Framed

by C. P. Smith

  “Hey. Um, actually, I was hoping to talk to six of them. Do you remember about two years ago, there was a murder—”

  “Do I?” she interrupted. “We don’t get much excitement around here so that night was a topic of conversation between the residents and staff for months.”

  “Did anyone remember seeing anything?” I asked, looking at her nametag. Then I continued, putting out my hand to shake hers, “I’m Harley by the way, Edith.”

  “Nice to meet you, hun. But I’m afraid no one saw anything. Everyone was asleep and the staff was charting at the time. At night we just have a few nurses and assistants on,” she explained. “You know it’s funny, you’re the second person in the past week who’s asked about that murder. Are you with one of those groups that gets wrongly convicted people out of jail? I never did think that soldier did it. He had kind eyes.”

  “Something like that,” I answered. “I don’t think he did it either, and I’m trying to help prove it. I was told the security camera in the back of the building didn’t record anything that night.”

  “That was another topic of conversation. Conspiracy theories ran rampant for a while. You see, it was just the camera in the back of the building that messed up that night, and only for the hour before and then during the murder. NO one believed that was a coincidence.”

  “What did the police say about that?” I asked as my neck tingled with my first lead.

  “Not a dang thing. They came in, looked at the video, then left and never came back. They didn’t even take it with them. They just wrote it off as malfunction.”

  “Did you tell this to the men who came in last week?”

  “No, they asked to speak with the manager, so I directed them to her. It wasn’t until they were gone that I found out what they wanted.”

  I pulled out my pen and paper and began writing down what Edith had told me. While I was writing, I heard a woman railing on someone in Spanish and looked up. What looked to be a mother and son were coming down the hall. The woman was pushing a walker as she spoke to the man. He rolled his eyes as she kept walking and arguing with him. I smiled, then went back to work writing down about the security camera. I wished Prez and Mickey were here, they’d know what to do with the information.

  “Momma,” the man laughed when the old woman tried to walk away from him.

  “Is Mrs. Montoya trying to escape again?” Edith asked her son.

  “Yes. I should have known it was coming. We’ve had two weeks of peace.”

  I looked at Edith as she laughed. I was dying to ask her son if she was trying to escape so she could find the six-fingered man, but refrained. Not everyone would get the reference to The Princess Bride.

  “Poor Miguel. His mother has been here for about five years and has tried to escape at least once a week. He finally had to put a nanny cam in her room. It’s motion sensitive and alerts him by computer if she gets up. Good thing, too. She fell one day a few years back and ended up in the hospital. She wasn’t trying to escape that time, though. We had an unsavory assistant that was too rough with her, and she fell and broke her hip trying to move away from him. The funny thing is, she still hasn’t figured out that she’s being monitored. She just thinks she has bad luck whenever someone shows up to stop her.

  I was laughing at the story when something occurred to me. I’d heard her name before from the boys. She was one of the residents who occupied one of the six rooms.

  “I seem to remember my friends saying one of the residents didn’t see anything because she was in the hospital. Was that Mrs. Montoya?”

  “Oh, my, it sure was, now that you mention it. The only reason I remember is that she was pissed she had missed all the excitement. The murder happened the same day she fell.”

  “Was the Nanny Cam running that day?”

  “Oh yeah, Miguel caught it all on tape. After his mother recovered from surgery the next morning and told him what happened, he checked the tape and took it to the police.”

  “So it might have been running that night,” I mumbled. “You said it’s a motion detector. That it only records when there is movement?”

  “Right, he has it set up on his computer at work. If she tries to leave the room without someone accompanying her, he calls us or shows up himself. She wants to go back to Cuba to die, that’s why she keeps trying to escape. She hasn’t figured out she’s too stubborn to die yet,” Edith chuckled.

  It can’t be that simple.

  Mr. Montoya wouldn’t have looked to see what happened that night because his mother was in the hospital. Is it possible? The evidence Kade needed to prove his innocence might very well be sitting in that man’s possession and he doesn’t even know it.

