Blind Conviction (Nate Shepherd Legal Thriller Series Book 3)

by Michael Stagg

  I rewound and paused. It was Abby.

  Now that I knew where she was, I rewound and followed her backwards and then let it play. I watched her come into the view of the courtyard/patio camera as she filed out of the amphitheater with her friends and the crowd. I saw her and Bonnie, along with two women I assumed were Kayla and Heather, divert out of the stream of people and talk. There was some gesturing and laughing and, at one point, singing, and then the four of them walked out of view of the courtyard camera. A moment later, they entered the view of the concession stand camera and the four of them got in line. They crept forward a place or two at a time when Abby gestured, slid out of line, and went into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerged. She started back toward the girls when I saw her look in the other direction, toward the back of the Quarry. She shouted, waved, then looked back at her friends and pointed toward the back. Then she waved again and jogged out of the frame.

  Knowing the Quarry layout like I did, I knew she was jogging toward the path that led around the Quarry’s edge.

  First to the Beach, then to the abandoned stairs.

  I knew there were no more cameras in that direction, so I focused on upper right corner of the concession camera view, the part that led to the back path. It was hard because there were people milling around it and people crossing over and back in a jumble. The crowd gradually thinned though and people started to leave.

  I realized I hadn’t been watching Bonnie and her friends, so I rewound a little, saw them wait in line, get bottles of water, then stand around for a little while longer before leaving out the front entrance.

  None of them showed the slightest sign of being worried about Abby.

  There were less people now, and it was easier to keep track of the comings and goings. I ate dry, cold chicken and watched.

  Then I saw him enter the concession camera view. From the back path. From the direction Abby had gone.

  He was the only one I had seen coming from that direction in a while. He was wearing a black baseball cap with some sort of yellow writing on it, along with jeans and a short sleeve checked shirt, none of which was surprising at a Big Luke concert. That's not what caught my attention.

  It was his left hand. There was a bandage on it. And blood.

  I froze the picture and expanded it on the tablet, but that just made it blurry. The technology of refining and making it clear on this program was beyond me right then so instead, I rewound the video. I saw the man walk backward out of the frame then let it run forward again. He walked into the picture and across the concession view but he was still a little far away, at the top edge of the screen, as he left the concession view.

  A moment later he walked into the frame of the courtyard camera, closer, closer. I stopped it and this time he was close enough to make things out.

  I had a clear view of the bandage. It was dark and stained. The bill of his baseball cap covered his face, but I could make out the yellow logo on it now.

  It said, “Mack Farms.”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I knew I was looking at Archie. I might not have been able to magnify the earlier views right here in my house, but I knew the Sheriff could at the station. I looked at the time code, 11:39 p.m. My guess was that matched the time of the attack too.

  Archie walked quickly through the entrance area and out of view until the parking lot camera picked him up. He walked to the furthest section of the lot then out of view since the camera didn't pick up the whole lot. A minute later, I saw a series of trucks leave the lot. My guess was that one of them matched Archie’s.

  I kept watching the concession camera then, even though I knew Abby wasn’t coming back. At 11:59 p.m., the video stopped. I was going to pull the thumb drive out but then I realized there was another folder. We had a portion of the next day too, it looked like until noon.

  I clicked it open and started the video rolling at the beginning, at midnight. By 12:30 a.m., the place was pretty well cleared out except for a smattering of cars in the front lot that were the usual side effect of people having too much to drink. The lights in the Quarry stayed on, I assumed for security. Eventually, around 1:00 a.m., I saw Kirby make his rounds, locking the front gate and the concessions and the bathrooms, and throw away a couple of cans. Then he took a last look around and walked through the concession stand view toward the back path to go out the back gate.

  I kept watching. I couldn't help it. Up until now, I’d ignored the fourth camera, the one pointed at the water. Other than the occasional reflected light and the sliver of a quarter moon, that screen was pretty dim. I thought I could see the ripples on the black water, but I couldn’t be sure on my tablet. I fast forwarded then but I kept watching. I increased the speed.

  We were on daylight savings time, so sunrise was later. Still, at 5:30 a.m., the water of the Quarry began to gray into light.

  By 6:00 a.m., from the water camera, I could see her. Her brownish hair blended into the rock, but I could see one pale leg and one arm draped between the stones, fingers in the water. I clicked to real time. She didn't move. Not once.

  I saw the lifeguards arrive in the front at 6:30 a.m., unlocking the gate and dithering around in the concession stands. I willed them to go to the water. They didn't. The sun was almost up and I could see her clearly now. But of course, I knew where to look. She still didn't move.

  Finally, at 6:52 a.m., a young man who had been arranging chairs on the courtyard side looked up, startled. He looked around, behind him, then finally, across the water. A lifeguard was on the cement pad next to Abby, waving. I could see the guy on the pad point to her before the guy in the courtyard sprinted over to the concession stand. A moment later, two lifeguards were running out of the frame toward the back path and the abandoned stairs. I looked back at the cement pad on the far side of the water. I saw the two figures: one scrambling over the rocks, the other, still.

