Miscarriage Of Justice (14 page)

Jessi’s house stood in stark contrast to that of Mariana’s. Overgrown shrubs and bushes surrounded by a neglected lawn of weeds was the scene that greeted guests. While the house was not in bad shape on the inside, the outside was a different story. Deteriorating siding hung loose, sagging here and there, and bulging out in places. What paint hadn’t faded was peeling. A once blacktopped, now crumbling driveway, was paved with more grease than a fast food restaurant carried in their fryers. At least one window was cracked, shattered to be more accurate, the pane held precariously in place by masking tape. The cheap tape had become brittle and turned a cloudy beige from a prolonged exposure to the elements. A small hand-painted sign hung by the door that read, “Home, Sweet Home.”

Jessi met her friend at the door. “I thought something had happened to you,” she said looking pointedly at her watch. “I figured you’d be here waiting when I got off work.”

Shaking her head, Mariana set her suitcase just inside the door. “No, I made it okay. I didn’t get gone until almost two-thirty.”

Helping her friend with the rest of her things, Jessi closed the door. Immediately, she voiced what had been on her mind since they’d talked on the phone earlier. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing really,” Mariana hedged, still wondering how much she should tell her friend.

Jessi was having none of that. “Yeah, right! ‘Nothing’ as you say, wouldn’t have you so upset, keep you from work, or make you drive two hours just to get away in the middle of the week.”

Mariana sighed, not meeting Jessi’s unyielding look. She’d have to tell her the whole story. Maybe then her friend would understand.

The two women were seated at the kitchen table. The impetuous Jessi, always spontaneous and impulsive, suddenly jumped up. “Wait,” she said. “You want something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, she opened the freezer, filling two glasses with ice. Then, realizing Mariana hadn’t said anything, looked at her questioningly. “Well?”

Blinking and snapping her mind back to the present, Mariana said, “Oh, yeah. I’ll just have some water.”

“Water? Since when did you start being so health conscious?” Jessi mocked.

Mariana shrugged. “I don’t know. I just decided I like water.”

Setting the glasses on the table, water for Mariana, and something stronger for herself, Jessi sat back down. “Now tell me what has you all upset, and if you say ‘nothing’, I’m going to dump this over your head.” She raised the glass menacingly.

Mariana laughed. “Okay, okay. Don’t get carried away. I’ll tell you.”

Jessi sipped her cold drink, patiently waiting for the reluctant Mariana to start speaking.

“There’s been a guy threatening me,” a weary Mariana began. “Threatening me. Harassing me. An ex-con, one I sent away. He recently got out.” She then launched into a short account of the events since Ethan had been released.

Jessi was clearly confused and it showed on her face. “And why haven’t you hauled his butt into court and sent him back to prison?”

Mariana looked down. “I can’t,” she said quietly.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Jessi exclaimed indignantly. “I know you are the lawyer, but I think what you’ve described is known as stalking and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.”

“Yeah it is, but I really don’t have any proof that it’s him,” Mariana dithered. She still was hesitant to divulge the whole story.

At that moment, the doorbell, announcing the arrival of an unknown visitor, interrupted their conversation. Jessi saw Mariana tense up instantly at the sound. “Relax,” she said gently, patting her friend’s shoulder. “It’s just the pizza guy. I ordered supper as soon as I got home.”

Mariana’s face softened and she forced a smile, trying to act jovial. “You still haven’t learned how to cook?”

“I know how,” Jessi insisted, feigning a hurt look. “I just choose not to.” She disappeared into the living room, scrounging through her purse for some money on the way.

Only when Mariana heard the door close, did she again relax. Her friend, returning with a large pepperoni pizza slid the box onto the table. Grabbing two plates from the cabinet, Jessi resumed their conversation. “If you don’t have any proof, how do you know who the guy is?” she asked.

Inhaling deeply, Mariana slowly let out the breath. After a prolonged period of silence, she looked her friend in the eye. “I guess I might as well tell you the whole story.”

“There’s an idea,” Jessi remarked dryly.

“The guy’s name is Ethan Rafferty,” Marion said. Then she related the case from start to finish, every sordid detail, including her own mendacious part in things, taking great pains to not sugarcoat it.

The pizza was not even half gone, but by now, both of them had forgotten about eating. Jessi listened attentively, not saying a word until Mariana was finished. Then, in her own candid way she replied, “So you’re just going to allow this to continue? Until what? The day they find you dead?”

