Turning Angel (42 page)

”Son of a bitch,“ Quentin breathes. ”Son of a
bitch!
“

”There goes your reasonable doubt.“ I take a sip of coffee from the room service tray on the table between us.

Quentin closes his eyes and rubs the stump of his ankle. ”Maybe…but maybe not.“

”Quentin, yesterday you told me DNA was subtle science. I know juries can get bored with technical testimony. But if I’m right, this science is pretty simple and compelling.
A black man didn’t rape Kate Townsend.
That’s a message that black jury members will love to hear. And the location of the crime scene away from Brightside Manor already screwed your chance to paint a scenario in which Kate was murdered there by Cyrus.“

”Goddamn it,“ Quentin mutters. ”What
do
we have that links Kate Townsend to Cyrus?“

”I can testify that Sonny Cross told me he saw her visit Cyrus at Brightside Manor while he was conducting surveillance operations.“

”That’s hearsay, unless you have videotape.“

”We may have the actual surveillance tape in our possession, but I’m not sure yet. I haven’t had time to go through the tapes.“

”That’s your first priority. Do we have anything else?“

An image of Kate’s journal rises in my mind, but I’m still not prepared to reveal its existence. ”Not at this time.“ I stand and walk over to the window. ”Given what we’ve deduced here, does the second semen sample still look like reasonable doubt to you?“

”Shad’s case is still circumstantial,“ Quentin says firmly. ”Even Dr. Elliott’s semen in the girl’s rectum doesn’t place him at the crime scene.“

”But his car parked in that vacant lot damn near does. Shad’s case may be circumstantial, but it just might be strong enough for a conviction. I would have gone to court with it in Houston.“

Quentin takes a sip of coffee and makes a face. ”There are only two possibilities for disaster. One, the police find physical evidence that links Dr. Elliott to the crime scene. Two, they find out that Dr. Elliott had the victim scoring dope for his wife.“

”Which brings up an even thornier question. Do you plan to put Drew on the stand?“

Quentin closes his eyes like a man experiencing deep internal pain.

”If they tie him to that crime scene, and he hasn’t admitted that he was there, the jury won’t believe a thing he says after that.“

”That’s a chance I’m going to have to take,“ says Quentin. ”I’m not putting him on the stand to tell the jury he found that girl dead and didn’t report it to anybody.“

”Have you discussed this with Drew?“

”We haven’t gotten that far.“

”I’ll bet you any amount of money that Drew will demand to tell the jury his side of the story.“

Quentin goes absolutely still. ”Tell me he’s not that stupid.“

”If he’s innocent, that’s what he’ll do.“

”If the police somehow tie him to the murder scene, Shad will have to let us know that before the trial. He has to, according to the rules of discovery. If that happens, I’ll still have time to put Drew on the stand and let him tell his story. At least that’s a margin of safety.“

”Is it? You said yourself that Shad would break the rules.“

”If he withholds evidence, it’s grounds for a mistrial.“

I mull this over. ”You’re forgetting that Sheriff Byrd is on Shad’s side. What if Byrd were to pretend that his men found such evidence
during
the trial, and you hadn’t admitted Drew was at the scene? You’d be screwed. Quentin, you’re going to have to tell the truth. Drew is an innocent man whose adultery made him too afraid to report a murder. You’ve got to admit he was at the scene from the start.“

Quentin gives me a hard look. ”That’s not the road I want to take.“

”Your client may not give you any choice.“

The lawyer laughs bitterly. ”
Now
I see why you brought me into this case. You know what a knucklehead your friend is.“

I’m about to bring up another problem when my cell phone rings. It’s Caitlin.

”What’s up?“

”Judge Minor just set the trial date,“ she says. ”Next Wednesday.“

My blood pressure plummets. ”Did he make any official statement to the media?“

”No. I got this from a guy in the circuit clerk’s office.“

”Did you have to flirt to get it?“

”A little.“ She laughs. ”This is bad for Drew, isn’t it?“

”Not necessarily. Call me if you get anything else.“ I hang up and set my phone on the coffee table.

Quentin watches me expectantly.