  T. Marvin was right. They had video. They were going to have blood.

  And I had a big problem.

  9

  I met Olivia early the next day at the Brickhouse—and by early, I mean I was there at seven in the morning and she had just finished leading what I assumed had been an hour-long class. She waved me back and smiled when I handed her a coffee.

  “Bless you,” she said.

  “How’d the class go?” I said.

  “Better than the first one. This group was on it.”

  “The first one? As in before this one?!”

  She took a sip and nodded. “People have to work. It’s not so bad once you commit to getting up. Especially after breakfast.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “You should join me. The Cast Iron Kitchen.”

  “Over on Hill?”

  “That’s the place. You can get your own breakfast skillet.”

  “What time do you go?”

  “Four-thirty.”

  “See, you’re just showing off now.”

  She didn’t say she wasn’t but she didn’t deny she was either. Instead, as we went into her office, she said, “I know your bond hearing is today for Archie. I finished some preliminary research and wanted you to have the info before you went.”

  “Really? These hearings are usually pretty routine.”

  She nodded. “I think the Judge might consider some of it with the bond.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  She clicked a few times and a satellite photo popped up on the monitor.

  I leaned forward a little. “What am I looking at?”

  “The Mack farm. They own a whole section.”

  “Like a literal section?”

  “Yep.”

  A section is six hundred and forty acres. That's one square mile, a mile on each side. Much of southern Michigan is laid out that way, in sections. The farther out you go into the country, the more likely it is that the only roads were the section roads, and it was pretty rare to have one family own the whole thing.

  “That’s impressive.�
�

  “It is,” said Olivia.

  Judging from the satellite photo, it appeared they maintained tree lines here and there to fight erosion and to mark off fields, but most of the land had been cleared. A creek or a drainage ditch ran diagonally from one corner to the other across the property.

  “Now, here’s the part that’s relevant today.” Olivia clicked her mouse and yellow lines were superimposed across the screen so that the square was divided into three rectangles.

  “Are those equal?”

  Olivia nodded. “Two hundred thirteen and one-third acres apiece.” She pointed from left to right. “Hamish lives here, Mr. and Mrs. Mack here in the middle, and Archie on the other side.”

  I bent closer and Olivia zoomed in, knowing what I was looking for.

  There were three clusters of buildings on the acreage. In the center was Mr. and Mrs. Mack's. I could see the house and a couple of outbuildings, which I assumed were for equipment, and two old silos. The driveway from the section road was not long, probably no more than twenty-five yards or so, and the buildings were clustered neatly together.

  In the center of the rectangle on the right and a little farther back, was another cluster of buildings. Again, it looked like a house and a couple of barns.

  “Archie’s place?”

  “Yep. And this is Hamish’s.”

  She pointed to the left rectangle. A white house sat back squarely in the middle of the property which, if you were keeping track, would make it at the end of a half-mile drive. I made out a couple of buildings, one smaller and one larger than those on the other two, a pond, and the light blue rectangle of a pool. From above, it looked more like a McMansion than a farm.

  “Interesting,” I said. “So do they each own their piece?”

  “Just what I wanted to know,” said Olivia. “So I pulled the Ash County property records. Electronic records went back to the 1950s. Mr. Mack’s parents, Evan and Betsy Mack, owned the entire section back then. Evan and Betsy eventually died and passed the whole section on to Alban and Susanna Mack. They owned it all until ten years ago when they transferred the one-third sections to Archie and Hamish for nominal fees.”

  “A living inheritance maybe?”

  “Maybe. Shortly after that, the boys built their homes.”

  “Mortgages?”

  “Big ones. On all three properties.”

  “I see. So what did you want me to know today?”

  “Two things. The mortgages will be an issue if Archie needs a lot of collateral for a high bond.”

  “Did you tell Cade?”

  “I did.”

  “So that’s handled. What’s the other?”

  She faced me directly so that I could see my reflection in her glasses. “Nate, if Archie did this, you’re asking the Judge to let him go and live in the middle of nowhere next to a house Abby frequents.”

  “Does she live with Hamish?”

  “Bonnie says Abby technically has an apartment in Dellville but spends more nights at Hamish’s than not.”

  I looked at the farm with just three houses in a square mile at the farthest reaches of the county.

  “I don’t think he did this.”

  “I don’t either. That’s why I’m working on it. But the Judge might not see it that way. And the prosecutor certainly won’t.”

  I nodded. “I see your point. Abby’s convinced Archie didn’t do it. That has to count for something, right? I’m sure we can come up with some restrictions that assure her safety for the judge.”

  “Maybe. But don’t forget the other side of it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s Hamish going to do if the man he believes tried to kill his fiancée is back home, right next door?”

