The Guardians(23)
“Agreed. Did Miller have a history of hunting?”
“None whatsoever. Says he never hunted in his life.”
“Did he own guns?”
“He says he kept two pistols in the house for protection. His wife testified that he owned a shotgun, but she’s not credible either.”
“You’re pretty good, Post.”
“Thanks. I’ve had some experience on the streets. So have you, Dr. Benderschmidt. Now that you know the case, I’d like to hear your version of educated guessing. Put the science aside and tell me how this murder happened.”
He gets to his feet and steps to a window for a long gaze. “There’s a brain at work here, Mr. Post, and that’s why you’re not likely to solve this crime, short of a miracle. Diana Russo told a convincing story of the conflict between Miller and her husband. I suspect she exaggerated, but the jury believed her. She pointed to a black guy in a white town. And one with a motive, at that. They, the conspirators, knew enough about crime scene evidence to use the flashlight as the link to Miller. The real killer left behind no traceable clues, which is remarkable and says a lot about his high level of planning. If he did make a mistake, the cops missed it or perhaps covered it up. After twenty-two years, it is indeed a cold case, and one that looks impossible to solve. You won’t find the killer, Mr. Post, but you might succeed in proving your client innocent.”
“Is there a chance he’s guilty?”
“So you have doubts?”
“Always. The doubts keep me awake at night.”
He returns to his chair and takes a sip of coffee. “I don’t see it. Motive is weak. Sure, he may have hated his former lawyer, but blowing his head off is a sure ticket to death row. Miller had an alibi. There is nothing that links him to the crime scene. My best educated guess is that he didn’t do it.”
“That’s good to hear,” I reply with a smile. He is no bleeding-heart and has testified for the prosecution more than the defense. He shoots straight and is not afraid to criticize another expert, even a colleague, when he disagrees. We spend a few minutes talking about other famous blood-spatter cases, and it’s soon time to leave.
“Thanks, Doctor,” I say as I gather my things. “I know your time is valuable.”
“You’re paying for it,” he says with a smile. Yep, $30,000.
As I open the door, he says, “One last thing, Mr. Post, and this is even farther from my expertise, but that situation down there could get sticky. None of my business, you know, but you’d better be careful.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter 12
My travels take me to the next prison on my little checklist. It’s called Tully Run and it’s hidden at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the western part of Virginia. This is my second visit here. Because of the Internet, there are now hundreds of thousands of convicted sex offenders. For many reasons, they do not fare well in general prison populations. Most states are trying to segregate them into separate facilities. Virginia sends most of its to Tully Run.
The man’s name is Gerald Cook. White male, age forty-three, serving twenty years for molesting his two stepdaughters. Because I have so many other clients to choose from, I have always tried to avoid sex offenders. However, in this line of work I’ve learned that some of them are actually innocent.
In his younger days, Cook was a wild man, a hard-drinking redneck prone to brawling and chasing women. Nine years ago he caught the wrong one and married her. They spent a few rough years together taking turns moving in and out. Both had trouble keeping jobs and money was always an issue. A week after his wife filed for divorce, Gerald won $100,000 in the Virginia State Lottery and tried to keep it quiet. She heard about it almost immediately and her lawyers got excited. Gerald fled the area with his loot and the divorce dragged on. To get his attention, and at least some of the money, she conspired with her daughters, then ages eleven and fourteen, to accuse him of sexual abuse, crimes that had never been mentioned. The girls signed sworn written statements detailing a pattern of rape and molestation. Gerald was arrested, thrown in jail with an exorbitant bond, and has never stopped claiming he is innocent.
In Virginia, it is difficult to defend such charges. At his trial, both girls took the stand, and in wrenching testimony described the horrible things their stepfather had allegedly done. Gerald countered with his own testimony but, being a hothead, made a poor witness. He was sentenced to twenty years. By the time he left for prison, his lottery winnings were long gone.
Neither stepdaughter finished high school. The older has led a life of astonishing promiscuity, and, at the age of twenty-one, is in her second marriage. The younger has a child and works for minimum wage at a fast-food restaurant. Their mother owns a beauty salon on the outskirts of Lynchburg, and has a big mouth. Our investigator there has affidavits from two former clients who describe the woman constantly telling hilarious stories of framing Gerald with the bogus charges. We also have an affidavit from a former boyfriend with similar stories. She frightened him so bad he moved out.
Cook came to our attention two years ago with a letter from prison. We receive about twenty per week, and the backlog is frustrating. Vicki, Mazy, and I spend as much time as possible reading them and trying to weed out the ones we cannot help. The vast majority are from guilty inmates who have plenty of time to work on their claims of innocence and write long letters. I travel with a stack that I read when I should be sleeping. At Guardian, we have a policy of answering every letter.