  Watching the mother and son walk towards the dining room, my heart rate picked up.

  This could be it; this could be what we need.

  Without saying goodbye to Edith, I started moving towards the pair.

  “Mr. Montoya?” I called out. “Could I have a word with you?”

  ***

  “Here she comes,” D said. Harley emerged from Sunny Shore’s, but she wasn’t alone.

  “Wait, is that man with her?” Prez asked. The man looked to be in his late forties. He was of Hispanic decent with slight graying at his temples and extra weight around his middle.

  “I don’t recognize him from the staff we interviewed, do you?” D asked as he kept his eyes on Harley.

  “I do not. He’s heading to his car, maybe they were just talking as they exited,” Prez surmised as they watched Harley get in her car.

  “I don’t think so,” D replied. “Look, she’s following him.”

  “Fuck. What has she gotten herself into?” Prez growled. He started their rental and pulled in behind a car, two lengths back from Harley.

  “You think she found something?” D asked

  “Do I look like a mind reader?”

  “If she found something we missed, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “If Kade gets out, I’m not thinkin’ he’ll give a shit,” Prez responded, his eyes still trained like a hawk on Harley’s bumper.

  They followed Harley for twenty minutes until the lead car turned and she followed.

  “She took the same turn as he did; she’s definitely following that guy.”

  They kept following Harley through a residential neighborhood until they both turned left and came to a stop in front of a single story home.

  “There,” Prez pointed, “the white house on the end. He pulled into the driveway and Harley stopped.”

  Driving past at a normal speed, their tinted windows kept Harley from recognizing them as she got out of her Jeep and headed towards the man waiting for her. By the time they’d turned around and parked a few houses down, both had gone inside the house.

  “Do we recon or wait?” D asked as he put the binoculars to his eyes.

  “Let’s give her a few minutes before we storm the castle.”

  “Raid,” D chuckled, remembering Harley’s misquote.

  “Right, raid,” Prez grinned.

  “If this is a setup? If they were watching her and they drew her here. . .”

  “If she isn’t out within thirty minutes, we’ll recon and see what we can see.”

  “And if it’s a setup to draw us out and they’ve hurt her?” D asked.

  “Then there will be blood tonight my friend. No one touches Harley and gets away with it.”

  Nine

  My stomach churned with nervous energy as I waited for Mr. Montoya to pull up his video. The fates, if there was such a thing, might be on Kade’s side for once.

  Please, God.

  When I’d explained what I was looking for, he hadn’t hesitated. He’d heard, of course, about the war hero charged with murder. Everyone had. He even seemed thrilled at the thought he might have evidence in his possession that could exonerate Kade. So thrilled, in fact, he hadn’t wanted to wait. He’d kissed his mother’s cheek and ordered, “Follow me.”

>   Now, we were at his home waiting as his computer booted up.

  “Are you sure the Nanny Cam faced the window?” I asked.

  “Yes, I have two actually. I have cameras in both her bedroom and living room. She has curtains though; I have no idea if they were open or closed. I installed the system about four years ago. Mother is clumsy and she isn’t supposed to get up on her own. Of course, she doesn’t listen. She is determined to go back to Cuba before she dies,” he explained as he opened his computer files. “Here it is. I kept a copy for myself before turning it over to police.”

  Mr. Montoya clicked on the file and the video opened. He hit play and we watched Mrs. Montoya being helped from her bed to the bathroom. While she was inside the bathroom, the assistant made her bed, laid out clothes for the day and, thank you, God, opened the curtains. Now we just had to cross our fingers that what happened in the alley was close enough to trigger the camera.

  “What time was the murder?”

  “I think around eleven or just before. Can you fast forward to about ten forty-five?”

  I held my breath as he fast-forwarded through her day, praying some type of motion had triggered the camera to record the murder. He paused when he got to the part in the video where his mother fell. We both sucked in a breath as we watched an oversized man shove his mother when she tried to hit him.