  I stared at the isolated farm.

  “What would you have done if your neighbor had tried to hurt Sarah?”

  It had been a while since my wife had passed, but it wasn’t hard to picture that situation. I swore.

  “Exactly.” Olivia stared at me a moment with those half-mirrored glasses then turned back to her screen and started closing windows. “I didn’t want you to be blindsided today.”

  “Thanks. Can you send me the links?”

  “Already did.”

  “Thanks, Liv.”

  “Forewarned, forearmed, and all that.”

  I checked the time. “I have to get up there.”

  “See you later.”

  I was to the door when she said, “Shep?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We need to find the miserable sack who did this.”

  Olivia wasn’t looking at me as she said it. She was facing her computer screen, bleached white hair swooped down covering part of her face, her sharp jaw set, her arm flexed a little harder than it needed to be to type.

  “I agree,” I said. “My first duty is to Archie though.”

  “What better way to fulfill it than to find the actual coward who did it?”

  I nodded. “You’re a good person, Liv.”

  “Don’t let word get out. I’ve got a gym to run.”

  “Don’t worry. No one would believe me.”

  She made a suggestion about how I could pass time on my way to Dellville. I thanked her for the encouragement and left.

  10

  Judge Eliza Jane Wesley held her own bond hearings. Word was she liked to get a first look at the case and let everyone know how things were going to go. Archie’s bond hearing was the first time I’d met her.

  It did not go well.

  Judge Wesley was a formidable presence behind the bench. She had wide shoulders and wore her long black hair piled up on her head, held in place with two silver-tipped black hair sticks. She had an easy smile and a disarming manner that brought her thirty years of experience to bear in a flash. She had been a prosecutor in Ash County for almost twenty years before her predecessor had retired and she had won a hard-fought race for her seat against a local powerbroker. One didn't do that by being shy and no one had ever accused Judge Wesley of that failing.

  I stood at the counsel table along with Archie. T. Marvin Stritch stood alone at the prosecutor's table.

  As Judge Wesley leafed through some papers, she said, “I see from your filings that your office is in Carrefour, Ohio, Mr. Shepherd.”

  “It is, Your Honor.”

  “What brings you away from your home state?”

  “This is my home state, Your Honor. I live in Ash County. My office just happens to be in Ohio.”

  “So do you just happen to spend most of your time practicing outside your home state?”

  “I always have cases going here in Michigan, Your Honor, but it's true that most of my cases are in Ohio.”

  “Our rules are different here, Mr. Shepherd.”

  “I understand, Your Honor.”

  “I expect you to follow them.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “I expect you to refer to things by how they’re known here, not by their Ohio counterparts.”

  “Absolutely, Your Honor.”

  “We’re not terribly fond of Ohio here.”

  “I see that.”

  “You have the internet in your office?”

  “I do.”

  “And a smart phone in your pocket?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Which is turned off, I trust?”

  “I saw the sign, Your Honor.”

  “Then our local rules are available to you twenty-four hours a day.”

  “Certainly.”

  “So there will be no excuse for running afoul of any local procedures. If you do, I will know that it is completely and utterly your fault.”

  “That would be my assumption too, Your Honor.”

  “I expect you to abide by them all.”

  “Without fail, Your Honor.”

  “Very good.” She smiled. “Then welcome to our court. Mr. Stritch, do you have a bond recommendation?”

  “No bond, Your Honor.”

>   “I see. Mr. Shepherd?”

  “If Mr. Stritch believes Mr. Mack should be free without bond, I have no objection, Your Honor.”

  Stritch smirked. Judge Wesley set down her paper. “Mr. Shepherd, that’s exactly what I was talking about. ‘No bond’ might mean free without bond in Ohio but in Ash County, Michigan, we use that to mean the defendant should not be eligible for bond and should remain incarcerated until trial. Do you want your client to remain incarcerated until trial?”

  “I do not, Your Honor.”

  “What do you request then?”

  “That Mr. Mack be released on his own recognizance.”

  “On an attempted murder charge?”

  “Mr. Mack has no prior convictions and his status as a farmer makes him a minimal flight risk.”

  “Farmers can’t get in cars or hop on planes? Interesting theory.”

  “A farmer’s life is tied to his land, Your Honor. His home, his income, his debts. Mr. Mack’s family has been on the same section for more than one hundred years and Mr. Mack has a harvest to get in.”

  The last one seemed to register with Judge Wesley. “Mr. Stritch, your thoughts?”

  “That may be true, Your Honor, but the victim here is Mr. Mack’s brother’s fiancée. She comes to his home frequently, often for the night. Allowing the defendant to reside on property in that same section puts her at risk.”

  Judge Wesley looked at me.

  “Ms. Ackerman doesn’t think so, Your Honor. She doesn’t think Mr. Mack was the attacker.”

  “All the more reason to protect her, Your Honor,” said Stritch.