”Next Wednesday.“

His mouth falls open. ”You’re shitting me.“

”Wednesday, baby.“

”I’ll give Shad credit. That little son of a bitch plays hardball.“

”I’m afraid we’ve got another problem. As soon as Drew was indicted by the grand jury, that put him into the state system. That means he has to be transferred from police custody to the sheriff’s department. The county jail. My guess is, Sheriff Byrd will move him today. He hasn’t yet, because Chief Logan promised to warn me about any problems. But we need to warn Drew.“

”Worst-case scenario,“ Quentin says.

”Billy Byrd locks Drew into an interrogation room without either of us there and sweats him under the lights.“

”Drew doesn’t strike me as the type who would crack under that kind of pressure.“

”He won’t crack, but his desire to explain his innocence might cause him to make statements against his interest.“

Quentin shakes his head. ”Do you really think he’d talk to the sheriff at this point without me present?“

”In a word? Yes.“

”Goddamn it.“ Quentin reaches down and begins strapping on his artificial foot. ”I thought doctors were supposed to save lives, not put you in an early grave.“

”I appreciate you doing this, Quentin.“

The old lawyer looks up at me, his eyes curious. ”Tell me this. Now that Doug Jones has stepped down, are you going to announce for mayor?“

I can’t help but laugh. ”My significant other is not in favor of the idea.“

Quentin finishes with the limb and sits up. ”Who wears the pants in your family, man?“

”That depends on the issue.“

”Well, no matter what you do, Shad has to wait until the end of the trial to announce. That’s why he’s rushing this circus, and why I’ve got less than a week to prepare for trial.“

”Yep.“

Quentin grins. ”Ain’t politics something?“

”Do you still feel the same about Cyrus White?“

”What do you mean?“

”You want me not to find him?“

Quentin folds his arms and fixes his eyes on me with unsettling intensity. ”Do you really think Drew is innocent?“

”I do.“

”Then I’ll tell you what I want.“ He picks up his car keys and jabs them at me. ”I want you to find me that girl’s killer. Fast.“

Chapter
31

At just after 9 p.m., I reenter Quentin’s suite, this time with Mia and a male friend of hers in tow. Quentin and Doris are sleeping in a smaller room down the hall, so that this one can be used for business at all hours. Caitlin is spending the night at my house with Annie. I feel guilty about asking her, but it was the only way I could free Mia to work with me and also be sure that Caitlin wouldn’t discover what we were doing.

Mia’s friend is a high school sophomore who dresses like a New York investment banker. The only openly gay student at St. Stephen’s, Lucien Morse is as slender as a sword and has short, glistening black hair. I met him only ten minutes ago, but I know one thing already—his eyes don’t remain still for longer than three seconds.

Lucien is here to hack Kate Townsend’s USB flash drives.

I’d planned to overnight the drives to a computer security firm in Houston, but when Mia heard me making the arrangements, she told me I could save at least a day by having a friend of hers hack them. I was skeptical at first, but she assured me that this particular tenth-grader was capable of doing the job. Mia’s price for arranging this service? That she be allowed to see what’s on the drives after they’re hacked. Desperate to see the contents as quickly as possible, I agreed. Computer hackers aren’t thick on the ground in Natchez, Mississippi.

Lucien Morse isn’t short on confidence. When I opened my leather portfolio downstairs and showed him what I had, he rolled his eyes and asked me where the nearest computer was. Now that we’re in the suite, I point to the Dell that one of Quentin’s young lawyers installed here yesterday. Lucien walks to the machine and plugs one of the flash drives into a USB port.

”The thing about these little wankers,“ he says, ”is that the security isn’t fundamental. It’s basically obfuscation. I ought to have it open in less than five minutes.“

”Remember,“ I tell him, ”the second you break in, you get up from the monitor and walk away. You don’t look at the files. Even if a full-screen picture pops up, you shut your eyes and walk away.“

”Touchy, touchy.“

”Your payment is dependent on that condition.“

”Five hundred dollars?“ Lucien says, rapidly tapping at the keyboard. ”Right?“

”Five hundred.“

”Easy money.“

I set my portfolio on the coffee table. It still contains Kate’s private journal and Marko Bakic’s flash drive. My plan is to have Mia try to put a time line to the list of men and boys in Kate’s ”hook-ups“ lists, but only after Lucien leaves.

”Can we order tea or something?“ Mia asks.

”Order whatever you want. Drew’s paying for it.“

She picks up the hotel phone and dials room service. She starts to order, then stops in midsentence and pulls her cell phone from her jeans pocket. It must have vibrated. She asks the room service clerk to hold on, then checks a text message. Her mouth opens in surprise.

