But then, just as quickly, his face changed again into one of stubbornness. “Nope, sorry. Don’t know shit. Wish I could help.”
“All right. Just remember what I said. Anyone who killed Lindsey is a friend of mine. And I take care of my friends. Don’t forget about the money.”
“I gotcha. If I think of anything, I’ll call you. Leave me your number.”
I gave him the number for my prepaid phone. He entered it into his prepaid phone.
But just as I was about to leave, another thought occurred to me. Something I just had to know, even if it had no bearing on my case.
“Mike…”
“Yeah?”
“Was Ryan using again?”
“What do you mean?”
He knew exactly what I meant. He was stalling and I could see right through it.
“I mean, you know Ryan used to be addicted to pills. I just find it pretty hard to believe he was hanging out with that heroin addicted slut but not doing any drugs himself.”
“Oh, I see,” he said.
“So…was he using again? It’s okay, you can tell me. Plus, Ryan’s dead now, so there’s no reason to lie for him.”
“I guess you’re right. Okay, yes, Ryan was taking pills again. OxyContin, Methadone, anything he could get his hands on.”
I knew he was telling the truth because those were the same pills he had been addicted to before I met him.
“And he was getting these pills from you?”
Mike looked down at the stained carpet but didn’t answer me.
“Mike, I really need to know. I’m not going to tell anybody or judge you for it. I just need to know for my own sanity.”
“Okay, yes, he was getting them from me. When I had them, anyway. I don’t know who he got them from when I couldn’t get my hands on anything.”
“Did he owe you any money?”
If Mike had any clue where I was going with my line of questioning, he didn’t let it show.
“Well, yeah, a little maybe, but not that much.”
“How much, Mike?”
“Maybe a thousand? I used to front him the pills until he got paid but then he racked up quite a bill with me and so I had to cut him off.”
“You cut him off? How long ago was that?”
“Maybe a month ago?”
“All right, thanks Mike.” I turned and left the decrepit duplex and climbed into my Sorento.
On the drive home, I tried hard to think of what everything meant. So far, I had learned that not only had Lindsey thrown an ashtray at Ryan, but she had threatened to kill him only days before he died. On top of that, I had learned that Ryan was back on pills and that he owed Mike a large sum of money. It was becoming clearer and clearer to me that it had to be either Lindsey or Mike, or both, who killed my husband. Both of them had a motive, and I didn’t. Surely once the police heard my secret recording, they would finally stop looking at me and start looking at the more likely suspects. The one thing I couldn’t figure out was how Ryan was back on pills—for a whole year—without me knowing about it. I felt totally naïve and even a little betrayed, once again, by more of Ryan’s lies.
***
On Friday, I received a call from Dave with the first piece of good news I’d heard since the whole damn thing had started. Forensics had done an analysis on the bruises on Lindsey’s throat. Although they couldn’t get any discernable fingerprints, they had determined the prints were likely those of a male, not a female. I had been, for the time being, cleared in Lindsey’s death.
A man’s hands. It had to be Mike. I was right all along. But how to prove it? My visit with Mike had given me information I hadn’t had before. That Lindsey and Ryan had a knock-down-drag-out over his unwillingness to leave me. That she had thrown an ashtray at him and threatened to kill him. That Ryan was back on pills and owed Mike lots of money. But nothing at all to implicate Mike in either of the deaths. It certainly lent credence to my theory that Lindsey had Ryan killed, but then Mike had clammed up when I asked him about Lindsey’s murder.
And there was no way I could give my recording of Mike’s story to Dave, the police, or anybody without letting on that I had gone to see him. I knew that would really piss Dave off. In Kentucky, I knew, it was legal to record a conversation as long as one of the parties speaking is aware of the recording. This meant my recording of Mike was not illegal wiretapping. Still, I didn’t want anyone to know the foolish and dangerous thing I had done.
On the other hand, if I did turn over the recording, it might help strengthen my defense when Dorne and Gaines heard about Lindsey’s threat. What was the worst that could happen? I get a slap on the wrist by my attorney for sleuthing behind his back? I finally decided it was worth the risk and called Dave.
***
“You did what?” he asked incredulously when I told him I had met with Mike Thompson.
“I know. Incredibly risky. Possibly stupid. But it paid off, Dave! He told me that about a week before Ryan’s death, Lindsey not only threw an ashtray at him, she threatened to kill him if he didn’t leave me. Not only that, but Ryan was back on pills and he owed Mike about a thousand dollars!”
I could tell he was thinking on the other line. A pregnant pause hung in the air.
“Dave?”
“All right. Bring me the recording. I’ll play it for Gaines and see what he makes of it. But Libby, I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. Once a prosecutor files charges against someone, it’s very rare that they just drop the charges, no matter what mitigating evidence is presented to them.”
“I won’t. But if they won’t drop the charges, we can use it at my trial, right? Play the recording and even put Mike Thompson on the stand to testify to what he told me? It can only help, right?”
