“Molly, I was serious the other day, when I said you taught me to stand up for myself. I’ve been doing it ever since. I fought to save this building and I won. I helped get the historic designation, so we could fix up downtown. I fought that ass Stewart when he tried to run me out of business with lies. He got the health department after me, but they didn’t find anything wrong. The bastard still comes in here smilin’ like the Cheshire cat, as if he were our best friend.”
Molly interrupted, “Why would he do that?”
“He owns most of this block and all of the next one. He wanted this building after Bob fixed it up. You should have seen it when we bought it.”
“How does a prosecutor have the money to buy that much real estate?”
“I’m not going to say it’s a fact, but most of the previous owners were beholdin’ to Stewart in one way or another — a kid with a DUI, a wife-beating charge, something that needed to go away.”
“I see,” Molly said, nodding that she understood.
“So, I’ve been in danger longer than you can imagine. You think Bob keeps that rifle behind the counter for strangers? It’s the devils in this town we have to keep an eye on.”
“All right, then,” Molly said. “Glad you’re on my side.”
Robbie hugged Molly, spontaneously. “I’ve always been on your side, Molly.”
Molly hugged Robbie and turned her loose. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Sure, anything,” Robbie said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“I need to talk to Mr. Stovall, but I don’t want anyone to know he’s talking to me. Can you arrange that for me? Maybe he could come out to your mother’s house tomorrow. I just need a few minutes of his time.”
“No problem. He visits momma all the time. I think he’s sweet on her, since his wife died.”
“Great. Hey, thanks Robbie. You’re a good friend to have.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. You be safe now, you hear.”
“I will,” Molly said, patting Robbie on the shoulder. “You too.”
Molly left Robbie waving on the sidewalk, as she drove away. She had a few more stops to make and two and a half hours to get it done. Despite what Molly told Randy, she was going a lot further than five blocks. She pointed the car toward Berryhill and left Waitesville in her rearview mirror.
#
“There are quite a few entries here. Do you want them all?” The clerk asked.
“Yes, every notation under the name Sarah Harris,” Molly answered, then added quickly, “Look under Sarah H. Branch, or Sarah Branch, also.”
“Okay, like I said, we need verification that you are next of kin and that Sarah Harris cannot act for herself.”
Molly reached in her brief case, producing her birth certificate, adoption records, her ID, and added Sarah’s death certificate to the top of the stack. She smiled at the clerk. “That should more than satisfy the hospital’s policy.”
“Yes, ma’am. That will do just fine. If you’d like to wait over there, I’ll start printing it out.”
Molly reached in the side pocket of the brief case. “Would you mind just loading it on this flash drive?”
The clerk stared at the drive, confusion wrinkling her brow. “I still have to charge you for the copies.”
“That’s fine,” Molly said, willing to pay anything for the information the hospital had on her mother.
“But I don’t know how many copies to charge you for, if I don’t print the pages.”
Molly, who had already been through this twice, was tired of the red tape. She reached in her pocket, pulled out a hundred dollar bill, and slapped it on the counter. “That should cover it. Keep the change.”
The clerk smirked, and smacked her gum. “Well, al’right then. It’ll be a minute.”
Molly stopped at Memorial Hospital on the way back from Berryhill, with a stop in between at the county health department. She was pushing the limits of the time she had left, before meeting Leslie at the jail. She needed clerk-girl to drop the attitude and push a few buttons. Molly smothered her frustration with a smile and waited.
She checked her email, forwarded it to someone else in the office if it needed to be dealt with right away, and ignored the rest. She sent Swoop a text message, telling her not to cook anything else until she heard from her. The return message made her laugh aloud.
“She better be good! :-)”
“Ms. Kincaid.” The clerk had finally returned. “Here’s your flash drive.” She shoved the hundred back across the counter. “I read part of your mother’s file. I know I’m not supposed to, but any woman that took the beatings she did, deserves something for free.”
