Dead to Rights

by Jack Patterson

  “What about Jacob Boone?” Cal asked.

  “Oh, he left during that time and—”

  “During what time?” Cal pressed.

  “The time that Susannah was murdered, according to the coroner.”

  “And the police never questioned him?”

  Tripp laughed. “You mean my dad? He was confident it was Drake and made sure that not only the charges stuck, but that he gave the prosecutor enough evidence to bury him.”

  Cal’s eyes widened. “So, you think they got the wrong man?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it. I think the evidence supports someone other than Drake. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have anything to do with it.” Tripp chuckled. “I tried to tell my dad that, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Nailing Susannah’s killer was Dad’s top priority in life—but I think he only did that to make himself feel better. It certainly wasn’t the justice-minded person who I knew him to be. It was like something snapped in my dad; I can’t really explain it.”

  “So, who do you think did it?”

  Tripp shrugged. “Maybe Drake or someone else. Could’ve been Jacob Boone.”

  CHAPTER 28

  CAL CRANED HIS NECK and leaned forward to catch the numbers painted onto the mailboxes lined along the highway. He struggled to read each digit with nothing more than his car’s high beams to illuminate them. Kelly called out addresses whenever one came into view for her.

  “I think we’re getting close,” she said.

  Cal adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.

  “I just hope he’s home.”

  After two intense minutes of searching for Jacob Boone’s address that Tripp Sloan had given them over dinner, Cal and Kelly both expressed relief from the tedious exercise once the prescribed number appeared.

  “Looks like he’s home,” Cal said, nodding toward the familiar pickup truck parked in the driveway.

  Boone’s home was a trailer situated on what Cal guessed to be an acre as he accounted for the neighbors on each side. In one of the back corners of the property, Cal noted a simple lean-to that provided cover for a couple of cars, neither of which looked road-worthy. They were both missing windshields and had at least one flat tire. An aging oak tree that supported an old tire swing was the lone vegetation in the front yard aside from knee-high weeds.

  Cal rapped on the screen door, which was little more than a decoration based on the large number of holes and rips in it.

  A few seconds later, Boone emerged wearing a bathrobe and holding a Bud Light.

  “I thought I told you to leave me alone?” Boone said.

  “I’m not very good at following directions,” Cal quipped. “I trust that won’t be a problem.”

  “Depends on why you’re here. I’ve got little patience for rude people.”

  Cal eyed Boone closely before speaking.

  “What exactly have we done to make you hate us so?” Cal asked.

  “What haven’t you done is more like it,” Boone said before throwing back a long swig of beer.

  “But you tried to run us off the road before we’d barely been here forty-eight hours.”

  “I already told you once, that wasn’t me.”

  “Who else has access to your truck?” Kelly asked.

  “Plenty of people. My friends know I leave my keys in the driver’s side sun shade. Any one of them could’ve borrowed it that night.”

  “Who do you think borrowed it?”

  “Jordan Hayward,” Boone said. “He said something about needing to pick up a part from the salvage yard to get his car running for this weekend’s annual Pickett County Demolition Derby out at the fairgrounds. The next thing I know, Hayward was gone, along with my truck.”

  “So, you’re saying it wasn’t you who ran us off the road?” Kelly asked.

  “Look, lady, I put my days of overstepping the bounds of the law behind me a long time ago. And while I may not like you diggin’ around my town and lookin’ into my past, I’m certainly not gonna kill you just to get you to leave. I’m merely making a friendly suggestion.”

  “There’s been little you’ve said or done that could be defined as friendly.”

  Boone huffed, fully stepped outside onto the small porch, and gazed up at the stars.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know as long as you promise to get outta here quick after I tell you to.”

  “Agreed,” Cal said.

  Boone drained the rest of his Bud Light before crushing the can against the porch rail. “What do you wanna know?”

  “What do you remember about the night of May 7, 2004?”

  “Aww, hell. I can barely remember what I ate for lunch, much less that far back.”

  Cal crossed his arms. “It’s the night Susannah Sloan was murdered. Sound familiar now?”

  “Why didn’t you just say so? Of course I remember that night … well, most of it, anyway. I drank heavily for most of it.”

  “Was that at The Pirate’s Den? Or somewhere else, perhaps?”

  Boone took a deep breath. “Naw, it was all at The Pirate’s Den.”

  “But you did leave at one point and come back?”

  “Yeah, I left to go track down my boy Jordan Hayward.”

  “And why did he need to be tracked down?”

  “Drake left The Pirate’s Den in a huff, and Hayward went after him. But neither one of them were in any condition to drive.”

  “Yet you were?” Kelly asked.

  “Back in the day, I could get away with anything and did. I practiced driving drunk so many times that I had it down to an art. I never got caught, though even if I did, I had a connection at the sheriff’s department that could help me escape pretty much anything.”

  “But you didn’t escape everything, did you?”

  Boone bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Susannah Sloan effectively broke up your family and ripped your kids away from you, didn’t she?”

  “Well, yeah, but it was probably the best thing for me. It helped me get my life back on track and exit the world of crime. And I’d tell her as much if she were alive today.”