”What?“ I ask.

She puts her finger to her lips, then she pulls me into the next room.

”No arguing in front of the children?“ Lucien calls.

Mia holds up her phone and shows me the blue LCD screen. It reads:
Rave 2nite. Square 1 tracetown movie theater. Heard marko coming with KAs from ole miss and killer d.j. from memphis. Leaving now with stacey.

”What’s Square 1?“

”That’s where the first clue will be.“

I recall Sonny’s description of the complicated security precautions that precede a rave. Kids are prompted by various riddles or poems to drive from place to place until they’re sure no one is following them. Then they’re told the location of the drug party.

”What do you think?“ Mia asks, her eyes sparkling. ”You want to go?“

I glance back toward the other room, but what I see in my mind is the LCD screen.
Heard marko coming…
”Yes. I want to go.“

Mia grins. ”Yeah!“

”What about Lucien?“

”He sleeps at school, not at home. For five hundred bucks, he’ll come back later.“

”I
heard
that,“ Lucien croons.

”Well?“ I ask, walking back into the main room of the suite. ”Can you come back later?“

Lucien slaps the Enter key, then stands and steps away from the keyboard. ”No need. Job’s done.“

”You’re kidding.“

He smiles, revealing small white teeth. ”I don’t kid about work.“

”I gave you two drives.“

”That was the second one. View them at your leisure. No password, no problems, and yes, I take cash.“

I take out my wallet and remove five one-hundred-dollar bills. ”I’d like you to look at one other drive, Lucien.“

”No problem. It’ll cost extra, though.“

”I pay for results.“ I open the portfolio on the coffee table and remove the flash drive I stole from Marko’s garage apartment. This one’s a Sony, not a Lexar, but Lucien seems unconcerned.

”We really need to go,“ Mia says.

”What’s the hurry?“ asks Lucien.

I give Mia a pointed look. ”This is important.“

Lucien takes the drive and slides it into the USB port. Mia stands on tiptoe and whispers in my ear, ”The clue won’t be there long. If we’re late, we’ll miss the party. And Marko.“

”We really need this. And Lucien’s fast.“

”Not this time,“ he says. ”There’s a separate encryption program hiding whatever’s on this drive. It looks like military-grade stuff. Where did you get this?“

I should have known Marko would take precautions. What did Paul tell me? In Sarajevo, Marko became the consummate survivor. ”You don’t need to know that. Can you hack it or not?“

”Maybe.“

”How long?“

”Maybe an hour, maybe a year. If I took it home—“

”You can’t take it home.“

”Then I guess I’ll see what I can do.“

”We’ll be back in a couple of hours.“

”Can I order room service?“ Lucien asks with a smile. ”I missed supper.“

”Get whatever you want.“

The smile turns beatific. ”I hope they have a wine list.“

Riding north on Highway 61 in the passenger seat of Mia’s Honda Accord, I’m scrunched underneath a St. Stephen’s letter blanket that Mia pulled from her trunk—to facilitate my ”being shady,“ as she calls it. For the past forty-five minutes, I’ve been living a scene out of a screwball comedy from the 1960s, updated with touches from 1970s car-chase movies. After Mia read the doggerel verse taped to the ticket window of the old theater, we joined a convoy of jacked-up pickup trucks, handed-down family sedans, and high-end foreign sports coupes. These vehicles charged from place to place to find and unravel successive clues, dodging in and out of traffic and smashing beer bottles against road signs. My heart nearly stopped when I saw one high school boy leap from the bed of one pickup truck to another at seventy miles per hour.

Dave Matthews is playing softly on Mia’s CD player. She drives with one hand, while the other sends and receives text messages on her cell phone in an Olympic-caliber display of manual dexterity. Using the LED penlight on my key ring, I’ve been reviewing Kate’s ”hook-ups“ lists in her journal, and asking Mia to give me a time line on the names. Mia has laughed at some names and dropped her jaw at others. One made her curse and tense in her seat. The story behind this was simple enough.

”Kate stole my boyfriend in ninth grade,“ she told me. ”Chris Anthony. It was just after she got back from England. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but she did it behind my back. They saw each other for like six weeks before someone told me. When I confronted Kate, she wouldn’t even discuss it. She acted like I was a total loser. Beneath her notice. I know that sounds trivial, but it hurt. We didn’t speak for over a year.“