  “Please tell me he got jail time,” I gritted through my teeth.

  “Not enough,” he answered with a thick voice before hitting fast forward again.

  With his mother in the hospital, no one had entered her room again and closed the curtains in either room. From time to time, someone would walk in front of her window or a car would drive past, reassuring me that the camera would record anything that happened that night. At ten minutes after nine, a cat walked past her window and triggered the camera, further verifying it would pick up movement in the dark. Then, at ten forty-seven, a black SUV drove down the street. At ten forty-eight, two men triggered the motion detector as they passed, but the camera didn’t start recording until they were just out of the frame. It didn’t catch their faces. I held my breath, my pulse racing, when, at ten fifty, a man ran past, holding a baseball bat. We couldn’t see what was happening, because the door leading from the bar was out of the range of the camera. At ten fifty-two, the camera started recording again, because three men moved into the Nanny Cam’s range. They were looking up, pointing at something on the building. None of them was Kade; they were much smaller in weight and size. Two had on masks covering their faces and the third one I knew instantly.

  “Oh, my God. That man is a guard at the prison.”

  “You know him?” Montoya asked, stunned.

  “I know who he is,” I answered as the men ran out of the frame and the recording stopped. Moments later, flashing lights filled the screen as police officers walked past.

  “I didn’t see the murder victim; he must have been further up. I‘m sorry we didn’t catch the murder on tape.”

  “No, but you proved Kade’s story. There were three men behind the bar,” I breathed out softly, my eyes glued to the screen.

  My head was spinning with the possibilities. I was in shock that we finally had proof.

  Now what?

  “Can you make a copy of this for me?” I asked as tears threatened and a knot formed in my throat.

  Hold on Kade, just a little while longer and you’ll be free.

  Mr. Montoya reached into his desk and pulled out a disk. Inserting it into his disk drive, he hit copy.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  “I don’t trust the police since they obviously handled the investigation poorly,” I responded, pointing to his video. All this time, the evidence was here if they had just bothered to investigate. “And his attorney was worse, so I’m not sure. My friends mentioned they would forward any evidence they found to the SA’s office. Do you think that’s what I should do?”

  “I think they’re correct. He would be the one to petition a Judge for his release. You should call him. Tell him what you have found and how you found it. He’ll no doubt want to talk to me so I can verify its authenticity.”

  Nodding, I grabbed my phone from my purse and googled the SA’s office for Pensacola and found the main number. My leg bounced as I waited for the operator to answer.

  Mr. Montoya had rewound the video until Drum and the other masked men were frozen on the screen. My temper spiked as I stared at Drum. I didn’t know what to make of him being at the prison, but one thing I was certain of, it wasn’t good. He had to be behind the attacks on Kade, which meant he was also behind the threat against me.

  “County court house, how may I direct your call?”

  “Um, yes, I need to speak with the State’s Attorney.”

  ***

  “Here she comes,” Prez stated. “Twenty-six minutes. She had four to spare.”

  “The man is coming out, too,” D pointed out.

  They watched as Harley got in the same car with the dark-haired man and then took off down the street. Prez started the car and pulled out to follow. As they were pulling out on the main street, Prez’s phone rang. Mickey picked it up and grinned.

  “Say’s Harley calling. Do we answer?”

  “Let it go to voice mail, we’re supposed to be in the air headed back to Washington.”

  They kept following as Harley and the unknown man headed into downtown Pensacola. When they turned into the underground parking for the State’s Attorney’s office, Prez kept going, then turned on the next street to park and wait.

  “Did she leave a voice mail?”

  “No.”

  “Guess we’ll have to wait this out and see what’s what when she’s done.”

  “State’s Attorney,” D stated as he studied the building. “Think she’s getting documents?”

  “Possible. We’ll give it a couple of hours, then call her.”