  “And just where exactly did you go when you left The Pirate’s Den?”

  Boone put his hands up, lifting them about chest high.

  “I know how this is gonna sound, but I went to Susannah’s house. I figured if Hayward was chasin’ Drake, they’d both be at Susannah’s house. And I was right.”

  “What happened when you got there?” Cal asked.

  “Hayward was drunk and actin’ crazy, crazier than usual. So, I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back to the car with me.”

  “And you just left Drake there?”

  “I figured Drake was a big enough boy to get his own ride home,” Boone said. “Besides, he didn’t look like he was through talkin’ to Susannah. She was cryin’ and apologizin’ for what she’d done, though she didn’t act like she regretted it, just a woman sorry that she had to break up with him. I don’t know. It was a long time ago, and my memory is a little foggy about all the details.”

  Cal pulled out his pad and jotted down a few notes. After a brief moment of silence, he refocused his attention on Hayward. “Anything else you feel might be very important?”

  “Look, I told Sheriff Sloan all this when it happened. I never tried to hide anything from anybody, except maybe some reporters who came nosin’ around Pickett, present company included. And while I still may have some issues with my anger, I don’t hurt people any more. I’ve grown up.”

  “What about Hayward?”

  Even with only a dim yellow porch light to illuminate Boone’s face, Cal observed the man tense up.

  “Why were you out at Bee Gum Lake before anyone else? We saw you there,” Cal said.

  Boone bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. “I was just tryin’ to help Hayward out. He was in a tight spot and asked me for a favor, so I agreed. We were supposed to meet farther south along the highway, but he never
made it.”

  “What were you meeting all the way out there for?”

  “All I know is that he asked me to help him out. That’s all. I don’t know exactly what he wanted, but whatever it was, he wanted to keep it a secret. And it was obviously for a good reason, though he wasn’t secretive enough apparently. I waited and waited before I decided to call it a day and drive back to Pickett. That’s when I saw all the cop cars out there and decided to see what was goin’ on.”

  “So, who had reason to kill Hayward?”

  “Plenty of people, I suppose. He ran with a rough crowd.”

  “What about Sheriff Sloan?”

  Boone shrugged. “I don’t know. But the one thing I know after growin’ up and livin’ in this town as long as I have is people aren’t always what they seem, present company included.”

  Kelly forced a smile. “If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Boone, I’d think you were changing your tune about us.”

  “People can change their minds if they want to. It’s a free country.”

  “Thanks for your help,” Cal said. “I want to be fair to all the parties involved when I write my story.”

  “You’re welcome. But be careful. There are still plenty of people around here who don’t like their private lives or their pasts peeled open like a can of sardines. I suggest you get outta here before somethin’ happens to you.”

  “Everybody keeps saying that,” Cal said. “Is there someone in Pickett who’s actually planning on hurting us?”

  “Not that I know of,” Boone said. “But like I said, people aren’t always what they seem in Pickett.”

  Once Cal and Kelly retreated to the privacy of their car, Kelly sighed and turned to Cal.

  “You believe anything that guy said?” she asked.

  Cal shrugged. “He spun a good yarn, but I’m not buying anything anybody in this town says. But I’ll take Jacob Boone’s own advice and remember that people aren’t always what they seem in Pickett.”

  CHAPTER 29

  CAL COULDN’T SLEEP WELL that night and around 6:00 a.m. finally decided against trying any more. He got dressed and went downstairs at the Okefenokee Inn to get some coffee and pore over his notes. If there was anything that was clear at this point it was that Drake deserved a new trial, if for nothing else than his poor defense team and a shoddy investigation by the Pickett County Sheriff’s Department. But a new suspect seemed elusive.

  Over the next two hours, Cal concocted several theories about who could’ve murdered Susannah and why. He even created a theory for Drake—and Boone, too. After all, Boone told Cal twice the night before that people aren’t always what they seem.

  Present company included.

  Cal chuckled to himself. Boone didn’t appear to be a likely suspect, but Cal wasn’t going to rule him out simply because he showed a human side with empathy while chatting on the porch. But there was one piece of information that emerged from the conversation with Boone that bugged Cal.

  Boone told Sheriff Sloan about the convergence of three men—Boone, Hayward, and Drake—at Susannah’s house that night. But Cal didn’t remember reading about that in any of the trial transcripts. Surely, even a half-witted lawyer would’ve questioned Boone at trial. But Boone never took the stand.

  Cal dialed Robert Sullivan, Drake’s lawyer, to question him about it.

  “Mr. Murphy, it’s quite early on a Saturday morning for you to be calling me. Good thing I’m still in Georgia and not back in Seattle.”

  “You’re still here?” Cal asked, somewhat surprised.

  “Yeah, just getting in a round of golf this morning. Tee time is in five minutes, so make this quick.”

  “Last night, I spoke to a guy who claimed to be at Susannah Sloan’s house the night of her murder—a guy by the name of Jacob Boone. Does that ring any bells for you?”

  “Nope. Never heard of him.”

  “Well, that’s odd,” Cal said. “He told me this last night and said Sheriff Sloan questioned him during the investigation.”

