False Witness (34 page)

She looked at him. “I’m . . . still processing, I guess.”

“I understand. There’s more to tell you, too.”

“Yeah, I kinda gathered that last night.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“How about the beginning?”

So he told her everything, from the night of Tom Ferbey’s death up to meeting her at Irma’s Kitchen.

“The rest you know,” he said. “You’ve been there.”

Angie stared at the wall for a full minute while Alex fidgeted. He hadn’t wanted a cigarette so much since the day Leslie Singer found him in the alley outside the courthouse. He wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to walk away right now and never see him again.

Finally, she turned towards him. She wasn’t smiling, but her face was open. “So your name is really Alex Dunn?”

“Yeah.”

She reached out her hand. He took it.

“Pleased to meet you, Alex Dunn.”

He smiled. “Same here, Angie Dawson.”

“Oh my God,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We have the same initials now.”

“Uh-oh. That means we have to get matching jackets.”

She smiled and slapped his arm. Then she leaned close and kissed him. “I’m still here,” she said.

“I appreciate that. Because things are going to get even weirder when Jason Crowe gets here.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Come on, Shitbox made you some breakfast.”

“Actually, I was hoping I could go home and get a change of clothes.”

Shitbox appeared in the doorway. His girth took up almost the entire space. “Sorry, Miz Dawson,” he said, stifling a yawn. “It’s just not safe. You need to stay here until Jason shows up. It shouldn’t be long now.”

Angie frowned. “Are you sure? I won’t be very long.”

“Sorry. I got my orders.”

Alex thought he saw a flash of anger on her face. He couldn’t blame her; her life had been turned upside down, and now she couldn’t even change her clothes. In any case, it didn’t last. She turned to Alex. “So when is this Jason Crowe going to get here?”

“Any minute now,” he said. “I have to say, I’m looking forward to finally meeting him. We’ve got a lot to talk about.

Alex, Angie and Shitbox stood in the cabin’s gravel driveway as the silver Yukon pulled up fifteen minutes later. Alex’s guts were in knots as he saw Jason Crowe’s grim face in the driver’s window. The whole situation seemed impossible: sixteen hours earlier, he was as happy as he’d ever been in his life. Now, he was about to meet a man who, up until last night, he thought wanted him dead.

Crowe got out first, followed by Tess and Sam. Crowe surveyed the areas as he shook Shitbox’s hand. “Good work, big boy,” he said. “This is an excellent spot. Lots of cover, good visibility down to the road. Close to Dunn’s motel. I’m impressed.”

Shitbox beamed. “Thanks, boss. I haven’t talked to any of the Roses since you called me.”

“What about the clowns last night? Did any of them get a good look at you?”

“Maybe,” Shitbox said sheepishly. “I’m not sure.”

“I doubt it,” said Alex. “All I saw was a wall in the dark.” He figured he might as well make the first move. He put out his hand. “Alex Dunn. You must be Jason Crowe.”

Crowe took the offered hand. “I’d say it’s high time we met.”

Alex nodded toward Sam. “Walsh,” he said.

“Dunn,” Sam replied. “I hear blondes have more fun. Is it true?”

“Shut up, Walsh,” Crowe snapped before Alex could respond.

Tess saw Alex’s eye and gasped. “Oh my God, Alex! What happened to you?”

“He had a run-in last night with some locals,” said Crowe. “Shitbox took care of it.”

The big man waved to Tess and Sam. “Shitbox,” he said with a grin. “Pleased to meetcha.”

Tess waved back awkwardly. “Tess Gallagher,” she said. “This is Sam Walsh.”

“Hiya,” said Sam.

Tess glared at Crowe. “You didn’t think to tell us that Alex was attacked? We were in that car for three and a half hours!”

“Look at him,” said Crowe. “He’s fine.”

Alex didn’t think we has fine, but there was no way he was going to admit that in front of Crowe and Walsh. “Yeah,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

He heard Angie clear her throat behind him, turned and saw her raised eyebrows.
Jesus,
he groaned inwardly.
This is like being the mutual friend at a really bad party.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Angie Dawson, this is Tess Gallagher and Sam Walsh from the Chronicle. Guys, this is Angie Dawson.”

Crowe frowned. “Shitbox said you’d made a friend. I take it this is her?”

