by Ray Flynt
My news hadn’t been as big a shock as I’d feared. “You suspected it all along?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Suspected is too strong.” After a pause, she added, “You know how, when you’re a kid, and you imagine that you were adopted, or that you might have a twin sister that nobody’s told you about?”
I nodded.
“It was like that… an improbable thought, but still I wondered. Mostly because as I grew older Mom became increasingly reluctant—even hostile at times—to answer questions about dad’s death.”
“I understand. I do have good news for you. Every time your mother wrote a check to Sandy Charity, she wrote one twice as large to the Sullivan Credit Union. On a number of them she penned the memo, ‘For Rachel.’ So you’ll inherit that account of more than $200,000 plus interest. It won’t make up for what she did, but it gives you a great start on the future.”
“Then I won’t have any trouble paying you and Mr. Frame for your services.”
I smiled.
I won’t hold my breath waiting for Brad to send her a bill.
Rachel hugged me as we parted company. “Thanks again for all your help.”
By the time I reached I-95, KYW had interrupted their regular news coverage for “breaking news” from the Montgomery County courthouse.
This is Cindy Okinaga. I’m on the steps of the courthouse here in Norristown, where ten minutes ago court reconvened to hear the jury’s verdict in the murder trial of David Nesbit.
Our reporter Josh Harrold is in the courtroom, and we expect him to join us shortly.
Wait. I can hear activity behind me. People are streaming out the front doors, and I hear shouts of ‘Not Guilty.’
I see Josh running to our location.
Here he is. What can you tell us, Josh?
Cindy, the six-man, six-woman jury has found David Nesbit not guilty in the death of his wife. After the verdict was announced there was stunned silence in the courtroom. Prosecutor Diane Cunningham asked that the jurors be polled, and in a clear voice they all said ‘not guilty.’
Genevieve Nesbit’s daughter, Francine Holt, sobbed following the verdict.
Judge Whitaker thanked the jurors for their service and offered to meet with them in his chambers after the session.
David Nesbit gave a big hug to his attorney, Shane Asher. Nesbit’s parents were present in the courtroom and overjoyed at the outcome.
Wow!
At least Brad would finally be able to talk with me about the case.
28
Brad couldn’t sleep.
He’d watched reports of the verdict on the eleven o’clock news. Diane Cunningham had worn a stiff upper lip for the reporters, praising the fairness of the judge, while lamenting the outcome.
Fellow jurors Jerry and Elaine were the only ones who had made themselves available for the cameras. He wondered if they realized how foolish they looked saying, “Well, we thought Nesbit probably did it, but the prosecutor didn’t give us enough to convince the other jurors.” Most viewers had probably yelled at their screens, wishing there’d been more discerning jurors.
For his part, Brad hadn’t wanted to face the media. When Judge Whitaker thanked them all for their service, he made it clear that whether or not they spoke with the press was their choice. Brad opted to use a side exit from the courthouse and walked around the block to the parking lot.
Brad had devoted the last fifteen years of his life to helping people find justice.
There’d been no justice for Genevieve Nesbit.
Or for David Nesbit either. He’d been found not guilty, rather than innocent. A question mark would forever hang around his reputation.
Although they’d been assured anonymity, Brad shuddered at the thought that a reporter might learn he’d been on the jury and seek him out for comment.
Brad rearranged the pillow under his head one more time and stared at the ceiling. He dozed only for minutes at a time and woke as the image of Heather Sanders at Nesbit’s arrest materialized in his brain—in high definition.
His body trembled as he finally remembered where he’d seen that woman’s face before. The short-haired blonde of the video had been the longer-haired blonde with strawberry streaks, who’d been so anxious to get out of jury service the same day on which he’d been summoned.
What am I to make of that?
Brad sat on the side of his bed. He snapped on the nightstand light.
3:12 a.m.
She’d gotten dismissed from jury service, and he tried to remember why. He thought it was because she admitted knowing one of the principals in the case.
If she’d been Nesbit’s lover, it would have explained her nervousness at jury selection. But if that were the case—and Heather was David Nesbit’s motive for committing murder—what prompted her to show up on his front lawn to see him arrested?
Wide awake, Brad threw on clothes and headed for his office.
Seated at his desk, he worked from the premise that since “Heather” appeared in the video, she must live in proximity to the Nesbits.
