It was true that Dale didn’t recognize him, and multiple looks at his photograph did nothing to change that. But if he really was Julia’s killer, Dale knew he couldn’t afford not to remember something. Even if that something had never actually occurred.
He felt surprised and uncomfortable with the thoughts that were formulating in his mind and knew that if he gave voice to them, even to his wife, he would immediately know how crazy he sounded and would never be able to act on them.
But he had to act on them, not for his own sense of satisfaction, but for Julia Leeds.
For the first time in his life, his actions could have a significant impact on the world outside of his own. For the first time in his life, he wouldn’t have to retreat into the cocoon of his own thoughts in order to feel significant. For the first time in his life, people would actually listen to him.
He knew right then and there that if Detective Graham were to call on him again, he wouldn’t hesitate to remember exactly what he needed to in order for some measure of justice to finally be served in a world that he had long since checked out of.
As Dale stared at the road in front of him, he suddenly felt Maggie’s hand grip his knee. When he glanced at her, she was smiling. He hadn’t seen her smile like that in a long time. Not at him anyway. At that moment, there were no unspoken barriers between them, no yipping Pomeranian to distract them, no thoughts of a different life without her. There was only Dale, his wife, and a stirring in his chest he never thought he would feel again.
“I’m incredibly proud of the way you handled yourself in there,” Maggie said, her grip tightening.
Not as proud as you’re going to be, Dale thought with an ever-widening smile.
CHAPTER 21
The ride to Stephen Clemmons’ house was quiet. The only time Graham spoke was when he answered a call on his cell phone. The call was brief and his answers were short: “Yes”, “No”, “That shouldn’t be a problem, sir”, “No progress yet”, “I’m headed there now”.
When his call was finished and Sullivan asked him who it was, Graham’s answer to her was just as succinct. “Hitchcock checking in.”
She thought it was odd that he wouldn’t offer any more details about his conversation with the lieutenant. Anything that may have been said was of as much consequence to her as it was to Graham. She also didn’t like the line “I’m headed there now,” as if she was stuck in the middle of a manicure somewhere. But she decided to leave it be.
When they turned onto the thirty eight hundred block of Gilpin Street, Graham picked up his two-way radio. “Two-five, this is Detective Graham. Copy?”
A voice came over the radio. “Copy, this is two-five.”
“Detective Sullivan and myself are en route and should be there momentarily. Is the bird still hiding in his nest?”
“Roger that,” the voice answered with a slight chuckle. “Quiet as a tomb in there.”
“Very good. If you guys want to go ahead and take off, we’ve got it from here.”
“Roger that. See you on the other side. Good luck in there.”
“Thanks.” As he put down the radio he pointed to a duplex on the corner. “There it is,” he said to Sullivan.
She saw the now infamous gray Chevy Impala parked in front and another question immediately popped into her head. Why would Clemmons park it on the corner knowing he lived on such a busy street? There would be plenty of room to park it in the alley. She pushed the thought into the back of her mind. Speculation, as Graham called it, wasn’t going to get her anywhere right now.
Graham pulled up to the curb across the street. “I have a couple of specific questions in mind, so let me take the lead, at least to start.”
Sullivan already knew it couldn’t have been any other way. “No problem,” she said as she pushed open the car door.
Seeing no doorbell, Graham banged on the door – much harder than he needed to in Sullivan’s opinion. But it was effective, because Clemmons opened it right away. Perhaps he had been waiting for them after all.
“Stephen Clemmons?” Graham asked the man standing in the doorway.
“That’s me,” he said with eyes that Sullivan could only describe as terrified. “You must be the detective I was told to wait for.”
“That’s correct. I’m Detective Walter Graham, this here is Detective Sullivan. We came to ask you a few questions about Julia Leeds.”
Clemmons stood quietly at the door. He was a tall, pudgy man with sagging cheeks that resembled a Basset Hound’s. It made him look sad even when he probably wasn’t. He wore a Community College of Denver sweatshirt and a pair of wrinkled khakis. There was nothing about him that said murderer or even petty thief. But Sullivan had known that already. She threw a quick glance in Graham’s direction to get a read on his expression. It was rigid, bordering on hostile.
“May we come in Mr. Clemmons?” Graham asked as he took a step toward the door.
Clemmons’ index finger twitched as he held on to the door. He quickly brought the hand down and curled it up into a loose fist. Then he stepped aside. “Sure.”
Graham stepped through the doorway with Sullivan right behind him. She nodded at Clemmons as she walked past. He didn’t nod back.
The three of them stood in the middle of the living room. The ramshackle condition of the exterior gave no indication of the near immaculate condition of the interior. Clemmons didn’t have much space to work with, but he made the most of what he had. They stood next to a beige couch lined with burgundy throw pillows, a glass coffee table with several textbooks neatly stacked in the corner, a bookshelf filled with many more books, and several healthy-looking plants hanging from the ceiling. The small flat-screen TV was tuned to ESPN.
Sullivan suddenly felt as if she had no business in this house, and was glad that Graham had declared himself the lead here.
Never one to waste time, Graham pulled out his notepad and pen and got right to it. “I know that officers were here a few days ago, but if you don’t mind I’d like to ask you a few follow up questions.”
