man’s face.

  “Fuck it!” yelled Burrow, pounding his left palm with his right fist. “Goddamn fuck it!”

  Alex looked at his client, puzzled.

  “Why, what’s the matter?”

  “I can’t do it! I can’t fuckin’ do it!”

  10:39 PDT

  It had been most kind of Chuck to lay on a limo, Esther Olsen thought.

  The overpass drifted away behind them. But Esther was past the stage of admiring the view. On the way there it had been a distraction from her worries. She didn’t drive and illness had left her pretty nearly housebound. So any journey like this was an escape, both mental and physical. But the novelty soon wore off.

  The same was true of the limousine. The luxury of its leather upholstery and lacquered wooden paneling raised her pleasure level, but only by a microscopic degree. And such petty pleasures were short-lived when ranged against the quantum of suffering that had borne down upon her in recent years. First a murderer’s unbridled malice had claimed her daughter. Then the ravages of disease had selected her at random and struck her down with a death sentence of her own.

  She had had her fair share of life and although it hadn’t always been a smooth ride, it was at least a fair crack of the whip. She could accept being singled out by the Grim Reaper. But it was the loss of her daughter that had been unforgivable: for that was the work of human agency. And she blamed not only Burrow but also her husband.

  Yet it was precisely from this anger that she wanted to escape. That was why she had approached Dusenbury and persuaded him to offer clemency to Burrow. As her own fate loomed up ahead, she needed closure more than revenge. And that was also why, as she closed her eyes, she now felt herself drifting back to a happier time.

  She couldn’t understand why, but of all the memories that flashed through her mind, the one that lodged itself and lingered at the forefront was the one-night stand.

  They were both students: he celebrating the end of his tentative first year at law school; she celebrating completion of her finals for her finals for her bachelors degree in literature. It was one of those drunken frat parties where everyone knows someone but no one knows everyone. Even now she didn’t remember how they had ended up in the sack together. Yes, the drinks had been flowing freely. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, they had both been sitting in the corner, trying to withdraw from the rowdy celebrating and wild carousing that had long since lost its appeal for both of them. She wasn’t cerebral like him, more the free-spirited romantic type. But she was the quiet type. That much they had in common.

  She was also engaged, to a decent if somewhat boring – not to say cold – man whose family was “well to do” and who had “prospects” according to her pushy mother. Was it an attempt to escape from an engagement that she never really wanted? Or a final celebration before she lost her freedom forever?

  Whatever the reason, the memory of that night of passion reminded her of a phrase from the end of Hardy’s Mayor of Casterbridge about happiness being “an occasional episode in a general drama of pain.” It was a line that Dorothy had talked to her about for many hours, after reading the book in happier days when mother and daughter could still talk to one another. Esther had thought that Dorothy was too young to read such a book. But Dorothy had lapped it up with her unquenchable thirst for literature that she had inherited from her mother.

  But the line lingered with Esther now. Had there been any truly happy moments in her life after that? Her marriage to Edgar certainly hadn’t been happy. She wondered if the blame had been hers … if the marriage had been tainted by that one fleeting indiscretion before they had even solemnized their union.

  And yet she felt no guilt, not even when her thoughts rolled on through the years and settled on that image forever frozen in her mind – the image of her husband lying there with a bullet hole in his head.

  10:43 PDT

  “We’re talking about your life!” Alex practically shrieked. “When I went in to meet the governor, I thought you were a dead dog. And now he’s throwing us a lifeline – against all the fuckin’ odds! Are you just gonna fling it back in his face?”

  “You don’t understand!” Burrow replied, sobbing into his hands. “I can’t tell you where she is because I don’t know where she is!”

  “What do you mean ‘don’t know’?” asked Alex, looking round to make sure that the guard outside was out of earshot. “Are you gonna carry on with this innocent act even now, when you have a chance to save your neck?”

  “It’s not an act! Look, I’m telling you I never touched … I mean, I didn’t…”

  He broke off, seeing the look of disbelief in the lawyer’s eyes. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Alex tried again.

  “Okay, so what do you think happened? You think someone else killed her? You think she just walked off the edge of the earth?”

  “She set me up!”

  “What?”

  “She framed me!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why do you think her body was never found?”

  Alex realized that this was no time for pussyfooting round – not if he wanted to save his miserable client’s neck.

  “Because you buried her?”

  “Because there was no body! She’s not dead, I’m telling you. She’s sitting in a room somewhere, watching the TV, laughing her head off at this whole cornball sideshow!”

  “You think so?” Alex practically sneered.

  “Goddamn right, I think so!”

  “And have you got anything by way of … evidence?”

  Burrow looked at the lawyer like he wanted to hit him.

  “If I had evidence d’you think I’d be in this shit hole?”

  Alex was breathing heavily, trying to restore calm.

