Proof Positive (2006) (25 page)

Okay, Mike said. Here's the deal. If the gun we found checks out as the murder weapon I'll hold Corrales and Castro as long as I can, but I won't be able to hold them for long. A first-grader could convince any judge in the courthouse to release these guys based on what I have now. If the gun is good I'll probably be able to beat a false arrest charge, but even that will be close.

Will you look for Edwards?

I'll call his PO first thing in the morning.

Thanks, Mike.

I'm just doing my job, Frank, which is to get the man who killed Vincent Ballard. I don't care if it's Prochaska or Corrales. I do care that I get the right one.

Chapter
36.

WHILE HE WAITED ON HIS SIDE OF THE CRAMPED NONCONTACT visiting room for the guards to bring Jacob, Solomon Cohen thought about the ways in which his relationship with his son had tested his faith in God. Solomon and Valerie had lived through Jacob's battles with the demons in his mind, his marriage outside the faith, and his incarceration for a vile crime, attempted rape. Now the police were saying that he had committed not just murder which would have been terrible under any circumstances but an atrocity.

The rabbi thought back to the baby Jacob, so beautiful, so sweet. When had it gone wrong and how much were he and Valerie to blame? Parents were under so much pressure. You had to think about everything you did and said, because you were never certain what effect your words or actions might have on a young mind.

The rabbi could not understand how a just God could punish His servant in the cruelest way possible. Solomon would have gladly traded his life for Jacob's peace of mind. It was always easier for a parent to suffer pain than to watch his child in torment. Solomon could have taken the easy way out and accepted Jacob's troubles as a test from God, but he did not believe that God would be so cruel though history had provided plenty of evidence to the contrary. When all was said and done, Rabbi Cohen had no idea why he and his wife good, loving parents had a son who was so sorely afflicted that he could do what the police believed he had done to that poor woman.

At Doug's urging, Jacob had agreed to talk to his father. Solomon wanted this meeting he had longed for reconciliation during the long, painful years when Jacob rejected him and Valerie completely but he was very worried that he would do or say something that would lead to a further estrangement. The rabbi wished that Valerie had come in with him, but he didn't want to overwhelm his son. Jacob's mother was in the reception area. If all went well, the rabbi would ask Jacob if he would like to talk to her.

A door opened, and a guard brought Jacob into an identical narrow space on the other side of the thick glass. He was terribly thin. His head was down, and his shoulders were stooped. He did not make eye contact with his father.

The guard guided Jacob onto a stool and told him to use the telephone affixed to the wall on his side of the glass. As soon as Jacob held the phone to his ear, the rabbi spoke.

How are you? Are they treating you well? Are you getting enough to eat? Are you

The rabbi realized that he was running on without giving Jacob a chance to answer, so he stopped.

They keep me in isolation so no one can hurt me, Jacob answered quietly. It was odd hearing his voice after all these years. Solomon had almost forgotten how it sounded.

And the food, is it okay? I' ve heard that jail food isn't so good.

Jacob shrugged. I don't mind. I was eating out of garbage cans, so anything would be an improvement.

Solomon wondered if Jacob had just made a joke. It was hard to tell, because Jacob would not look at him. But there had been an inflection in his son's voice.

We like Mr. Weaver and Miss Jaffe. What do you think of them? the rabbi asked.

They' re very kind. They try to protect me. I like them.

I'm glad.

Jacob didn't say anything else, and Solomon couldn't think of anything else to talk about. He'd been instructed not to discuss the case, and he had no idea what interested Jacob these days. They'd had a shared interest in the Portland Trail Blazers basketball team when Jacob was younger. Valerie had no interest in sports, so Solomon and Jacob had gone to the games without her. They would always eat at a restaurant of Jacob's choosing before the game. The experience of spending time alone with his son had been incredibly rewarding for the rabbi. He wondered how Jacob remembered those times.

Is there anything your mother or I can do for you? the rabbi asked.

