“So Braggi was there and Smoke and Saint?”
“Yes.”
“What about Purcell and Whitsel?”
“What about them?”
“Were they there when you arrived?”
“No.”
“So they fled?”
“I don't know that.”
“They didn’t stay to talk to you?”
Pearson's eyes hardened and his grin broadened. “I imagine they fled a brutal killing. Probably thought they were next.”
“How did you find the two boys then?”
“Detective work.”
I stared at him.
He shrugged. “We got their names from the road manager who’d given them passes. It didn't take much to track them down.”
“That night?”
“Next day.”
“Have you done any background on them?”
Pearson shook his head. “I solve crimes, Shepherd. This one took about five seconds.”
“Did you take statements?”
Pearson nodded. “You should read the file.”
“I have. I mean, did you take them personally?”
“If I signed it, I took it.”
“Were they charged with anything?”
Pearson laughed. “Like what? Unlawful blood tracking? First-degree pants-shitting?”
“Drug possession.”
Pearson's eyes narrowed. “Why would they be charged with that?”
“They had drugs there, didn't they?”
“I don't know who had drugs there.”
“But you found drugs there. It was in the inventory?”
“If it was in the inventory, then there were drugs there.”
“So whose were they?”
Pearson's grin disappeared and he leaned forward. “I had a dead body, Shepherd. I didn't give a shit whose drugs they were.”
“And if Chase was giving drugs to Lizzy Saint against her will, that would be a crime, right?”
“I'm not like you, Shepherd. I don't travel in rock 'n' roll circles. And I don't give a shit if some rock star is getting drunk and shooting up in her hotel room. What I give a shit about is a man getting beaten into a broken heap of bones.”
“But if Chase was injecting her—”
“If Chase was injecting her, it was just one more junkie getting a fix. And who gives a shit about that?”
Pearson extended that lantern jaw of his as he said it, and, unlike the last time, I sat there and took it. Then, I stood. “How do you think the Lions will be this year?” I said.
The jaw stayed out. “I’m more of a Browns fan.”
“Of course you are.” I extended my hand. “Thanks for the time.”
He shook it again and tried that stupid squeeze. I smiled and let him try. “Did you see that new CTE study?” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “No.”
“It said concussions can cause dementia and all sorts of shit. Interesting read. See you.”
“Looking forward to it,” said Pearson.
I was sure he was. Mitch Pearson, Chief Detective in Charge of Serious Crimes was going to do everything he could to bury me at trial.
22
When I arrived at the office, they were all standing there—Danny, Cyn, and Lindsey—lined up in a neat row, staring at me. “What’s this, the tardy police?” I said.
“Where have you been?” said Cyn.
“Checking with Pearson to see if the police had investigated Purcell and Whitsel. This’ll shock you: they didn’t. Didn’t charge anyone with drug possession either. On the bright side, he confirmed that, in his expert opinion, our client is a stone-cold killer who committed murder. So yes, I had a productive morning, thank you. And you?”
“Something's come up,” said Cyn. Cyn never had a bubbly personality but even she seemed subdued as she surveyed me carefully. Lindsey and Danny were giving off a completely different vibe, like they were nervous. And they couldn't take their eyes off me.
“Jesus, guys,” I felt around on my forehead. “Did I grow a third eye or something?”
“Have you been online yet today?” said Lindsey.
“No, and that doesn't make me feel any better about it.”
“Come here,” said Cyn and led me into the conference room. She indicated the chair. I raised an eyebrow. She slid her tablet over to the empty seat. I came around the table and looked.
The top of the screen had the Entertainment Buzz logo. Right below that was a huge headline:
Mystery Lawyer’s Tragic Heroin Connection
I sat down.
The byline showed me that the story had been written by Maggie White, the blonde reporter who I'd met at Lizzy Saint’s party. I read:
Nate Shepherd is the little-known local defense lawyer who's been thrust into the national spotlight in the Hank Braggi murder trial involving Lizzy Saint. Although the trial is still a week away, police reports indicate that Hank Braggi will claim that the killing was justified because the victim, Dillon Chase, was attempting to inject Lizzy Saint with heroin when Hank Braggi fatally stopped him.
Mr. Shepherd has his own tragic connection to heroin.
I felt three sets of eyes on me. I kept my face straight and read on.
Eighteen months ago, Mr. Shepherd lost his wife Sarah to an accidental heroin overdose. She was one of five people who died in a single night in the city of Carrefour, a tragedy which local news called “Black Tuesday.” According to local police reports, a batch of heroin was distributed that day which was cut with fentanyl, causing the mass overdose which cost Mrs. Shepherd her life.
