Ascension Day

a better angle, Jac explained about the e-mails, his close call with catching up with the sender at Internet-ional, and the thought processes he’d run through with Langfranc.

Coultaine pursed his lips, shaking his head after a moment. ‘No, can’t think of anything from the police reports that might fit in with that.’ He handed the photos back. ‘And can’t say the face rings any bells either, from what little I can see there.’

‘I know. Best I could get.’ Jac sighed, his disappointment when the photos first arrived mirrored in Coultaine’s face in that moment. A hundred per cent improvement from the cam shots, but still far from enough for identification; not even worth trying for an ‘Anyone recognize this man?’ posting with local newspapers.

Coultaine was lost in thought for a moment, his gaze drifting again across the river. ‘For what it’s worth, I’d throw my bet in with you and John Langfranc there: hoaxer, friend or anti-capital punishment campaigner without doubt look the prime suspects. But the murderer himself, there’s a thought.’ Coultaine raised a brow. ‘Have you told Durrant yet?’

‘Yeah, but just the other day. I stressed that it could well be a hoaxer, so as not to falsely build up his hopes. And for the same reason, I didn’t show Durrant the photos or mention the possibility that it could be the murderer. Thought that might be just too confusing for him at this stage; not to mention cruel, if they didn’t finally come forward.’

‘Yeah.’ Coultaine nodded, grimacing tautly. ‘Confusing and cruel — pretty apt words given that Durrant’s starting to have doubts as to whether he actually committed the murder. And still can’t clearly recall half his life from that time.’

A heavier mood suddenly hung over them, a cooler breeze for a moment drifting in off the Mississippi, as if in sympathy. Though Jac couldn’t tell whether the same thoughts had gripped Coultaine in that instant: Durrant confused, memory fractured, and as the days wound rapidly down towards his execution and his doubts grew about his guilt, a bolt comes out of the blue from someone claiming that he didn’t do it; though, cruellest fate of all, even if they were real, they might well not reveal themselves in time to save his life.

Coultaine introduced a fresh tone. ‘But, you know, with Durrant now remembering more — that could well be the key. He’d started to recall more even by the time of the appeal. I checked out a couple of pool buddies then he’d suddenly recalled that might have been able to give him an alibi.’ Coultaine held up one palm. ‘Didn’t head anywhere in the end — but now, who knows? If you could find that one person to corroborate that he was somewhere else that night — then you’d have struck gold. You’d have something solid to counter the DNA evidence.’

‘True.’ Jac cast his eyes down for a second before looking up absently at half a dozen geese flurrying briefly in mid-river before taking flight again. DNA. Whatever else he might come up with, they were always going to be facing that final stone wall.

‘But, hey, DNA these days,’ Coultaine said as he caught Jac’s expression, ‘Million miles from where it was then — practically its first days. Now with a bit more analysis and tweaking here and there, you could easily get lucky and be able to cast doubt on the original findings. And that’s probably all you’d need to do — cast doubt.’

But Jac knew that Coultaine was saying it mainly to lift his spirits; it was far more likely that it would simply cement the original conclusion. He was kidding himself if he thought he might be able to prove Durrant’s innocence. And worst thing was that Durrant had so little recall of the events of eleven years ago, he was kidding himself too. Had no idea if he was innocent or not.

Nel-M was having one last coffee before heading over to Roche’s with the latest tape offering when Vic Farrelia rang.

‘Another call just came in. Same guy as the other day.’

‘Coultaine?’

‘Yeah, Coultaine.’

Nel-M checked his watch. ‘Okay, I’ll be right over.’ He downed one final gulp, put his foot down hard for the two miles to Farrelia’s stake-out on Perdido Street, and signalled Farrelia to hit ‘play’ as soon as he walked into the room.

‘Got that name of the defence psychiatrists for you: Ormdern. Gregory Ormdern. And Coyne’s assistant’s name is Friele. Dave Friele.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’

‘But if I were you, I’d see Truelle first. Get the sequence right for how it was then: prosecution case, then counter arguments.’

‘He in fact was top of my list. Because it seems to me that everything kick-started with the taped admission in Truelle’s session…’

Nel-M signalled for Farrelia to stop the tape. He didn’t want to be late, he’d play the rest at Roche’s. More than enough to hang McElroy already, he thought, banging his hand against the steering wheel on his way over, clenching and unclenching his fists on his knees as he patiently sat through Roche listening to what he’d already heard on the two calls, as if he couldn’t wait to unfurl them and get them around McElroy’s neck.

‘I daresay, though, it’s not going to be easy, jolting eleven-year-old memories. Because, like I said the other day, while Durrant’s memory might have improved and filled in some of the gaps, others will have faded.’

‘I know. But I promised… which you said a lawyer should never do. Looks like I’m about to find out why.’ Uneasy laugh from McElroy. ‘I’m finding myself torn on this. I don’t want to give in too easily, throw in the towel before I’ve started just because it looks too daunting and hopeless to try and prove Durrant’s innocence. And on the other hand, I don’t want to mislead him and falsely build up his hopes. He deserves better than that.’

‘Well, I’m sure Larry Durrant’s happy to know he still has friends out there batting on his behalf. And I say that for my part, too. I wish I could have done more for him at the time, so it’s nice to see that he appears to be in good hands.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Oh, and for whatever it might help — I’ll do a support letter to go along with the clemency plea: character reference, Durrant making good with his self-education, that type of thing, along with the questionable ethics of executing someone who still doesn’t have possession of the faculties to know if their guilty or innocent… maybe the first time that’s happened. You want to check the records on that, spin it out for even more mileage if you can. When are you putting it in?’

‘Day after tomorrow. Straight after Durrant has signed it.’

‘I’ll make sure to get the letter over to you by then.’

Roche waved a hand for Nel-M to stop the tape.

Silence. Stone silence.

They were in Roche’s ‘Terrace Room’, an over sized conservatory replete with white wicker furniture, palm trees and a white cockatoo in a six-foot high Moroccan-style white cage in one corner. To complete the image, Roche was wearing a white robe with his initials emblazoned in red on one breast pocket. The initials were the only splash of red in the room.

Though it was probably the most tasteful room in the house, Nel-M reminded himself. The rest was oppressively Baroque, with gilded statues of angels and cherubs everywhere, red velvet curtains on every window, and red and gold silk draped over practically every outstretched limb — or other protruding appendage — of the angels and cherubs. Nel-M hated it with a vengeance. It reminded him of a cross between a funeral parlour and a 1920s whorehouse.

The only sounds were the gentle hum of the pool filter beyond the glass and the occasional caw of the cockatoo; though that too seemed to have fallen silent with the stopping of the tape.

‘Last thing we want is McElroy seeing Truelle,’ Roche commented.

Exactly my sentiment, thought Nel-M, but all he said was ‘Yeah.’

‘Probably wouldn’t find out anything, but it’s the sort of thing that might just hit the final panic button with Truelle. Just what we don’t need right now.’

Another ‘Yeah,’ Nel-M contemplating Roche coolly, evenly. After the other day, he wasn’t going to put his head in the noose and try and push Roche this way or that, only to be shot down in flames again. So he’d decided to say little or nothing, just let Roche get there on his own.