  “It wasn’t in the discovery.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “If I could, I’d let you dig through my trial notes. But I swear to you I’ve never heard of the man, that name, or any other claims that someone else was at Susannah’s house the night she was murdered other than Drake.”

  In the background, Cal heard what sounded like a familiar voice calling for Sullivan.

  “Sorry, but I gotta run. We can talk about this on Monday if you’ve got more questions.”

  Cal hung up and shook his head. He drew several conclusions about Sheriff Sloan: Sloan was either inept or hiding something—or both. Cal’s curiosity was also piqued about the familiar voice he heard in the background of his call with Sullivan.

  Could that be who I think it is?

  Cal started pounding away on his computer, using search engines to establish a connection between Sullivan and the voice of the other man.

  After a couple of simple searches, Cal’s jaw dropped.

  Would you look at that?

  Robert Sullivan graduated at the top of his law class at Emory University. The student who graduated second in his class at Emory that same year? None other than Hal Golden.

  ***

  ARMED WITH KNOWLEDGE of this suspicious connection, Cal contacted Larry Arant at The Searchlight to see if he’d be willing to meet and compare notes about the case with him and Kelly. Surprisingly, Arant agreed.

  Arant had a large pot of coffee brewing when Cal and Kelly stepped into the nearly deserted office.

  “Big day today down at the track,” Arant said. “If you’re going to chase anyone down to speak with them about this case, that’s where you’ll need to do it.”

  “Except you,” Kelly said with a smile.

  “The track isn’t my thing, but we will have a photographer there—well, our only photographer will be there. I’ll hear about it from everyone else without having to suffer through the deafening roar of those suped-up cars.”

  Satisfied with the amount of coffee in the pot, Arant pulled it off and poured the black liquid into their mugs.

  “But we didn’t come here to talk about the derby, did we?” Arant asked as he handed Cal and Kelly their cups.

  “No, we came here to talk about this Drake case with you one last time,” Cal said.

  “Just once more? Promise?” Arant quipped.

  “I’m doing my job,” Cal said. “If you’re not thorough, you’ll get burned.”

  “Or sued,” Kelly added.

  “Oh, I know about all that far too well,” Arant said.

  “Okay, so what I don’t get is how no one else was brought up as a suspect,” Cal said. “I haven’t seen it in any of the articles I read about the trial, but did Sullivan ever try to make the case that someone else could’ve murdered Susannah other than Drake?”

  Arant stirred his coffee, adding in cream and sugar. “He made vague references to it, but that was the problem with his defense. It was always some other nameless and faceless man who did this to Susannah. Never once did he raise the possibility that it was someone in the community or even outside of it who killed her. In a nutshell, the defense he used was my client didn’t do it. He’s innocent. He loved her. He couldn’t have done this. Predictably, it failed.”

  “So, the investigation never veered away from Drake?” Cal asked.

  “Never. It was Drake from the first day until the last. It was backward if you ask me. Sheriff Sloan determined it was Drake and did everything in his power to make sure he gathered the evidence necessary for conviction.”

  “It worked,” Cal said, “but I’m not sure he got the right man.”

  “At the time of the trial, a few people thought somebody else killed Susannah, but the majority believed Drake did it. You’ll always find some people around here who think it was a conspiracy and some kind of cover up. However, all that talk was in generalities, nothing specific.”

  “Who did people suspect the most?”


  “Jacob Boone comes to mind,” Arant said with a shrug. “When Boone realized he was losing his kids forever, it was one of the most painful moments I’ve ever witnessed in a courtroom. He’d definitely have motive.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Some people brought up Jordan Hayward, which very well could’ve been the case, but we’ll never know it now.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Oh, no. Sheriff Sloan’s name got floated around. However, he’s enjoyed such a favored status in the city, I find it hard to believe you’d get a true objective sense of him from the community.”

  “That’s quite a list to add to Drake’s name,” Cal said. “Those are the four I came up with as I’ve been researching this story.”

  Arant nodded knowingly. “And while those are four good suspects, they aren’t the only ones.”

  “There’s a fifth person?” Cal asked incredulously.

  “Don’t laugh too hard, but Devontae Ray is another name that got tossed around.”

  “Devonate Ray? The guy confined to a wheelchair? What motive would he have?”

  Arant scratched the back of his head and looked at his coffee. “You’d be surprised. He’s actually got more reason than anyone to kill her.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m shootin’ ya straight. Ray’s been through a lot, most of it at the hands in some way or another with the Sloan family.”

  “Please explain,” Cal said, pulling out his notebook.

  “You’ve been here a week, and this story hasn’t come up?” Arant asked. “Hard to believe.”

  “Not a peep.”

  “Well, there are two things that happened. The first is that Ray’s older brother, Phillip, was arrested on a felony burglary charge … along with Drake. Phillip was eighteen, and Sloan charged him, resulting in a conviction. However, Drake was only questioned and released. People here said it was because Drake was committed to Auburn and Sloan’s a big fan of the school’s football team. Who knows why? But it was devastating for Phillip, who had scholarship offers from Florida State and many other schools around the south to play football. After the conviction, all of Phillip’s offers were rescinded.”