Blind Conviction (Nate Shepherd Legal Thriller Series Book 3)

by Michael Stagg

  “So did she say who did it?”

  Sheriff Dushane looked to the side. “No.”

  “Give you a description?”

  “She’s says she didn’t get a clear look.”

  “What about—”

  Sheriff Dushane raised a hand. “I agreed to talk to you, Nate, not be cross-examined.”

  I smiled. “Habit. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Can you tell me about her injuries?”

  “Broken hip. Shattered pelvis.” He stopped.

  “I hear she had a facial fracture too?”

  He looked at me.

  “I haven’t seen Archie yet. His parents told me.”

  He nodded. “Yes, a facial fracture, right on the side of her eye. They had to do emergency surgery to evacuate the bleeding and swelling.”

  I nodded and thought. “I’ve been told she’s the fiancée of Archie’s brother. That makes him an unlikely suspect, doesn’t it?”

  “His brother didn’t think so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They fought in the hospital right before we arrested him.”

  “Argued?”

  “Not words. Fists.”

  “About?”

  “You’ll have to ask your client.”

  “I will. So if the victim didn’t ID Archie, why did you arrest him?”

  Sheriff Dushane appeared to think before he said, “There’s blood and there’s video.”

  “Of the attack?”

  “Of your client at the scene.”

  “My potential client. Anything else you can tell me?”

  “That the investigation is ongoing and that I’m sure there will be more evidence by the time of trial.”

  “Seems a little light.”

  “Damning blood, damning video.” Sheriff Dushane paused. “And a damning scene.” He stood, which was his polite way of saying he’d reached his limit.

  I finished my coffee. “Coming out to the lake next weekend?”

  He gave me a snarl that was twenty percent serious. “That didn’t get you out of laps when you were ten, and it’s not getting you more information now.”

  I put a hand to my heart. “I was just asking if my father’s best friend was going fishing on our lake at a time when small mouth bass abounds.”

  Sheriff Dushane pointed, but he smiled. “Out.”

  I waved. “Thanks.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I left the Sheriff’s office, finding my way through a small warren of plexiglass windows, metal rails, and painted steel doors, and came out right across the street from the Ash County Jail.

  I jaywalked over to see Archie Mack.

  3

  Cade Brickson met me in front of the jail. I’d called him on the way up and my meeting with Sheriff Dushane had given him time to get here and arrange for us to see Archie Mack.

  Cade wasn’t hard to find. He was about six foot four and two hundred sixty pounds. He had black hair, cut short on the sides, and wore black wrap-around shades because, of course. His black t-shirt strained to contain huge shoulders and he looked exactly like what he was, the most fearsome high school wrestler Carrefour North had ever produced. By all reports, he’d only grown more dangerous since then.

  Cade was a bail bondsman, among other things. I didn’t get up to Dellville as often as he did, so I’d asked him to see if his connections could get me in faster to see Archie, the tradeoff being he’d get the bond business. It turned out they could and, a short time later, after metal detector searches and the removal of all things weaponizable, we were in a room with Archie Mack.

  Archie was average size, maybe leaning toward the broad side, but it was hard to tell because he was sitting down. The orange jump suit was short-sleeved, so you could see that he had large forearms and blunt, sawed-off hands. He was bald with brown hair around the fringe and he had that curious tan-line that comes from wearing a baseball cap, running right across his cheekbones so that his forehead was pale and his chin and cheeks were tan. His eyes stayed on Cade, which was a typical reaction, until I said, “I’m Nate Shepherd. Your parents want to hire me to represent you. I told them that decision had to come from you, so that’s why I’m here.”

  “And him?” said Archie.

  “Cade Brickson is here to make arrangements for your bond once the judge sets it.”

  “How much is that?” said Archie.

  “Expensive,” said Cade.

  “Of course,” said Archie.

  Cade shrugged. “Bond for this kind of case isn’t cheap. I understand your parents have a farm. You’ll probably need to use it as collateral.”

  “Get in line,” said Archie.

  Cade put a “Brickson Bonds” card in front of Archie. “You can give that to Nate when he leaves. Let him know if you want me to help get you out of here.”

  Archie nodded distractedly, but it looked like bond was one more thing than he could think about right then. Cade walked to the door, smooth and quiet for such a big guy, and buzzed to be let out. The guard came, Cade nodded, and he left.

  “I didn’t do it,” said Archie.

  “That’s what your parents said.”

  “I could never hurt Abby. She’s family.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I mean it.”

  “So do I. Do you want me to represent you?”

  “Bonnie said my parents picked you?”

  “They came to my office.”

  “And Judge French recommended you?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Then yes.”

  “There’s a fee and a retainer.”

  Archie waved a blunt hand. “My mom handles the books on the farm business. Did she say it was okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s fine with me.”

  “You’ve got yourself a lawyer then. So tell me what happened.”

  “I went to the Big Luke concert. I went home. I found out about Abby the next morning.”

  “Who did you go to the concert with?”

  “Myself.”

  “So no easy alibi? No one who was with you all night?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why did you go by yourself?”

