wise.”
“Hey, it's Ira, all right? What can I say. He runs his office the way he runs his office. He's ahhh… garrulous. Has lost a lot of jobs over the years over his outspoken style. Funny as hell.”
As they made their way down the stairs, Jessica asked, “Funny good or funny bad?”
“He tells the funniest stories about having been fired from hither, thither and yon, and he has a bag full of hilarious stories about on-the-job stuff as well.”
“Does strike me as a character.”
“That he is… that he is.”
The ease of step here on the stairwell made Jessica recall how the carpet in Olsen's apartment had crackled underfoot like Rice Krispies, hardened as it had become with Olsen's dried blood. She wondered if she'd ever get that sound out of her ear, or the image of a river of blood out of her head. There were no Caine's eardrops, earplugs, or sleeping pills to help.
She looked askance at Reynolds as they descended the two flights. She believed him ruggedly handsome in a Dick Tracy sort of way, and his stony onyx-black eyes showed a depth of intelligence that easily mesmerized others.
“Time for Towne is slipping away like the proverbial sand through the hourglass,” he muttered.
“Why've you taken such a personal interest in Towne?”
“I hate the death penalty. We have to find another way. Too many on death row are innocent, there for the same reason as Towne-a confession beaten from them, if not literally so, then figuratively.”
“But there's more to it than that. And you have to know from my record that I have sent a lot of men to their deaths on the row.”
“Yes, I know your record and where you stand on the issue.”
“The death penalty is too good for some of the scum we see. That aside, you've uncovered something else about these spine snatchings, haven't you?”
He stopped midstep, turned and stared deeply into her eyes. “I went back to the case in Millbrook, Minnesota. Went over it with a fine-toothed comb, but not until I talked with the detectives who worked it, did I realize how identical our killings this side of the Mississippi are to Towne's 2003 case.”
“I see. And just what did these detectives have to say?”
“Come with me,” said Reynolds, going toward the back exit of the apartment building. His car had been brought around by another agent. They got in and he peeled away, the diminishing blue strobe lights of the squad cars on the street reflected in Jessica's side-view mirror, growing smaller. It felt like escape.
She curled up in the leather seat. Fatigue claimed dominance, her eyes heavy with it, as if lavished on with a brush.
“Picture the Olsen kitchen again. You were there, you saw it, right?”
Jessica joined him there. “All neat and tidy.”
“I had a look in the trash bin. Guess what I found inside?”
“I haven't a clue.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing… hmmm… should I be impressed, Sherlock?”
“Freshly cleaned out. Same as in Millbrook. Now look into the dishwasher,” he added as he “opened” an imaginary dishwasher between them in the cab of the car. “The killer is our neat freak. He even turned on the dishwasher and did the dishes.” He paused to let this sink in. “A check with her landlord, and I'm told Joyce Olsen was not obsessively neat about the place.”
“Still, how do you know she didn't do her dishes?”
“There are six dishes inside. No way is a woman going to wash four cups and two saucers. It's not economical, and from all accounts, Olsen was economical. Besides the noise of the washer would drown out the noise of his bone-saw activity.”
Jessica found herself playing devil's advocate now. “She was expecting him, perhaps, so she put her dishes away when the doorbell rang… out of habit or nervousness.”
“Look, the broom in Minnesota used to smear all the blood and any tracks and here… here it's a mop swept over the evidence.”
“Done in Portland as well?”
“Not to mention the size and depth of the wounds, and the M.E.s all agreeing that he used a scalpel-styled knife, and a bone cutter, for the removal of the spinal cords.”
Darwin allowed all he'd said to settle in.
Outside the car, the bustle of traffic in downtown Milwaukee moved like a herd of water buffalo going across a wide stream-slow going at best. Neon lights, electronic billboards and display windows vied for attention.
“All right, I see the similarities,” Jessica conceded. “No great stretch.”
“I tell you, Towne is innocent, and the real killer has surfaced again,” pushed Reynolds.
“I can see that you believe this.”
“You will, too, if you take the time to review the Portland and Minnesota cases. In Oregon, a moblike mentality prevailed in the community-a fucking witch-hunt engineered intentionally or not around the same kind of brainless thinking as… as went into the guilty verdict in To Kill a Mockingbird, or countless real-life cases I can give you chapter and verse on if-”
She held up her hands in mock surrender. “So, you are saying that they railroaded a conviction based on his being black? Come on.”
“Worse than that. They rammed it to him for being black and supposedly killing a white woman. The machine ran a single-minded track and steamrolled over an innocent man.”
Her silence telegraphed the fact that her skepticism hadn't significantly diminished.
“I'm telling you that's how it went down. They railroaded Robert onto death row. Oregon's still got that Wild West approach to law and order, an inherent vigilantism is at work there. Rob Towne didn't get a fair trial, and he'd never get a fair appeal, either, so he says why bother?”
“What does the governor think?”
“Hughes? Ahhh… He's persuaded-that is, moved by the political winds-and is persuaded that no way can he overturn a Court TV verdict. He's the consummate-”
“-politician, I'm sure, and easily led by his political advisors.”
“Exactly, but he's begun to listen somewhat. There is hope, Dr. Coran, and you're it.”
“Me? Meaning?”
“Meaning that I'm going to send Governor Hughes a copy of your report.”
“You mean you're going to shove it down his throat, right?”
“Perhaps, yes.”
“Does Hughes know you're a cross between James Earl Jones and Michael Dorn?”
“I've met with him. First time was the day after the trial verdict last year. Yeah, he knows I can hurt him, but I don't operate like that.”
“Sorry… meant no offense. That was rude… thoughtless of me.”
“I'll forgive your insensitive response, Doctor, if you'll seriously look over the evidence and report your findings to Hughes.”
“So this has been a setup? Hughes is expecting a report?”
“Yes, he is.” Darwin hesitated just a beat. “Hughes wants us, you in particular, to put the Millbrook and Milwaukee killings alongside what he has in Portland, kind of overlay each atop the other to see what comes of it, forensics-wise, I mean.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that the governor of Oregon asked for all this to come his way? That he's anxiously awaiting my opinion?”
“Evidence is evidence.”
“And state's evidence is state's evidence. Hughes isn't likely to want to pick a fight with his own people, to reverse the process that arrested, tried and convicted Towne. Come on, Darwin. Out with the truth. I can't work with you if you're going to play fucking games.”
“This is the truth! I've dogged the governor's office since Towne was convicted, and I've wired him about you, about the new findings. He's gotta listen to us. I'll make him listen to us.”
