Proof Positive (2006) (26 page)

Probably the Continental Motel, Edwards told Greene.

Okay. Now you know that a man named Vincent Ballard was shot to death in a room across the courtyard from your room?

Yeah.

You could see his room from yours, right?

I guess.

We' ve interviewed guests of the motel and we know you told one of them about something you saw that night. I'd like you to tell me what that was, the prosecutor said.

This was the moment of truth. So far, Clarence had not committed himself, but he knew that he would be up to his ears in the Ballard murder investigation if he admitted seeing the two men leave the motel room. He might even have to testify in court with the rat-faced man in the room. The problem was that he'd be back in jail for a parole violation and probably get his parole revoked if he didn't give the DA something useful.

Clarence was no dummy. He hadn't graduated from high school, but he'd developed plenty of street smarts since he'd left home at sixteen. One thing you learned on the street was how to play people. Sometimes it meant the difference between getting beaten or killed and surviving. Clarence decided to play Mike Greene.

If I tell you what I seen, what's in it for me? he asked, stalling for time so he could work on his plan.

Every time you give me an honest answer you' re one step closer to freedom.

Well, I did see something. If I tell you, I want out of here.

It's not that simple, Clarence. You tell me what you know. If you' re honest with me you'll be home free.

Clarence pretended to be thinking, but he already knew what he was going to do.

I got up to take a leak and heard this music coming from across the court. It was loud, too loud for that time of night.

What time was that?

All I know is it was real late.

Okay, what did you see?

Two men. One guy was normal. I can't help you too much there. But the other guy was real big, like he pumped iron or used steroids. I got a better look at him, but it wasn't great.

Do you think you could pick out either man in a lineup?

The little one, probably not. The big guy, yeah, I might be able to do that, but I can't promise. It was dark, I was sleepy and I just had a quick peek.

I'd like to have you try, anyway.

What do you mean?

I'd like you to view a lineup.

Alarm bells went off. Clarence hadn't realized that the cops had arrested anyone. He thought he could just give vague answers and the DA would let him split.

When?

Now.

I don't know, man. This is heavy shit. I wouldn't feel right knowing someone was executed because I fingered him.

Clarence, I have no ax to grind. I want complete honesty. If you' re certain, pick someone. If you' re not certain, definitely do not pick someone. It won't affect our deal.

Clarence thought long and hard and decided that he could eat his cake and have it too. He wanted to smile, but he fixed Mike Greene with a look that said he was a good citizen who wanted to do his duty.

Okay, Clarence said, I'll take a look-see.

After Mike assured him that the men on the other side of the thick glass could not see him, Clarence Edwards walked up to it and peered through. Luis Castro was second from the right in the first group. Frank Jaffe, Billie Brewster, and Mike Greene watched Edwards with an intensity commensurate with the stakes involved in the police procedure. After staring at the lineup for almost a minute, Edwards stepped away from the glass and shook his head.

I can't say anyone in there is the shorter guy. I never did get a good look at him.

The defense attorney and the DA exhaled.

Okay, Mike said, you did your best.

Greene had not expected Edwards to identify the smaller man, after what he'd told them. This had been a test to see if Edwards would finger someone just to get out of jail. The DA leaned down and spoke into a microphone, asking for the next group. Moments later, six men who looked like a pro football line shuffled onto a stage across from the room in which Frank, Brewster, Mike, and Clarence Edwards were watching them. Art Prochaska was second from the left and Reuben Corrales was the last man on the right.

As soon as Corrales walked onto the stage, Clarence knew that this was the man he'd seen outside Vincent Ballard's room, but he let his gaze linger on the bodybuilder for only a moment. Clarence's mouth was dry and his heart was beating fast. He pretended to study each of the huge men carefully, but he had already decided that it was safer to say that he didn't recognize anyone in the lineup. That way he wouldn't have to go to court. To make it seem that he was trying, Clarence asked to have the men step forward and turn to the side. Then he asked to have Corrales and another man step out again. After a few more minutes, he turned to Mike Greene.

I can't say for sure that it's any of them. I mean, that guy on the end could be him, he said, pointing at Corrales so it would seem as though he was being honest if Corrales was ever arrested, but I'm not going to swear under oath about the man.

Frank tried not to show how disappointed he was, but at least Edwards had not selected Prochaska. Mike thanked Edwards and had an officer take him back to his cell, after assuring him that he appreciated his effort and promising to talk to his parole officer in the morning.

We' re back to square one, Mike said as soon as Edwards was out of the room.

He picked Corrales as the person who most looked like the man he saw at the Continental, Mike. Dorado is trying to frame Art and you' re helping him.

You' re conveniently forgetting that Prochaska's prints were found on the beer can on Ballard's night table.

Frank didn't show it, but the discovery of the gun that had killed Ballard and the arrest of two men who fit Clarence Edwards's description of the men at the Continental had made him forget about the thumbprint the most damning evidence against his client. He talked with Mike a little longer, but all the time they were talking, part of his brain was trying to reconcile his belief that Arthur Wayne Prochaska was innocent with the presence in Ballard's motel room of evidence that Prochaska had been in the room where Ballard had been brutally murdered. His last hope was Paul Baylor. If the forensic expert didn't find some way to challenge the print, Art was dead.

Have you had a chance to go over the forensic evidence in the Prochaska case? Frank asked as soon as Baylor picked up the phone.

I reviewed the ballistics match and the fingerprint evidence this morning.

What did you find?

