A Specter of Justice (14 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Asheville's premier defense attorney was so red in the face I was afraid he'd burst a blood vessel. No one dared interrupt while he vented his rage and frustration.

“Never in my life have I endured such nonsense!” Hewitt Donaldson spit out the words more than said them. “And, by God, when we find out who's behind this, I'll pour every resource I have into getting a conviction.”

Nakayla, Shirley, Cory, and I sat at the round conference table while Hewitt circled us like we were playing some diabolical version of “Duck, Duck, Goose.”

He halted his diatribe and a switch seemed to flip somewhere in his brain. He stopped pacing, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. “I know, I know,” he whispered. “Ranting is getting us nowhere.” With that self-admonition, he sat next to Shirley and began stating the facts at hand.

We'd been called to his office Monday evening for a five o'clock strategy session. The day had been hectic, and everyone, especially Hewitt, was exhausted. D.A. Carter had bombarded the probable cause hearing with every scrap of accusatory evidence he could muster: the discovery of the wheelchair in Hewitt's garage and the corresponding tread marks and soil from the two murder scenes; the photograph of a blurry patch of a Hawaiian shirt just above the bridge wall as Molly's body was pushed over; fibers in the trunk of Hewitt's Jaguar that appeared to be from the vintage dresses worn by the victims; the threatening phone call placed to our office; hairs discovered at both murder scenes that matched Hewitt's color and were undergoing DNA analysis; and a sworn statement from Detective Tuck Efird that Molly Staton told him Lenore Carpenter planned to break off her relationship with Hewitt. Carter also made much of the fact that Hewitt was mobile during the Friday night fundraiser with no verification of his location at the time of the murders.

Hewitt offered no rebuttal but asked for an accelerated arraignment and a request for bail. Despite Carter's plea that Hewitt was a flight risk, bail was set at five hundred thousand dollars. Hewitt Donaldson the accused was now Hewitt Donaldson the lawyer and he jumped into action like a junkyard dog attacking a trespasser.

“What more can we learn from the padlock?” he asked me.

“The police lab should disassemble it. If the scratches appear on the interior tumblers, then we know it was more than a surface attempt. Odds are someone opened it.”

“How would they know the wheelchair was in the garage?” Cory asked.

“They probably didn't,” Hewitt said. “They might have been looking for anything to incriminate me and the wheelchair offered both a practical and a damning option.”

“And the hairs and the trunk fibers?” Shirley asked.

“I don't lock the car and there's a trunk release under the dashboard. I'd prefer some thief open the door rather than break a window.” He ran his fingers over his scalp. “As for the hair, I lose more strands each day than an oak loses leaves in October.” He jotted a note on the legal pad in front of him. “Shirley, check the activity for my credit cards.”

“For what?”

“Hell, I don't know. Surprises. We have to look where the police are looking. I don't want to be blindsided.”

Nakayla shot me a glance and I knew something was on her mind. She was reluctant to interrupt Hewitt as he ran through his priorities. I nodded that she should jump in with whatever was bothering her.

“Hewitt, were you blindsided by Tuck Efird's statement about what Molly told him?”

Hewitt swallowed. Nakayla's question triggered some emotion he tried to repress. After a moment, he waved his hand dismissively. “Hearsay. I could have objected but it will never be admissible at trial.” His eyes moistened. “I can't cross examine Molly or Lenore so no judge will allow it.” His face hardened. “And if it is introduced, I'll testify that Lenore told me Molly was afraid of Tuck Efird. They did break up and I can call firsthand witnesses to that fact.”

“Can you suggest any motive for the killings?” I asked.

Hewitt shook his head. “No. Other than some link to the Atwood trial, and you and Nakayla are following that trail through Brooks and Junior Atwood. We need to determine for sure where Junior and Cletus were Friday.”

Cory raised her hand like a kid in elementary school asking permission to speak.

“What?” Hewitt demanded.

“Won't the police be searching for more connections than that? Shouldn't we be anticipating their looking beyond your relationship with Lenore?”

Hewitt drummed his fingers on the table while he weighed Cory's question. Before he could answer, a buzzer sounded from the hall.

