Текст книги "Vindicate"

Автор книги: Beth Yarnall

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter 29 Cora

I’m really not trying to get my hopes up, but finding Mrs. Wheeler is the single best lead I’ve ever had in Beau’s case. She could free him. The thought of Beau free is almost too much. My brain can’t process it. I’ve never allowed myself to imagine it. How could I, when the possibility has always been so completely impossible? I bet my parents never envisioned it either. Why would they, when they believed in his guilt from the start? I try to picture their faces when I tell them Beau is going to be freed, that he didn’t kill Cassandra, and that their complete lack of faith in him made them no better than a stranger.

I wonder if my dad will even be sober enough to fully comprehend how badly they fucked up. Or if my mom will pretend she believed in him the whole entire time. She’ll twist the past five and a half years in some way so she comes out the victim in the story.

How will Beau feel to finally be free? What will he want to do first? What will he need? I can’t wait to be standing there when he walks out of that hellhole. I can’t wait to hug him and have him smell like him instead of a stranger. I can’t wait for his hair to grow back out and not to have to constantly worry that he’ll be beaten or killed. I can’t wait to have him home.

Leo and I cross the border into Mexico. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here or anywhere. I had to dig out my passport for the return trip back to the United States. I flip it open and look at my picture. My mom took me to have my hair done like it was some kind of fashion photo session. She made Beau wear a tie for his picture. That winter we went to Italy as a family. The next winter Cassandra was dead, Beau was on trial for her murder, and my dad moved out.

What a difference a year makes.

Leo follows the directions Siri gives him. We’re going to arrive well before the time Leo told Mrs. Wheeler’s niece we’d be there.

“Why did you tell Alice we’d be there at three?” I ask Leo. “We’re going to get there at least an hour before that.”

“I didn’t want her there when we talk to Mrs. Wheeler. I wasn’t exactly honest with her about the reason for our visit.” He winks at me.

“True.”

“I also don’t want to take the chance that she won’t let us talk to Mrs. Wheeler. She might not want to get involved.”

“Also true.”

We grow quiet again. Leo squeezes my hand in his lap. He must sense my nervous excitement. I haven’t been still since the moment Alice confirmed that Mrs. Wheeler is still alive. We ride the rest of the way in silence except for every now and then when I have to translate something for him. My Spanish is much better than his.

We pull up to the care facility and park. Before hitting the road we stopped off at Jamie’s house and recovered the backup copy of my binder that has all of the profiles of everyone involved in the murder investigation. I brought it to help jog Mrs. Wheeler’s memory. There’s no telling what her mental state is and I might need to remind her who Cassandra was to her.

I tell the woman at the front desk that we’re relatives of Mrs. Wheeler’s. She takes us through a winding maze of hallways until we’re standing before room number 232. Mrs. Wheeler’s room. We’re so close.

The woman tells me in Spanish that Mrs. Wheeler is having a good day. Thank goodness for that. Although I’m not sure how good her good days are. The woman leaves us to enter the room on our own.

Mrs. Wheeler lies in her bed, looking out the window. She doesn’t seem to realize we’re here. I hardly recognize her. She’s so much older and more shrunken than the last time I saw her.

“Mrs. Wheeler?”

She turns her face toward us. “Yes?”

Her response encourages me. “Hi. My name is Cora Hollis and this is Leo Nash. I was friends with Cassandra, your upstairs neighbor when you lived in San Diego.”

She blinks at me. I’m not sure she understands me. I repeat myself in Spanish.

“My Spanish isn’t that good. English, please. Come closer so I can see you.”

We move to her bedside. She presses a button on the remote for her bed and raises herself into a sitting position.

“Do you remember when you lived in San Diego? You had an upstairs neighbor named Cassandra Williams?” I ask.

Her gaze is unfocused on mine. I try again. “She lived upstairs from you. She was murdered.”

“Oh, yes.” She does some slow blinking, then her eyes go wide. “Yes. So terrible.”

“Would you mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened to Cassandra?” Leo asks.

“I suppose not. Who are you again?”

“Leo Nash and Cora Hollis. Cora knew Cassandra,” Leo says. “Is it okay if we ask you a few questions about what happened to her?”

She nods. Leo’s worked his magic again. She’s more with it than I could’ve hoped. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her at all, other than being bedridden.

I inch a little closer to her. “Did you see anyone enter or leave Cassandra’s apartment the day of her murder?”

“Just the delivery man like I told the officer.”

