Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel (22 page)

“Ya know, Bobby, I knew this fella in prison, pig farmer from Iron County,” Harlan said while twirling the bat over his shoulder. “Tall like you but a good bit thicker. Strong fucker too. Son of a bitch was always trying to turn self-respecting men into cock smokers.”

Harlan had always liked the sound of a Louisville Slugger moving through the air. He took a couple of healthy swings with the bat.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

“Far as I’m concerned, Bobby, a man can find his pleasure wherever and however the hell he likes as long as whoever is on the receiving end don’t object none. Particularly in prison, where pickings are slim and we’re all fairly accustomed to the depraved side of people. I’m damn open-minded about such things as that.”

Harlan stepped into a full swing, as if he was standing at home plate, and the sound could be heard clear through the room.

Whoooosh.

Bobby yelped with fear and screwed his eyes shut tight.

“I made it clear I wanted nothin’ to do with that old boy, but he came callin’ on me anyways. Brought a couple of his farm boy associates to hold me down. I’ll admit he got the better of me to begin with.”

Whoosh.

“But after that day, he didn’t ever shove that nasty hunk of flesh in anyone’s mouth again.”

Whoosh. Whoosh.

“You know why, Bobby?”

Bobby’s chest heaved. Vomit oozed out around the edge of the red plastic ball and dribbled down his chin. He reflexively breathed in, then gagged, starting the process over. Harlan ignored the man’s discomfort.

“Cuz I bit that thing clean off.”

Whoooooosh.

“Took a good bit of work, and that old boy was banging on the back of my head with both fists the whole time. Damn near knocked me out.”

Whoosh.

“But yeah, it came off all right. I spit that prick out right there on the cell floor. Come to find out that makes for a serious injury. His boys carted him off, smearin’ a blood trail that ran all the way to the damn infirmary.”

Whoosh.

“And they don’t be offerin’ none of that reconstructive surgery shit in a prison hospital. No, sir. Prison docs just threw out the spare parts and stapled ’im up. Hooked in a tube to piss out of and told him, ‘Guess you’ll just go dickless.’ That’s some cold shit for a doc to tell a guy, ain’t it?”

Whoosh.

“And that, Bobby, is the only time I ever felt the slap of a man’s balls against my chin. First, last, and only.”

Harlan used his empty hand to position Bobby’s head while the other held the bat poised over his shoulder. In anticipation of what might be coming, Bobby made a terrible noise that Harlan took for begging. Harlan pulled on Bobby’s chin, and the man’s eyes swam in deep pools of mascara-colored tears.

“I make no judgments about ya, Bobby. I want you to know that. Now just go on and hold still.”

Bobby rocked his head back and forth. Even with the gag, he managed to make such a racket of guttural screams Harlan feared the noise might bring notice even at this late hour.

Harlan improved his stance and again recollected the face of the Iron County pig farmer. Gripping the bat with both hands, he lifted his front foot and stepped into the swing with every bit of strength he possessed. Wood connected with bone, and he rotated his hips like he was swinging for the fences. There was a loud pop as the man’s skull broke into a half-dozen sections, a good bit of the contents spraying out against Harlan’s hands, arms, and face. A sizable chunk that included one eye smacked against the wall, where it stuck for a second or two before falling to the floor, staring back from where it had come. The chair that held the now nearly headless body began to lean to one side, hung balanced for a moment, then toppled over. The man’s head had the look of a giant eggshell shattered beyond any hope of repair. A moment passed, and then Harlan’s hard breath and the settling cranial contents were the only sounds left in the room.

THIRTY-TWO

Tia parked in front of the Sawyer house. It was just after sunup and only one media truck was parked outside the home. The lone occupant dozed in the driver’s seat, so Tia exited her car doing her best to keep the noise down. Tia slipped past the man who had the seat halfway reclined and was snoring loudly. She jogged to the front porch, thinking back on her last visit.
Could it have been just a week ago? It doesn’t seem possible.

She had tried to call Ben half a dozen times over the past three days, but an answering machine with Alex’s voice was as close as she got. This morning she decided she had waited long enough. The house stood quiet, and she gave the screen door a light rap of her knuckles. A moment later a woman came to the door.