“Someone's at the door,” Shirley said. “I locked it before our meeting.”

Cory stood. “It might be Tom Peterson.”

Hewitt scowled. “Then tell him to pick you up later.”

Cory hurried away.

“The Wilson-Atwood custody case is now a real burden,” Hewitt said. “Especially if it gets entangled with my own legal problems. I'm inclined to press Helen Wilson to accept some form of shared custody and put that mess behind us.”

Hewitt wasn't one to back down from a fight, but in this case, perhaps all parties would be better served by a settlement.

Cory returned, but she wasn't alone. Tom Peterson stepped into the conference room behind her. He wore a crisply pressed gray suit, white shirt, and muted burgundy tie and looked like he was headed for a TV interview.

“Tom has something he'd like to tell us,” Cory said.

Peterson walked closer to Hewitt.

The older attorney remained in his seat. “Well, out with it.”

Peterson swept his eyes across all of us, suddenly unsure whether his presence was such a good idea. He cleared his throat. “First, I want you to know Cory has told me nothing about the case against Mr. Donaldson or how he plans to defend himself against the ridiculous charges. And that's what they are. Ridiculous.

“Second, I plan to resign from the Atwood custody case.”

Hewitt shifted in his chair. “But you have an obligation to your client.”

“And that obligation entails mutual trust. The Atwoods are delighted that you find yourself in this current predicament. They haven't said anything to implicate themselves and I wouldn't tell you if they had, but to continue to represent them would prohibit my purpose for being here.”

“Which is?” Hewitt prompted.

“As a professional courtesy, I'm offering to represent you.”

I've seen Hewitt Donaldson shocked very few times. This proposal made the list. Hewitt's mouth dropped open and his eyes blinked like a swimmer emerging from beneath the water. Peterson said nothing further.

Hewitt looked at Cory. She shook her head, not to signal her boss to reject the offer, but with an expression conveying she had nothing to do with it.

“Well, sir,” Hewitt said with measured formality. “I appreciate your offer, but I think I'll be fine with the assembled team. And I still represent Mrs. Wilson and I'd abhor even the slightest perception of possible collusion by either of us with respect to our clients' interests.”

“And if I could get the Atwoods to settle immediately?”

Hewitt's bushy eyebrows arched. “On what terms?”

“Helen Wilson retains guardian status and makes all educational decisions for the twins. The Atwoods are allowed custody one weekend a month, beginning at four on Friday afternoons and ending at four on Sunday afternoons. That's only forty-eight hours out of an entire month.”

Hewitt rubbed his palm across his chin as he digested the proposal. “They've agreed?”

“Not yet. I've only floated it as a possibility. Now I'll tell them I'm resigning the case, and with your current legal dilemma, there might not be a better time for terms. I'll remind them their son did shoot the twins' mother and it will be hard to keep that fact from tainting the merits of their case.”

Hewitt cocked his head and studied the young lawyer more closely. “And you feel sure you can deliver these terms?”

Peterson smiled. “Not by myself. I've enlisted the aid of their pastor.”

“Horace Brooks?” I jumped in, unable to restrain my curiosity on how such an alliance had been struck.

“Yes. I visited Pastor Brooks this afternoon. He agrees some relationship with the twins is better than none at all. He believes a public display of name-calling and spiteful recriminations serve no one, especially the boys.” Peterson paused and gave Hewitt a sly smile. “Can you get Helen Wilson to agree to such a proposal?”

Hewitt looked across the table at me. I knew he was mulling what I'd told him earlier: how, according to Brooks, Helen Wilson had set out to undermine the relationship between her daughter and Clyde.

“I will be as persuasive as I can,” Hewitt said. “But that's a separate issue from your involvement with my case.”

Tom Peterson spread his hands, palms up. “Understood. But might I suggest that the presentation in the courtroom will suffer if you are the sole voice for your innocence. And if you take the stand, do you plan to question yourself and object during cross examination? A jury trial is part theater. A one-man show could carry the subtle implication that no one else will stand with you.”

No one knew the power of courtroom theatrics better than Hewitt. He bit his lower lip as he contemplated what Peterson was saying.