“Yes, I do believe it can help. That is, if Mike Thompson doesn’t recant. He might say he was just lying to you. Telling you what you wanted to hear. In that case, we’re no better off than we were before. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Bring me the recording today if you can.”
I didn’t hesitate. I jumped behind the wheel of my Sorento and drove immediately into town. By the time I got there, Dave was out at court, so I left the recording with his new paralegal, Jennifer.
When I pulled out of the parking lot, I caught a glimpse of the black truck that I now knew was driven by a parolee named Merle. Although it was a bit disturbing to know someone was watching me, knowing that he was there to protect me at my father’s bidding made it seem not quite so scary. I wondered how long it would be before Randy could call him off. Apparently, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Merle yet, because there he was, following me as usual.
I was tempted to stop my car and run up to his black truck. Confront him. Tell him I knew who he was and what he was doing. Thank him very much for his concern but explain that his services were no longer needed. But then I reminded myself he was a prison parolee. Randy had failed to mention, and I had failed to ask, what he was in prison for to begin with. He could be a very dangerous man. What if telling him to back off set him off somehow and he flipped out on me? Ultimately, I decided to leave it alone and hope Randy called him off sooner rather than later.
He followed several car lengths behind me all the way home, but when I turned into my driveway, he kept going straight. I knew there was nothing but a dead end at the end of Elm Fork and that he’d have to turn around and pass by my house once more, but I just shrugged it off and went on into the house.
***
It was a few minutes after five when Dave called me.
“I spoke with Dorne and Gaines. I played the recording for them.”
“And?”
“And as I expected, they were both very upset that you took it upon yourself to go to the house of a known, possibly dangerous, heroin dealer and record your conversation.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No. What you did was stupid but not illegal.”
“What else did they say about what Mike sai
d…about what Lindsey did?”
“Gaines called it hearsay at best. Since neither Ryan nor Lindsey are around to confirm or deny what Mike alleged, it’s pretty much useless. They’re not going to drop the charges.”
“Hearsay? But if Mike is there to confirm what she said, doesn’t that overcome the hearsay standard?”
“Hearsay, according to the strict definition, is information received from other people that one cannot adequately substantiate. In other words, a rumor. They may be right on this one. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to at least try to introduce it at trial.”
“All right. I knew it was too much to hope they’d see that Mike or Lindsey had much more motive to kill Ryan than I ever did. Especially since we now know Ryan was using again. But thanks for trying.”
“No problem. I was also going to tell you I made a call to your psychiatrist, Dr. Lange. He’s willing to testify on your behalf at the trial. Gaines will probably want to take his deposition once I disclose him as a witness. But Lange said you missed your last appointment and you need to call and make another one, ASAP.”
He was right. I had missed my last appointment with Dr. Lange. It would have been the day I was in jail. I didn’t even think to call and reschedule; I had so much on my mind. I promised Dave I’d made an appointment first thing Monday.
“Oh, and Libby? No more antics like you pulled with Mike Thompson. Stay away from him. Although his criminal history is mainly drug-related charges, people like him can get desperate. If he even thought you were suggesting he murdered Ryan and Lindsey, there’s no telling what he may do. So no more stunts like that. You hear me?”
I promised him I would stay away from Mike, but even then I wasn’t sure I meant it. I wasn’t willing to just sit around and wait for my trial to begin. I had to prove Mike had murdered Ryan at Lindsey’s command and then murdered her when she failed to pay him. Or to tie up loose ends. Either way, I was not going to go down for something that druggie loser did. And I was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that didn’t happen. Even if it meant risking my own life in the process.
Chapter 16
Friday morning, I was awakened by my phone ringing. At first I thought I was dreaming it, but then I came to and realized it was real. I slapped my hand around on the nightstand until I found my vibrating phone, picked it up, clicked the answer button, and said hello.
“Libby, it’s Dave,” he said in a tone that instantly worried me.
“What’s wrong?” I said as I shot up out of bed.
“We have a problem. Can you come to my office? Now?”
I looked down at my screen and saw that it was eight fifteen. “Sure. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
I forewent the shower and threw on a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, slipped my feet into black flip-flops and ran out the front door.
I pulled up in Dave’s parking lot at 8:25, got out and walked as quickly as I could into his office. His receptionist greeted me with an obviously fake smile and motioned for me to go on back to his office.
Dave was sitting at his desk, talking into his phone. When he saw me, he waved me into the doorway. I sat down across from him, crossed my legs, and began twitching my foot, full of nervous energy. Dave finally ended his call seconds later and folded his hands on the desk.
“Libby, who is Paul Daniels?”
My stomach did a backflip. How on earth did he know about him? Of course, I never got Paul’s last name, but what other Paul could he be talking about? There was no point in being coy. I straightened my back and cleared my throat.
“Paul is a firefighter I met at a bar in Richmond last weekend. I didn’t know him before then and I haven’t seen him since. Why do you ask?”
“Did you not watch this morning’s news?”