“Yeah,” said Angie, eyes hot. She stepped out from behind Alex. “I’m
her
. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk like I wasn’t here. Everything was going great with me and Alex until I found out about
you
people. And thanks to you, I’m caught up in something I don’t understand, which, according to Shitbox, could get me killed. So cut me a little slack, okay?”

Alex wrapped an arm around her waist and gave the rest of the group a defiant look. He was proud of her for standing up for herself. This wasn’t her fight.

Crowe held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. But this is a fucked up scenario for all of us, and we all have a lot of talking to do. We should get to it.”

Angie crossed her arms on her chest. “I’m not a part of this,” she said. “I mean, other than the fact that Alex and I are . . . involved. You all can do what you need to do. I won’t go to the police, or anyone else, I promise. I just want to go home.”

“I agree,” said Alex. “Whatever’s going on here, Angie isn’t a part of it.”

Shitbox was fidgeting with his enormous fingers, clearly rattled by the argument.
You’ve got to be kidding
, Alex thought.
He can wipe out five guys like a buzzsaw, but he can’t handle a little confrontation?

“I tried to tell em, Jason,” the giant said. “But I don’t know everything. Maybe you can?”

Crowe sighed. The look on his face made Alex think of a line his grandfather used to say:
rode hard and put away wet
. Dark crescents hung under the man’s eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week. He seemed to have a perpetual scowl. For some reason, it made him think of Chuck Palliser.

“I wish we could do that, Angie,” said Crowe. “I really do. The last thing I wanted was another person tangled up in this. But there are too many dead bodies tied to this thing already.”

“Shitbox told us about Diane Manning last night,” said Alex. “You’re all lucky to be alive.”

Tess stepped forward. “We have Jason to thank for that,” she said. “And Sam.”

The smirk on Walsh’s face was annoying, but Alex had to admit the guy had guts. And he had saved Tess’s life. That alone was worth giving him a break. Not to mention the fact he was here to help Alex, when he really had no reason to.

“We can pat ourselves on the back later,” said Crowe. “We need to get inside and start figuring this out.” He turned to Alex. “I found you here weeks ago, which means whoever’s behind this has probably figured it out, too. They may not be here right now, but I’m not willing to bet anyone’s life on that.”

That jogged Alex’s memory. “About that,” he said. “How the hell did you find me so quickly? I had a whole new identity set up by Chuck Palliser and Leslie Singer. I drove a rented car, stayed under the radar.”

Crowe gave him a sardonic grin. “I know a guy with an IQ of 170,” he said. “Sort of an asshole
savant
. He cross-referenced info from you and your friends on social media, then used that to come up with a likely place for you to hide. Then he started hacking into hotel databases and found someone named Alex Wolfe. A little fidgeting with the cheap wifi security camera and there you were. He’d never admit it, but I’m sure there was more than a little luck involved.”

“Jesus,” Alex breathed. “I told Singer I should have gone to the cops instead of hiding out!”

“That wouldn’t have stopped these guys,” said Crowe. “It didn’t keep them from taking out Palliser.”

“Funny,” said Alex. “That’s just what Leslie Singer said. Has anyone heard from her?”

“Nothing,” said Walsh. “Wherever she went, she’s good and lost.”

“Smart woman,” said Crowe, walking to the back of the Yukon. “There’s no point in going to the cops now, either. Even if they could protect you, as soon as they found out I’m involved, they’ll turn the investigation on
us
, not the ones who want us dead.” He popped the latch, lifted the door and reached inside. He emerged with a heavy black nylon bag on his shoulder. Walsh and Tess followed suit, pulling out overnight bags.

Walsh watched Crowe as he pulled the back door closed. “You told us to travel light,” he said. “What have you got in there?”

Crowe looked at him like it was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “Guns,” he said simply.

Alex felt his stomach turn. If there was any residual hope that this situation would somehow just go away, that single word drove it from his mind completely. This was life and death. This was
real
.

Crowe headed into the cabin and everyone followed. Shitbox grinned as they got to the kitchen.

“Anybody want bacon?” he asked gleefully.

#

The next hour consisted of each one telling what they knew about the night of Tom Ferbey’s murder, the trial, and the following events from their perspective (except, of course, for Angie, who stayed silent). Shitbox listened intently, but his glazed eyes betrayed his lack of understanding. He finally left the room and moved to the kitchen to do the dishes. Crowe got up periodically to peer out the living room window at the road below. A couple of times he left the conversation entirely and walked the perimeter of the cabin.