I ask, What delivery man? at the same time Leo asks, What officer?

I cast Leo an annoyed glance. He puts his palms up, letting me know it’s all mine. I’m annoyed because his question was better than mine.

“You were questioned by a police officer about Cassandra’s murder?”

“Yes. He spent most of that afternoon with me, asking over and over about the delivery man.”

“Can you tell me who the officer was who spoke to you?”

She lowers her brows. “I don’t remember his name.”

“If you saw his picture do you think you’d recognize him?” Leo asks, opening my binder.

I’m too grateful he thought of something I didn’t to be mad at him for butting in again.

Mrs. Wheeler glances down at the binder. “Maybe.”

I turn the page and Cassandra’s pretty face is smiling back at us.

“Oh,” Mrs. Wheeler breathes. “She was so beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, she was.”

“Wait a minute.” She puts a hand out to stop me from turning the page. “Hollis. Are you related to Beau Hollis?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m his sister.”

She pushes at the binder. “I can’t help you.”

“Please. Please help me find the officer who spoke to you that day. My brother’s life is on the line here.”

“That’s of his own doing, not mine. No. Take that thing away and leave. I don’t want anything to do with that monster.”

Leo takes the binder, snapping it closed. “You don’t have to help us.”

What the hell is he doing?

“I just hope you can live with the fact that you refused to help free an innocent man.” He turns and walks toward the door.

I gape at him, unable to believe what he’s doing. He’s blowing this whole thing.

He’s got a hand on the door handle when Mrs. Wheeler finally finds her voice. “What do you mean ‘innocent’? A jury convicted him.”

“A jury convicted Maurice Battle too.” Leo turns, but stays next to the door. “Mr. Battle sat in prison for thirty-nine years for a crime he didn’t commit before our agency took on his case and found someone like you who helped prove his innocence. Wait. No. Not like you. You won’t help us.” He puts his back to us again like he’s going to leave.

“Is that what you do?” she asks. “Free innocent people?”

“It’s one of the things we do.”

“And you think the boy—her brother—who was convicted of Cassandra’s murder is innocent like that other man?”

He faces us again. “Without a doubt. We just need the proof, and I think you have it.”

She looks up at me. I can’t breathe. I grip the railing of her bed, willing her with everything in me to agree to help us. She’s our only real hope. Every other lead we’ve had so far isn’t enough to bring before a judge to reopen Beau’s case.

“Please,” I beg. “Five and a half years. That’s two thousand and eighty-nine days—including today—he’s sat in prison for a murder he didn’t commit. He’ll never get those days back, but you can help us give him the rest of his life back.” I don’t even care that I’m crying. I’d get on my knees if it would get this woman to help us.

“Two thousand eighty-nine days,” she whispers.

“Please.”

She holds her hand out toward Leo. It shakes. “Bring that book back here.”

Leo returns to her bedside and opens the binder again, laying it on her lap. He slips his hand into mine. When I look at him I see tears in his eyes. He wipes mine away with the backs of his fingers.

Mrs. Wheeler turns the pages. I watch her face for any reaction, any sign of recognition. If we can find that officer, we can find out why he didn’t report what Mrs. Wheeler saw. She’s the only one who can put someone other than my brother at Cassandra’s apartment on the day of her death—a deliveryman. Her missing statement could be the something we need to take to a judge.

If we can get Damien LeFeaux to admit he lied about seeing my brother that day the DA’s case takes another hit. There would be no witness putting Beau there at the time of Cassandra’s death.

We also need to find this deliveryman. He could be a potential witness or even the killer himself. This small, frail woman has done more in the past five minutes than I’ve been able to do in more than five years.

She turns the pages, taking her time, examining each photo as though memorizing it. I can’t move. I keep waiting for her to point to a page and shout, “This guy! This is the one!” But she keeps turning the pages slowly, methodically. I don’t look away from her. I don’t want to miss the moment she blows the whole case wide open.

And then she gets to the last page.

Her watery brown gaze rises to mine. “I didn’t see him.”

Chapter 30 Leo

Cora walks out. I’d go after her, but Mrs. Wheeler is looking up at me like she might cry. I don’t think I’ve got the words to reassure her. I can see how badly she wants to help, how much I made her want to help with my bullshit speech about freeing Beau. I pat her pale, wrinkly hand and mumble something about how grateful we are that she tried.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Mrs. Wheeler asks.

“Yeah.” Eventually. Possibly.