Molly took the flash drive, but left the hundred on the counter. “Thank you, but keep it. Put it on some battered woman’s bill.”
“I will, and God Bless you,” the clerk said, and Molly believed the clerk really would put that money on someone’s bill. A hundred bucks did not seem like much, but Molly knew what a difference it could make when every penny counted.
Molly left the hospital, driving straight to the jail, arriving just minutes after Leslie. Molly was glad to see her, much more so than she anticipated. She felt the rush of warmth in her chest pushing the blush to her face. Leslie turned to see her coming, experiencing much the same reaction to Molly, as she broke into a smile and her cheeks flushed.
“Did you have a productive morning?” Leslie asked, when Molly was closer.
“Yes, I did. How about you?”
“I finished the statement to the judge. Randy has it. I also went by my office and picked up a dry erase board. It might come in handy. Joey manages the markers better than pencils and pens.” She pointed at the board and some markers that were held together with a rubber band, resting on the security desk.
“You were productive. Thank you,” Molly said, handing her briefcase to the officer behind the desk. She left the Walther in the car.
“How were Robbie and the Pop’s gang? Did you accomplish what you set out to do?”
Molly glanced at the officer to see if he was listening. The pistol pocket in the briefcase enthralled him, and he was not paying attention to them. Still, Molly could not take the chance of discussing her meeting with Robbie here.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Molly said, receiving her case back from the officer.
They were led into the interview room and were alone while they waited for Joey to be brought in. Molly looked around the room carefully. The police were not supposed to record attorney-client interviews, but after talking to Robbie, it was not beyond the realm of possibility. Rainey’s paranoia was rubbing off on Molly.
Leslie saw her searching and mouthed the words, “What are you looking for?”
Molly mouthed back, “Microphones, cameras.”
An “Oh,” formed on Leslie’s lips. She started looking too.
No recording devices were discovered, but that did not mean they were not there. Molly needed to make sure she gave no information in her questioning. Joey was brought in, resumed the seat he held at the last meeting, and stared out the window. The tapping began. When the escorting officer left the room, Leslie spoke to Joey.
“Good afternoon, Joey.”
In rote response, Joey said, “Good afternoon, Leslie.”
“Eye contact, Joey,” Leslie reminded him. He pulled his eyes from the window to hers. “You remember Ms. Kincaid, don’t you?”
He turned to Molly. “Good afternoon, Ms. Kincaid.”
Molly smiled, and wondered how many hours it took Leslie to teach Joey the proper response. “Good afternoon, Joey.”
Leslie led with, “Joey, Ms. Kincaid needs to ask you some questions.”
“Okay,” Joey said, flatly.
Leslie turned to Molly, indicating she should begin the slow process of examining Joey’s day. He stayed focused for the most part, only having to be prodded by Leslie a few times. He did point out every few minutes that he no longer had his watches, and di
d not know what time it was. Leslie answered patiently with the correct time, never appearing to grow weary of this intrusion in the conversation. Molly kept her questions simple and limited to the periods of movement during his day, until she reached the time for him to leave work.
“What time did you leave work?”
“I leave work at five o’clock p.m.”
“Did you leave at five p.m. on that day?”
“Yes, I leave work at five p.m.” He said it with a bit of attitude at having to repeat himself, which made Molly smile.
“When you walked home that day, can you tell me if you saw anything unusual?”
Leslie interjected. “Joey, may I rephrase that question?”
“Yes, Leslie.”
“Think back to that day. You just left work. You are walking home. Can you see the pictures in your mind?”
“Yes, Leslie.”
“Okay, what is the first picture that you see?”
“The door. I closed it.”
“Good. Now, can you fast-forward to Pop’s? Did you stop to see Robbie?”
“Yes, she gives me a coke every workday at five-ten p.m.”
“Who was in Pop’s that day?”
Molly saw what Leslie was doing and sat back to listen.