As we've reported, the Hank Braggi/Lizzy Saint murder case is tied to heroin since Mr. Braggi is claiming that he was defending Ms. Saint from receiving a dose while she was unconscious. Although his own story is not directly relevant to the defense, it certainly casts Mr. Shepherd's role as Mr. Braggi's new attorney in a different light. Our legal expert will analyze whether Mr. Shepherd can be objective enough to represent Mr. Braggi effectively. Our psychological expert will analyze whether Mr. Shepherd harbors anger toward Ms. Saint that is a projection of his own anger towards his wife. And we’ll delve into the thing on everyone’s mind – how did this courtroom-heartthrob ever wind up marrying a junkie?
We’ll bring you the answers to all these questions and more. Stay tuned for Entertainment Buzz coverage of the Saint murder trial which is set to start next week.
I took a quick glance at the story links below the article and saw that there was nothing other than the original article putting me at Lizzy Saint’s party and another one about Christian Dane’s death.
I looked up. “Okay. What's the problem?”
Danny and Lindsey's expressions changed from nervousness to confusion while Cyn transitioned from caution to cool assessment. Danny spoke first, which wasn't a surprise since he had been with me through all of it. “Nate, it's just that they mentioned…” He trailed off.
“Sarah, I know. I wish they hadn't.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Nothing. It's all true. I suppose the part about me projecting is conjecture but no judge is going to prevent them from doing that.” I stood up. “Was that it?”
Lindsey stared. “That’s it.”
“I'm going to need to call Sarah's parents. I'll probably be downstairs the rest of the morning and then I'll come up and we’ll talk about the cross of the prosecution's case.”
Danny looked confused. Lindsey stared. Cyn nodded and went back to work.
I went down to my office on the second floor and closed the door because I didn't want any of them to see me right then. And I don't want you to either.
Eventually, I called Sarah's parents. “Jan? It's Nate.”
“Nathan? Why are you calling in the middle of the day? Is everything okay?”
Jan’s voice had always had a tremble to it. There was more now than there used to be.
“No, I'm fine. Nothing is wrong. Well, sort of. Somethin
g's come up in one of my cases that I wanted to warn you about.”
“What is it?”
I told her about the report. And I told her that they were bringing up Sarah.
Silence at the other end of the line. And then, “I see. Is there anything that can be done about it?”
“Not really. I'm sorry, Jan, but I’m afraid there are going to be more.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if this story generates interest, there are going to be more of them.” There was no point in explaining clicks. “And I’m afraid that with the type of case it is, there will be.”
Silence again. “Kevin's not doing well, you know.”
“No?”
“He won't eat. He's working all the time, taking doubles whenever he can.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It's going to be in the headlines again, isn't it? All about Sarah and heroin.”
“Maybe.” That was a lie. “Probably.”
“Nothing about her volleyball. Nothing about the triathlons. Nothing about what a sweet girl she was. Just heroin.”
It was cruel, just like the drug. “Yes. I'm sorry, Jan.”
The warm tone when she’d answered the phone went cool. “I'll keep Kevin away from the computer for a while which shouldn't be too hard. Thanks for telling me.”
I started to say goodbye when she said, “Is this ever going to end, Nate?”
“The trial should be over in a couple of weeks, Jan.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I feared she was right so I didn’t say anything.
“All right. Thanks for calling, Nate. Good-bye.”
I had just hung up when my phone buzzed again. It was my sister-in-law, Izzy.
I declined the call.
A text popped up immediately. Pick up the phone asshole.
I texted back. Sorry. Working.
We need to talk.
I saw it.
You okay?
Yes. Just can’t talk now.
Fucking assholes.
Yes. Thanks.
Izzy’s texts were interrupted by a call from my older brother Tom. I declined it. I knew he wouldn’t text since he’d never been able to get his sausage thumbs to do it. As soon as I turfed his call, the phone buzzed again. My mom. I swore. She’d be worried. I had to take it.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Nate, are you okay?”
Moms.
“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.”
“How can they print such a thing? Can you sue them?”
“No, Mom. It’s mostly true.”
“But they make it sound so awful.”
That’s because it was awful. Just not in the way they described. “I know, Mom.”
“Jan must be beside herself.”
“I called her and warned her but there’s not much else that can be done.”
“But it’s just so—”
“Mom, I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have a meeting.”
“Oh, of course, I’m sorry. It just makes me so mad!”
“Me too.”
“Will you be coming Sunday?”
“Sorry, not until the trial’s over.”
“Make sure you get enough sleep.”
“I will.”
“And make sure you eat something besides eggs.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.”
“And don’t let them ruin your thoughts about Sarah.”
“They can’t. I love you, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Good-bye, honey.”
We hung up and I immediately texted Izzy. Will you do me a favor and run interference with fam? I saw the article, they’re all assholes, and I’m fine.
I got a smiley face and a Done in response, followed a moment later by and kick some ass while you’re at it.
Will do. Thanks.
I got a gif of Jack Nicholson blowing me a kiss in response.
I went to go back upstairs when my phone buzzed again. “Jesus Christ!” I said as I checked the number. Olivia Brickson. This one I was happy to take.
