by Nancy Skopin
Epilogue
Derrick Howard was charged with five counts of first-degree murder with special circumstances, and was convicted in less than six weeks. I think the process was accelerated because the judge refused to allow the media into her courtroom.
It turned out Derrick had left a trace of his DNA behind. One of his eyelashes had been found inside a knife wound on Andrew McConnell’s back.
My testimony made a difference too. Derrick had confessed everything to me, and PIs are excellent witnesses because we’re trained to commit details to memory. The second PI Derrick had hired was also a witness. This was the tall red-haired man I’d seen outside my office who had followed me in the Volvo. His name was Jim Sutherland, and he testified that Derrick had requested that he follow me and give him daily reports. The night I’d found Derrick aboard my boat he’d called Jim on his cell phone and told him the job was over and he could go home. Jim had stuck around long enough to see one of my neighbors let Derrick in the gate, and he’d been on shore watching as Derrick led me down the dock, not to mention the chaos that followed.
Derrick is appealing his sentence now, and will probably continue to do so for the next decade. His attorney tried for a diminished capacity plea based on Derrick’s personal history of childhood sexual abuse at the hands of his father, but the D.A. was able to prove premeditation. When the press published Derrick’s photograph, the owner of a knife shop in Oakland came forward and testified that Derrick had purchased the knife with the spikes on the hilt the day Laura was killed.
The morning after Derrick was arrested I had received an e-mail from my friend Michael Burke, saying that Fred did his banking at Wells Fargo and did not rent a safe deposit box or a storage locker. He asked if I was interested in hearing about Fred’s indecent exposure arrest. I e-mailed him back, thanking him for his help, and took a rain check on any additional information about Fred. This was out of character for me, but I’d had enough of other people’s insanity to last me a while. Michael and I made plans to have dinner.
Fred called my office during the height of the media circus that surrounded me, saying he’d been fired after details of his sex life hit the tabloids. He asked if I’d like to make it up to him. I declined.
I never did get a return call from Gerald Kuhlman, and he remains something of a curiosity to me, although it didn’t surprise me that he chose not to represent Derrick at trial. An attorney who represents politicians has to be careful about his image.
Kate came to court every day, and when it was over, outside the Hall of Justice, she slipped me an envelope with three thousand dollars in it.
“A little bonus,” she said. “I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for Laura. I should have known what was going on in my own family. I should have seen what a monster Derrick was. Maybe the signs were always there and I just ignored them. I’ll never forgive myself for not protecting her, but I hope she can somehow forgive me.”
“I don’t think you can blame yourself for not seeing through his mask, Kate. Sylvia didn’t even know, and she’s his sister, and a psychologist.” But we both knew she would blame herself for the rest of her life.
I considered refusing the reward, but I had earned it.
We shook hands and parted on the courthouse steps. I silently wished her luck with what was left of her future.
D’Artagnon and I have been taking long walks in the Bair Island Nature Preserve. I also took him with me the day after Derrick was sentenced, when I brought flowers to Laura’s grave. He sat on the ground next to me while I told her about what had happened since her death, that her father hadn’t gotten away with it, and that it looked like he’d spend the rest of his life in prison. I cried over the injustice of what had happened to her. After that visit, in spite of my tears or maybe because of them, I felt a sense of peace.
When the trial was concluded Bill took some vacation time and I taught him how to sail. He learned quickly, once his stomach was empty. With practice he’ll probably become a decent first mate.
~THE END~
About the author
Nancy Skopin is a native of California, and currently lives on the Oregon coast with her husband and their two dogs.
While researching her mystery series she spent two years working for a private investigator learning the intricacies of the business. She also worked closely with a police detective who became both a consultant and a friend. She lived aboard her yacht in the San Francisco Bay Area for thirteen years, as does her central character, Nicoli Hunter.
If you’d like to be notified when new Nikki Hunter mysteries come out, please email me at: [email protected] and I’ll add you to my mailing list.