Brad pulled up a computer map for One Feldman Place in Haverford. It was an elegant neighborhood, where it wasn’t unusual to find estates of two to three acres in size, and no more than five or six properties on fancy-named streets like Paradise Drive or Platinum Way. There’d be no renters in the area—only property owners—which gave him an idea.
He printed a map that showed all of the streets within a thousand feet of the Nesbit estate.
After recording the names of those streets, he visited the property tax website for Montgomery County and painstakingly searched the records for each street. He didn’t expect to find the name Heather Sanders—since the police determined that to be an alias—but perhaps he’d find a property match for her first name.
He recorded all of the property owners’ names and the streets they lived on, just in case his initial idea didn’t pan out.
He’d researched about two-thirds of the streets when Brad pulled up the tax information for Hummingbird Lane, and the first property he spotted was registered to David T. and Heather J. Stanton. Bingo!
Brad felt his heart pound a little faster.
As excited as he was, he continued to record all of the property names on Hummingbird and the three remaining streets on his list.
He studied the map and saw that Heather Stanton’s address on Hummingbird Lane was about two hundred feet to the east of the Nesbits’.
Next, Brad opened an ID data service to which he subscribed. He searched for Heather J. Stanton using the Haverford address. He learned she was 32, 5’ 2”, 104 pounds, born in New Jersey, married for eight years, and no criminal record.
As he searched for David Stanton’s name, Brad was reminded of Holden Reed’s testimony that Heather had referred to the man in the elevator visiting the Briarwood Apartments as “David.”
Could that have been her husband, rather than David Nesbit?
Mr. Stanton was identified as 40, 6’, 186 pounds—remarkably similar in size to Nesbit.
Brad ran his fingers through his hair, as he thought about what all this meant.
He clicked on a link next to Stanton’s name for business affiliations and saw Stanton Landscaping.
This is no coincidence.
Brad copied the business phone number.
He hadn’t pieced everything together yet but knew he would need reinforcements. Brad realized it was already light outside. He’d lost track of the time.
Brad stood at the receptionist’s desk at the Lower Merion Township Police Department. He gave his name and asked to speak to Sergeant John Cordes.
A few minutes later, Brad spotted Cordes as the detective rounded the corner, stood fifteen feet away, and barked, “I got nothin’ to say to you.” Cordes turned to walk away.
“John, wait. I just need five minutes of your time.”
Cordes glowered at him. “I’m busy. Why would I even give you two minutes of my time?”
/> “I found Heather Sanders.”
Cordes cocked an eyebrow, and moments later Brad sat across from the detective in his office.
Brad recounted the testimony of Holden Reed at the Briarwood Apartments telling the jury that Heather Sanders had a birthmark under her right chin. He then described how he spotted a blonde woman—with such a birthmark—in the video scene of Nesbit’s arrest.
Cordes turned to his computer, made a few keystrokes, and then pivoted the monitor so Brad could see. “This video?”
“Yeah, keep watching, it’s near the end… There she is,” Brad pointed. “She looks up when the helicopter flies overhead, and you’ll see her birthmark.”
“Damn,” Cordes said. “Okay, so you found the reason Nesbit killed his wife—only you’re twenty-four hours late, ‘cause you already acquitted him.”
“I think there’s more to this story,” Brad explained. He filled the detective in on his work overnight, searching for the name of Heather in Nesbit’s neighborhood, and finding that her husband ran a landscaping service. Brad handed Cordes a telephone number. “There were frequent calls to a landscaper from Genevieve Nesbit’s cell phone in her final days. The housekeeper reported that Genevieve had a meeting with the landscaper two days before she died. I’m betting that if you check this number against Genevieve’s cell records it will be a match. I think they were in a relationship that involved more than lawn care.”
Before Brad had finished speaking, Cordes had already brought the Nesbit investigation folder in front of him and hunted for phone numbers.
“You’re right,” Cordes said. “Time to visit Hummingbird Lane.”
Under a clear sky, with mid-morning temperatures more suited to early September than late November, Cordes pulled into the Stantons’ neighborhood.
“That has to be their place.” Brad pointed to a house with a well-manicured lawn and an autumnal showcase of flowers.