“Do I have much of a choice?” a solemn Mariana asked. “I mean about what he does? Of course, I’m not going to let him kill me if I can help it.” She shrugged. “So far, he hasn’t made any direct moves or attempted to harm me. In fact, I have not even seen him. Considering the circumstances, I don’t think there’s much I can do to keep him from calling or sending things in the mail.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Mariana I know,” Jessi spouted. “The girl I knew in college would’ve found a way to stop him.”

“Well, if it actually comes to something physical, if he tries anything, I think he’ll find I’m not a poor, helpless or defenseless female.”

“Yeah, he’d probably be surprised,” Jessi agreed, recalling several instances when Mariana’s strong tendency to forcibly assert her will had made for an interesting show. Sometimes her friend’s temper had gotten them out of trouble. More often, it had gotten them deeper into it. “I still think you ought to report him,” she said. “Sure, he’ll claim you knew of his innocence, but isn’t that normal? Don’t most criminals think they’ve been shafted? How is he going prove it? He has no credibility. He’s already been convicted. Anything he says will automatically be viewed with suspicion. Who is going to believe him?”

“A court might and I really can’t take that chance.”

Jessi’s eyes narrowed. “He has nothing to back up his claim,” she scoffed.

“Unless he really does have copies of those pictures,” Mariana reminded her.

Jessi shook her head. “All that would prove is that he’s likely connected in some way to the killer. Why else would he be carrying them around? You know he’s innocent, but the court doesn’t.”

“And what about the reflection of the photographer?” Mariana said. “It’s definitely not him. And the timeline is still a major problem.”

“Hmm,” Jessi frowned. “Do you think there could actually be more copies?”

Mariana nodded. “There could be. The ones I have are not Polaroid’s, they’ve been processed. Which means after having them developed, the killer had to return to the scene of the crime to place them in the clock. It stands to reason he wouldn’t have had just one set made and then gotten rid of them. Besides, how would Ethan have put them in the house? He was arrested right away; he really had no opportunity to have them developed and then place them in the clock.”

Jessi was quiet for a moment. Thinking. “The guy who called you that night is the only one who knew for sure about the ones you have, right? And he’s dead. So, I don’t see how anyone can prove anything.”

“They don’t really need proof,” Mariana said. “If Ethan can produce those pictures to support his story, the Court will order the case reopened. All of this would be sure to come out in the ensuing investigation.”

“So what are you going to do?” Jessi asked. “You can’t stay here forever. I mean, I don’t mind having you around; you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, but you can’t just disappear for the rest of your life.”

“I know,” Mariana said softly. “I just need some time to think.”

“Maybe,” Jessi offered with a wink, “you can hire a hit man—like in the movies. Just have the guy taken out. You know, eliminate the problem.”

Mariana raised an eyebrow, giving Jessi a reproving look. “Tempting as that may be, I don’t think so. Then I’d be the one going to prison.”

“If Ethan has copies of those pictures, you might be headed there anyway,” Jessi said bluntly.

“Thanks,” Mariana responded with a disgusted roll of her eyes.

The two of them talked the rest of the evening away, until well after midnight, but neither could come up with a viable solution. A solution, which eliminated the problem but left Mariana’s reputation and career intact, simply did not seem to exist.

Mariana was both surprised and relieved that from the beginning of telling her story, Jessi hadn’t uttered a single disapproving word. No condemnation for the unethical and ignoble behavior of knowingly sending an innocent man to prison. She knew without being told, her friend didn’t condone what she’d done, but neither did she hold it against her.

The next two weeks were spent much the same way as Mariana’s first night there. During the day, Jessi went to work, and Mariana stayed inside the house—and did nothing. At night, they talked. Jessi continued trying to get her friend to either turn herself in, or just have Ethan arrested. Mariana had steadfastly resisted both options, refusing to be swayed.

“I guess I should probably call the Court, huh?” Mariana finally said one night. “And let them know I’m still alive.”

“Mm-hm,” Jessi agreed. Then she frowned, “What exactly do you plan to tell them? You’ve been gone for two weeks you know? Are you still going to have a job?”

“I’ll still have a job,” Mariana affirmed. “No big trials were going on while I’ve been gone, and I’m not the only attorney in the office. They can handle it. Besides, I haven’t had a vacation in over two years.”