Revelation followed revelation for Alex. It hadn’t been Tom Ferbey at all who had annoyed him with phone calls about a stockpile of meth at Highland Storage. Now Alex realized that whoever had been on the phone also influenced what he ended up believing about that night, and hence his testimony. It hadn’t been Tom Ferbey on the phone, and it hadn’t been Rufus Hodge he’d seen shooting Tom. Alex had been played like a chess piece, and his testimony had helped convict an innocent man. And Jason Crowe, the boogeyman, might just be the only person who could keep him alive.

Finally, Tess came out with the question Alex had been dreading since they had begun talking things through.

“There’s one thing I don’t get,” she said. She sat Indian style on the floor next to Sam, sipping her second cup of Shitbox’s surprisingly good coffee. “The verdict. Gregory Larocque is known across the province as a liberal judge. Sam and Diane both said that, looking back, there wasn’t nearly enough hard evidence for a conviction.”

“Maybe it was optics,” said Sam. “Diane said she wasn’t going to bother with an appeal because Hodge was just too unlikeable to be a sympathetic case. Especially after Palliser and Duff were murdered.”

Crowe returned from outside. Alex hadn’t even noticed he was gone. The guy was amazingly quiet in spite of his boots. “That’s just it,” said Crowe, turning a kitchen chair and straddling it. “Larocque ruled
before
the killings. I know Hodge wasn’t exactly Little Miss Sunshine during the trial, but he wasn’t a cop-killer at that point. That couldn’t have influenced the verdict.”

“It didn’t,” Alex said quietly. “But something else did.”

All eyes turned to him, except for Angie’s. She had been staring at her hands for several minutes.
Here we go
, he thought.
Time to pay the piper.

“What do you mean?” Tess asked.

“Look, I know how this is going to sound, but hear me out first, okay?”

“Just get to the point,” Crowe groused.

“Larocque had a hate on for Hodge because Hodge attacked his daughter in Fish Creek and threatened her. Told her to tell Larocque that they could get to her any time.”

Sam frowned. “Larocque doesn’t have a daughter.”

“She’s illegitimate. Name’s Sarah Payne.”

Crowe’s eyes narrowed. “No way,” he said. “Didn’t happen.”

“She called him up herself and told him about it.”

“All right, maybe it
happened
, but if it was one of the Roses – and I’m not saying it was – it sure as hell wasn’t under my orders.”

Shitbox came back into the living room, drying his hands on a dish towel. Red spots had blossomed high on his heavy cheeks. “Um, boss?” he squeaked. “I don’t wanna accuse anybody, but you did say you couldn’t trust the rest of the guys.”

Crowe looked agitated. He slammed a fist on the back of the chair. “Goddammit,” he said finally. “All I
do
know is that Hodge didn’t have anything to do with it, and neither did I. If it
was
one of the Roses, he was doing it on his own.”

“But why?” asked Tess. “Whoever it was obviously tried to manipulate the verdict in the other direction.”

“I don’t know,” said Alex. “The judge called Chuck that same night, and Chuck made sure Sarah was protected. He sent a uniformed cop for her, so maybe she went into official witness protection. I don’t know exactly what happened to her after that.”

Sam held up a hand. His expression was dark. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re saying you
knew
the verdict had been influenced?”

Alex hung his head. “Yeah,” he said. “I found out that night. Chuck and Singer were in on it, too. Chuck was a hard guy, unforgiving. He believed that what they’d done was justice. He made me believe it, too.”

Saying it out loud, Alex realized now how wrong he’d been. It seemed so right that night in Singer’s office, so
natural
. But now he knew in his heart that it should have gone against every instinct he had as a reporter. With that came another realization: the book. Everything he’d written so far, almost fifty thousand words, was bullshit. And had he ever planned to address the subject of Larocque’s tainted verdict? No, he hadn’t.

Angie put a hand on his. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. No.”

Crowe surprised Alex by cocking his head at an odd angle and pretending to play the violin. “Boo-fucking-hoo,” he said testily. “Any one of us would’ve done the same thing in your situation. Get over it.”