Again, my stomach tightened. “No. I was asleep until you called. Dave, tell me what’s going on.”
Without answering me, he swiveled in his chair and began typing. After a few awkward seconds of silence, he turned his screen so I could see it.
There, on the screen, big as day, was a picture of Paul under a headline that read:
MURDER SUSPECT HOOKS UP WITH NEW MAN SHORTLY AFTER HUSBAND’S DEATH.
I felt like I could puke right there on the floor. How did the media know about Paul?
“I…I don’t…don’t understand…” I stammered.
“Apparently, the young man you were with last weekend went to the media and told all.”
“But I didn’t…I didn’t hook up with him, Dave!”
“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”
I told him the whole story. “But we didn’t actually have sex. We just made out and then I left. That’s all that happened. I swear.”
“I believe you, but that’s not what he’s telling the media. Here, come read for yourself.”
I walked around his desk. He stood up and I sat down in his chair and read from the beginning. For the most part, everything he said was true. He told the reporter how I’d given him a fake name, lied about who I was and what I did for a living, lied about everything. Even though he didn’t come right out and say we had sex, he had to know that was the impression he was giving when he said we “hooked up” at his apartment. He knew damn well what the reporter was going to write, but because I had spurned him, he let the reporter run with the story and the intimation that we’d gone further than we actually did. I was beside myself with anger.
“Dave, I don’t know what to say. I absolutely did not have sex with this man.”
“But the rest of it’s true? You lied about who you were?”
“Dave, you won’t understand this, but I just wanted to be someone else…just for a little while. I wanted to forget everything that had happened to me. I wanted to forget about Ryan. Maybe part of me even wanted to get back at him for what he did. But I couldn’t do it. In the end, I just couldn’t go through with it. So I left. End of story. He tried texting me a few times, but I ignored him.”
“That must be why he’s so pissed off,” Dave said, taking his chair back.
I returned to my chair opposite him. “I guess.”
“The problem is, not only are the police going to hear about it, if they haven’t already, but this is going to taint the public’s perception of you. Libby, I can’t put this genie back in the bottle.”
“What can I do? Should I reach out to him?”
“Absolutely not.” he said sternly. “No matter what you do, do not reach out to this man.”
“So then, what? There has to be something we can do.”
Dave seemed to ponder this for a moment. I felt bad for putting him in this position. He had done nothing but support me and help me ever since I hired him. Now I had gone and messed things up once again.
“There might be one thing,” he said finally.
“What’s that? I’ll do anything.”
“We could contact Dorne and Gaines and try to get ahead of this thing.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No, but we can’t ignore it. They’re going to find out, if they haven’t already, and hiding from it just makes you look even guiltier.”
“All right, let’s do it, then.”
Dave picked up the phone, dialed some numbers, and then put the phone on speaker. When a woman’s voice answered at the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office, Dave asked for Brian Gaines. She told him to hold one moment and a few seconds later, Mr. Gaines was on the line.
“This is Brian Gaines,” he said in a smooth baritone voice.
“Brian, it’s Dave.”
“Well, hello there, Dave. How are things going over there on the dark side?”
“Very funny. Listen, I have Libby Carter here with me and we would like to talk to you and Dorne. Do you think you could come over here?”
“Sure,” he said. “When’s a good time?”
“Now would be good,” Dave informed him.
“I’ll walk over now,” Gaines said. �
��I’ll grab Dorne on the way.”
I knew that meant they’d be there soon, because Dave’s office was right across the street from the prosecutor’s office and the police station was only a block down from there.
Sure enough, both Gaines and Dorne arrived within ten minutes. When they walked through Dave’s office door, Dave stood from his desk and held out his hand. Both men shook his hand quickly then stood off to the side.
“I have a feeling I know what this is all about, Dave,” Gaines said.
“It’s about Paul Daniels. I’m sure you’ve seen the news reports by now.”
“How could we not? It’s all over the TV and the internet.”
“My client would like you to hear her side of the story. Go ahead, Libby. Tell them what happened.”
My body was trembling. Not only was I scared, but I was humiliated to be discussing something so intimate with these men. They weren’t just strangers—they were men who held my future and my freedom in their hands. I cleared my throat and began slowly.
“Last Friday night, I stopped at a small bar in Richmond, just to clear my mind and relieve a little stress. I met a man there. I only knew his first name—Paul. We had a great time and it was nice to not have to discuss all the difficulties in my life right now. Yes, I lied about who I was. I just wanted to be someone else for a few hours. We talked over drinks for a while, then I guess I got carried away because I agreed to go hang out with him at his house. We had a couple of drinks there and then I left around ten o’clock.”
“According to Mr. Daniels, you did more than just have a couple of drinks,” Dorne said with a mischievous grin.
“Well, he’s a liar,” I nearly shouted. Then I realized I’d better keep my composure so I amended my tone. “I don’t know why he has contacted the press. Nothing happened with him.”
“I don’t believe you,” Dorne said.
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