“I did go to Center City. I wanted to talk to Liz again.”
“What did you do when you got there?”
“I parked about six blocks from her house, because I figured if I just drove up, her mother would call the police and throw me out. I walked the rest of the way.”
“Did anybody see you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. People don’t stay up real late in that town. Liz used to tell me that the last show at the movie theater was at seven o’clock at night, and-”
I’m not really in the mood to hear about movie night in Center City, so I cut him off. “How did you know where her house was?” I ask, since Mrs. Barlow told me she never met him.
“Liz took me there once… she just wanted to show me where she lived. I actually had to crouch down in the car so her mother wouldn’t be able to see me as we drove by.”
“What did you do when you got to her house?”
“Her car wasn’t there, so I waited. I hid behind some bushes,” he says with apparent embarrassment.
“How long did you wait?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Probably a few hours. Hey, I know it sounds stupid, but the longer she wasn’t there, the more upset I got. That’s why I figured she was with her ex-boyfriend, and he probably wasn’t ‘ex’ anymore.”
This is a disaster. Not only will Lester be able to show that Jeremy’s statement to the police contained a very significant, material lie, but the truth is very incriminating. The defendant hid in the bushes waiting for the murder victim, growing more and more upset, jealous and angry over her betraying him with another man. The only way this statement could be worse is if he said he stopped to pick up a machete on the way to her house.
I make eye contact with Kevin, and his look confirms that he thinks this is just as bad as I do. Since eye contact has never been my specialty, Jeremy notices it. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied, but I was scared, and I figured it would look bad if I told the police where I really was.”
I give my standard stern lecture to Jeremy about the devastating consequences of lying to one’s attorney, but it’s a halfhearted speech. I will never fully trust him again and will always be worried that there’s another freight train coming around the next bend. His lie doesn’t make him a murderer, but it certainly makes it more likely he will be convicted as one.
But what are we worried about? We’re in great shape. After all, in less than two months we’ve already discovered that there is probably somebody in Center City named Eddie.
We’re the kind of lawyers you’d mortgage the farm for.
• • • • •
IRONICALLY, THE MOST fertile ground for our investigation might well be Calvin’s death. I doubt very much that it was accidental, because I simply don’t believe in those kinds of coincidences. If Calvin was murdered, it was almost certainly in the pursuit of exculpatory information for Jeremy; if that information did not exist, then Calvin would not have been a threat.
In any event, the hearing that Judge Morrison convenes is crucially important to our case, and when he calls on me to speak, I tell him so.
I basically repeat what is in the brief that Kevin wrote and submitted. I end with, “In conclusion, the defense believes that the death of Calvin Marshall might well be relevant to the matter before this court, but it is only through discovery that we can test our theory.”
Judge Morrison peers down at Lester. “Mr. Chapman?”
“Your Honor, the statute could not be more clear on this matter. The defense is entitled to all investigative work done on this case relating to the murders for which the defendant is to be tried. They do not have license to receive police documents for anything else that they believe might somehow be relevant. Where would that end? Would they be entitled to examine every crime committed in this county in the hope that it would somehow tie in to their case? At this point in time, pending further investigation, I simply do not see the relevance.”
Morrison turns to me, and I stand up again. “Your Honor, there has not been a murder prior to this case in Findlay in eight years. In those same eight years, only four murders have been reported in the entire county. Yet the lawyer for this defendant dies under suspicious circumstances while pursuing evidence in this very case. This is not a fishing expedition, and if Mr. Chapman cannot see the possible relevance, he is the Stevie Wonder of prosecutors.”
Lester jumps to his feet. “Your Honor, I resent the personal attack in that comparison.”
“Think how Stevie would feel,” I say.
Morrison comes down hard on both of us, but I bear the brunt of it. When he’s finished, he turns back to Lester.
“Mr. Chapman, have you reviewed the police reports in question?”
“Yes, Your Honor, in order to prepare for this hearing.”
“Is the investigation into Mr. Marshall’s death concluded?”
Lester shakes his head. “Certainly not, Your Honor. It’s barely begun.”
“So it’s not definitive in its conclusions?” the judge asks.
“For the most part, no.”
“I will look at the reports in camera. If I consider them relevant to this case, I will turn them over to the defense.”
This is a win for us; in a major case of this kind the judge will bend over backward not to handicap the defense. He will only keep the documents from us if they are absolutely no help at all, in which case we wouldn’t want them anyway.
“Thank you, Your Honor, that is quite satisfactory to our side. I would further request that if you do provide them to us, that you also see to it that we get all subsequent documents as the investigation proceeds.”
He nods. “I’ll make that determination when I see the materials, which you will provide forthwith, Mr. Chapman.”
Lester gives a combination nod and sigh. “Certainly, Your Honor.”
We’ve got what we wanted, but on some level it bothers me that Calvin’s death has now become part of our case strategy.
I’ve always considered myself a semi-hermit; I have my small group of friends and no desire to expand that circle. Yet events caused me to meet and get to know Calvin, and though it may sound corny, that relationship has enriched my life. How many other millions of people are out there that could do the same, if I’d only let them? It’s causing me to reevaluate how I should live my life, and I’m thinking I should make some changes. I’m sure I ultimately won’t, but right now I’m thinking that I should.
I would love to stay and torture Lester some more, but the clerk tells me that the Drummond documents have been delivered to our house, so I want to hurry back to compare them to those that Sam faxed us.
As soon as we get home, we lay them in front of us and start to compare. It’s a time-consuming process. I literally call out a name from Drummond’s documents, and Kevin tells me if it matches the documents Sam faxed us. On the voter registration list there are two instances where Sam’s copies have a name not on Drummond’s, and one case where a name on Drummond’s list does not appear on Sam’s. None of them are named Eddie, Liz’s mysterious boyfriend.
The property owner list yields two discrepancies, neither obviously significant. We’re halfway through the motor vehicle records when Kevin, reading from Sam’s list, says, “Edmond Carson, born 1985.”
I check twice to make sure, but there is no such person on Drummond’s list.
Edmond Carson, missing from Drummond’s list, and the right age to be Liz’s ex-boyfriend.
Eddie.
It’s a sad commentary on the state of our case that we’re so excited about the fact that we may have discovered the name of the victim’s ex-boyfriend, who probably knows nothing about her murder. But it’s all we’ve got right now, and we’ve got to pursue it as vigorously as we can.
I’ve had enough experience with Center City to know that it will not be terribly productive for me to go there and ask, “Can Eddie come out to play?” So Kevin and I head down to the police precinct to try to get Laurie’s help.
Laurie is not in her office when we arrive, and we wait almost an hour for her to get back. When I start to tell her why we’re there, she tells me to wait until she calls in Cliff Parsons. As the cop assigned to Center City, he
