Текст книги "Memory Man"

Автор книги: David Baldacci

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Chapter

15

LANCASTER WHITTLED DOWN her gum while a tech team scoured the cafeteria and kitchen area. Outside, teams of police and FBI agents were following the trail that Decker had showed them.

Decker leaned against one wall of the cafeteria, his hands in his pockets, and took in all that was going on. Lancaster walked over to him.

“We had looked in the freezer before,” she said. “But we didn’t check the food or the temperature gauge. That was an oversight. I’m sure we would have noticed it later.”

“You were looking for a shooter, clearing rooms,” Decker said. “Not worrying about spoiled hamburger. I didn’t have to worry about that. I was just nosing around.”

“Right, after you took off from the library without a word. I called after you, you know. I could have come with you, Amos.”

He noted her hurt look and then gazed around. It had not occurred to him at the time. She was still on the police force, so her and Decker finding this new line of investigation together would have helped her career. As it was, it had been Decker’s discovery, which helped Lancaster not at all.

“I…I didn’t—”

“Forget it,” she said abruptly. “You did the same thing when we officially worked together.”

“I did?”

“I guess it’s just a quirk of yours. Although for a guy who has this great memory, I would have expected you to remember doing it. At least to me.”

“I’m a little out of sorts here, Mary.”

Her irritation seemed to lift. “No, I think you’re getting your mojo back. I knew you would. That’s the important thing.”

“It’s not like you need me to solve this case. You have a lot of resources.”

“The thing is, Amos.” She looked down for a moment, chewing her gum. Then she gazed up at him and said, “Truth is, I miss working with you. I think we made a good team.”

Decker nodded but said nothing.

As the moments went by, Lancaster evidently realized he was not going to comment on this admission. She said, “But what I don’t get is, if he was in here, how did the video camera capture him at the rear entrance? It doesn’t jibe.”

Decker pushed off the wall. “I’ll show you.”

He led her to the rear of the school and pointed at the camera that had captured the image of the gunman. “Check the angle.”

She stared up at the lens. “Okay.”

Keeping to one side of the rear foyer, Decker circled around so that his back was to the rear door. Then he stepped to his left. “This is the spot where the camera picks up an image. I could see it on the feed. That middle door behind me is the only one in the frame.”

“So the shooter could have done what you just did? Come in from the side and then gotten picked up by the camera.”

“And made it appear that he had come in the rear entrance when he really hadn’t.”

“I wonder why the camera is positioned that way?”

“Well, it could have been moved.”

Decker went over to the camera, extended his arm, and touched it. “I can reach it, but I’m tall. Yet someone shorter using a stick or a broom or something like that could have repositioned it. Probably no one would notice. It’s not like someone is monitoring this full-time right?”

“Damn, this thing keeps getting more and more complicated.”

“No, it’s getting more and more premeditated, Mary.”

“You want to go outside and smoke with me?” she asked.

He looked at her funny. “I don’t smoke.”

“I thought this might make you start.”

“I can be fat or I can smoke. I can’t be both.”

They walked back to the cafeteria.

When they reached it Lancaster popped another stick of gum in her mouth and started chewing. “Captain Miller’s calling you in paid dividends.”

Decker looked at her. “What dividends?”

She pointed at the room they were in. “This, Decker. Jesus. For a smart guy you can be obtuse at times.”

“I found this, so what? Not really a clue to the shooter.”

“He was hiding in the freezer with the temp turned way up. It looks like he hid his weapons and maybe his cammie gear in the ceiling. So he was already here, which is why no one saw him come in.”

“But have you found any other trace?”

“Oil mark on a ceiling tile support. Could be from a gun. The thread you found. Looks to be cammie fiber. The FBI is verifying. So that’s something.”

He drew his hands from his pockets and placed his index finger a half inch from his thumb. “This is how much I found. Nothing to cheer about.”

“Well, it’s more than we had.”

“I saw the control panel. When does the security system get turned on here?”

“Normally ten p.m. But there was an event that night. A school play that ran late. Lots of people. So the system wasn’t turned on until midnight so everyone could get out of the building.”

“And no activity on the alarm log?”

She shook her head. “None. First thing we did was check with the monitoring company. The log is clear.”

“So the shooter has to get in before midnight. Did this play involve refreshments in the cafeteria?”

“No. A friend of mine went because her kid was in it. She told me everyone left right after the play was over.”