Not really.

Would you like me to bring you some books? I can ask Mr. Weaver if that's okay. Is there anything you'd like to read?

Jacob looked directly at his father for the first time.

I had books in my car. I would like to read those books. He sounded excited. Would you see if you could get me some of my books? I don't think the jailers will find them objectionable. Many of them are about God and religion.

Does religion interest you?

Jacob nodded. I often wonder why I am so beset by trials and why God has deserted me.

Solomon was stunned that Jacob was troubled by the same grim thoughts that worried him.

Have you drawn any conclusions?

Jacob smiled sadly. I think that God believes I am a bad person because I killed all of those people. I think he's making me suffer for what I' ve done.

Solomon felt tears well up in his eyes. He pressed his palm against the glass. He and Jacob had pressed their palms together to show solidarity, when his son was little. It was their special handshake.

You' re not bad, Jacob. You made a mistake. The consequences were terrible but you never wanted anyone to be hurt. I don't believe that God would make you suffer for something you didn't intend.

I'd like to believe you but too much has happened to me. Not only has God punished me for an act I didn't intend; he has punished me over and over for things I didn't do. There has to be a reason for that.

You mother and I don't believe you hurt that woman. We want you to know that.

Thank you, Jacob said. Then he pressed his palm against the glass so it covered his father's hand.

I know I' ve been a terrible son. Please forgive me.

Solomon was too choked up to answer. Suddenly Jacob gulped down air as he tried to fight back tears.

I'd like to go now, he said.

Can we visit you again?

Jacob thought for a moment. Solomon held his breath.

I'd like that, Jacob said, and the rabbi exhaled.

Jacob signaled for the guard, and Rabbi Cohen watched as his son was led back to his cell. When the door closed behind Jacob, Solomon had one regret: he hadn't told Jacob he loved him. There had been a moment when he had thought about saying the words, but he'd been afraid that Jacob would say nothing or say something hurtful. In the end, he'd decided not to risk rejection when the visit was going so well. Perhaps he would tell Jacob the next time.

As Solomon walked to the waiting area to tell Valerie about the meeting, he thought about what had happened. The meeting had been short, but it had gone well. He did not let himself become excited or hopeful. After a psychiatrist friend put a name to Jacob's mental disorder, Solomon had read everything he could about paranoid schizophrenia. The world inside Jacob's mind was not Solomon's or Valerie's world. It was a land of dreams and nightmares. The angels and devils that dwelled there could whisper in Jacob's ear at any moment. In today's meeting, angels had guided his son, but Solomon knew that Jacob's personal demons could warp his view of his parents at any time and destroy any good feelings that had come out of the rabbi's visit.

Valerie looked up expectantly when Solomon appeared. He decided to tell her how well the meeting had gone and hide his fears and misgivings.

Chapter
37.

GOOD MORNING, ART, FRANK JAFFE SAID WHEN THE GUARDS let his client into the contact-visit room. There's been a development in your case. I don't want you to get your hopes up, but I might have good news for you by the end of the day.

Prochaska sat calmly, his hands folded on the table, seemingly oblivious of the horrible fate that awaited him if his lawyer did not win his case. Frank suspected that some of his serene demeanor stemmed from inside knowledge about the kidnapping of Reuben Corrales and Luis Castro.

A few nights ago, I was awakened by an anonymous caller who told me that I could find the two men who murdered Vincent Ballard and the gun they used in a vacant house at Forty-second and Trafalgar. I called the DA and he sent some officers to the house.

Did you find the guys? Prochaska asked. Frank searched his client's face for any sign of irony, but he saw nothing to make him think that Prochaska was mocking him.

Yes, Art, we did. We found a bodybuilder named Reuben Corrales and another man, named Luis Castro, tied up in the kitchen. They'd been abducted and worked over by persons unknown. There was a gun in the kitchen, too. A ballistics test proved that it fired the shots that killed Ballard.