“Oh.” Tia was surprised. “Hey, Mrs. Erickson. I’m here to see Ben—I mean, Sergeant Sawyer. I called ahead but there was no answer. I just thought I’d come by.”

Bernice was drying her hands on a dish towel. Dressed in a blouse and casual slacks, she looked relaxed until Tia met her gaze. There was pain and fear behind a thin mask of feigned confidence. The woman was doing her best to put up a strong front.

“Hello, Tia.” Bernice swung the door open. Her voice was strained and quiet. “Please come in and I’ll get Sergeant Sawyer.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude.

Bernice seemed to find some strength in her voice. “No, no. You’re not intruding. Someone has to do something to get this man—”

Bernice stopped when she heard the sound on the stairs. Both women turned and saw Jake halfway down at the landing. He was dressed in sweat pants and a well-worn Oakland Raiders T-shirt. Tia thought back to her last meeting with the boy and found herself at a loss for words.

Jake spoke first. “Have you seen my mom? Do you know when she can come home?”

Tia stuttered. “I-I haven’t, Jake. I’m sorry. But your mom is tough. I’m sure she is hanging in there. But your dad has visited, right? You can talk to him about it.”

Jake scoffed. “He can’t do anything. They don’t even listen to him.”

Ben came down the steps and stood next to his son. He looked asleep on his feet. “What are you doing at home? Didn’t you go to school?”

Tia listened as Jake responded in a tone of disrespect and anger. “I told you. I’m not going to school. No way.”

Ben shook his head, then turned away from his son. He looked at the two women standing in the entry of the house, his face marked with distrust. “What’s up?”

Tia took three steps toward the staircase. “I need to talk to you. It’s about the case against Alex.”

“What about it? I’m trying to get some sleep before visiting hours. Can this wait?”

Jake looked at his dad with a huff and then retreated back up the stairs.

Bernice took a firm tone. “I’m sure Officer Suarez wouldn’t be coming by if it weren’t important, Benjamin. You two need to talk.”

“Really, Sarge,” Tia said. “We need to talk. Now.”

Ben cursed under his breath and came down the stairs with heavy steps. He walked into the living room and motioned for Tia to join him. Bernice left them alone. Ben dropped himself onto a couch and put his bare feet on a coffee table. Tia looked around and took a seat in an easy chair. She had been in the room only briefly during her last visit. Now she noticed the torn upholstery and the general shabbiness of the furniture. Ben picked up on her observations.

“Nice, huh?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Our fall from grace out in California ended up being pretty costly. Not to mention the damn medical bills these days, but don’t get me started.”

Alex looked at the picture over the fireplace of the Sawyer family. Jake looked to be around five. Ben and Alex were younger too. The family was on a beach, wearing matching outfits and with bare feet. It was a beautiful portrait of the perfect family at what Tia figured was a much happier time. She looked at Ben and saw he was looking at the photo as well.

Tia sat forward in the chair and spoke. “I got hold of some useful intel from the murder. McKenzie is keeping everything under lock and key, but we can work around his dumb ass. I’m figuring if someone is out to frame Alex, we should start at the beginning, right?”

Ben chuckled slightly, and Tia realized from the sound of it that he was exhausted. “Framed, huh? Where do you get off thinking some crazy shit like that?”

Tia stopped. “What do you mean? You think Alex is good for it?”

“Who gives a shit, Suarez?” Ben shouted. He was closer to the edge than Tia had anticipated. “My wife kills a guy, or maybe she doesn’t. Does it really matter? Have you seen the papers? I’ve got some experience in this kind of bullshit. Believe me, facts aren’t all that important to the process.”

Ben rubbed an open hand across his face, then went on.

“I got a call from a friend at the DA’s office. Wanted me to know they’ll give Alex one bite at the apple and that’s it. After that, they’re going to bring all they got. Like I said, it doesn’t really matter if she did it or not. If she doesn’t plead, they’ll put her away for life.”

Tia wasn’t ready to give up, but she had to ask. “What’s the offer?”

Ben stared back. “Murder two. Twelve to fifteen. Minimum-security facility. But they also want my resignation. Shit, they practically told me we have to leave town. The mayor, the Council, the DA—everyone wants the whole mess to just go away.”

Tia knew there was a hard road ahead but didn’t hesitate in her response.