“So he comes in during the gap before the alarm system was set and takes up his hidey-hole.”

“Why put his guns in the ceiling, then, Amos? Why not just have them in the freezer with him?”

“You’re assuming he came in with them and then took up his hiding spot. What if he brought the weapons in at another time and hid them? Then the freezer wouldn’t work. Someone would spot them. The ceiling would work just fine. If he did hide them up there.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “Why not do it all at once? It was pretty risky to get the guns in and hidden. And then sneak in again and hide in the freezer? Another risk that someone might have seen him.”

“Agreed. But if that’s the way it happened, then there must be an explanation for it. This guy strikes me as being methodical and thoughtful.”

“I can see that,” said Lancaster.

Decker continued to ruminate, seemingly talking to himself. “Guns and gear first. Then the shooter. He might have come in for the school play along with everyone else. Or appeared to do so. The auditorium is across the main hall from the cafeteria. Entering the main entrance, you turn left for the auditorium. Maybe this guy hung a right and went to the cafeteria. Or if folks came in the back entrance too from the parking lot out there, the right and left are reversed. He stays all night and starts his rampage the next morning. So you need to check if anyone saw someone they didn’t recognize at the school last night.” He paused. “But there’s the same old hitch.”

“What?” asked Lancaster as she popped another stick of gum in her mouth after wadding up the old one in a tissue and throwing it into the trash can.

“If your theory holds that Debbie Watson was the first vic, she was on the hall next to the rear entrance. That would mean that if our guy was hiding in the freezer overnight he would have had to walk down the hall between the cafeteria and the library, turn right down the main hall, pass two more corridors on both sides, past classrooms and presumably people, to take out first Watson and then, at the other end of the hall, the gym teacher Kramer. Then he reverses his path and starts mowing folks down as he moves back to the front of the school.” Decker looked at her skeptically. “That doesn’t seem plausible. Why not just start shooting on the front half of the school and work your way to the back? Which would mean Watson would be one of the last vics, not the first.”

“But the time stamp on the video?”

“That’s the real hitch in all this. That tells us he did begin his shooting at the rear part of the school. And he wanted us to see him on that camera for some reason. Now that we know he might have been hiding in the cafeteria, the video image looks like misdirection. So that means we have one proven point—the video camera time stamp, and one almost proven point—the shooter was hiding in the cafeteria. If they’re both true, neither makes sense as a whole. One plus one does not equal three.”

“You’re starting to lose me, Amos.”

“You have the school interior laid out with your prelim shot register?”

She nodded.

“Let’s take a look. Because it might just be this guy did the reverse of what we think he did.”

“But if you’re right about what you found, and he did go front to back to front, he would have made his escape out through the storage area off the cafeteria and then through the path to the woods. That’s the easiest egress. It would all fit.”

Decker took a breath, let it out, and stared at the ceiling.

“And maybe that’s exactly what the son of a bitch wants us to think.”

Chapter

16

HIS CONFIDENCE IN his ability to perform as a detective growing, Decker spent another hour going over and over the preliminary shot registry. It was based on witness accounts, which Decker knew were unreliable; forensic evidence, which he knew was not nearly as flawless as TV made it seem; hunches, which were just that and nothing more; and, lastly, common sense, which might just be the most accurate and helpful of the bunch.

Lancaster looked away from her laptop screen and studied him.

“So what do you think?”

Decker absently stroked his shortened beard, his belly rumbling. It was now light outside. And it had been a long time in between meals for him. But he could stand to miss a few meals. A few hundred of them, in fact. He was like a polar bear. He could live off his accumulated fat all winter.

“Point one. I think he originated from the cafeteria.”

“Okay.”

“Point two. I think Debbie Watson was the first vic.”

“So we’re back to your dilemma. One plus one equals three. How did a big guy in cammies, hood, and face shield walk the length of the school with weapons totally unseen? And then where did he go? He can’t just vanish.”

“There’s no way there could be two shooters?” he said. “One coming out of the freezer and one coming in the rear?”

She shook her head. “Impossible. There was only one shooter. Same description. Unless you think identically shaped men did this together.”

“Okay, one shooter. The pistol is easily hidden. The shotgun could be stowed down a pants leg.”

“But the clothing. The shield?”

Decker thought some more about this. “Who’s to say he put that on in the cafeteria?”

“We found a fiber in the ceiling.”

“Still doesn’t mean he had all the stuff on in there.”