“Robbie and Mr. Bob. They close at five-thirty p.m. She gives me a Coke at five-ten p.m. and says I am her favorite customer of the day. I am not a customer. Customers pay for merchandise. Robbie gives me the Coke. I do not pay.”
“You are correct. I’ll talk to her about that.”
Leslie’s patience and understanding were a marvel. The connection between Leslie and Joey was fascinating to Molly. Joey listened intently to Leslie’s every word. He trusted her completely, which spoke to the amount of work Leslie put into their relationship. Molly imagined Leslie had thrown a major fit when he was arrested. The love she had for this kid was without bounds.
Leslie refocused Joey. “You leave Pop’s. What is the next picture you see with a person in it?”
“I say ‘Good evening,’ to Mrs. Wheeler at five-seventeen p.m.”
“How do you know what time it is when you see Mrs. Wheeler?”
“Mrs. Wheeler’s store is next to the bank. I see the clock on the sign. It says five-seventeen, but no p.m. I check my watches there for the correct time. I don’t have my watches. I don’t know what time it is, now.”
Leslie looked at her watch. “It’s one-thirty-five p.m.”
Joey repeated in a whisper, “It’s one-thirty-five p.m.”
Leslie refocused him, again. Each time she did, it was seamless, as if it were part of their natural conversation pattern to answer random questions with just the facts and move on.
“If you get there at five-sixteen, what do you do?”
“I wait until five-seventeen and then I say, ‘Good evening, Mrs. Wheeler.’ She says, ‘Good evening, Joey.’ She does that every work day.”
“Sometimes Mrs. Wheeler is not there. What happens when she is not waiting at the door?”
“I leave a note on the dry erase board on the door. She put it there for me, so I could say, ‘Good evening, Mrs. Wheeler,’ even if she is not there.”
“But she was there that day, correct?”
“Correct.”
“What time did you arrive at home?”
“I arrive at home at five-twenty-five p.m.”
As they neared the murder scene, Joey became visibly anxious. The tapping sped up and was louder. Leslie continued, but cautiously.
“Joey, I do not want you to see the pictures in your house. We’re going to stop before we go in the house, okay?”
“We cannot go in the house. I went in the house. You were not there, Leslie.”
“You are correct, Joey. I did not go in the house with you.” She refocused him again. “Joey, when you left Mrs. Wheeler, what is the very next picture you see?”
“The street light at the corner. I have to wait until the hand is green and then I can cross the street. It is against the law to cross the street anywhere other than the corner, and you must wait for the green hand.”
“After you saw the green hand, you crossed the street. Did you talk to anyone else on your way home?”
“No, I walk through the field. There are no people in the field.”
“When you were in the field, could you see the cars coming out of your road?”
“Yes, I saw Mr. Johnson. I waved like you said, but he did not wave back.”
Leslie smiled at Joey. “Maybe he did not see you. If people don’t see you, they cannot wave to you. Did you see any other vehicles?”
“No, I did not see it.”
Molly perked up, but did not interrupt.
Leslie heard it too, and asked. “What did you hear?”
“I heard a truck going down the back path.”
Molly asked Leslie, “What back path?”
“There is an old logging road behind Joe’s house. It’s on the other side of the train tracks.”
Molly turned to Joey. “How do you know it was a truck, Joey?”
“Ms. Kincaid, a car could not go down the back path. It is too bumpy.”
Leslie backed him up. “He’s right. The holes and ruts are too deep for a car. It has to be a four-wheel-drive or jacked up off the ground.” She turned back to Joey. “Did you see anyone else, before you went in the house?”
“No, I arrived at five-twenty-five p.m. My mother was there.” The tapping got louder.
Molly stopped that line of questioning there. “Okay, Joey. That was great. Thank you. I have a few more questions about Papa Joe’s computer.”
“Papa Joe’s computer is at Leslie’s house where it is safe.”
That caught Molly’s ear. “Why would Papa Joe’s computer need to be safe at Leslie’s house?”
“Papa Joe said to give it to Molly, the girl in the picture with the fish. I have not seen her. Have you?”
