Proof Positive (2006) (27 page)

I don't know what to say. Cashman sounded shocked.

I can prove it, Doug said.

I doubt that, since I did find Mr. Hayes's print. Are you forgetting that your client admitted the murder?

Doug was almost overcome with guilt. He wanted to explain how he'd persuaded Ray to plead, but he was not going to let Cashman distract him.

I'm going to the district attorney in the morning. I'll tell him what I know and you can explain yourself to him.

If you were planning on going to the district attorney, why did you call me?

I I was going to give you a chance to explain why you did it, why you murdered Ray.

I had nothing to do with the death of Mr. Hayes. The state executed your client. I know you attended the execution. It must have been difficult for you to watch him die, but I had nothing to do with it.

We'll let the prosecutor decide that. I don't think I should talk to you anymore.

Look, why don't I come to the district attorney's office tomorrow? I'll be glad to answer any questions you have, in his presence, to show you that I'm innocent of whatever it is you think I' ve done.

Now Doug was completely confused. You'd come to see the DA? he repeated.

Of course. I have absolutely nothing to hide. When would you like me to be at his office?

I I'm not sure. I'll have to talk to some people in the morning.

Fine. Call me at the lab when you have a time. It takes me about twenty minutes to drive downtown.

Doug hung up. His heart was racing. Cashman sounded so sincere. Could he be wrong? Weaver knew that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, and he needed another drink desperately. He filled his glass and took a sip. Soon after that, Doug's eyes grew heavy, and he slumped forward, resting his head on his arms.

Wake up, Mr. Weaver.

A hand shook Doug's shoulder. He raised his head and stared blearily at Bernard Cashman, who was standing in his kitchen wearing a Seattle Mariners baseball cap, latex gloves, and Tyvex booties, and holding a gun.

Adrenaline cleared the cobwebs immediately, and Doug threw himself backward, almost upsetting his chair.

Careful, Mr. Weaver, Cashman said. Take deep breaths. I want you to calm down.

How ?

Cashman smiled. You learn many things while investigating crime. The finer points of breaking and entering, for instance.

The criminalist pointed at the bottle of scotch. Pour yourself a full glass and drink it down. It will help you to relax.

I' ve had a lot to drink, I

That wasn't a request, Doug, it was an order. Cashman waved the muzzle of the gun at the bottle. Fill the glass and drink it down.

Weaver did as he was told.

Good. Now drink another glass and we can get down to business.

Doug was still intoxicated from the scotch he'd drunk earlier, and two drinks in rapid succession made him very woozy.

Tell me what you think you know about the hammer, Cashman said.

Doug hesitated.

Do you want me to shoot you, Doug? I won't shoot to kill, because I want you to talk to me. But I will shoot you in parts of your body that will cause you to feel horrible pain. Now, please tell me what you think you figured out about the fingerprint on the hammer.

Doug was no hero, so he told the criminalist what he thought had happened. Cashman nodded.

You' re very clever and quite correct. Who have you told about your epiphany?

Doug knew that he had to lie about his call to Amanda's voice mail.

I left a message at the DA's office. I said I had proof that you lied about the fingerprint. If anything happens to me the police will know it was you.

Cashman frowned. This was not what he wanted to hear, but it made sense. Weaver had told him that he was going to the district attorney's office in the morning. If Weaver had left a message implicating him, he was in trouble. He studied Doug for any sign that he was lying. Doug was a poor poker player, and being drunk made it even harder for him to bluff.

Did you call anyone else after you phoned the DA? Cashman asked.

No. It was late. I didn't want to wake up anyone.

I don't believe you, Doug. I think you made a call, but I don't think it was to the district attorney.

Doug swallowed. It was. They'll get it in the morning. If you hurt me they'll know who did it.

You' re a lousy liar, Doug. Now tell me who you really called, and you'd better be honest this time.

Doug looked into Cashman's eyes and saw placid pools devoid of emotion. Images of Mary Clark's mutilated body filled Doug's thoughts, and he accepted the fact that he was going to die. The knowledge gave him the freedom to act. He grabbed the scotch bottle and lunged to his feet, upsetting the table. The move surprised Cashman. He stumbled backward to avoid being struck by the table. Weaver swung the bottle. It came close enough to Cashman's face that he could feel air brush by him. He shot Doug in the chest as Doug was raising the bottle for a second strike. The lawyer followed through anyway and connected with Cashman's shoulder. The impact jarred the bottle out of Doug's grasp, and it shattered on the floor. He lunged at Cashman and wrapped his arms around him. The two men staggered backward, crashing into the refrigerator. Cashman kneed Weaver in the groin. Weaver's grip loosened. Cashman threw Weaver aside and shot him in the stomach. Weaver's knees buckled, and he slumped to the floor. Cashman shot him again.

