“You won’t believe this, Jack.”
“Spill it, Milt, before I choke it out of you.”
“The late, departed Kevin Stone, a.k.a. Rocky, was Eli Whitehouse’s nephew.” Milt tossed the file onto the table. “His mother, Grace, was Eli’s older sister. She died of a massive stroke when Rocky was seven. Rocky was raised by his father, Vince. He was a plumber, owned his own business. No paper on him whatsoever. Unlike his wayward son, Vince was a law-abiding citizen. Paid his taxes, went to church, kept his nose clean. He died of a heart attack in ’ninety-four.”
This was big news, and Dantzler remained silent as he let it sink in. But big news didn’t necessarily translate into important news. It might mean an end to the case, or it might mean nothing at all. He let it roll around in his head for several minutes, hoping a clear meaning might emerge. It didn’t. Instead, he was bombarded with more questions.
“Well, what do think, Ace?” Milt finally asked.
“Interesting.”
“Interesting? That’s the best you can come up with?” Milt picked up the folder and pointed to it. “This is way more than interesting. This settles it, Jack. Rocky Stone killed those two kids in ’eighty-two, he killed Colt Rogers, and he killed Devon Fraley. Case closed.”
Dantzler remained silent.
Milt continued, “Rocky not only knew Eli, he was related to him, which means he had access to Eli’s house, to the safe, the gun. He-”
“You don’t know if he ever set foot in Eli’s house.”
“He was family, Jack. Eli’s nephew. I think we can safely assume he visited the Whitehouse residence.”
“I prefer facts to assumptions.”
“It plays, Jack. Rocky kills those two kids, leaves the gun at the scene, knowing Eli will take the fall, which is exactly what happened. Flash forward to a couple of weeks ago. Rocky gets pissed at Rogers, takes him out. Devon Fraley must have known or heard something, knew Rocky was coming to see Rogers, so she had to be silenced as well. It all falls into place. He’s the thread running through this entire scenario, from then to now.”
“Sorry, Milt, but I’m not buying any of it.”
“Why not?”
“To begin with, you’re crediting Rocky Stone with a lot more IQ points than I’m willing to give him. I don’t think he possessed the gray matter necessary to do all the things you say he did.”
“You don’t have to be smart to pull a trigger.”
“True. But it does require a certain level of intelligence to do the other things you say Rocky did. Get into the safe, secure the gun, make sure Eli’s prints were on it, find the two victims, lure them to the barn, tie them up, kill them, set the barn on fire, and get away without being seen. Then he has to do something equally challenging. He has to keep it quiet for twenty-nine years. And what about the thirteen hundred dollars Greg Spurlock took off the two bodies? Can you see Rocky Stone, a washed-out pug and ex-con, leaving a wad of cash lying around? I can’t. Why would he set up Eli, a relative? And can you see Eli spending three decades years behind bars for a loser like Rocky Stone? No way. Not even if Stone was kin.”
Dantzler shook his head. “And that’s only for openers, Milt. I can point out another dozen reasons why I’ll never be convinced Rocky Stone killed those four people.”
“If Stone was innocent, why did he run?” Milt said. “Why did he open fire?”
“Because he was stupid.”
“Well, duh.”
“He hated cops, saw us as a threat to his freedom, and wasn’t about to let us put him behind bars again. He would rather go toe to toe with us than go back to prison.” Dantzler was quiet for several seconds, then said, “Don’t you find it interesting that Stone had the rifle and ammo right there in the living room?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, I do.”
“What are you saying, Jack?”
“Something Rocky said when we first got there has stayed with me. He said, ‘I’ve been told you were coming, and I ain’t got nothing to say to you.’ How did he know we were coming?”
“He saw us out on the street in front of his house. The four of us, huddled together, talking. He’s an ex-con-he could spot a cop a mile away. Hell, he could smell a cop a mile away.”
“That’s possible.”
“But you don’t sound like you believe it.”
“I don’t. I think he meant exactly what he said-he knew we were coming to see him.”
“Other than the four of us, who knew we were going to see Rocky?”
“Rich knew. Laurie. Bruce Rawlinson. I told Charlie Bolton. And I’m sure others knew as well. It wasn’t like some big secret.”
“You’re inferring there is a leak in the department.”
“Stone knew we were on the way. So, yeah, there’s a leak somewhere.”
“Jesus, now we’re not only fighting the bad guys on the outside, we’re fighting the enemy within. That pretty much sucks.” Milt scratched his head and grimaced. “You have a candidate for who the snitch might be?”
“No. But I’ll wager you this,” Dantzler said. “The snitch, whoever he turns out to be, is the person who killed those four people.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
There were times when Dantzler cursed his own stubbornness. This was one of those times.
His stubbornness placed him squarely at odds against his colleagues, all of whom were willing to convict Stone for the Colt Rogers and Devon Fraley slayings. They also believed that given his kinship to Eli, and his access to the murder weapon, Stone was a likely suspect for the murder of those two boys in 1982. Although none of them believed deep in their heart of hearts that Stone was the lone killer, they were willing to cast aside their true feelings and grant him that distinction.
Sympathy had replaced evidence.
All Dantzler had to do was sign off on it and both cases would be closed. Like that, simple as snapping his fingers. Sealed, air tight, official. With Dantzler’s blessing, the late Kevin “Rocky” Stone would forever be remembered as a four-time murderer.
But marching in lock-step with the crowd wasn’t part of Dantzler’s nature. It never had been, and he wasn’t about to change now. This was especially true when he was certain the crowd was marching in the wrong direction and to the beat of a misguided tune. If he was deemed an outsider, a lone wolf, so be it. He would always stand his ground against an erroneous consensus.
If Dantzler gave the green light, and if Jeff Rosen agreed-which he would-then Kirk Foster could go to his boss, the governor, and have him sign the required documents necessary to free Eli. Within a matter of hours, John Elijah Whitehouse, the Reverend, would be released from prison and allowed to return home, to be reunited with his family, to live out his final days being cared for by his loved ones.
But as much as he wanted to, Dantzler wasn’t about to sign off on it. He couldn’t agree with the prevailing sentiment. There were, he argued, too many stumbling blocks standing in his path. For starters, he couldn’t convince himself that the easy way was the correct way. In his experience, it was usually the exact opposite. The hard way typically turned out to be the correct way. Also, nothing had changed evidence-wise, a fact his colleagues seemed willing to overlook or dismiss. Dantzler wasn’t prepared to take that leap, regardless of any sympathy or empathy for Eli.
Empathy is never enough to overturn a jury verdict.
No, Eli didn’t kill Rogers and Fraley, and Dantzler remained convinced the old man didn’t kill those two young boys, either. But the mountain of evidence said otherwise, that Eli did in fact kill Osteen and Fowler. Until or unless Dantzler could bring down that mountain, Eli had to remain in jail. As a detective, he was bound to the evidence, not to the tug of his heart.