She leafs backward through the binder as slowly as she did the first time she looked through it. I study the pages with her. Now that Cora’s not in the room there’s really nothing else to look at. She pauses on a page with a newspaper clipping about the murder Cora printed out from the Internet. I recognize the front of Cassandra’s apartment building cordoned off with police tape. There are a number of uniformed and plainclothes officers in the photo. A crowd has gathered. But none of that is the center of the photo or the accompanying article.

Two officers wrap up Beau, who is struggling to get past them. I almost don’t recognize him. His hair is longer, sure, but that’s not why. There’s something fundamentally different about him from the man I met several weeks ago. He’s rougher, harder, and a lot less sure of himself now. I try to imagine what happened to Beau happening to me. If someone murdered Cora in the cruelest, most brutal way imaginable and then I was convicted for it…I don’t know how he wakes up every day carrying that. How has he not gone insane missing her?

Mrs. Wheeler struggles for a closer look at the photo. I hold it up for her.

“Do you see something?”

She points to a drawer in the tray table. “Get my magnifying glass.”

I find it and hand it to her. I adjust the binder to the right height for her.

She peers through the magnifying glass. “I should’ve done this sooner.” She gestures upward. “Turn on the overhead light.”

I do as she asks. A part of me wants to go get Cora, but I don’t want to get her hopes up like she did last time.

“Is there another picture like this?” Mrs. Wheeler asks.

I flip through the binder. “Here.”

This one is a different angle from the street, looking up. The door to Cassandra’s apartment is open. A bunch of people stand around. I never realized how many people showed up at crime scenes. There are reporters too, like the one who took the photo we’re looking at.

Mrs. Wheeler runs her magnifying glass over it, then looks up at me. “Are there any more?”

I find the third and what I know to be the last photo from that day. She does her magnifying-glass thing again, this time slower, and it’s like my heartbeat has slowed too. She stops moving and holds the glass over one spot in the pic. My arms are killing me, holding the binder all this time, but I don’t care.

She slides a finger between the paper and the glass. “There. Do you see that?” She leans back so I can have a look.

I’m not sure what she’s talking about. “The guy in the blue shirt?”

“No. The one in front of him with his face turned away. All the pictures of him are like that. I wasn’t sure because he does a real good job of blending in and hiding most of his face, but I’d recognize that ugly tie anywhere.” She taps the page with her finger. “That’s the detective who interviewed me.”

“Detective? You said it was an officer who interviewed you.”

“Same thing, different clothes.”

“I’m not sure they’d see it that way. And he doesn’t appear anywhere else in the book?” I flip back to the pages with the detectives who were involved with the case. “Are you sure it’s not one of these guys?”

“It’s not one of those guys.”

I take out my cellphone thinking I can do a search, but I forgot I’m in Mexico and my cell service doesn’t translate.

We have an almost match. Maybe if I jogged her memory a little it might help.

“What else do you remember about him besides his tie?”

We chat a little more, but she’s not able to give me anything else on the detective, so I change tactics.

“What company was the deliveryman from?” I ask. “Was it UPS, FedEx, the U.S. Postal Service…?”

She shakes her head. “No. It was that one with the arm-in-arm logo. Always reminded me of snakes.”

“Postal Pronto?”

“That’s the one.”

“Do you remember approximately what time he made his delivery?”

“Around four o’clock. Which was weird because usually they delivered to our complex around seven. I remember it being four because my favorite talk show came on. I guess that’s why I only saw him leave.”

“Wait a minute. You didn’t see him arrive with the package, you only saw him leaving?”

“Yes.”

“So he could’ve been there for hours before that. I know it’s been a long time, but do you remember what time you woke up that day?”

“Probably the same as every day. I liked to watch the local news before Good Morning America starts at seven.”

“So you woke up around six a.m. What time did you go to bed the night before?”

“Early. I’m usually asleep by nine.”

I sort it out in my head. Beau said he arrived at Cassandra’s at about ten after Mrs. Wheeler was asleep, so she wouldn’t have seen him. He left just after one in the morning. Some time after one a.m. the delivery guy got there and then he left around four the next day, according to Mrs. Wheeler. LeFeaux said he saw Beau leaving Cassandra’s apartment around two, but his testimony is bullshit, so I can’t count that.

“Do you know if he delivered to only Cassandra’s apartment or to any of the other tenants too?” I ask.