  “Is that a crime?”

  “No. But it makes it harder to prove you didn’t commit one.”

  “Bonnie and Abby and a couple of their girlfriends had tickets and were sitting down at the front. I bought mine late and was standing in the back.”

  “Bonnie your fiancée? She went to the concert with Abby?”

  Archie nodded. “They’ve become good friends.”

  “Did you see them there?”

  “From a distance. They were having a girl’s night so I didn’t want to interfere.”

  “Did you see anyone else there? Anyone who knows you or would be able to say when you were where?”

  Something flashed across Archie’s face, but then it was gone and he shook his head. “I left alone and was alone back at my house. I didn’t see Bonnie until the next day. Listen, Mr. Shepherd—”

  “Nate.”

  “Nate, I didn’t do this. I could never hurt her. They’re saying I tried to kill her!”

  “I know. Are there any other easy things you can give me? Anything that’ll show you didn’t attack her?”

  “I didn’t even see her after the concert! I just went back to the farm and…” His eyes widened. “Nate, am I going to lose the farm?”

  “One thing at a time, Archie.”

  Archie was about to ask me for a bunch of things I couldn’t promise him yet, like an assurance that he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life in jail, and I didn’t have enough information yet to tell him how that was going to go.

  Instead, I said, “Our first job is to post bond and get you out of here. Then we’ll start putting together your defense.”

  Archie leaned forward. “I did not hurt Abby. And I would kill anyone who did.”


  I wasn’t crazy about that phrasing but decided that was a battle for another day. It was enough that Archie was adamant that he wouldn’t hurt Abby and, right then, he seemed sincere and believable.

  Of course, if you know my recent past, you know I’m not always right on that score. More digging was in order.

  “Fine,” I said. “Do you want out of here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll tell the guard to start the process and you can talk to Cade.”

  “The big guy?”

  I nodded. “He’ll handle the arrangements for your bond.”

  He nodded then, and I buzzed out.

  I wanted to do a little more diligence on this. I went outside and checked the time. It would take half an hour or so to get back to Carrefour. I decided to stop at the Brickhouse on the way.

  The Brickhouse was an old warehouse made entirely of used brick that sat near an abandoned sidetrack of railway. Olivia and Cade Brickson had renovated the warehouse into a gym complete with weight equipment in one part, cross-training equipment in another, and fighting equipment in a third. It was all brick walls, cement floors, and iron bars with the only soft thing being a mat in the back used to toss people on. It was a no-nonsense, no-frills gym designed for sweat and hard work, an attitude which emanated directly from its owners.

  A new guy was working the desk.

  “Is Olivia here?” I asked.

  “I can give you membership information,” New Guy said.

  “Thanks, but I need to see Olivia on business.”

  New Guy glanced at the tie and the white shirt before he said, “She's in back with a kickboxing class.”

  “Poor bastards.”

  The comment appeared lost on him. He was new.

  I made my way through the weights to the area of heavy bags, ropes, pull-up bars, and speed bags. There were about a dozen people on those, along with stations for jumping rope and shadowboxing. Olivia Brickson stood off to the side, a phone in one hand. She was dressed in her usual workout attire—black tights and a red tank top that showed a tattoo that trailed down her left shoulder into a sleeve that covered her from elbow to wrist. She wore half-mirrored sunglasses and a sinister smile that ticked up as she saw me coming and yelled, “That rope isn’t hitting the cement nearly fast enough. I can hear you loafing!”

  I might've imagined it, but it seemed like the “tick-tick-tick” of the jump ropes hitting the cement sped up.

  “That's better,” she yelled. “Faster now, faster!”

  Her phone beeped. “Time! Rotate! Clockwise! Thirty seconds.” I saw a dozen people jog to a different piece of equipment, some with hands clasped over their head, breathing hard. A few had their hands on their knees, panting.

  Right on cue, Olivia yelled, “No leaning, no bending over, no fatigue faces! Stand up straight, hands over your head if you can't catch your breath. Smile or pretend to. Don’t let anyone know if you’re hurting.”

  They all straightened, and if they didn't look happy, most of them at least made an effort to take the pain off their faces.

  “That's it now, that's it,” Olivia said. “Five seconds—and 3-2-1, go!”

  Ropes spun, bags bounced, and people pulled themselves up. One particularly eager soul did muscle ups over the bar instead.

  “Hey, Liv,” I said.

  Olivia glanced at me. “You’re not dressed for work, Shep.”

  I looked down. “That’s exactly what I’m dressed for.”

  “You call what you do all day work?” She teased her bleached white hair down around the left lens of her glasses. “We have to get you out here more.”

  I sighed. “I’m taking the Mack case. I’ll need some help with the investigation.”

  “Alright, let me finish here first.”

  She turned and barked at a man who’d gotten stuck halfway up the salmon ladder, advising that salmon who didn’t make it upstream never spawned.

  Yeah, so, that.

  I watched Olivia cajole, curse, and credit the class’s effort for another two rotations. It was fairly amazing. I swear there were things she picked up on when she wasn’t even looking, like when a group behind her stopped doing double-unders and she let them have it without even turning her head. I enjoyed watching her in her element and, when the class was over, I stood by my usual excuse to her—I wasn't nearly man enough to take her class.