Leslie touched Molly’s arm, indicating she needed to speak. “Joey, Ms. Kincaid is the Molly in the picture. She is grown up now, but Papa Joe knew her when she was a little girl.”
Joey looked hard at Molly, and then looked away, as if he did not believe she was the little girl. Molly knew how to fix that.
“Joey, eye contact please.” She waited for his eyes to meet hers. “In the picture, I am holding a blue catfish.” She remembered Joe taking the picture. “There was something funny about my tee shirt, do you remember? Don’t tell me if you do. Let me tell you and see if I’m right.”
Joey said, “I remember.”
“My shirt said, ‘Colour My Wourld.’ The word World was spelled wrong.”
“That is correct,” Joey answered, but was not going to be sold that easily. “You could have seen the picture.”
Leslie started to speak, but Molly stopped her. “Let me. Joey, I knew Papa Joe a long time ago, but I know something very few people do. I bet you know it too.” She waited for Joey to look up at her. He was curious. “Joe had an extra little toe on his right foot. It wasn’t fully developed, just a nub between the little toe and the next one, but he could make it move.”
“You are correct, Molly.” Joey’s answer signaled success.
“Joey, if I couldn’t find Joe’s physical computer, how would I get the information that is on it?”
“I backed up Papa Joe’s computer online. You would have to have the password.”
“May I have the password and web address, so I can find out what Papa Joe wanted me to know?”
“I am not supposed to give passwords to the backup to anyone. Papa Joe did not tell me to do that.”
Leslie had this one. “If Papa Joe wanted Molly to have his computer, then he would want her to have his passwords, so she could log on, right?”
“Yes, he said I could tell Molly the password to the computer and his email.”
“Then it is logical,” Leslie explained, “that if Molly can’t access the actual computer, Papa Joe would want her to have the bac
kup and password.”
“That is logical, Leslie. I will give them to her, but not you. He did not say you could have them.”
Leslie smiled. “Okay, Joey. You don’t have to tell me. You can write it down on the dry erase board and Molly can copy it down. You can erase the board when you are finished. I will not look.”
“When did Papa Joe tell you to give me the computer, Joey?”
“Wednesday, March seventh at one-thirty-five p.m. He said, ‘Joey, I’m giving my computer to Leslie. If something happens to me, give it to Molly, the girl with the fish. She will come.’ And you did.”
“Yes, I did, Joey.”
The rest of the interview went quickly. Joey wrote the web address where Molly could find the backup and all Joe’s passwords. Leslie had to stand by the window so she could not see. Joey checked several times to see if she was looking. With each look, Joey asked Leslie what time it was, and she calmly answered, without looking at him. Molly thought Joey was testing Leslie’s promise not to look. She passed with flying colors.
Molly did not ask Joey about the gold legend. She did not want to discuss it here, unless it became necessary, and she wanted to see what was on Joe’s computer first. Molly then went over the procedures they would go through in court and instructed Joey on how to respond to the judge. They practiced a few times and then it was time for him to leave. Molly thanked Joey and watched as Leslie tried to be brave. Molly could see it killed her to watch him walk in chains. At the door, he paused again.
“Leslie, you said I could ask you on Friday when I was going home. It is Friday.”
“Yes, it is,” Leslie said, her voice quivering slightly. “Again, I must tell you I don’t know, but you may ask me again next Friday.”
“Okay, Leslie. Good evening.”
As soon as he cleared the room, Leslie collapsed in a chair, her face buried in her hands. Seeing Leslie like that made Molly’s heart ache. She squatted in front of Leslie, talking softly.
“I can see how much this hurts you. I’m so sorry.”
Leslie said through tears, “He used to ask me every day, every hour. I finally had to tell him he could ask me on Friday, or he would have repeated the question until he got an answer. I hate not knowing what to tell him.” She looked up from her hands at Molly. “You have to get him out of here.”
Molly: House on Fire Page 29