After a pause, she asked, “When do I start?”
“Right now.”
Cheryl Vranjes hadn’t changed much since the Landis trial. After introductions, she escorted Pete, Baronick, and Special Agent Graley into her living room and offered them beverages, which the trio of law enforcement politely refused.
“I suspected I’d hear from you when I learned about Dustin’s conviction being overturned.” Cheryl perched on the edge of an easy chair, hands folded in her lap. She cast a nervous glance at the detective and federal agent before meeting Pete’s gaze. She lowered her voice as if only he could hear her. “I’m not sure why the FBI is involved though.”
Graley, however, was not hard of hearing. “I want to ask you about the man you saw leaving the scene.” Her tone was considerably softer than the one she used on Pete, for which he was grateful.
“I’ve already told everything I know. I never saw the man’s face. He was running away from us, dressed all in black including a hoodie.”
“Can you describe his build?”
“As I’ve always said, he was tall. Athletic. Or at least not overweight.”
Graley nodded and thumbed her phone’s screen.
Baronick had claimed the end of the couch farthest from Cheryl. “At the trial you stated the person you saw could have been Dustin.”
“Yes. I also said I couldn’t be sure either way.”
Pete remembered it well. Frattini had played up her testimony, focusing the jury’s attention on the “could have been Dustin” part. Rick Hirst emphasized her lack of certainty.
Graley, who’d remained standing, approached Cheryl and dropped to one knee, holding the phone for Cheryl. “Does this look like the same man you saw?”
“Wait.” Cheryl reached for her glasses on the table beside her. “Okay.”
Graley touched the screen and again held it in front of their witness.
Cheryl squinted, watched intently, then lifted her eyes to Pete. “I thought there wasn’t any video footage of that night.”
“There wasn’t,” he said.
Cheryl looked at the agent, eyes wide. “Can you play that again?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The lines in her forehead rode a wave of puzzlement and surprise. “That’s not the parking lot at the Route 15 Plaza.”
“No, ma’am. It’s not.”
“But that’s…him.”
Pete felt the air sucked out of the room by her words, as if they carried every last atom of oxygen into another dimension. Another night. Another place.
A dark parking lot.
“‘Him’ who?” Pete asked.
“Dustin.” Cheryl gave her head a shake. “I mean the same man who killed Elizabeth. The one I saw running away that night. That’s him.”
Pete closed his eyes. Wished he could close off his mind as well. At the very least, Cheryl’s confusion about the identity of the man in Graley’s video added to reasonable doubt in the upcoming trial. At the very worst, Cheryl had confirmed Elizabeth had been the victim of the serial killer.
“Are you sure it’s the same man?” Graley tried and failed to veil the excitement in her voice.
Cheryl watched the video several more times, her fingertips lightly touching her lips. “Yes. That’s him.”
Pete approached the women, his open hand extended to Graley. “Mind if I take a look at that?” Baronick joined him.
Rather than relinquish her phone, Graley stood and held it so they could see.
The low-quality black-and-white video clip showed a shadowy figure of a man in dark clothing, his head covered, jogging away from a car and out of the frame. He didn’t appear to be aware he was on camera, but the footage still failed to capture a shot of his face.
Without looking away from the image, Pete asked Cheryl, “Are you positive this is the same guy?”
“He’s wearing the same clothes.”
Black hoodie. Just like every other thug who prowled the night.
“He runs the same way,” she added.
Neither the man in the video nor Landis walked—or ran—with any kind of odd gait.
Graley pocketed her phone and again knelt next to Cheryl. “Can you tell me about that night?”
“I’ve already—”
“I know. You’ve told the story a hundred times. But not to me. Please.”
Cheryl shot a look at Pete. He nodded to go ahead, and she launched into the same tale she’d told him nine years ago.
Once Baronick, Graley, and Pete left Cheryl’s house, they gathered between Pete’s SUV, in which he and the detective had traveled, and Graley’s dark blue sedan.
Baronick faced the FBI agent. “I’d like a copy of that video.”
“So would I,” Pete said.
Graley nodded. “Not a problem.” She crossed her arms. “What do you gentlemen think?”
Baronick snorted. “I think she’s gonna sink DA Frattini’s battleship if he puts her on the stand.”
Another matter gnawed at Pete. “What was the date on your security footage?”
“I know what you’re getting at,” Graley said, “but I already looked at the timeline of events. Your man was incarcerated when this video was shot. The only thing I can tell you with any certainty is Dustin Landis is not DLK.”
“But is DLK Elizabeth Landis’ killer?” Baronick mused.
“I still have trouble believing he would attack in a parking lot with potential witnesses around. He’s smarter than that.” She chuffed a laugh. “If he wasn’t, we’d have caught him by now.”
“If Cheryl Vranjes gets up on the witness stand and identifies the man in that video as the same man she saw in the Route 15 Plaza lot that night,” Baronick said, “Landis is gonna walk.”
“Your DA may not even call her to testify.”
“If not, Imperatore will.” Baronick breathed a growl. “All he needs is reasonable doubt.”
Which was what Pete was swimming in at the moment. “The quality of the video leaves a lot to be desired,” he said, thinking out loud.
“No argument.” Graley tugged her collar up against a sudden breeze. “But it’s all we have.”
“Cheryl claims the man is wearing the same clothing.” Pete replayed the grainy video in his mind. “Black hoodie? How many people own black hoodies?”
Baronick raised a hand. “Guilty as charged.”
“Same here.” Pete looked at Graley.
Her lip curled into a smirk. “Sorry. I prefer navy blue.”
“But you get my point. There’s nothing unique about his clothes. No way to positively