“So he carries it down the hall with him? In what? And the guns? The guy must have been so bulky that someone would have noticed. Especially if he was a stranger. And then where does he change?”

“You’re sure no one was seen walking the halls at that time?”

“Yes.”

“No one? Really? In a busy school?”

“Everyone was in class, both students and teachers. The folks in the office were working. Most had not been at their desks long. The gym teacher was in his office where he was shot. There was a half-eaten Egg McMuffin on his desk and a nearly full cup of coffee. Custodians were in their part of the school going over the schedule for the day.”

“But if no one was in the halls, there was no one to see a stranger roaming.” But then Decker immediately corrected himself. “Only all the doors have windows. He would have had to pass by numerous ones.”

“Exactly,” agreed Lancaster.

“No visitors?”

“None logged in and no one remembered any. That’s not to say someone didn’t slip in. That’s always possible. And like you said, he could have come in the night before during the play. The school was wide open then.”

“But why would the guy hide in the freezer?” said Decker. “Is there security here at night?”

Lancaster shook her head. “No, but if he came in during the school play, he would want to be out of sight. He couldn’t know someone wouldn’t come into the cafeteria that night for some reason.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Let’s move to Debbie Watson. She was heading to the nurse’s station?”

Lancaster nodded. “Yes. She had stopped, apparently, to get something from her locker. It was right near where she was found. The locker door was still open.”

“And the nurse’s room is in the office section?”

Lancaster nodded again. “She would have had to walk along the main corridor from the rear to the front.”

“What class was she coming out of to go to the nurse?”

“Math. Classroom 144.”

“Same hall as custodial?”

“That’s right,” said Lancaster. “Which has a loading dock. And thus an exit.”

“So if we’re right and the guy came through the cafeteria, here’s what his route looks like. He went from the front to the back of the school on the first floor. I’m assuming the second and third floors were clear?”

“We’re searching them, of course. But the enrollment at Mansfield has steadily gone down over the years. There are enough kids to fill out the first floor and that’s it. They have a hard enough time finding bodies to fill out the football team. The upper floors are used for storage and such. And they’re locked and barred off. And they were still secure when we checked them, with no sign of tampering.”

“Then for some reason he waited to start shooting until he got to the rear of the school. Then he starts popping people, going down halls, entering classrooms, shooting as he goes. He reaches the office at the front, kills the assistant principal. And then he escapes through the cafeteria’s loading dock and takes the footpath to the woods. How likely is that?”

“You mean why didn’t he just start shooting in the front, work his way to the back, and then escape out the rear?”

Decker was studying the ceiling. “Let’s put means aside and look at motive. Mansfield has its share of violence. Gangs, drugs, assaults. Kids mature a lot faster.”

“No argument there.”

“So is this a Columbine? A kid with a grudge? Maybe not even a student. Either from another school or he graduated, or he dropped out.”

Lancaster said, “We’re compiling a database with all that info. The FBI is helping.”

“When will they have an answer?”

Lancaster rubbed her eyes and checked her watch. “I’m not sure. Look, I’ve got to get home, grab an hour’s sleep, and change my clothes. And I need to give Earl a little break. Sandy hasn‘t been sleeping very well lately.”

Decker knew Sandy Lancaster as gentle, funny, bubbly, and wildly enthusiastic about everything and everyone. But he knew she could also become depressed and anxious over something relatively trivial. And then she wouldn’t sleep. Which meant no one else in the Lancaster household did either.

“You need any help with that?” asked Decker.

She looked surprised. “Are you offering to babysit?”

“I don’t know. I’m just…asking,” he finished awkwardly. He had never done much with Molly when she had been really little. He was so big and she was so tiny he’d been terrified he’d break her.

She smiled. “I’m good, Amos. But thanks. I’ll be back at the station later this morning. We can grab a cup of coffee and go over things. You need a ride back to your place?”

“No, I’ll hang out here for a while.”

“Suit yourself. You want to talk, about anything, give me a ring.”

She gathered up her things and started to leave. But she stopped and looked at him. “It really feels like old times.”

Decker said nothing, but he gave her a slight nod, which made her smile. She turned and walked out.

He sat in the chair in the library. He’d spent more time in here now than he probably had in his four years as a student. It wasn’t that the schoolwork had come easily to him; it hadn’t. But he was not the type to sit and read. That had changed. Now he devoured prodigious amounts of information. Now that he could remember it all, it was like he couldn’t get enough of it. He wondered if his brain had a capacity limit. If so, he hoped it was as big as he was.

