Vindicate (Recovered Innocence #1)(6)
We all shuffle into an office with a conference table that’s too big for the room. Mr. Nash stands behind a chair and waits for me to put my box down and sit. What a gentleman. His son takes the seat across from me before my butt hits the chair. Since he clearly hasn’t learned any manners from his father, I hope to hell he’s at least learned something about private investigation.
“Can I offer you some coffee?” Mr. Nash asks me.
“No, thanks. I don’t drink coffee.”
Leo looks at me like he can’t believe I’m for real. Whatever.
Mr. Nash takes his seat. “Tell me about your brother’s case.”
I reach into my box and pull out the binder where I’ve recorded the timeline of Cassandra’s murder. I have a page devoted to each witness; each of the cops who were involved, from the first responder to the detectives who arrested Beau; the prosecutors; the medical examiner…Anyone who was involved in the case is in my binder. I have copies of reports, news articles, blog posts, etc., in my box, but I’ll save those for when I come to them.
I start the story, from the last time anyone saw Cassandra alive to Beau’s last appeal, pulling out my backup information and the expert reports as I come to them. By the time I’ve finished, I’ve nearly covered the table with paper and my box is empty.
As I drop back into my seat, I take a long pull off the bottle of water Leo got for me about halfway through. I’m exhausted yet energized. My brother’s story has lit a fire in Mr. Nash’s eyes, and Leo—much to my surprise—has not only filled a notebook full of notes, he asked some really intelligent and relevant questions that I could tell also impressed his father. Maybe he’s not going to be as useless to me as I thought.
“And your brother?” Leo asks. “Will he talk to us about the case?”
“No. He’s…resigned to his fate.” I’m afraid to tell them that Beau’s given up. No, I’m terrified to admit it, because his defeatist attitude could be seen as an admission of guilt.
Mr. Nash flips through my notebook to Cassandra’s page. He studies the profile I created on her. It’s not as complete as I’d like it to be. None of her friends or relatives were eager to talk to the sister of her accused murderer. I don’t blame them, but it’s made my work harder and I can’t help the tiny seed of resentment I have against them. Even with those omissions, my profile on Cassandra is pretty good. I had to think outside the box since I’d made the mistake of approaching her friends and family as myself instead of pretending I was a journalist or a kid doing a report for school or something. Learning that lesson early helped me create more rounded profiles for the other people connected to the case.
Leo picks up the copy of the coroner’s report. It’s gruesome. The photos…the description of Cassandra’s wounds and what was done to her…horrific. I looked at it only once. Halfway through the photos I bolted to the bathroom to vomit. I got to know Cassandra pretty well during the time she and Beau dated. I liked her. I liked her a lot. Seeing her like that…I still have nightmares. She comes to me in dreams sometimes and she begs me to help her, begs me to make “him” stop hurting her. I wake up screaming, coated in sweat.
“How did you get this?” Leo asks.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I joke.
That report was not easy to get. The San Diego coroner’s office has a brilliant firewall. But not as brilliant as my friend Jamie. I had to promise to do her hair for a whole year in order to get that file. She loves the way I cut her hair even though I’ve never taken a class and don’t have a license to do hair. Someday, when my brother’s free, I’ll go to beauty school. Until then, my little side haircuts and colors help to finance a lot of the work I do on Beau’s case.
Leo’s eyebrows jump up on his forehead. “You’re a hacker?”
“Not me,” I hedge. “I’ve managed to find ways in and around the system to get a lot of this.” I make a sweeping gesture, indicating all of the papers spread across the table. “I learned quite a bit about investigating in the last five years.”
“Impressive,” Mr. Nash finally says.
Up until now he’s been quiet, listening and jotting down notes. His compliment makes my cheeks burn and I stare at my hands in my lap. I don’t get many compliments. Not because I’m unworthy of them, but because the people who would give them—like my parents or Beau—are too caught up in their own grief and suffering to notice if I’ve done anything at all.
“How long have you been working on this?” Mr. Nash asks.
“Pretty much since the day my brother was convicted.”
“You believe that strongly in his innocence?”
“Yes,” I say, my gaze rising to meet his. “He’s as innocent as I am. As innocent as you and your son. Beau loved Cassandra. They were getting back together when she was killed. That’s why his DNA was found on her body. He didn’t do this and I won’t give up until he’s freed.”
“Okay,” he says with a nod, and some of the tension runs out of me. I finally have the help I need. I want to jump up and down and go to my brother and shake him into believing in himself again. Beau now has a champion in this middle-aged man with tired eyes, graying hair, and a jelly doughnut stain on his tie.