  When time was up, she gave the class a chance to get water. Then she brought them in for five minutes of wrap up, letting them know that they were better for having done the class and that today was a victory over themselves of yesterday. I smiled at the Olivia-ization of a quote from the greatest swordsman who ever lived. As her class wandered off to commiserate, collapse, or die, one woman stayed behind. She was a little shorter than Olivia, with a blond bob and a sunny smile that seemed unaffected by what had wrecked most of her classmates.

  As I approached, the woman said, “You must be Nate Shepherd.”

  I blinked and smiled. “I am.”

  She extended her hand. “Bonnie Price. So can you help my Archie?”

  I took it and said, “I’m going to try.”

  “There’s no way he did it.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Abby and I are too good a friends.”

  I pulled out a card and handed it to her. “If you want, text or email me your contact info, I’ll be in touch to talk to you about what you know.”

  She took the card and nodded. “When will he get out?”

  “Cade is working on it as we speak.”

  “Good.” Bonnie wiped at her neck with a towel. “Look at me, sweating it out during a business meeting. Thanks, Nate. I’ll email you. Tomorrow, Olivia?”

  Olivia nodded. “Iron motion. Noon.”

  Bonnie smiled and left.

  “Talk?” I said.

  “Sure,” said Olivia and we went back to her office.

  Olivia’s office could only be described as eclectic. An old battered desk that looked like it came from a phys. ed. teacher’s office sat in front of an elaborate computer setup including three monitors, a printer, a scanner, and two laptops. One wall was covered in pictures of her many students, all of them orbiting one picture of her with Arnold Schwarzenegger and another of her with Royce Gracie. The opposite wall was filled floor-to-ceiling with books that were almost all workout, strategy, or philosophy related.

  She offered me a water, I declined, and we sat.

  “Cade and I saw Archie. I’m taking the case.”

  She nodded. “Cade handling bond?”

  “Once it’s set. Can you handle the research?”

  “Bonnie’s already convinced me to get involved.”

  “Is she always that cheerful?”

  “Unrelentingly.” She turned to her computer screen. “Who do we start with?”

  I checked my phone. “I represent Archibald Mack. The victim is Abby Ackerman. She’s engaged to Archie’s brother, Hamish.”

  Olivia typed. “Bonnie mentioned that.”

  “Apparently Abby and Bonnie are friends. Has Abby ever come in here?”

  “No. What else do we know?”

  “Parents are Alban and Susanna Mack. They all somehow work on or own Mack Farms.”

  She clacked the keys. “Got it. What do we know?”

  “Abby was found at Century Quarry the day after the Big Luke concert. They’re charging Archie with attempted murder or something similar.”

  “That bad?”

  “Dushane said she was left in pretty bad shape. Sounds like serious pelvic injuries and orbital fracture. I think they had to do emergency surgery to save her eye.”

  Olivia paused for a moment then kept typing. “Did they?”

  “That’s unclear right now.”

  “What does she say happened?”

  “According to the Sheriff, she doesn’t know who did it.”

  Olivia stopped typing and turned to face me. Her half-mirrored glasses often made it hard to read her
expression. This was not one of those times. “Who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Seems kind of important.”

  I nodded. “A friend of mind just brought me the case this morning.”

  Olivia smiled. “Sounds like you need better friends.”

  “I was thinking that.”

  Olivia went back to typing. “Typical starter package?”

  I nodded. “Background on all of them.”

  “Done. I’ll have it for you in a few days.”

  “Thanks.” I stood.

  “Working out?” she said.

  “Have to get to the office.”

  “Don’t let the day get away from you.”

  I smiled. “I’ll catch it, Coach.”

  She shooed me. “Thanks for the work.”

  “Always.”

  As I left, I smiled as I saw about half of Olivia’s class still scattered about the gym in various states of exhaustion.

  They’d already caught the day.

  4

  I started the next day with a trip to Century Quarry. The land surrounding Carrefour has its share of sandstone and gravel so there are quarries scattered throughout the hills and woods, some working, some abandoned, and some, like Century Quarry, developed for another purpose entirely.

  Century Quarry had been mined out long ago, leaving striated rock cliffs around a wide pool of beautiful, filtered water. The water was as much as fifty feet deep and so clear that it looked no more than five. It was scenic enough that an enterprising family had bought it in the 1970s and turned it into a public swimming spot. Soon, people were showing up in droves to swim so they added diving boards and a zip line and rafts so that it could accommodate hundreds of people on any given weekend. That was so successful that the owners eventually, in the ultimate irony, hauled in tons of sand to build a beach down near the water’s edge on one side.

  As time passed, the family realized that the public access spot where the trucks used to load up gravel was actually a great location for an outdoor amphitheater. Within three years, they built a permanent stage that they could use to bring in musical acts during the summer. It took off. Soon during the summer, Century Quarry was packed with swimmers every day and with concertgoers every weekend night. That's where I went now.