“So, you’re just going to tell them you went on an extended vacation, which you conveniently forgot to schedule and neglected to mention to anyone?” Jessi asked skeptically.

“No,” Mariana corrected. “I’m going to say I was sick. You’re a doctor. You can vouch for me.”

“Actually, I’m not a doctor. I’m an R.N., but I could write you a note,” Jessi offered breaking into a grin.

Both women laughed. Back in college, a strict, rather unusual school that based a high percentage of student’s grades on attendance, Jessi had written plenty of doctor’s excuses for her friends, and even a few for herself. The routine had come to be a favorite joke among the college kids. Anytime someone had partied too hard or just didn’t feel like going to class, it had been good ol’ Jessi, medical professional in training, to the rescue.

“Yeah,” Mariana finally said. “Maybe a note wouldn’t hurt. This time, it’s almost true.”

“What do you mean
almost
?” Jessi asked giving Mariana deeply concerned look. “I’m a registered nurse, and I say you are one sick woman.”

The following Monday, when Jessi left for work, Mariana said goodbye and drove the two hours back to Cedar Springs. The two weeks had done wonders for her emotional state. Away from the harassing phone calls and annoying packages in the mail, not to mention the break from work, her spirits had risen dramatically. Reaching her house, she was almost disappointed to see the lone package from Ethan in the mailbox. After being gone so long, she’d expected a half dozen or more. Opening the small manila envelope on the way up the drive, a slick white powder spilled all over the car.

Instantly, her heart jumped to her throat and she nearly steered into the ditch. As an attorney, she’d become acutely familiar with terrorist substances such as anthrax being sent through the mail and knowing the deadly potential of such material sent her into a panic. Is that why there were no other packages? Was this one intended to kill her?

Then, almost as quickly as her panic had begun it subsided. The powder wasn’t the lethal poison. The smell gave it away. The familiar scent of Talcum powder. Still, she remained leery, but then figuring if it were anthrax she was already a goner, Mariana gingerly slid her finger over the residue on the envelope. The slick, smooth feeling confirmed her earlier diagnosis. Talcum powder. She didn’t need to worry.

She wasn’t going to die! That was good to know, but now she was mad! After two weeks away, she hadn’t even made it in her door and already Ethan had gotten to her. “Maybe Jessi is right,” she mused. “The only way to end this is to turn him in—and myself.”

On the other hand, the talcum powder was a good sign, she decided. It supported her earlier theory that Ethan really didn’t want to kill her, just frighten her. Still, things had progressed too far. She wasn’t going to keep putting up with this kind of harassment.

Entering the house, she was perplexed at first to see there were no messages on her answering machine. Then, remembering her temper tantrum and how she’d forcefully yanked the cord from its plug, she laughed. “I guess there wouldn’t be any messages.”

Her cell phone though, which she’d purposefully left home, was another story. “Seventy-five new messages,” was the notice on the screen.

“What did they do,” she asked of no one. “Call me every morning, noon, and night?”

They had. They, being her office. The first few messages from Miss Gooten, sounded concerned, and then Mariana detected a hint of disgust in the receptionist’s voice. From the last few voicemails however, it was apparent the whole county was alarmed over her absence.

“Guess I owe them an apology,” she mumbled, dismissing the matter. She’d explain it all the next morning and forward a copy of her “doctor’s note,” to the County Judge. Technically, he was her boss but she couldn’t really be fired, not without a major fight. She had been elected!

The fake anthrax attack still had her peeved, but on the bright side, it had been the only piece of mail from Ethan in the two weeks she’d been gone. And since it hadn’t been meant to kill her, could it be that Ethan had halted his harassment of her? “Maybe he’s given up on me,” she said hopefully. A good move for him, if he has, she thought.

Though at the time she had dismissed Jessi’s joking suggestion of hiring someone to get rid of her nemesis, Mr. Rafferty, she’d since begun contemplating the possibility, mulling over the obvious benefits of such a move. It would certainly be a drastic step, one that, as she’d pointed out to her friend could likely land her in prison. Then again, it would mean a definite end to the constant aggravation to which she’d been subjected in recent months. Although she wasn’t too keen on the idea, if she had a reasonable expectation of not being caught, it just might be a possibility. An act of that sort still posed a risk, but if Ethan kept up this stalking and harassment nonsense, it was a risk she’d be willing to take. No two-bit ex-con was going to ruin her life!