Prochaska smiled. That's great, Frank. When do I get out?

It's not that simple. There's still the indictment charging you with the murder of Juan Ruiz. Art did not react. Then there's the fact that Corrales and Castro work for Felix Dorado, who is rumored to be in a war to take over Portland's drug trade from Martin.

That would give them a reason to frame me, wouldn't it?

Well, yes, Art. But it also gives Martin a reason to frame them. Mike Greene thinks that Martin planted the gun to get you off. So, right now, whoever kidnapped Corrales and Castro hasn't helped your case.

You said there was good news, Art said, unfazed by Mike Greene's stubborn refusal to cut him loose.

There may be. The anonymous caller told me that there's an eyewitness named Clarence Edwards who saw Corrales and Castro leaving Ballard's room on the night of the murder. Kate gave me the same information. Two days ago, Edwards was arrested in California on a warrant issued by his parole officer for leaving the state without permission. Mike Greene is going to interview him this morning and have him view Corrales and Castro in a lineup. If he picks them out as the men he saw at the motel there's a good chance you might get out of here.

I'm sure he'll say it was them, since it wasn't me.

Mike wants you in the lineup, too.

Art frowned. Why does he want to do that?

To see if Edwards picks you instead of Corrales. It's a gamble, Art. I have to tell you that our case will be damn near impossible to win if Edwards picks you. But Greene will have to dismiss if Edwards picks Corrales.

What do you think I should do?

Frank looked into Prochaska's eyes. If you' re innocent if you were nowhere near that motel when Ballard was killed and you had nothing to do with the murder you might want to take the chance. But you should refuse if you killed Ballard.

Prochaska smiled. I told you I didn't do it, Frank. I wasn't lying.

For some strange reason, Frank believed Prochaska.

Clarence Edwards and Edgar Lewis had packed up and run the moment Henry Tedesco and Charlie LaRosa left their motel room. Edwards had experienced nightmares in which he was being burned alive ever since. Now he was back in custody, twisting nervously in an intentionally uncomfortable chair in a stuffy interrogation room at the Justice Center, where he had been left alone with his thoughts for almost an hour. He was hungry and thirsty and scared and positive that the man who looked like a rat was going to barbecue him sometime soon.

The door opened and Mike Greene and Billie Brewster walked in.

What's going on here, man? Clarence demanded.

Good morning, Mr. Edwards, Mike said.

I want my lawyer.

Brewster stood against the wall and Mike sat opposite Edwards at the table. He placed a thick file on the table and patted it.

This is yours, Mr. Edwards. It's a record of your life of crime. As a result of your attempt to flee from the responsibilities of your parole, it's thicker than it was last month. It will get fatter still if you give me any shit, because I'll walk out of here without offering you a way out of the mess you made for yourself.

I didn't make no mess. I was fleeing for my life.

Do you want to explain that to me? Mike asked.

Clarence imagined how he would feel if he was strapped into a bed and set on fire. He folded his arms across his chest, looked at the floor.

I ain't saying nothing without a lawyer, he mumbled.

It was clear that Clarence was very scared. Mike would love to know why.

Here's the deal, Mr. Edwards. If you still want an attorney when I'm finished telling it to you I'll see you get to make your call. But I think you' re going to want to cooperate with me when you hear what I have to say. If you accept my offer and are completely truthful you will not be prosecuted for your parole violation and you will be released from custody.

What do I have to do?

First, you have to answer some questions.

Like what?

Mike told Clarence the date of Vincent Ballard's murder and asked him where he was living on that day. The DA knew that Edwards was staying at the motel, and he wanted to start the questioning with a softball, but Clarence didn't see this as an easy question. Any question about Ballard's murder terrified him. If he admitted that he was at the Continental, he was certain he was going to be asked what he saw, and he didn't know how the rat-faced man wanted him to answer. But, the DA would have the motel records, and they would show where he was living. Clarence saw no profit in lying.