  “Okay, I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. But just tell me one thing … why would she frame you?”

  “What?”

  “Motive? What’s her fucking motive?”

  Burrow’s face showed how hard he felt the full force of his lawyer’s skepticism.

  “You think I’m bullshitting, don’t you?”

  Alex sighed.

  “I think you’re clutching at straws.”

  But he knew that this didn’t make sense either. Why would Burrow be clutching at the straw of a crackpot theory, when the governor had just thrown him a rope?

  “I think she did it because I…”

  He trailed off. But Alex could see in his eyes that he wanted to say more. He tried an encouraging tone.

  “What? Bullied her at school? You think she’d take it this far? Just to get revenge on a bully?”

  But Burrow’s mood had changed.

  “Look, forget it, okay? Let’s just forget it. You’ve done your best for me. I can’t say you haven’t gone the extra mile. Now let me just prepare for the inevitable.”

  Alex was looking at Burrow with an uneasy thought going through his mind: this was not the response of a guilty man.

  10:52 PDT

  Martine Yin was checking her makeup in the trailer outside San Quentin prison preparing for her next report. It was a hot day, and she decided to swap her blue jacket for a man’s waistcoat – the one that she wore as a semi-professional snooker player.

  Her mind was focused on the matter in hand. She had spotted Burrow’s lawyer going into the prison and had been hoping to get an interview with him when he came out, but she found herself caught in a media scrimmage and was un
able to get anywhere near his car before it broke through the line and receded into the distance. She knew that the lawyer had been scheduled to meet the governor that morning, but that was just a formality. Besides, if anything had come out of that meeting, it would have been announced by the governor’s office.

  Nevertheless, she did want to talk to Sedaka, if only to get the low-down on how his client took the inevitable bad news. But she had missed the opportunity. Aside from that, she assumed that Alex didn’t want to talk about it. In fact he probably couldn’t talk about it. But still, it would be nice to get an exclusive.

  The problem was how to contact him. All she had was the number of Sedaka’s office. The secretary had been polite, but consistently refused to give out Sedaka’s cell phone number.

  So now Martine just had to sit tight outside San Quentin awaiting further developments. The report this morning had gone well. Of course as the execution time approached, things would hot up. The closer to midnight they got, the bigger this story would become. There was no chance of the governor granting clemency – notwithstanding his own unpopular views on capital punishment. Indeed the only thing that could upstage the execution itself would be if Dorothy Olsen walked in off the street and said: “Surprise, surprise! I’m alive!”

  Martine smiled at the thought. It reminded her of all the urban legends and conspiracy theories about the Lindbergh baby, complete with several people claiming to be the dead tyke – including one who was black and female!

  There were a few doubts about the case against Hauptmann, who had been executed for the murder of the baby. Some said his trial was unfair – not least the atmosphere of vengeance amid which it had taken place. But it was a strong case nevertheless. Likewise the case against Clayton Burrow.

  The cell phone cut into her thoughts.

  “Martine Yin.”

  “Hi, Marti, it’s Paul.” Paul was an eager kid who worked at the station. “We’ve just had a tip-off about what’s going down in the Burrow case. You’re not gonna believe this.”

  In response to what he said next, her jaw dropped.

  11:04 PDT

  “And he didn’t say why?”

  “No. He just claimed she framed him and then pretty much clammed up.”

  Back in the car, Alex hadn’t even bothered to tell Nat about Burrow’s response at first, and Nat hadn’t asked. Alex realized that the look on his face must have said it all. Only when they hit the road and found themselves back on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, did Nat ask.

  “So what are we going to do?” asked Nat.

  “Not got a fucking clue.”

  “Why would she frame him?”

  “Well everyone knows he bullied her in high school.”

  “Yeah but framing him for murder’s a bit OTT.”

  “That’s what I thought. But the fact of the matter is, he was thrown a lifeline and he didn’t take it.”

  “Maybe you read him wrong? Maybe he doesn’t want to live at any price?”

  “Maybe. But then again maybe I read the case wrong.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning Nat, maybe – just maybe – he’s innocent.”

  “You believe him?”

  “Why else would he refuse the lifeline?”

  “He probably doesn’t remember where he hid the body. It was nine years ago, don’t forget.”

  Alex shook his head.

  “That’s not what he said.”

  “Okay, let’s assume he’s innocent… how are we going to prove it with only – ” he looked at the clock on the dashboard – “thirteen hours to go?”

  Alex thought about this.

  “We’ve spent the last few weeks arguing the law. Maybe it’s time for us to take another look at the facts.”

  “And what are we supposed to be looking for?”

  Alex didn’t answer immediately. Instead he pulled out his iPhone and called the office. Juanita answered.

  “Hi, Alex,” she said, as his number popped up on the display. “How did it go?”

  “Not good, Juanita.”