Nothing that's going to help you. I looked at the readouts from the neutron activation analysis that was conducted at the Reed reactor. The bullet that killed Ballard matches the bullet from Prochaska's closet.

What about the print on the beer can?

The print isn't on the can anymore, of course. Cashman lifted it with fingerprint tape and put it on a card for comparison and preservation. But he took a photograph of the can with the print before he did the lift. I compared the print in the photograph with Prochaska's fingerprints, and they match. I also compared the print on the card with Prochaska's prints, and they match.

Damn. Art swears he was never in that room.

Someone could have taken the beer can after Art touched it and planted it, Baylor suggested.

I thought of that. Art doesn't drink that brand and he can't remember holding a can of that beer. He's pretty positive about that.

Either he's lying or he forgot that he held the can, but his prints are definitely on it.

Frank hung up and stared out of the window. He didn't see anything in the sky that would help him win Art Prochaska's case, but he kept looking, because everything on planet Earth was killing him.

Chapter
38.

DOUG WEAVER WAS HAVING ANOTHER NIGHTMARE, BUT THIS ONE was different. Instead of being at the penitentiary on the day of Raymond Hayes's execution, he was in the woods, trapped in a blizzard. Doug struggled through the knee-high drifts, tripping forward, pausing to wipe the snow off his glasses.

In his dream, the wind chill drove the temperature below zero. Each breath of frozen air seared his lungs. He was weak, but he was compelled to struggle on in order to save Ray, who was always just out of reach. Doug caught glimpses of him through the trees when the wind let up. He called out, but Ray didn't hear him.

Doug knew that neither of them would last long in the storm, but he also knew, without understanding how, that there was a way out if he could just discover it. It had something to do with the snow, which was like a fine powder. Doug was getting desperate. He tried to spin in a circle to search for a path to safety, but the snow was falling more rapidly, and he could not see through it. He screamed harder for help, and he was screaming when he sat up in bed with the full realization that he knew what was wrong with the hammer and the evidence bag. It had been so obvious that no one had seen what was literally right in front of everyone's eyes.

His first insight was followed by two more: Raymond Hayes was dead because Doug was an incompetent hack who had been too lazy to have Bernard Cashman's work double-checked, and Cashman had murdered Ray as surely as if he had shot him.

Doug felt numb. He wandered into the kitchen in the dark. There was enough light from the moon to see the cabinet where he kept his liquor. He sat at the kitchen table and poured his first glass of scotch since agreeing to work on Jacob's murder case. By the time he finished his second glass, he was sobbing quietly. What had happened to his life? Where had all the promise gone? His future had seemed so shiny after law school. All that was left now was loneliness, guilt, and failure.

Anger at Cashman replaced self-pity halfway through his third glass of scotch, and Doug began thinking of ways to avenge Ray. He looked at the kitchen clock and tried to read the time. The alcohol had affected him, and it was a struggle to make out the position of the hands of the clock in the dark. He finally decided that it was a little before two.

If Doug had been sober and had thought a little longer, he would have understood how foolish he would be to confront Cashman, but Doug was so angry and intoxicated that he was not thinking straight. He turned on the light and found his phone book. Cashman was not listed. He looked up the number for the state crime lab, and dialed it. After several rings, an automated directory gave him a number of choices. Doug pressed O.

I know it's late, Doug said when the night operator answered, but it's urgent that I speak to Bernard Cashman, one of your criminalists, about a case he's working on.

I can't give out Mr. Cashman's home number, the operator said. You can call back in the morning when he's in.

This can't wait. Can you call him and tell him it's Doug Weaver and I have to talk to him about the hammer in the Hayes case? I'm certain he'll take the call.

When the operator put him on hold, Doug started to have second thoughts. Maybe he should wait until morning. He could tell Amanda what he'd figured out, and they could go to the district attorney. He had almost decided to hang up when the operator told him that Mr. Cashman would not accept his call. Doug breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone. He'd been a fool to act so rashly. He should run his theory by Paul Baylor, anyway. Doug himself was no scientist. Maybe he was wrong. He'd go back to bed and try to sleep. He wanted to be fresh in the morning.

Before he went back to the bedroom, Doug made one more call, to Amanda Jaffe's office. A recorded menu told him her voice-mail extension. He pressed her number, and Amanda's voice asked him to leave a message.

Amanda, this is Doug Weaver. I'm calling in the middle of the night. I know you' re not in, but I' ve got to see you first thing in the morning. I just had a nightmare. I was in the woods in a terrible snowstorm and Raymond Hayes was just out of reach. In the dream, the snow was so dense that I couldn't see anything, but there was something weird about the snow. It wasn't made up of thick flakes. It had the consistency of powder. That's when I figured it out. I know what's wrong with the hammer. I

Doug had call waiting on his phone, and he heard an insistent beep on the line.

Someone's calling me on my other line. I'll tell you what I figured out in the morning. It's about Bernie Cashman. Have Paul Baylor there.

He heard the annoying beep again, and pressed FLASH to switch to the other call.

Doug Weaver? a voice asked.

Yes. Who's this?

Bernie Cashman. You just called me. I was pretty groggy from being woken up. That's why I didn't take your call. But I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking that the call must be important if you phoned at this hour.

Doug didn't know what to say.

Are you there? Cashman asked. He didn't sound upset or scared. He sounded calm, like someone with a clear conscience.

Yes, I Well, I represented Raymond Hayes, Weaver mumbled while he tried to get his thoughts together.

I know. You told the operator that this was about the hammer in Mr. Hayes's case.

I know you lied about finding Ray's print on the hammer, Doug blurted out.