Cordes parked in the driveway behind an SUV and a sedan. As they walked toward the front door, Brad noted paper floor mats in the sedan with a rental company logo.
Cordes rang the bell. No answer. Seconds later he rapped on the door. Still no answer.
“I hear voices over this way,” Cordes whispered. They ventured toward the west side of the house.
The detective stopped and raised his hand.
Brad saw the edge of a covered patio and made out a conversation with two men’s voices.
“When does Heather get back?”
“Her plane arrives this afternoon.” After a pause, the same voice said, “I’m sorry our little arrangement didn’t work out for you, my friend.”
“I know. At least you got that leech off your back.”
“When do you head home?”
“Our flight isn’t until tomorrow.”
Cordes tapped Brad on the shoulder and signaled them forward. Three steps later they stood next to the patio. “Good morning, gentlemen, we were hoping to find Heather,” Cordes announced.
Brad had never met David Stanton, but he identified the second man as Eric Holt—Genevieve Nesbit’s son-in-law.
Eric took about two seconds to recognize the police detective, and he bolted out the back side of the patio into the nearby woods.
“Don’t move,” Cordes said to Stanton, as he called for backup.
“All in a day’s work,” Brad said to Sharon the following morning, as they sipped coffee at the partners’ desk.
Sharon finished reading The Philadelphia Inquirer’s account of the arrest of David Stanton and Eric Holt in the murder of Genevieve Nesbit.
“You’ll love this.” Sharon read from the newspaper. “‘Not only did they conspire to kill Ms. Nesbit but to frame her husband for the killing. A Montgomery County jury wisely acquitted David Nesbit of the crime on Tuesday.’”
Tell that to Jerry and Elaine.
“You did most of the work, but they gave all the credit to Cordes,” Sharon said.
“It’s okay. John says those guys are pointing the finger at each other, which should make it easier to convict them both. I told Cordes that he should check the Nesbits’ liquor cabinet decanters for fingerprints from one or both of the men. I also suggested he ask Francine Holt what she might know about her mother having an affair. She seemed close to her mother, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Genevieve had confided in her. If Francine knew of her mother’s unhappiness with David Nesbit, it would make it easier for her to blame him for murder.”
“How did Stanton and Eric meet?” Sharon asked.
“I’m not sure when they concocted their plot, but they were fraternity brothers in college. Cordes told me that Eric thought that by framing Nesbit, he and his wife would become wealthy. Apparently, David Stanton’s relationship with Genevieve had started out as a fun dalliance, but that she became increasingly clingy and wanted him to leave Heather.”
“Heather had nothing to do with the plot?”
Brad shook his head. “Cordes isn’t entirely convinced. He interviewed Heather. She admits staying at that apartment but only for a few scattered nights over a several month period—just long enough to be seen by a nosy neighbor. Heather claims that her husband said it was a friend’s place, and convinced her to stay there on nights when fresh paint was drying at their home.
“John wants to talk to the building manager for details of his first encounter with Heather. After all, she did present him with a fake ID. Cordes is trying to square that with the rest of her story.”
Sharon looked skeptical. “What about during the trial when Heather Sanders’ name was all over the media? Wouldn’t that have raised her suspicions?”
“Stanton apparently thought about that and packed his wife off to Palm Springs to visit her mother during the trial.”
“What’s next for us?” Sharon asked.
Brad leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. You did such a bang up job on the Tetlow case that I’m thinking about retiring and renaming this the Sharon Porter Detective Agency.” He winked at her.
Sharon beamed.
THE END
AUTHOR’S BIO
Ray Flynt is the author of Brad Frame mysteries, as well as Kisses of an Enemy, a political thriller. A native of Pennsylvania, Ray has also written a one-man play based on the life of Ben Franklin and is available for performances of the play. Ray is a member of Mystery Writers of America and is active with their Florida Chapter. He is also a member of the Florida Writers Association.
Ray retired from a diverse career in criminal justice, education, the arts, and human services. He lives in central Florida.
BRAD FRAME MYSTERIES
#1 – UNFORGIVING SHADOWS
#2 – TRANSPLANTED DEATH
#3 – BLOOD PORN
#4 – LADY ON THE EDGE
#5 – FINAL JUROR
OTHER BOOKS BY RAY FLYNT
KISSES OF AN ENEMY