Clemmons swallowed hard. “Like I told them, I’ll cooperate as much as I can.”
Graham smiled. “We appreciate that, Mr. Clemmons. I’m going to start by quickly summarizing the information you gave to the officers, and all you have to tell me is whether or not my summary is correct. Okay?”
Clemmons made eye contact with Sullivan for the first time. She managed to hold his anxious gaze even though every part of her wanted to look away.
“Yeah, okay,” he said as he turned back to Graham. “But before we do that, I’ve been watching the news about Julia. They’re saying someone saw a gray Impala outside her house before she was murdered. Is that right?”
“I haven’t seen that particular news report, so I can’t speak on it,” Graham answered flatly.
Clemmons swallowed again. “They also said that there weren’t any suspects yet. Can you speak on that?”
Graham clenched his jaw as he looked down at his notepad. “We’ll get to that Mr. Clemmons. Right now I just need you to answer yes or no. According to the officer’s notes, you arrived home from work at approximately 5:45 Thursday evening and didn’t leave your house for the rest of the night, is that right?”
Clemmons looked at Sullivan again, then went back to Graham. “Yes.”
“And you live here by yourself, so there is no one to corroborate that.”
“That’s right, I live here by myself.”
“You also told them that you hadn’t driven anywhere near the three hundred block of Monroe Street at any point that you could remember.”
“I don’t have much reason to ever get out that way.”
“You worked for the same law firm as the victim, correct?”
“Yes.”
“But according to you, the two of you didn’t know each other.”
“That’s right, we didn’t.”
At that last answer, Clemmons visibly stiffened. Sullivan was sure Graham had n
oticed it too.
“You never once spoke to her?” Graham pressed.
“I deliver mail to almost eighty lawyers every day. It’s hard to keep track of who I speak to and who I don’t.”
“So it’s possible you did?”
So what if he did! Where is the smoking gun in that? Sullivan thought, but she remained expressionless.
“I guess it’s possible,” he answered hesitantly.
Graham flipped through a few more pages of his notepad. “Mr. Clemmons, do you know a man by the name of Matthew Westerly?”
Clemmons nodded tentatively. “He’s a lawyer at the firm.”
“Actually the two of you are friends. He reported to our detectives that the two of you have gone out for beers after work on several occasions.”
Clemmons nodded. “That’s right.”
“Well, according to Mr. Westerly, you did know Julia Leeds. In fact, he recalled one outing over beers when you told him of a mail delivery to her office that became an extended conversation about your plans become a paralegal. He said you couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful she was and how you couldn’t believe that she had taken so much time to talk to you.” Graham paused for effect as he always did. “Does any of that ring a bell, Mr. Clemmons?”
Sullivan looked down at Clemmons’ finger and noticed that it had started twitching again.
“I do remember that now,” Clemmons said as he looked at his Nike running shoes. “It happened so long ago I guess it just slipped my mind.”
“Mr. Westerly said it was less than two months ago.”
Clemmons’ right leg began to move the same way his finger did, and Sullivan was suddenly worried that it would give out from under him.
“I don’t know. Maybe I was confused by the officer’s question. It was a lot to take in and I had just woken up when they came. I apologize for getting confused.”
“That’s quite all right,” Graham said with his trademark look of satisfaction.
It wasn’t a good moment for Clemmons, but Graham was still far from making his case in Sullivan’s mind.
Graham pushed on. “And regarding the Range Rover; the one that was found in an alley across the street from here. You claimed that you had no knowledge of it being there.”
“That’s right, I didn’t.”
“You seem like the type of person who would have his finger on the pulse of this neighborhood. Had you heard any chatter about the Range Rover? Noticed any increased activity since its discovery?”
“I mostly keep to myself here, so it’s rare that I have my finger on the pulse of anything when it comes to this neighborhood, detective.”
Graham stopped writing and looked at Sullivan, who had to fight to conceal her smile.
“That being the case, Mr. Clemmons, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?” Graham asked with a hint of irritation.
“Ordinary seems to change around here from one day to the next. But as far as that night, no I didn’t notice anything.”
“What about the following morning?” Sullivan asked.
Clemmons hesitated to answer.
“Mr. Clemmons?”
“I didn’t notice anything.”
Of all the questions he was asked, this was the one that seemed to make him the most uncomfortable, and for the first time he failed to make eye contact with either Graham or Sullivan.
“Are you sure?” Sullivan asked, picking up on his shifting mood.
Clemmons attempted to smile. “Unless you count the two detectives who have been parked down the street for most of the week as out of the ordinary, then I would have to say that I’m sure.”
This time Clemmons maintained his eye contact with Sullivan.
“Do you own a gun, Mr. Clemmons?”
He turned to Graham with an incredulous stare. “No.”
Sullivan looked at Graham with a similar stare, completely thrown by the question. Graham glanced back at her impassively.
“Look detectives, I’ve cooperated with you just like I said I would. But I’ve already answered these questions, and if I’m being honest, I don’t understand why I have to answer them in the first place. I may have misspoken about Julia Leeds earlier, but that one conversation is the only contact I’ve ever really had with her. I’ve never been to her house. I didn’t even know where she lived until I saw it on the news. And I sure as hell didn’t kill her.”
