“Do you think it’ll be enough?”
“I hope so but, to be perfectly honest, I’m not as optimistic as I would be if we were going up against anybody but Mandlin. He’ll try very hard to discredit the photographic evidence. If I were in his place I’d be making the case that anybody could have planted that flash drive in Croop’s garage. The fact that Croop’s finger prints were found on the device constitutes only prima facie evidence that he was responsible for the content. As to the phone calls, that will be harder for Mandlin to rationalize. It clearly indicates there was some kind of prior relationship. If he tries to explain their meeting on Thornhill Road as a lover’s rendezvous gone bad it might make Callie’s testimony easier to accept. In the final analysis, though, it will come down to just how credible she is on the stand.”
There was a time I would have had absolutely no doubts about Callie’s ability to hold her own against anybody – hotshot prosecutor included. But that time was long in the past. “I’m worried, Christine.”
“I can’t say that you shouldn’t be, Jack. In addition to discrediting the prima facie evidence against Croop, Mandlin will almost certainly stress Callie’s … mental shortcomings. I fear that it’s not going to be terribly difficult to confuse her on the stand – to make her look incompetent and prone to overreacting to what Mandlin could portray as an attempt on Croop’s part to end an affair. I can envision him describing a scenario where Croop is lured to a remote location and then viciously gunned down by a mentally unstable woman who was unable to accept that he didn’t want the affair to continue. Given Callie’s history, not a hard version of events to swallow.”
She was right, of course. Such a scenario would be all too easy for a jury to buy into. I hung up the phone with only one thought in my mind: the police had to find and identify those all important strands of hair. And quickly.
* *
To give myself at least a modicum of independence I bought a used pickup I saw advertised in the local paper. It was an eight year old Chevy with lots of miles on it but, as far as I could tell, it had been well maintained. The purchase used up almost half the money I had but allowed me to finally return the Wilsons’ vehicle to them, something I had been increasingly keen to do. I continued to live at the hotel with Bix as my only real company. I ate the majority of my meals at the diner and occupied the days with long walks and voracious reading, mostly novels I obtained from the library. A good deal of time was also devoted to contemplating a future that did not look rosy.
With so little to occupy me I had taken to eating my meals a little later than most of the regulars who frequented the diner. I had exchanged my former seat at the counter for a corner booth so I could linger over my coffee while combing through the national newspaper I picked up every morning before leaving the hotel. Kat always greeted me with a smile and a perfunctory wave when I arrived but seldom engaged me in anything beyond very light banter. It was clear she was not going to get into another conversation about Charlene Lamont. Her conduct toward me had definitely changed since I had tried to grill her about her feelings concerning Charlene’s disappearance. She had gotten decidedly nervous when I had asked if it involved the law, the inference being that it did. But if she knew something that could incriminate Croop she was, for reasons only she knew, unwilling to share it with me. I often invited her to join me at my booth when there were no other customers around but she always found some excuse to avoid doing so.
It was extremely frustrating, having the strong feeling that this enigmatic woman held the key to nailing Croop, and in the process freeing Callie, because it did me no good if I couldn’t get her to open up about it.
24
“This court is now in session. Judge Hamilton Stanfield presiding.” Each word was spoken slowly and enunciated clearly by an African- American bailiff whose baritone voice commanded silence and respect. The trial of Callandra Louise Parmenter for the murder of John Andrew Croop was officially underway.
The opening of the trial was occupied with details of discovery, identification of the victim, etcetera – all the minutiae required by the state before getting to the heart of matters.
“You may call your next witness, Mr. Mandlin,” Judge Stanfield intoned, signifying by the look of relief on his face that matters of more import could now be dealt with.
I had seen newspaper pictures of Mandlin before but they did nothing to substantiate how imposing he was in the flesh. Unusually tall, broad-shouldered, with a thick mane of graying hair, Mandlin stood slowly. “Thank you, Your Honor,” he said. “The state calls Mr. Kyle Jessup.”
Jessup strode purposefully to the witness box, glanced at the jury, and waited for Mandlin to approach him.
“Please state your name and occupation, sir,” Mandlin said, choosing to remain by the prosecution table.
“Kyle Jessup. Chief of Police for the town of Colville, Maine.”
“And how long have you held that position, Chief Jessup?”
“Eight years.”
“And John Croop was an officer under your command?”
“A Reserve Officer, yes.”
“For how long?”
“Approximately two years.”
“And during that time, Chief Jessup, did Officer Croop ever give you any reason to believe he was anything other than an exemplary law enforcement officer?”
Jessup hesitated briefly. “No, not really.”
I got the impression Jessup would have liked to add something to his pithy and less than passionate response and maybe Mandlin felt the same way because he wasted no time dismissing Jessup.
“Thank you, sir. No further questions.”
Darrow waived the option to cross examine Jessup.
Mandlin then went on to follow up Jessup’s testimony with half a dozen others - community leaders for the most part - who confirmed more or less the same view. Although no one raved about him the ultimate conclusion was that Croop was a quiet, respected member of the community. Score one for Mandlin.