  He had phoned her on the way to San Quentin and told her about Dusenbury’s offer.

  “He refused?” she asked incredulously.

  “He said he didn’t know.”

  “But how—?”

  “Listen, I haven’t got time. I’ll fill you in when I get back to the office. In the meantime, I need you to do a couple of things.”

  “That’s what you pay me for.”

  “I want you to go online and find out everything you can about the feud between Clayton Burrow and Dorothy Olsen.”

  “We already looked into that, boss.”

  “I know, but all we found out was that she was the butt of his jokes. What we need to find out is if there’s anything behind it.”

  “What’s to find out? He was a bullying jock and she was the smart, geeky girl with glasses. What else is there?”

  “Okay, I know it’s a long shot, but I got the impression that Burrow was holding out on me.”

  “How do you mean?

  “Well it’s just that none of it makes sense. If he’s guilty, why the hell did he reject the deal?”

  “So now you think he’s innocent?” Juanita asked incredulously.

  “I think he’s holding out on me.”

  “And you think it’s something to do with this high school feud?”

  “Well it’s the best place to start.”

  “Are we looking for anything in particular?”

  “Let’s start off with the cause of the feud. Was it just a culture clash between the male jock and the female geek? Or was it a case of hell hath no fury? Maybe some of the other students know something.”

  “It’s gonna be hard to track down the phone numbers. And I can’t leave the office, can I?”

  “Use the internet. Maybe there’s discussion about it online. We also need to know who her friends were. And if she had any enemies – other than Burrow, that is.”

  “It’s going to be hard. You know how it works on the web. You do a search and it throws up a million irrelevant items.”

  “Do your best, Juanita. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

  Nat smiled. Twenty-five was more realistic. He’d have to floor it.

  Alex put in another call, this time to Information. He asked for Esther Olsen’s number, adding that she lived in Sunnyvale. Fortunately the number was listed. He followed up by putting in a call to her.

  “Yes?” The voice was weak … nervous.

  “Mrs. Olsen? It’s Alex Sedaka here.”

  Her mood seemed to brighten.

  “Oh, hallo, Mr. Sedaka.”

  Alex was embarrassed. He didn’t know how to continue.

  “Listen, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  “He … he wouldn’t tell you?”

  She sounded sad, but not angry or bitter as he’d feared.

  “He said he didn’t know. He still maintains he’s innocent.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” Esther Olsen’s voice was croaky now.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he’s guilty?”

  This was a question that Alex couldn’t answer. Not that his own private thoughts were privileged. But a lawyer’s view of his client’s innocence or guilt is partly based on what his client tells him, and this could be a slippery slope.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Olsen.”

  This was the diplomatic response – but until half an hour ago, it would not have been a truthful one. Alex pressed on.

  “But can I ask you a question?” he followed up.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know anything about the relationship between them? I mean, I know that he bullied her. But was there any more to it than that? Was there any particular reason?”

  There was a moment of hesitation.

  “I don’t know. She never really confided in me. Like I told you, I was estranged from her before she…”

  “Did she confide in anyone? A friend? A r
elative?”

  “Not really. I mean, she got on well with Jonathan, but – ”

  “That’s her brother, yes?”

  “Yes. But he was younger – five years younger. She probably wouldn’t have wanted to put the burden of her problems on him. She kept her problems bottled up.”

  Alex’s mind was racing ahead. A girl with problems and no one to talk to? That was a perfect recipe for suicide. But there was no body. And how did all that incriminating evidence end up in the apartment where Burrow and his mother lived?

  “Could I ask you another thing, Mrs. Olsen? About Dorothy liquidating her trust fund and buying that expensive jewelry. Do you have any idea why she might have done that?”

  “No.”

  Esther Olsen sounded tired, as if she had been through all this many times before – which she probably had.

  “Was she the sort of girl who was interested in jewelry?”

  “No, not really.”

  “And you don’t have a clue where the jewelry is?”

  “I … I thought that maybe Burrow stole it … when he killed her.”

  “But now?”

  He was prompting her, picking up on her hesitance.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think she may have been planning to run away?”

  “She … might have been.”

  “Could she have been planning to run away with Clayton Burrow?”

  “Certainly not! She hated him! And he hated her!”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t just an act?”

  “No, Mr. Sedaka, it definitely wasn’t an act!”

  Alex had been speculating that maybe Burrow had tricked her into thinking he was going to run away with her and persuaded her to liquidate her trust fund and then killed her and stolen the jewelry. But Esther Olsen rejected that. A mother’s perceptions counted for something. But she may have been estranged from her daughter. But now was not the time to push it.

  “Can you think of anyone at all that she might have spoken to? A friend that she might have confided in?”

  He waited a while for an answer.

  “There was one thing,” Esther Olsen’s voice came out of the silence.