ethical justification for our actions is to claim that we are preparing for the remote possibility that Dylan will learn what we are learning, and we will have to defend against his use of that knowledge against Kenny. Having said that, I certainly won’t be charging Kenny for any of the hours we spend on this end of the investigation.
I ask Laurie to devote herself full-time to learning about these mysterious deaths. I want her to investigate each one individually, much as I did Darryl Anderson’s drowning in the ocean off Asbury Park. Maybe she can clear each case as definitely not a murder, but I doubt it.
Marcus is going to continue to guard me, since our concerns about Quintana are absolutely real. Quintana may not have killed Preston, but he’s already sent people after me, and Adam’s fate is testimony to his ruthlessness. This is a bad guy, whether our courtroom claims of his involvement in the Preston murder are true or not.
Lying in bed is when I do some of my best thinking. Tonight Laurie lies next to me, awake, so instead of just rattling around in my head, the words I am thinking come out through my mouth. “The thing that gnaws at me, in a good way, if there can be such a thing as good gnawing…”
Laurie gets frustrated with my lengthy preamble. “Spit it out, Andy.”
“Okay. None of these other deaths were ruled murder by the police, not a single one. Assuming the worst, that Kenny killed all of them, why would he have done such a good job covering up his guilt those times, and then with Preston he just about holds up a neon sign saying ‘I’m guilty’? That doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“So maybe someone else did them all, including Preston.”
“That fails the same logic test,” I say. “Whoever it was that did it, why would they make all of the others not look like murder and this one so obvious? To frame Kenny? They could have done that just by killing Preston. Why kill all the others?”
“Somehow the Preston killing is different,” she says. “If it wasn’t Kenny that did it, but instead somebody trying to frame him, the other killings weren’t part of that plan. Don’t forget, if Adam didn’t happen to notice them, we’d think Preston was the only death in the case.”
I’m just about to fall asleep when something makes me think of Bobby Pollard, the wheelchair-bound trainer who has known Kenny since high school. Pollard was in a terrible accident, one that cost him his ability to walk. It clearly could have cost him his life but did not. Should he be on our list as well? Was he supposed to be another victim?
It’s eleven-thirty at night, but the Pollards told me I could call on them at any time, so I take that literally and dial their number. Teri answers, and I explain that I need to talk to her husband. My plan is to meet with them after court tomorrow, but such is their eagerness to help that they give me the option of coming over tonight. They apologetically say that they can’t come to me because their son is asleep and it takes Bobby time to get dressed and become fully mobile.
I’m wound up too tight to sleep, so I figure I might as well go over there. I wake Laurie and tell her where I’m going so that she won’t be worried again. She offers to go with me, but I tell her I’m fine on my own, and she seems quite happy to accept that and go back to sleep.
I leave the house, glancing around for Marcus on the way to my car. I don’t see him, but I know he’s there. I hope he’s there.
Twenty minutes later the Pollards are serving me coffee and cinnamon cake in their dining room. “Bobby, I want to talk to you about your accident” is how I start.
His face reflects an understandable confusion. “My accident? I thought this was about Kenny.”
“There’s a great deal I can’t tell you, including how the various pieces come together. I just ask that you answer my questions as best you can, and reserve any questions of your own until the time I can answer them.”
Bobby looks over at Teri, and she nods her assent, which I think is the only reason he lets this continue. “What about my accident?”
“Tell me how it happened.”
“I already did. I was driving in Spain, and I went off the road. The car rolled over, and I never walked again.” His voice is angry, as if I shouldn’t be making him go through this. He’s right; I shouldn’t.
“What caused you to go off the road?” I ask.
“Another car went out of its lane. I tried to avoid it, give it room, but I ran out of room myself.”
“Who was driving the other car?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t stop. I don’t even know if they saw what happened to me.”
“Do you think they did what they did intentionally?”
“I never have, no. Do you know something I don’t?”
I ignore the question, trying to get through this. “Who was with you on the trip to Europe?”
He thinks and names four male friends, unfortunately including Kenny. Then, “Teri and I had just gotten married a few months before; it was sort of a last fling with the guys.” He looks at her. “Not that kind of fling… you know what I mean.”
She smiles her understanding, not particularly jealous of anything that might have happened almost a decade ago, before her husband was paralyzed. Then she turns to me. “I was pregnant, so we got married. We were only eighteen.”
I ask Bobby, “Why weren’t your friends with you when you went for the drive?”
He shrugs. “I don’t remember. They probably went to the beach.”
I’m learning more than I need to know, so I apologize for bothering them and leave without answering their questions. What I did was not fair to them, but it provided me with another piece of information. The list of tragically unlucky friends and acquaintances of Kenny Schilling’s now includes Bobby Pollard.
Heading to court for the first day of the defense’s case, I can’t remember ever being a part of a situation like this. I’m defending my client against a murder charge while at the same time leading an investigation to determine whether or not he is a serial murderer. And whether I win or lose the trial, I can never reveal the results of that investigation.
I’ve decided to break our defense case into two parts. The first will deal with showing the jury who Kenny Schilling is and how unlikely it is that he would suddenly turn killer. The second phase will be devoted to presenting the jury with other alternatives, other possible killers, and to show them the dangerous world in which Troy Preston lived. Neither of the two parts is likely to carry the day; the overwhelming physical evidence, plus Kenny’s behavior during the siege at his house, are still looking impregnable. We are in very deep trouble.
Just before the session begins, I call Sam Willis and ask him to add Bobby Pollard to the list of people he is investigating. I tell him not to bother checking whether Kenny had the geographic proximity to have caused the accident, since Bobby has already said that he did. Rather, I want Sam to check into the accident itself, to learn whether the Spanish police considered it a possible attempted murder.
I spend the day parading a group mostly consisting of professional football players in front of the starstruck jury. Each witness talks of his admiration for Kenny and the total absurdity that anyone could believe Kenny could take another life.
I would be bored to death if Dylan did not look so uncomfortable. He’s afraid that the jury will buy into what these people are saying just because of who they are, and he spends little time cross-examining so that they’ll leave more quickly. Dylan does get each to say that he has no actual knowledge as to the circumstances of Preston’s death and cannot provide Kenny with any kind of alibi.
I call off our meeting tonight; I’m well prepared for tomorrow’s witnesses, and I’m better off spending the time trying to extricate myself from my well-deserved depression. It’s not one of our regular sleepover nights, but I ask Laurie to stay, and she does. I barbecue, and in deference to my fragile mental state, she doesn’t even insist on fish.
We’re just sitting down to eat when Pete Stanton, with characteristic perfect timing, shows up. We invite him to join us, since I always make extra, and he does. At least he didn’t bring his extended family with him.
Once Pete is finished inhaling his food, he gets around to telling us why he came by. Quintana was released from custody this morning, and the police have heard from informants that he’s going to come after me. Pete wants to make sure that I’m well protected, and Laurie tells him that Marcus and Willie are on the case.
“But you’re sure it was Quintana that had Adam killed?” I ask.
Pete nods. “It was Quintana, unless you’ve got some other homicidal maniacs after you. With your mouth it