“No one is saying you killed her, Mr. Clemmons,” Sullivan said in the most reassuring voice she could offer. “We’re simply here because–”
Graham interrupted. “When I asked if you knew Julia Leeds, you told me flat out that you didn’t. When I asked if you had so much as said hello to her, you couldn’t recall. But then when I tell you about Mr. Westerly’s assertion that you talked to her extensively, it suddenly all comes back to you? I’m just wondering what other important details you’re forgetting?”
With eyes that looked like they were beginning to water, Clemmons looked directly at Sullivan. “I didn’t kill anybody, period. You want to check my house? You want to take my fingerprints? You want to give me a lie detector test? Do what you have to do. I don’t really care.”
I know you didn’t kill anybody, Mr. Clemmons. “None of that will be necessary, sir,” Sullivan said.
“Thank you for your time Mr. Clemmons,” Graham said as he pulled a card out from the back of his notepad. Then, as if it were an afterthought, he added: “By the way, do you have one of those loud, hip-hop stereo systems in your car? The kind you can hear coming a mile away?”
Clemmons responded to Graham with an angry smirk. “All of us black folk in the hood have them, detective. I figured you would have had that profile down by now.”
Sullivan suddenly felt embarrassed and wanted nothing more than to leave.
“Indeed,” Graham said as he reopened his notepad. “I only ask because the witnesses who reported seeing the gray Impala in front of Julia Leeds’ house the night of her murder also reported hearing loud music coming from that car before it drove away.”
Sullivan heard the word witnesses and knew it wasn’t a matter of Graham misspeaking. He was purposefully misleading Clemmons.
Clemmons shrugged. “How am I supposed to respond to that? There are a lot of cars that have loud stereos.”
“I suppose that is a pretty standard feature of gray Impalas,” Graham said without a hint of sarcasm.
Clemmons shrugged again but was otherwise quiet.
“Are there any questions you have of us, Mr. Clemmons?” Sullivan asked in a quick attempt to shift the focus.
“You mean aside from the obvious?”
“And what is the obvious?” Graham sniffed.
Sullivan knew what the obvious was, and couldn’t believe that Graham was going to make Clemmons say it.
“Did you really come here to ask me questions? Or to tell me that I’m a suspect?”
Graham looked at Sullivan. She hesitated before looking back.
“We’re working a lot of different angles right now,” was the best she could come up with.
Clemmons didn’t blink. “No offense, Detective Sullivan. But it’s a really simple question.”
“I’m afraid that’s not something we can talk about right now,” Graham said matter-of-factly. “We’re still in the information-gathering stage with a lot more witnesses to talk to.”
Another untruth.
“Did they all see me at Julia Leeds’ house too?”
The room fell into silence.
Rather than answer a question he knew he couldn’t, Graham headed for the door.
“Thank you again for your time, Mr. Clemmons. You were very cooperative and we appreciate it,” Sullivan said
“Yes we do,” Graham added, handing Sullivan his card as he walked out the door. “Should anything else jog your memory, don’t hesitate to call me.”
Sullivan gave Clemmons the card and followed him to the door. Before she walked out, she extended her hand.
/> Much to her surprise, Clemmons was quick to shake it. “I know this has been a really difficult few days for you,” she offered. “Hang in there.” She looked at the coffee table filled with textbooks. “Best of luck with school too.”
Even though Sullivan knew she did little to ease his mind, she was still moved when he said “Thank you.”
By the time Sullivan stepped onto the porch, Graham was standing in front of Clemmons’ car with a small digital camera in hand. As she walked toward her partner, she turned back to see Clemmons standing on the lawn. He looked afraid, and he should have been. Graham’s over-zealousness was beginning to frighten her too.
“What are you doing?” Sullivan asked when she knew they were out of earshot.
“Just getting a couple of pictures.”
“What for? The CSI techs already took care of that.”
“Clemmons doesn’t know that. This is only for show. I’m just trying to rattle him a little bit. We need to show him that just because we’re leaving without arresting him doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods.” Graham raised the camera and started taking pictures again. “If his car wasn’t there, then he’s got nothing to worry about, right?”
“Just like you were trying to rattle him with that nonsense about multiple witnesses?”
“It’s called scare tactics, Chloe.”
Sullivan shook her head and walked away. “It’s also incredibly reckless.”
Graham quickly followed. “Why are you getting so bent out of shape?” he asked from a few paces behind her. “All I’m doing is planting a few seeds of doubt in the guy’s mind, letting him think we know more than we actually do. Did you see how he almost shit his pants when I told him what Westerly said? He didn’t think we’d find out about that. I’m telling you, there’s more there. And the longer we can keep him on edge, the more likely he’ll crack when the time finally comes.”
Sullivan stopped. “But that’s what you don’t get, Walter. He won’t crack because he didn’t do it.”
Graham rolled his eyes. “Didn’t we just have a long conversation about this? I was under the impression that we saw eye to eye on the importance of being unified.”
The Strategist Page 14