On day two, having ascertained Croop’s character was unblemished by scandal or innuendo, Mandlin went on the attack. His first witness of the day was the doctor who had overseen Callie’s care after the assault by her father that had left her in a coma for several months. After establishing that Callie had been comatose following an injection of a paralytic poison which very nearly killed her, Mandlin turned to face the jury for dramatic effect. “So, Doctor Salouf, would you explain, in layman’s terms, what Mrs. Parmenter’s condition was after coming out of the coma?”
Salouf looked at Callie with empathy. He knew, as did everyone in the courtroom, what Mandlin was leading up to. “For several weeks after awakening from the coma she was in a completely unresponsive state, unable to communicate or comprehend efforts to communicate with her.”
“She was unable to understand the spoken word?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And how long did this last?”
“For a couple of weeks. Gradually, with the assistance of a very talented therapist, she was able to regain her abilities.”
“In your professional opinion, Doctor, did Mrs. Parmenter eventually regain her complete cognitive and intellectual abilities?”
Salouf was clearly uncomfortable with the question. “Not completely, no.”
“Explain, please.”
“Mrs. Parmenter’s mental capacities were somewhat diminished as a result of the effects of the poison. Her ability to deal with stressful situations was somewhat negatively impacted as well.”
“So, if faced with a particularly stressful situation, it is possible that Mrs. Parmenter might, by conventional criteria, overreact?”
“It is possible, yes.”
Mandlin struck a thoughtful pose as he let the doctor’s answer resonate with the jury. “Thank you, Doctor. No further questions.”
Darrow stood and approached Salouf. “Doctor, is it possible that Mrs. Parmenter’s response to a stressful situation might be perfec
tly normal? In other words, might she do precisely what any ordinary person would do to protect herself in circumstances where she was legitimately faced with life threatening danger?”
“Yes, of course,” Salouf responded a little too enthusiastically. “That is entirely possible.”
Darrow had done what she could to salvage a bad situation but looking at the jury it was not hard to see that Mandlin had again scored big.
I looked at Callie. Her shoulders were slumped and her head was turned down like she’d been whipped. Darrow whispered something in her ear and Callie slowly lifted her head, but it was clear to anyone watching her – and everyone was – that she had given up any hope that she would walk out of this courtroom absolved of guilt.
I hoped that she would look back at me so that I could give her an encouraging nod but she remained steadfastly facing forward.
If it had been possible for me to shout out an admission of my own guilt in the matter of Croop’s death and thereby end Callie’s suffering I would have done so in an instant. As obvious as her despair was at that moment I believed, having to witness it, my own was even greater.
25
When the trial ended for the day I left the courtroom to find Kat Stedman standing on the courthouse steps, waiting for me. “Kat,” I said, “I didn’t know you were here.”
There was a look of nervousness about her. But resignation, too. “I need to talk to you,” she said. “Can we go someplace we won’t be disturbed for a few minutes?”
I was immediately given some hope that Kat was finally going to divulge whatever it was she seemed to know about Croop that would prove to be a lifesaver for Callie. “Of course.”
“There’s a little park just over there,” she said pointing.
We walked the two hundred yards or so in silence. I was so hopeful the meeting would be a beneficial one I didn’t want to say anything that might jinx it. When we arrived at the park we found an unoccupied bench and sat looking out on a small pond where geese and ducks added to the bucolic scene. I glanced at Kat but said nothing, waiting for her to start the conversation. Whatever it was she wanted to say it was apparent she was having considerable difficultly getting it out.
“I don’t know how to say this,” she finally blurted. “There’s no good way.”
“It’s about Croop?” I prompted her.
She looked at me with fear in her eyes. “No. I don’t know anything about Croop. Maybe he assaulted Callie and maybe he didn’t. I don’t know. But … I’m almost certain he wasn’t responsible for whatever happened to Charlene.”
I was stunned. This was the last thing I had expected her to tell me. “But—”
“Jack, listen to me. What I suspect won’t help Callie. In fact, it would do just the opposite if it were proven to be correct. I just feel that I have to tell somebody …”
I let a wave of disappointment ripple through me. As much as I was frustrated by this sudden turn of events I had to know what it was that had Kat in such a state of turmoil. “All right,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”
“This is very hard for me,” she said, “so I’ll keep it short.” She took a couple of deep breaths. “ Before I moved to Colville my son and I lived in Rumford – it’s where I raised him from birth. One of his friends was a kid named Bobby. One day, when he was in grade eleven, Devon came home with the news that Bobby’s girlfriend – a girl named Susan was missing. They had all been at a party the previous Saturday and Susan had not been seen since. Everyone in Devon’s circle of friends immediately thought Bobby was responsible for whatever might have happened to her. A few days later she was found dead. She’d been murdered. All her friends were questioned at length by the police and it seemed like they were looking seriously at Bobby as the prime suspect in the case. Then, a kid named Steven became a suspect when Susan’s blood was found on the sole of his shoe. A search of his school locker turned up pictures of Susan that had obviously been taken without her knowledge. Not long after that Steven killed himself. The thing was, Devon and all the other kids knew he hadn’t killed Susan. Although they couldn’t prove it they knew Bobby had killed her and framed Steven.”