“Okay. Listen up, Sarge. You got two choices. First one is Alex killed Louis Carson and then I guess that deal might not be too bad.” Tia let the words sink in before she went on.

“The only other possibility is she’s getting railroaded. Crazy, I know. But it’s one or the other.” Tia paused. “So tell me, Ben. You said you wished just one person had given you the benefit of the doubt, right? What about your wife? Don’t you figure she’s feeling the same way? Just hoping one person will stand up and fight for her?”

When Ben sat silent, Tia went on. “You don’t think Doyle McKenzie gives a shit about the truth, do you? His case is solved. He’s lining up media interviews. Probably working on a frickin’ book deal.”

“How could it be a setup?” Ben asked. “I mean, even I have to say that seems like a stretch.”

“I’ve read over what they’ve got and none of it is hard evidence. It’s got the feel of a frame-up. Believe me, I know more about this stuff than I want to admit. You don’t want to know how we worked people over in Afghanistan. If we needed to get rid of a drug lord or a local tribe leader who didn’t want to play ball, we’d build cases for what they called ‘cultural sins.’ Stuff like fraternizing with Westerners or homosexual bullshit. We didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about where the proof came from. Planting evidence, creating motive out of thin air. When it came time for the target to get stoned or his head to end up in a basket, we’d say, ‘Mission accomplished,’ and that was that. You can make anybody look pretty damn guilty if you put your mind to it.”

Ben stared at her. “Keep talking.”

“Most of what they got on Alex is pretty predictable. A weapon, blood … the bullshit pictures that are supposed to support the idea of an affair. It’s really a pretty amateur job.” Ben had never seen this side of Tia Suarez—the part of her that was a repository of subversive clandestine knowledge he was completely unfamiliar with.

“What we need to do is take it back to the beginning,” Tia said. “Working on the assumption that this is all a frame-up, then the nine one one call from the anonymous person is bullshit.” She looked at Ben. “In my mind, that makes it a pretty safe bet the caller is the killer.”

“Has McKenzie followed up on it?” Ben asked. “Has he run the number down?”

“Yeah.” Tia smirked. “To a pay phone a half mile up the road from the murder scene. Nobody saw anything. For his incompetent ass, that’s as far as it goes.”

“So? The phone location would be captured, but if it’s a pay phone there’s not much you can do with that, right?”

“Leave that to me. I’ve got some friends working on it.”

Ben’s voice was hesitant. “What are you saying? You need to keep it legit or Jorgensen will have your ass. You’ll lose your job.”

“I don’t give a shit about Jorgensen,” Tia said. “And believe me, this is old school for me. I can—”

Ben cut her off. “You’ve done enough. Really. I don’t want you in the middle of this. Alex has an attorney. I’ll light a fire under his court-appointed ass.”

Tia sounded shocked. “Court appointed? You mean like a public defender?”

Ben’s face went red and he answered, “I know. I’m working on it. The retainer to hire a private lawyer on a murder rap is pretty stiff. It’s fifty K minimum. If you really want an adequate defense, it’ll cost you six figures up front. For now, this guy is all we got.”

“Sarge, I got ten grand stuck away in a CD. My family has a farm in Mexico. Let me make some calls and—”

“Knock it off,” Ben said. “Don’t even think about it.”

“All right. But if this lawyer tries to blow you off, let me know. I’m telling you, I can find the guy who made the call, whoever he is and wherever he is. I’ll throw him in the trunk of my Goat and drop him off on your doorstep. Give you a few minutes alone with him. You got some experience in that area, right?” Tia winked, trying to get Ben to show some life. He smiled but said nothing.

“Sarge, you aren’t giving up, are you? I mean, you can’t leave this up to McKenzie, Boyd, and some welfare lawyer.”

“What am I supposed to do? I have a kid to take care of, Alex’s dad is starting to lose it, and in case you forgot, I’m suspended with no paychecks coming in. I don’t have access to a damn thing.”

“You got me.” Tia reached out and put her hand on his knee and squeezed. “Come on, Ben. Get mad. You gotta fight.”

Ben held eye contact for several seconds. “You’re a good friend, Tia. That means a lot to me right now.”

Tia stood from the chair and headed for the door. Ben stood to follow. “Go visit your wife. Take some time with her. Make sure you tell her I said hello and not to worry. We’re going to figure this out. She’ll be home in no time.”