“Besides,” Peterson pressed, “I've been trained as a prosecutor.” He looked at me. “Sam and I should work well together, especially as I approach any trial from a prosecutorial point of view.”

The argument had merit. And there was another factor I figured Hewitt would weigh. Tom Peterson was new in town. Hewitt hadn't had the chance to piss him off like he had all his other colleagues of the bar.

“And what would be your first step?” Hewitt asked.

“Ensure there's no way a motive can be established. We don't want to link the victims to you. If D.A. Carter can't find something personal, then he'll look for something professional. I'd expect him to obtain a search warrant for your records and subpoena anything connecting the three of you.”

Hewitt nodded. “And how would you prevent that?”

“Assuming no such relationship exists, we play client confidentiality to the max. Perhaps our fallback can be to offer them a client list and maybe billing records. Will either Molly or Lenore show up on them?”

“They will not.”

“Great,” Peterson said enthusiastically. “Then with no provable link, a double homicide charge falls apart.”

Hewitt's relationship with Lenore had been presented in the probable cause hearing, but as far as I knew, no triangle existed involving Hewitt, Lenore, and Molly.

“What about a single relationship?” I asked, knowing full well I was calling out Hewitt's love affair with Lenore in front of Peterson. “Carter might pursue Lenore as the victim with Molly as collateral damage, or Molly with Lenore as someone who perhaps knew too much.”

“Not a relationship that would provide a motive for murder,” Hewitt said sharply.

“Whatever it is, wouldn't it be better to disclose it?” Peterson asked. “Otherwise it looks like you've got something to hide.”

“Hewitt.” Shirley called his name but said no more. The one word was enough to send a message.

Hewitt pointed to the empty chair across from him. “Sit down.”

Tom Peterson took the place where Cory had been sitting between Shirley and Nakayla. Cory eased into the chair between Hewitt and me.

Hewitt continued. “I'll bring you up to speed, but it will be brief. Lenore and I were in a relationship, so my prints are all over her house. That's all I'm going to say about that. Sam can cover you later on what we learned at today's hearing.”

“Whenever's convenient,” I told Peterson.

He nodded but kept his eyes on Hewitt.

“I agree with your assessment, Mr. Peterson,” Hewitt said. “My law practice will be a target in a search for links. There will be none to Molly, but my history with Lenore will be established by court records. It's just a matter of time before they uncover it.”

“What history?” Peterson asked.

All of us except Shirley leaned closer.

“The trial of Kyle Duncan,” Shirley whispered.

Hewitt raised a hand to silence her. “I met Lenore over twenty years ago when I defended a man named Kyle Duncan. He was accused of murdering a woman in a most brutal fashion. The prosecution said he broke into her home, thinking she was out. But, she'd called in sick to work. They claimed she'd surprised him and recognized him as one of the workmen doing restoration on her house in the Montford district. That's one of the historic areas of Asheville.”

“I'm familiar with the neighborhood,” Peterson said.

“Whoever she confronted beat her to death with a hammer. Lenore Carpenter was juror number seven. She was only in her early twenties at the time.”

Tom Peterson shook his head. “But there were eleven other jurors. And what significance can the prosecution draw? You've addressed thousands of jurors over the years.”

“But this case ended in a mistrial,” Hewitt said. “A hung jury with one member holding out for an innocent verdict.”

Peterson's eyes widened. “Lenore.”

“Correct. But I had no personal involvement with her at the time of the trial. Absolutely nothing inappropriate. We became friends when she took a hell of a lot of heat for her courageous stand.”

“Was Duncan retried?” Peterson asked.

“No. The D.A. at the time pushed for it, but then the Sheriff's Department had a colossal screw-up with the evidence. The murder weapon had been pivotal for both the prosecution and the defense. Duncan didn't deny that the hammer was his, but he insisted it was in the house along with the tools of the other workmen. His prints were on it, but blood splatter covered some of them. I argued that if Duncan had been the last person to hold the hammer, then his hand would have blocked the splatter from covering his prints. And the autopsy of the head trauma suggested the attacker was left-handed. Duncan was right-handed.”