So this is how it's going to end, Doug thought.

Cashman was in a frenzy. He knelt by Doug's head and pressed the gun between Doug's eyes.

Who have you told about the hammer? Cashman demanded desperately.

Weaver wished Karen could see him now. He felt proud of himself, because he had died fighting, and he also felt giddy with the knowledge that he had not betrayed Ray a second time. An old schoolyard taunt came back to him.

That's for me to know and you to find out, he said just before he died.

Rage swept through Cashman. He stood up and pulled back his leg to kick the dead man, but the rational part of his brain reined him in. He was wearing protective booties, but any contact between him and Weaver's body could leave trace evidence. Cashman remembered that they had touched while they fought. He knelt down and examined Weaver from head to toe. When he was satisfied that he had not deposited any hairs or fibers on the dead lawyer during the struggle, he scanned the kitchen for any evidence he might have left.

Suddenly, he remembered the shots. There had been three of them, and someone might have heard. The police could be on their way. If neighbors heard the shots, they could be watching the house. Cashman turned off the kitchen light and peeked through the blinds. There were lights on in the house next door. Cashman went to the back door. He saw no lights in the homes behind Weaver' s. The criminalist ducked out the door and raced through the small backyard. There was no fence, but there was a hedge. He squeezed through it and ran to his truck, which he'd parked several blocks away. He had been smart to hurry. A police car passed him on the way to Weaver's house shortly after he pulled away from the curb.

As he drove home, Cashman thought about the unfairness of life. Here he was, trying to do the right thing, and his efforts were turning into a nightmare. First, he'd had to deal with Mary. Now Doug Weaver had tried to spoil everything. Where would it end?

Cashman willed himself to calm down and think. Was his situation really that bad? If the night operator learned that Weaver had been murdered, she would probably contact the police and tell them about Weaver's call, but she would also tell the police that Cashman had refused to accept it. He'd made his call to Weaver from a pay phone, so it couldn't be traced to him, and there shouldn't be any evidence in Weaver's house that would lead to him.

Weaver had figured out Cashman's lie about Raymond Hayes's fingerprint, but Cashman didn't know if he'd told his suspicions to anyone else. And, if he had, there was no proof of what he'd done now that he'd gotten rid of the hammer and the evidence bag. All he had to do was stand firm when he was questioned. Deny, deny, deny. How could they prove he was lying? If they produced the photograph that Paul Baylor had snapped when he took the evidence bag from Mary's car, Cashman would say that the powder was on the side you couldn't see, or suggest that Mary had put the hammer in a new evidence bag before hiding it in her trunk. They might suspect that he was lying, but they would never be able to prove it.

Cashman exhaled. Everything would work out for the best, because he was smarter than everyone else, always one step ahead of the pack no, make that several steps ahead.

Chapter
39.

AMANDA HAD A MEETING WITH A CLIENT SCHEDULED FOR EIGHT and didn't play Doug Weaver's voice-mail message until nine. She listened to it twice. Doug's speech was slurred, and it sounded as if he'd been drinking. His talk about a dream and a snowstorm strengthened that impression. But he also sounded as if he believed that he'd cracked the mystery surrounding the hammer.

Doug had said that he'd see her first thing in the morning, but he had not been in the waiting room when she saw her client out, and there were no messages from him in her slot. Amanda dialed his office.

Doug Weaver, please.

There was silence for a moment.

Is this Doug Weaver's law office? Amanda asked, wondering if she'd dialed a wrong number.

Who's calling? the receptionist said. She sounded as though she was fighting back tears.

Amanda Jaffe. We' re working on a case together.

Oh, Miss Jaffe, you can't talk to Mr. Weaver. He passed away.

He what?

Mr. Weaver is dead.

Oh, my God! What happened?

Now the receptionist was crying. Someone broke into his house last night and shot him, she managed. It's so terrible.

Amanda was stunned.

Do the police know who killed Doug? she asked.

I don't know. There were two detectives here when the office opened. They searched Mr. Weaver's office, but they didn't tell me anything, except that he was dead.

Are the detectives there now?

No.

Amanda talked to the receptionist about Doug a little while longer. When she hung up, she felt disoriented and had to take deep breaths to get her equilibrium back. When she was calmer, she listened to Weaver's call again, then phoned Paul Baylor.

