in the local area. They all played football together and called themselves the Pit-Bull Maulers. It seems each had a tattoo of a pit-bull’s head on the back of one hand, except Nick Hudson.”
“Willard didn’t have one,” Hayden said, as if part of a twin act. “He was never part of the group. His cousin played, but says he chose not to have one because of Geoff missing out.”
Hayden and Sorrenti were working as a team. Anya wondered what had prompted Meira’s change in attitude.
The senior officer took the lead.
“One of these guys is a real possibility. Barry Lerner. Goes by the name of Badger. He’s got a record of violence against women and was accused of sexual assault, but the woman withdrew her statement.”
“Any chance of interviewing the woman or seeing her medical records?” Anya ventured.
Hayden anchored one arm over the whiteboard. “She just vanished. He could have killed her, too, and disposed of the body.”
Anya remembered the cubby house at one of the victim’s homes. “Did anything turn up at the Davises’ house? If he were stalking Jodie from the cubby, he must have left some piece of himself.”
“Couldn’t get jackshit to tie Lerner to that rape.”
There was no DNA left at the scene.
Sorrenti put both hands on her hips. “Now, I want to know this bastard’s movements for the last twenty years. Everywhere he’s been, worked and visited. Check registrations in every state, leases, rental-bond boards, phone accounts, whatever you have to. And I want a tail on him. I want to know when he eats, sleeps, craps and even takes a leak. Everything.” She paced across the front of the room. “The others from the Bay, the rest of the gang. I want to know everything there is to know about them as well. They should be checked for tattoos and scars. Don’t go by police files, check them out for yourselves. I want to know
Another detective looked puzzled. “Why are we looking for ones with tattoos?”
Sorrenti’s patience seemed to have run out. “Because they all had the same fucking tattoos, like a gang. Maybe some got them removed and they left scars. Scars don’t get suntans, so look whiter than the rest of the hand. These guys stick together like shit to a blanket. They could even be in this together.”
The junior detective persisted. “If they still hang out together, why would they have them removed?”
“Maybe they just grew up,” Hayden said, “and realized that the job-fairy didn’t deliver to anyone with flesh- eating dogs all over their skin.”
Anya offered another explanation. “Part of prison rehab involves the option of removing tattoos. The system pays for dermatologists to remove them, usually with laser. The most visible would be removed first for the same reason Hayden suggested. To increase the chances of finding work once out of jail.”
Anya needed to raise an issue, aware that it would probably aggravate Sorrenti. “Is it possible to get the case against Geoffrey Willard dropped? He’s still on remand. It might flush out the real killer.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Sorrenti sniffed. In another era, she could have spat tobacco in Anya’s direction. “Not until we’ve thoroughly reviewed the Randall case. Does anyone know if the evidence still exists?”
Hayden screwed up his moustache. “Since the case had been closed and Willard imprisoned, no one will have thought to keep the clothes and physical evidence. For all we know, they were destroyed years ago.”
Sorrenti sat on the table, one leg swinging. “I’ve seen the alleged Willard confession from the night Randall died. Having seen it, I have to agree with Hayden’s assessment. Willard didn’t know shit from clay that night. The police set him up for a confession. We could get the case reopened if we had some physical evidence, but so far we’ve got nothing to tie Lerner to Eileen Randall.”
“Or Elizabeth Dorman, for that matter,” Hayden added.
“Maybe you can get what you need,” Anya said. “It’s just occurred to me. I think I might know where that missing physical evidence could be.”
47
Morgan Tully listened to Anya’s plea, but sat at her desk, stony-faced.
“I appreciate what you’re saying, but the area doesn’t have the funds to go chasing cases that were closed decades ago. We’re struggling to keep up with the samples taken from current crime.”
She pushed back her chair, stood up and closed the office door. “It can take eight months to process a sexual- assault kit as it is. I’m afraid this isn’t a priority.”
Anya put the brown paper bags on the desk. Judging by Morgan’s response-a sneezing spasm-she was allergic to dust. When Charlie Boyd souvenired them after the trial, the world forgot about them-until now. It had not been the first time that a policeman had squirrelled evidence from a trial away, particularly in the biggest case of his career. Thankfully, he had been forthcoming, believing that Willard’s guilt could be proved with modern science. The retired policeman had not considered the possibility of science exonerating an innocent man.
“These have been kept in a police-officer’s shed for twenty years, while Geoffrey Willard served time for a crime he probably didn’t commit. There’s at least enough doubt to hold another inquest.”
Morgan took a tissue from the counter and turned away to wipe her nose. “You need to talk to the DPP.”
Anya had already tried that. The official line from the office of the director of public prosecutions was that a jury had convicted Geoffrey Willard on the basis of evidence, motive and opportunity. Since DNA hadn’t been operational back then, he had not been wrongly convicted based on DNA evidence.
She had hit a brick wall. They wouldn’t test Eileen Randall’s clothing unless someone else was found guilty of the Dorman and Turnbull murders. By that time, the killer would be serving two life sentences. It would be a waste of time testing the Randall evidence because no one would spend money trying a killer for another murder if it made no real difference to the sentence he would serve. Crime and justice were about money and practicality.
Twenty years might have been wrongfully stolen from Geoff Willard’s life, but nobody cared because it was in the past. He would have a better chance of being exonerated if he were still in jail for that crime.
“The DPP don’t want anything to do with it,” she admitted.
Morgan sat down again. “I can see why. I’d need a better reason to hold another inquest into Randall’s death.” She clasped her hands, as though about to pass judgment. “Do the family want it?”
Anya stood head down with both palms flat on the desk. “There’s no family that we know of.”
“I see.”
“There are two other murders with similar pattern injuries, one of which was committed while Geoffrey was in jail. If Barry Lerner’s DNA turns up on this underwear,” she put her hand on the dirty bag, “it’ll go a hell of a way to proving Lerner’s guilt in the recent murder too.”
“And therefore Willard’s innocence.”
The coroner pushed the bags to the edge of the desk and wiped her hands on another tissue. “And therein lies the problem.”
“Pardon?” Anya lifted her head, confused.
“After serving twenty years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, then being rearrested for another crime- again, that he didn’t commit? Imagine the compensation.”
Finally, Anya understood. Conveniently, exonerating Willard was a low priority, which also saved the government millions of dollars and extreme embarrassment. How could she have been so naive?
“I can’t hold an inquest until you have something more substantial on the Dorman killing.”
“How about another body? Maybe, if we’re lucky, the killer will stab someone else.”
Morgan took a deep breath. “Don’t do this to yourself. The system isn’t perfect and never will be. With people like you on the job, there will be fewer people going through what Geoffrey Willard has endured.”
That wasn’t much consolation. If testing was about money, she had a better idea. “How about I wipe the bill for my reports on the Carney cases?”
The coroner sneezed again and delicately dabbed the tip of her nose.
“That should just about cover the cost of examining the clothes, I’d say,” Anya persisted.
Both women smiled and understood.