“I don’t understand, Kat. What does any of this have to do with Charlene or with what’s happening to Callie?”
“Bobby’s full name was Robert James Fordham. He’s gone by his initials, RJ, since he grew up. He moved to Colville after he finished school and became a cop a few years ago. As soon as Devon heard what had happened to Charlene he immediately thought of Bobby – RJ - knowing that he lived in Colville now. Then when it came out about the pictures found in Croop’s garage that cinched it for him. He called me right away and said he was sure RJ was responsible. At first I thought it couldn’t be true but the more I thought about it, it all made sense.”
I sat, trying to analyze things with a view to what Kat had told me. The flash drive showing up in Croop’s garage could very well have been a plant of course. And who better to have gained access to a flash drive with Croop’s finger prints on it than Fordham? He would probably have been involved in the original search of Croop’s home after his death. If, as Kat alleged, Fordham was guilty of Charlene’s murder, Croop was the perfect fall guy. What better way to ensure no one else would be seriously considered as a possible suspect than to point the finger at a stalker? The whole situation was now muddied, of course, by the fact that I had planted yet more incriminating evidence against Croop.
It seemed that everything was becoming impossibly convoluted. If Kat was right then Callie would appear to have had no justifiable cause to kill Croop. It meant that, regardless of Fordham’s possible guilt in the murder of Charlene, I had to make sure it was never made known. To protect Callie I had to inadvertently help a murderer and, at the same time, crucify a man guilty of, at worst, stalking. Even that assumption was predicated on the fact that the photographs taken of Callie hadn’t been planted as well. As to whether Croop was in fact taking advantage of Callie for sexual gratification: who knew if her version of events was real?
“I know the position this puts you in,” Kat said as she watched me wrestle with my thoughts. “I just couldn’t keep things to myself any longer. And there’s one other thing, too.”
I sighed in frustration. “You’ve got my full attention.”
“Although RJ has never actually threatened me he knows damn well what I believe about what happened in Rumford. Every once in a while he stops in to the diner and gives me a look. I can’t explain it exactly but somehow he manages to convey a threat without saying the words: keep your mouth shut … or else.”
“Are you going to go to Jessup with this?” I asked. As I waited for her answer I wondered just what the hell I would do if she said ‘yes’.
“No. I can’t prove anything. RJ is too smart to have left any evidence implicating himself in a crime. And if he was to learn that I was trying to make trouble for him I don’t doubt for a minute what he’d do to me. I don’t dare say anything. I just had to get this all off my chest and you’re the one person I know I can count on not to tell anyone else.”
She was right about that.
“To add fuel to the fire, Chief Jessup seems to suspect that I know something. He questioned me the other day at his office and as much as called me a liar for not admitting whatever it is that I know.”
I had come to the conclusion that Jessup was a good deal smarter than my first impression of him had indicated. The news that he suspected Kat of withholding information made me very nervous.
On the drive back to Colville it became clear to me that things could not be left the way they were. If what Kat had told me was true a killer was masquerading as a police officer. I needed to find out whether or not her suspicions were factual; if they were, something would have to be done about it. I might not be able to take what I found out to the law but, one way or another, the matter would have to be dealt with. As concerned Croop, the man was dead. Nothing I could do would bring him back to life. Although it didn�
��t give me a good feeling, knowing that I might be allowing a innocent man to be branded a murderer, Callie’s liberation took precedence. No contest.
And nothing was ever going to change that.
26
When I arrived in town it was late afternoon. I was tired but I decided, nonetheless, to stop into Chief Jessup’s office for a little chat. When I walked through the door Fordham got to his feet to greet me. He’d been sitting at his desk in the outer office. Jessup was in his private office doing some reading and Madge, the receptionist, was on the phone.
“Mr. Parmenter,” Fordham said standing. “What can we do for you?”
Fordham gave the impression of a very polite young man. Could it be that Kat had it all wrong? Maybe. But in my law enforcement career I had seen my share of stone cold killers who looked and sounded like they had just come from a church choir rehearsal. Early impressions were famously inaccurate as judges of character. To come to any real determination about Fordham I would have to get him off by himself and rattle his cage with what Kat knew, or thought she knew, about him - see how he reacted to a frontal assault on his character. “Just wanted a word with the Chief,” I answered.
“Come on through, Mr. Parmenter,” Jessup called.
When I entered his small office he pointed at a chair. “So, how is the trial going?” he asked.
“Not all that well to be honest,” I said, closing his office door. “The prosecutor is making Croop look like a saint and Callie like a crazed lunatic.”
The Shadow's Edge Page 11