When his phone rang, Paul Baylor was in his lab, testing a sample of cocaine that had been seized during a routine traffic stop. The executive who had been driving the Mercedes swore that the powder wasn't cocaine. His lawyer was certain that the executive was in denial, and Paul's test results supported that theory.

Doug Weaver was murdered last night, Amanda said as soon as the forensic expert picked up the receiver.

What happened? Baylor asked, stunned by the news.

I don't know much. I got my information from the receptionist at his office. A detective told her that someone broke into his house and shot him.

That's awful.

I didn't call just to tell you about the murder, Paul. When I came in this morning, there was a voice mail from Doug. He called late last night to tell me that he knew what was wrong with the hammer.

He figured it out?

He said he did, but he was interrupted by another call before he explained anything. I wrote down what he said. Let me read it to you. I couldn't make any sense out of it. Maybe you can.

Baylor was quiet when Amanda finished. He asked Amanda to read the message to him again.

Hang on, will you, Baylor said when she was through.

Paul went into his office and spread the photographs of the hammer in the evidence bag across his desk. Doug hadn't seen the hammer or the evidence bag, so his deductions had to have been made from these photographs.

I don't see a damn thing, Baylor muttered. Then he froze. That was it. Doug hadn't seen anything, either. He grabbed the phone.

I'm an idiot, Baylor said, barely able to contain his excitement. It's the powder.

I don't understand.

Amanda felt a chill pass through her as Baylor explained his theory. Then she felt sick. Amanda asked Paul to come to her office immediately, and hung up.

Paul hadn't known Doug Weaver long, but he seemed like a nice guy. Now he was dead murdered and Baylor was certain that the killing had not been the result of a random burglary gone wrong any more than the theft of the hammer from his lab had been. The odds were pretty damn good that Doug Weaver was dead because he had been smart enough to figure out why Mary Clark had taken a hammer from the evidence locker at the state crime lab.

Paul Baylor was a man of science thoughtful, objective, and unemotional in most situations. But he wasn't any of that now. At this moment, Paul Baylor was very angry, and he vowed to channel that anger into the energy he would need to make the person who attacked him and murdered Doug Weaver pay, not only for his crimes but for the harm he'd done to the reputation of every criminalist in Oregon.

When Baylor walked into the conference room, he found Amanda and Kate Ross waiting.

Tell Kate what you told me, Amanda said.

Baylor handed Kate a photograph. It showed the hammer in the evidence bag just after it had been removed from the tire well of Mary Clark's car.

Doug never saw the hammer and the evidence bag after we took it out of the car, Baylor said, but he did see this photograph. So, I'm guessing that he figured out everything from what he saw in the picture.

Kate studied the photograph for a few moments before shaking her head.

I don't get it.

Do you remember Doug asking if someone other than Mary could have stolen the hammer and put it in the tire well? Baylor asked.

Kate nodded.

I told him that we knew that Mary took the hammer because the bag had been dusted for fingerprints and hers were all over the plastic. To raise prints, Cashman had to dust the hammer with black fingerprint powder. Some of the powder should have rubbed off on the plastic when the hammer was placed in the bag, but I don't remember seeing any powder on the hammer or the bag when we found it in Mary's car. What about you?

No. I'm pretty sure there wasn't any.

There was powdery snow in Doug's dream, Amanda said. I think Doug's subconscious was reminding him that there should have been fingerprint powder on the hammer and the bag. He must have remembered that he hadn't seen any in the photograph.

Kate's brow furrowed. Are you suggesting that Cashman lied about finding Hayes's print on the handle?

If there was no powder on the hammer, that's a real possibility, Baylor said, but I don't know how to prove it without the hammer and the bag.

Cashman is one of the most respected criminalists in the state, Kate said.

Yes, he is, Paul agreed. I never would have expected something like this from Bernie, but he wouldn't be the first forensic expert to go bad. There have been several cases across the country where people working in crime labs have faked evidence or given false testimony in court. The most famous is a former head serologist of the West Virginia state police crime lab. The West Virginia Supreme Court called his actions shocking and accused him of corrupting the legal system. And there was a criminalist at the Oklahoma City police lab. A man was executed for rape and murder after she testified, but her colleagues reviewed the evidence slides in the case and found no sperm on the critical slide. So, it's not unheard of for something like this to happen.

Everyone was silent for a moment while they tried to look at the Cohen case in light of this new information. Amanda had come to some conclusions of her own, and she wanted to see what the others came up with. Kate was the first to break the silence.