“My window rattled just the slightest whenever she closed her front door. That day it rattled and then the man came down the stairs. I figured I missed his arrival. It happens. I get caught up in my shows sometimes. I couldn’t ever hear when the door opened, just when it closed.”

“And you told all of this to the detective with the ugly tie?”

“Yes. All of it.”

“What else did you tell him?”

“He asked me a lot about what the man looked like—height, build, hair color, that sort of thing.”

I tap open the notes app on my phone. “How tall would you say he was?”

She looks me over. “About your height, I’d say. It’s hard to tell from the angle of my bed.”

“About six-two. How was he built? Was he fat, skinny, muscular?”

“About like you except he had a little more around the middle, but that might’ve been because his uniform was a little small for him.”

If he stole a uniform to get into and out of Cassandra’s apartment it wouldn’t be a surprise it didn’t fit him.

“What color was his hair? Was he black, white, Asian…”

“White with brown hair. He wore sunglasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes. And he had a tattoo.”

“Where? What was the tattoo of?”

“I could only see the last half of it. The sleeve of his shirt covered a good part of it. It came to a point at the bottom.”

“Like a triangle?”

“More like a shield.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I’m guessing that because of the shape, and it was gold with lines and words.”

“Which arm was it on?”

“The side that was closest to me—his left upper arm.”

“Could you draw it if we had paper?”

“There’s some in the drawer there.”

I find a pad and pen and hand it to her. She sketches for a few minutes, then hands me the pad back.

“It does look like a shield. You’re pretty talented.”

“I used to teach art.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the detective? Did he have an accent? A habit, like clicking a pen over and over? Did he smoke? What were his teeth like? What kind of car did he drive?”

“No accent, but he did smoke…cigars, I think. No habits. I don’t remember his teeth. His car…now, that’s what’s interesting. I didn’t notice it at the time because I was so upset over poor Cassandra. It wasn’t until later when I went over it again—as I like to do—that I noticed the duplicates.”

She’s been pretty lucid up until now, but I wonder if maybe she’s getting tired.

“The duplicates?” I ask.

“In my book. It’s right over there.” She points to the dresser on the other side of the room. “There’s no point in my keeping it anymore. No cars drive past my window. The third drawer.”

Now I’m sure she’s losing it. If she even had it in the first place. I open the third drawer as she directed. There are some clothes and a stack of spiral-bound notebooks.

I hold them up. “These?”

“Yes. Bring them here.”

I do ask she asks.

She pulls out the second one from the top. “This’ll be the one. What was the date Cassandra was killed?”

I give her the date and she flips through the pages.

She taps a line with her finger. “Right here is the day he came over to talk to me. 6TPW001.” She turns back a couple pages. “Then see here it is again—6TPW001. There are so many on this day. The neighbors across the street had a lot of parties back then.” She points it out a few more times. “Right here is the first time. A couple of months before the last time. All told, 6TPW001 is here twelve times.”

“What is 6TP whatever it is?”

“A California license-plate number.”

“Hold on. You’re telling me you have his license-plate number?”

“I have just about every license-plate number parked on our street that I could see from my window.” Her gaze goes to the window. “There are no cars now to keep track of.” There’s nothing on the other side except the blank brick wall of the building behind the care center.

Chapter 31 Cora

I’m sitting outside in a little patio at the front of the care center. It’s hotter than the surface of the sun, but I’m not bothered by it. I can’t believe we came all this way for nothing. Now that my tears have all dried up, I want to scream in frustration. I thought for sure Mrs. Wheeler would be the answer to all my prayers. I’d held out too much hope. I should know better than that by now. Just when I gather the strength to pick myself up, life strolls by and kicks me in the teeth.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch Leo exiting the care center. He’s probably looking for me.

I jog to catch up to him. “Hey.”

“There you are.” He takes me by the hand. “Come on. We gotta make this quick so we can get back to San Diego before dark.” He tows me across the street to a little market.

“What are we doing here?”

“I’m getting Mrs. Wheeler a present. You won’t fucking believe what she told me.” He grabs a couple spiral notebooks and heads to the cashier.

I help translate and then we’re heading back to the care center.

“Why are we going back here?”

“It’ll be quick. Wait here.” He leaves me at the front desk and jogs down the hall. In a few minutes, he’s jogging back.

“What are you doing?”

“Come and help me talk to the lady at the front desk.”

“What is going on?”

“I’ll explain everything in the car. Ask her if there’s an empty room with a window that looks out on the street.”