He watched the FBI suits doing their thing at a table across the library’s main area. They all looked clean-cut, on the younger side, inexhaustibly professional, starched shirts, ties no doubt as straight as their spines. A few of them looked up occasionally at him, no doubt wondering what a fat weirdo dressed like a homeless person was doing in the middle of their investigation.

Well, at least I trimmed my beard and cut my hair. Or else they’d probably arrest me for looking like a big-ass version of Charlie Manson.

And then the next moment he forgot all about the FBI. He was really no longer in the library at Mansfield. He was no longer looking into the mass shooting here. It was something Lancaster had said.

I’ll be back at the station later this morning. We can grab a cup of coffee and go over things.

Decker would not be at the station later this morning. He had somewhere else to be.

I’ll be at an arraignment.

*  *  *

Sebastian Leopold took solid form in Decker’s thoughts. He went back over every second of their conversation. Every word, every look, every mannerism. Something seemed off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what, when he almost always could. Orphan facts, he liked to call them. There was no one to claim ownership because they were lies.

Yet not with Leopold for some reason. And that was cause for concern but also hope. The reason for hope? Simply Leopold’s existence. Before, Decker had nothing to go on. Now, in the form of the prisoner, he had a layer that had been partially peeled back. And when that happened it couldn’t help but reveal what was underneath.

He left the library and made his way outside.

It was still raining. If anything it was raining harder. The body bag wagons had all gone, and with them the crowd had drained away. No more cell phone candles. But in front of the school was a mountain of flowers, hand-painted signs, Teddy bears.

All drenched and soggy. But the intent was still clear. Still powerful.

He read some of the signs.

RIP Mr. Kramer.

Miss you, Debbie.

Never going to forget you, Eddie.

The town knew who the dead were for a very simple reason, though no names had been officially released. Those people hadn’t come home.

Cammie man had seen to that. Cammie man with no face and the ability to leap long school halls effortlessly. Because that’s what he must have done, to get from point A to the kill zone with “Miss you, Debbie.”

Decker went back to the bleachers and sat there under an overhang to keep dry, though he was pretty much already soaked.

Sebastian Leopold was going to be arraigned in a few hours. Decker planned to be there when he was. Arraignments were typically boring, mechanical stages of the law. Yet there was one important bit of information Decker wanted to see in person.

He sat there for a few minutes more, then, when the rain slowed, he rose and walked back to the Residence Inn. It took him a while because he didn’t move as swiftly as he used to. But it gave him time to think. And he arrived in time for breakfast. He absorbed half the buffet, catnapped for exactly one hour, showered, combed his hair, put his “lawyer” clothes back on, and headed to the courthouse to see exactly what Sebastian Leopold was going to say to the most critical question the judge would ask him today.

Chapter

17

NORMALLY, THE COURTHOUSE would be packed for something like this. A triple homicide and a guy saying he was good for it. Two days ago, it would have been the biggest story in Burlington, maybe the whole state.

But after the slaughter at Mansfield, nobody gave a damn.

Well, one person did.

Decker knew the drill, having testified in the court building countless times during the course of prosecuting folks he’d helped apprehend. He passed through security, nodded to a couple of county sheriffs he knew, and checked the court docket posted on a board near the information desk. Then he headed to the courtroom, where in about twenty minutes Sebastian Leopold would make his first court appearance after walking into the police station and giving himself up.

Decker swung open the heavy oak door and took a seat in the middle of the large room. He was the only one there. No bailiff. No court reporter. No lawyers. The press was covering Mansfield, he reckoned. Part of him would have preferred to be at Mansfield too. But the most important part of him wanted to be right where he was.

A minute later the prosecuting attorney, a woman in her forties, came into the courtroom, passed by Decker, and took her seat at the counsel table. Decker knew Sheila Lynch, but she had not made eye contact. She opened her briefcase, took out a file, and read through it. Decker stared at the back of her neck, which was exposed because her hair was up in a tight, professional bun. Lynch’s skirt and jacket were black and already showing traces of grime. The back of her right shoe had a gouge out of it and her nylons were a bit ragged where the shoe met the stocking.

At five minutes to ten the same door Decker had passed through opened again. He glanced back. Lancaster gave him a tiny wave. Behind her was Captain Miller. He was in uniform today.