“Liv,” I said. “What do you have for me?”
“A heavy bag, a jump rope, and a brother who's willing to spar with you until you drop.”
I smiled. “I'm fine, Liv.”
“Bullshit. Nobody's fine with a story like that.”
“I'm not fine with the story. I can handle it being published.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment before she said, “Don't you go deep-ending on me. Get your ass down here if you need to.”
“I'm too busy with this trial for anything else. I'll be pissed later.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Now, what do you have for me on Hank?”
“You know you could have saved me a shit-ton of time?”
“What? How?”
“Why didn’t you tell me your client was Norwegian?”
There was a simple answer for that. “Because I didn’t know.”
“Do you talk to your client’s?”
“Not about the right thing apparently. How’d you find out?”
“I spent hours mucking around in the usual places looking for social security numbers and birth certificates before I found the records from when he became a U.S. citizen three years ago.”
“So he’s from Norway?” I asked.
“By way of Minnesota. Any guesses what firm handled his naturalization application?”
“Friedlander & Skald, right?”
“Right. Looks like he entered the country from Norway about six years ago, got a work permit, and eventually started working for Lizzy Saint and earning a shit-ton of money off song royalties.”
“A lot?”
“Mountains.”
I reconciled rich mogul with the rough, merry guy spitting chickens on Cade Brickson’s grill. “Huh.”
“Eloquent summary.”
“So, Norwegian and lyricist. Doesn’t seem like a recipe for PTSD.”
“It’s not,” said Olivia. “But the Home Guard might be.”
“What’s the Home Guard?”
“I’m not sure. I found it right before I called. It’s some sort of quasi-military unit in Norway. There was an article about it training in Minnesota. My guess is that’s how Braggi found his way over here.”
“Can you research it for me?”
“I could, but I have a faster way.”
“What’s that?”
“Get off your ass and ask your client.”
Some comments, although rude, are totally fair. “Right. Anything else?”
“Nothing new. Still checking on Chase, Purcell, and Whitsel.”
“Keep digging. We need anything you can find.”
“I know and I will.” There was a pause on the other end. “You're really okay? With the story?”
“The worst has already happened, Liv. The rest is just a reminder.”
“I’m not kidding, Nate. Call me if you need to.”
“I know, Liv. And thanks. And thank Cade for the offer too.”
“No reason to thank him. He enjoys kicking your ass.”
“Talk to you soon.” We hung up. I felt bad about not knowing that Hank was from Norway but, when I thought about it, there was no reason I would. The Home Guard though, the Home Guard at least sounded like it might get me where I wanted to go with Hank’s defense so I followed Olivia’s advice.
I went back to see Hank.
23
“Two days in a row, Counselor?” said Hank. “I feel so loved.”
Cade had shown me to the back deck where Hank was once again sitting in the sun. This time, he was shucking a dozen ears of corn.
“You having company tonight?”
Hank raised an eyebrow. “Just me and Cade.”
“A dozen?”
“We didn’t have this growing up. Not sweet like this anyway.” He closed his eyes and sniffed. “Gotta enjoy it when you can.”
“Why did
n’t you tell me you were from Norway, Hank?”
Hank raised an eyebrow. “It’s no secret. Cyn knows, I assumed you did too.”
I filed that one away.
“Does it matter?” he said.
“It might. Tell me about the Home Guard.”
If you’ve ever played poker, you know what I mean when I say that Hank’s face became studiedly casual, as if the ear of corn in front of him occupied all of his attention and the conversation you were having with him was a distraction from the all-important act of shucking. “What about it?” he said.
“Did you serve in it?”
“I did.”
“What is it?”
Hank looked at me. “Do you really not know? Or are you testing me again?”
“I really don’t know.”
Hank shrugged and kept shucking. He appeared to think, then said, “Norway and Russia share a northern border. The Home Guard is Norway’s first line of defense.”
“So, you’re like border guards?”
Hank looked at me then and I got a glimpse, just a small one, of what Dillon Chase might have seen. “No,” he said.
I raised a hand. “I’m sorry. Tell me.”
He shucked an ear clean before he continued. “Russia has men and arms and factories stacked along our border. We could never hope to match the Soviet military machine before or the Russian industrial complex now. So, instead of sinking all of our money into weapons that wouldn’t enough to repel the invasion, we have the Home Guard.” He looked at me. “You really don’t know this?”
I shook my head.
“The Home Guard is a force of forty thousand. Our job, if the Russians ever attacked, was to fight a guerrilla war. We were supposed to vanish into the woods and mountains then use our knowledge of the land to harass and slow and sabotage the Russians until the regular army, and NATO, could respond. Destroy bridges and roads, night raids, that sort of thing.”
I thought. “Is that where you’re from? The northern border with Russia?”
Hank nodded. “A small town near the Pasvik Valley. I spent my life in those woods and rivers.”
“Even in winter?”
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