Giving him a What-the-fuck? look, I do as he asks. “She says there is one. She wants to know why we’re asking. I’d like to know why too.”

“Ask her if Mrs. Wheeler can have that room.”

I relay the message. “She says it costs fifteen hundred pesos more a year than the rooms she’s in now.”

“How much is that American?”

I ask the lady and she taps on her computer. “She says it’s a little over a hundred dollars, depending.”

Leo pulls his wallet out and peels off three hundred-dollar bills. I can’t help but gawk that he has that much on him.

He hands it to the lady. “Tell her that’s the difference for two years and there’s a little something there for her if she can have Mrs. Wheeler moved today and her bed set up near the window.”

“What are you doing?”

“Repaying a favor.”

“What did Mrs. Wheeler tell you after I left?”

“Will she move Mrs. Wheeler or not?”

I chat with the lady at the desk, who is so thrilled at her sudden windfall she picks up the phone and makes the arrangements. “She’s having her moved right now.”

Leo flashes a wicked smile. “Muchas gracias.” He takes my hand again. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

We jump in the car. It’s the most animated I’ve seen Leo, and that’s saying something, since the guy is practically an anime cartoon. He tells me about Mrs. Wheeler’s notebooks and the photos and a bunch of other stuff I can’t believe. I was so sure this trip was a monumental waste of time.

As soon as we cross into the United States, Leo calls his dad who has some news of his own. Damien LeFeaux admitted to lying on the stand in exchange for having his outstanding grand theft warrants reduced to minimal charges and his DUI case dropped altogether. When faced with the proof of his lies, LeFeaux gave up everything. He agreed to recant his testimony if Mr. Nash can make it so he doesn’t serve any extra time for lying on the witness stand.

Leo tells his dad what we learned from Mrs. Wheeler and how she’s willing to testify to what she saw. Leo gives Mr. Nash the license-plate number of the detective who took her statement and then didn’t add it to the case file. We also tell him about our suspicions that this detective may have harassed Cassandra before her death and he may be the real killer.

“If there’s a cop behind this, then we’re talking about a whole other level of danger here,” Mr. Nash says. “You kids be careful. I’ve got a friend at the DMV who can run the plate, but I’m concerned if we do there could be some kind of alert set up by the owner of the car that lets him know if anyone runs it. I’m going to have to see how we can go about this in the safest way possible. He’s already onto you guys. He knows you’re getting close. If he suspects for one minute that you found Mrs. Wheeler…On second thought, I have a better idea. It’s time to bring in the lawyers to see what they can do. You kids stay safe. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.” He hangs up.

“I can’t believe it,” I say. “I can’t believe we’re so close. I need to see Beau. I need to tell him what we’ve found out. I just can’t believe it.”

Leo chuckles and takes my hand. “It’s too late to go out to the prison today and we’re not on the list for tomorrow. You could call, but it’ll probably be faster to send him a letter.” He brings my hand up and kisses it. “I can’t tell you what it does to me to see you smile like that.”

I lay my head back on the seat rest and study his profile. Haloed by the low, late-afternoon sun, he’s breathlessly handsome. I can’t believe I’m sitting here with him. A few months ago I never would’ve imagined I’d be interested in someone like him, let alone have a relationship with him. I didn’t think I needed anyone in my life. I had Beau and Jamie and a handful of work acquaintances. I had my case files and more than I wanted to handle with my parents.

I realize now that I had nothing, nothing to call mine. Everything I did, from the way I dressed to how I spent my time, revolved around getting Beau freed. I’m not sorry about it. At all. I wouldn’t change a damn thing except to find Mr. Nash’s agency sooner…and Leo.

The summer’s almost over. We’re closer than I’ve ever been to accomplishing my goal. I can’t help but look toward the future. My future. What will I do with myself if I’m not spending every waking moment on Beau’s case? What am I going to do when Leo leaves for school? How can I go back to the way things were before I met him? I don’t think I can be that person again. I didn’t realize it then because I was so obsessed, but I was lonely. Instead of doing something about my loneliness, I dug myself deeper into Beau’s case.

There’s something solid and real between Leo and me. I know there’s a word for how I feel about him, but I can’t bring myself to say it, let alone accept it. Not yet. I’ve come to depend on him in a way I can’t depend on anyone else…even Beau. My brother’s in a place both mentally and physically that’s so far from where I am that I wonder if he’ll ever find his way back. His words echo in my head about finding a life for myself. I’m close, so close, to finding that life for both of us.