They took seats on either side of him.

Lancaster said, “Don’t know what I was thinking about when I said I’d meet you at the station. Of course you’d be here.”

“Why aren’t you at Mansfield?” Decker asked.

Miller answered, “I have been. Since six-thirty this morning. Now we’re here. After this, Lancaster is heading there while I go sit my fat ass behind my desk and deal with crap I don’t want to deal with.”

“Doesn’t answer why you’re here,” said Decker.

“No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Decker continued to eyeball Miller. “I don’t have a gun. I passed through the magnos at the entrance. I can’t shoot the guy.”

“Never doubted that for an instant,” said Miller, smoothing out a wrinkle on his dark blue jacket. “But this is an important case, and so here we are.”

“Were you able to trace Leopold’s real identity? Was he in the Navy?”

“We sent his prints through the FBI’s IAFIS database. No hits.”

Decker said, “He told me he was in the Navy. He had the tat. But maybe he wasn’t in our Navy.”

“Foreigner?” said Miller in a thoughtful tone. “That might explain it.”

“Do you think Sebastian Leopold is his real name?” asked Lancaster.

“I didn’t,” answered Decker. “But I’m not sure now.”

“Well, we can have the Bureau make international inquiries for us,” said Miller. “They can go through overseas databases a lot easier than we can.”

At the stroke of ten the rear door leading into the judge’s chambers opened and the bailiff, a portly man with a handlebar mustache, stepped through. He told them to rise and all four of them did. Decker heard the door creak open and turned to see a young woman dash in and take a seat at the rear. She held a notepad in one hand and a tiny digital recorder in the other.

The press. All one of them. She must be very junior, thought Decker. Or else she would be over covering Mansfield. His brain dug into the big pile of stuff inside his head and pulled out the name.

Alex Jamison.

The woman who’d called him about Leopold. She worked for the News Leader. He’d hung up on her. He turned back around before she could focus on him.

It was at this moment that the black-robed Judge Christian Abernathy stepped into the courtroom. He was old, bespectacled, and frail, and his white hair, what was left of it, sprouted all over his head like bits of fading cotton taped to pink wax paper masquerading as skin. The running bet among the police was how long it would be before Abernathy croaked on the bench, toppling over onto the marble floor. Decker remembered that the man never made it easy for the police to convict anyone, but maybe that was as it should be, he thought.

Abernathy sat and so did they.

The door to the right opened. The holding cell was kept there, Decker knew.

Out stepped Sebastian Leopold in his bright orange jumpsuit, his hands and feet chained, with two burly uniforms on either side of him. He performed the shackle shuffle as he walked. He looked around the large high-ceilinged courtroom as though he was not fully cognizant of where he was or what he was doing here.

He was escorted to the counsel table, although there was no counsel there.

Decker leaned in to Miller. “PD?”

Miller shook his head and mouthed, “Apparently not.” He did not look happy about this. Not happy at all.

The uniforms removed the shackles and stepped back.

The bailiff rose, picked up a docket sheet, and called the case and read out the charges that Leopold was facing. Then, his duty completed, he stepped back with the mechanical movement of a cuckoo clock figure returning to its hiding place.

Abernathy adjusted his glasses and peered down at the prosecuting attorney.

“Ms. Lynch?”

Lynch rose, adjusted her shirt cuffs, and said, “Mr. Leopold has been charged with three counts of murder in the first, Your Honor. He has no known address and his ties to the community are apparently nonexistent. In light of the serious charges, we request no bail be set and that he be remanded to the county jail until trial.”

Well, thought Decker, that was all to be expected. They weren’t about to cut the man loose.

Abernathy turned to Leopold and peered down at him from his high perch. Then he shot a glance back at Lynch.

“Where is Mr. Leopold’s counsel, Ms. Lynch?”

Lynch cleared her throat and said, “He was not able to afford counsel and a public defender was appointed to represent him. However, Mr. Leopold refused those services. Numerous times, I might add.”

Abernathy’s gaze swiveled back to the accused. “Mr. Leopold, do you understand the charges that have been read to you?”

Leopold looked around as though he was wondering to whom Abernathy was speaking.

“Mr. Leopold, do you not want counsel?” asked Abernathy sharply.

Leopold turned to face him, shook his head, and said, “I got no money.”