  “I don’t know, Prez, I’ve got this feeling,” D said as he stared at the exit of the underground parking.

  “I’ve got the same one, my brother.”

  “Humble pie will taste good if she found something.”

  “Like a fuckin’ steak,” Prez agreed as he checked his watch.

  His phone rang again and D looked at the screen.

  “She obviously doesn’t want to leave a message. I’m going to answer it. She may need our help.”

  Prez looked at the phone, then nodded.

  “You got D,” Mickey answered.

  Prez watched D’s face run the gambit of emotions until it settled on a frown.

  “You’re sure this guy is a guard at the prison?”

  “Talk to me,” Prez growled.

  D held up his hand, listened a minute longer, and then mumbled, “Right, I’ll fill in Prez. And Harley . . . we owe you big time for this.”

  D hung up the phone and turned to Prez. “Princess Buttercup found a Nanny Cam video of the night Sutton was killed. It shows three men in the alley behind St. Elmo’s Fire. She has an appointment with the SA as we speak. The man she’s with is named Miguel Montoya,” D paused and smiled to let that oddity sink in. “He’s there to verify it’s his video. Get this; one of the men in the video . . . Harley recognized him as one of the guards at the prison.”

  “That’s how they knew about Harley,” Prez replied. “We got a name on this sonofabitch?”

  “She says the guard's name is Drum, Ian Drum.”

  Reaching for his phone, Prez mumbled, “I’ll call Slater and add this guy to the list. I want to know when he eats, sleeps, and shits.”

  “Right. Harley said she’ll call when she gets done with the SA . . . So, do we wait here or see if we can find this guy Drum?”

  “We wait. Until Kade is out, we keep a close eye on his woman.”

  Nodding in agreement, D turned his head, looked up the street, and saw a hot dog vendor. Time for supplies.

  “You want a dog?”

  Prez raised a brow.

  “Or
ten?”

  “Better make it an even dozen,” Prez mumbled, “somethin’ tells me Harley ain’t leavin’ ’til she has a court order signed for Kade’s release.”

  “She’s definitely a member of The Brute Squad now,” D stated as he opened his door. “A Nanny Cam, Prez. The Navy’s finest were shown up by a slip of a woman and a Nanny Cam.”

  “God bless overprotective sons,” Prez chuckled.

  “God bless women in love,” D smiled.

  ***

  Newly appointed State’s Attorney Derrick Chapel was a good ole boy from the great state of Texas. He had a laid-back personality that lulled people into the false sense he wasn’t a threat. His slow grin and country drawl had served him well in the courtroom and, it seemed, served him well in the eyes of Pensacola’s Mayor Harland Green. Three days ago, he’d been appointed acting SA after the untimely death of former SA Mark Greystone.

  Recommended by the Mayor and approved by the City Council, Chapel now sat behind the desk other ASAs coveted. His appointment had surprised him, if he was honest. He’d been with the SA’s office half the time as some of the other ASAs. Actually, surprised wasn’t the word for what he’d been. Intrigued was probably closer to home. A week ago, the Mayor had approached him about taking over as acting SA during the interim between elections. Said he thought he had what it took to handle the job. Though the Mayor seemed confident in his abilities, he’d also hinted to the fact that he’d like to be kept abreast of any and all his cases, just as a precaution. Chapel had played his good ole boy persona to the max that day, nodding and smiling as he shook the Mayor’s hand. Of course, Mayor Green should never have underestimated Chapel. Just because he favored boots to loafers, and went to church on Sunday like his momma raised him to do, didn’t mean he was a pushover.

  Yes, intriguing was definitely the word for his sudden rise within the SA’s office. He knew it, and the other ASAs knew it. Unfortunately for the Mayor, he’d eventually come to realize Chapel wasn’t the puppet he thought he was, and that he’d made a fatal error. One he couldn’t reverse without a majority vote from the city council. A city council Chapel played poker and golf with on a regular basis.