“That’s why we have public defenders, Mr. Leopold,” Abernathy said testily. “They’re free. You can thank the Supreme Court’s interpretation of our Constitution for that. I will set this arraignment aside for now until one is provided for—”

“I did it, sir,” said Leopold, interrupting.

Abernathy gazed down at him as though the defendant were a mildly interesting bug lying on the sidewalk. “Excuse me?”

“I done it, so I don’t need a lawyer.”

“Are you telling me that you’re pleading guilty to three homicides in the first degree?”

“I killed them, so yes sir, I guess I am.”

Abernathy took a moment to clean his glasses, as though that would make what was happening a bit clearer. After settling them on his long, crooked nose, he said, “This is hardly the time for guessing, Mr. Leopold. These are serious charges, indeed the most serious of all. Are you aware that not only your freedom is at risk here, but also your life? This is a capital case.”

“You mean the death penalty?”

Abernathy looked like he might stroke. “Yes. Of course that’s what I mean, Mr. Leopold!”

“Well, I’m pleading guilty ’cause I done it. So I guess we don’t need no trial.”

Abernathy looked back at Lynch and said in an admonishing tone, “Ms. Lynch, I find this reprehensible.”

“Judge Abernathy, we tried our best. Mr. Leopold refused all entreaties to—”

Abernathy looked over Lynch’s shoulder and spotted Miller. With a slow wave of his hand he beckoned the police chief forward.

“Shit,” muttered Miller.

He stood, passed in front of Decker and Lancaster, and hurried up to the bench along with Lynch.

Decker watched as the police captain, prosecutor, and judge engaged in a heated discussion. Well, actually Abernathy was doing most of the talking. It seemed the judge was quite animated, and gesticulated twice at Leopold.

Miller nodded and said something. Lynch did the same and they hastily returned to their seats, each looking upset.

When Decker looked at him questioningly, Miller shook his head and said, “Later.”

Abernathy said to Leopold, “I’m ordering you to be returned to your cell for now. A public defender will be appointed to represent you. You will then be returned to this court for your arraignment tomorrow morning.” He glanced at Lynch. “And get the psych eval done promptly, Ms. Lynch. Understood?” She nodded, her gaze refusing to meet his. Abernathy said, “Officers, please remove the defendant.”

He rapped his gavel down. The two uniforms immediately came forward, shackled a confused looking Leopold, and led him back out.

Abernathy said to the bailiff, “Call the next case, please. And I trust he will have counsel.” As he said this he shot first Lynch and then Miller a withering look.

Decker, Lancaster, and Miller rose and headed out as the second prisoner was led in for his hearing.

The reporter had already left.

Out in the hall a scowling Lynch came over to Miller.

She said, “I don’t like getting my ass handed to me in court, Mac.”

“We couldn’t force him to accept a lawyer, Sheila. You were in the middle of it. You know.”

“Well, he’s getting one whether he likes it or not, if only to enter a guilty plea.” She shot Lancaster and then Decker a glance. “Hello, Amos, I guess I’m not surprised to see you here.”

“I guess not,” replied Decker.

Lynch turned back to Miller. “Since Abernathy’s ordered a psych eval, I’m not sure he’ll be able to plead to anything if the eval comes back like I think it might.”

“You mean mentally unfit,” said Lancaster.

“You’ve seen the guy. You think he’s all there?”

“Maybe he was sixteen months ago,” said Decker.

“Doesn’t matter if he’s not legally competent to stand trial now.”

She turned and hurried off, her briefcase banging against her thigh.

Decker turned to Miller. “So?”

“So we got read the riot act by Abernathy. He was pissed that Leopold had no PD, and he’s right. Death penalty case with no lawyer? Whatever happened at this level would get overturned on appeal automatically. And Abernathy does not like to get overturned by the appellate court. That’s why he was ticked off. I think he thought we were setting him up. As if.”

“So why wasn’t a PD appointed?” asked Decker.

“Like Lynch said, Leopold didn’t want one. He was totally uncooperative. Kept saying he did it so why did he need a lawyer. We had our hands full with Mansfield or else we would have handled it differently. We basically dropped the ball there.”

Decker stuffed his hands into his pockets and let his chin fall to his chest. “So you lawyer him up, he comes back in, pleads guilty, and then what?”

“Well, hopefully his lawyer will convince him to plead not guilty just so it looks better. We can talk about a deal and see what comes of it. But we also have to see what the psych eval says. If he’s unfit it throws a monkey wrench into things.”