The Innocence Game (9 page)

“No witnesses other than experts and cops. Public defenders in both trials.”

“And where are the guys that got convicted?”

“One got life. The other got the needle. I’d give you their names, but it doesn’t matter.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter. We can talk to them. If we can establish their innocence and link them up with Wingate…”

“They were both killed in prison. After less than a year inside. My prof knew a guy from the Department of Corrections who was able to get me some details.”

Havens turned the laptop around so I could read his notes. An inmate named Michael Laramore was found in his cell, strangled with a length of packing wire. A second inmate, Jason Tyson, was discovered in the prison shop area at Stateville. He had five masonry nails through his forehead. With James Harrison, that made three convictions and three bodies.

“What the fuck?” I said.

“No shit. You got any coffee left?”

Havens and I walked into my kitchen. He insisted on making a fresh pot, so I showed him where everything was. Then I went back into the living room and picked through his work. It wasn’t hard to understand why Havens was number one at the University of Chicago Law School. While Sarah and I had cobbled together a dozen pages of half-remembered thoughts, our classmate had developed a plausible theory linking Wingate to two more murders, generated impressive backup, and summarized the salient points in a series of short memos. He came back into the living room with a hot cup of joe. I was leafing through the autopsy report on Billy Scranton. Underneath it was an initial police report. The Allen file contained a similar stash of documents.

“How’d you get all this case information?” I said.

“ViCAP allows you to access material from the actual murder file without making a direct request. Check this out.” Havens pulled out copies of two photos and put them side by side.

“What are these?” I said.

“Bite marks. Both of these kids were bitten during the attack.”

I stared at the pale bruised flesh. “Wingate’s autopsy said he might have been bitten.”

“I know.” Havens tossed the photos on top of the other documents.

“Should they have caught this pattern?” I said. “Back in the day, I mean.”

“Be kind of tough. These crimes were spread out over three years. And remember, the locals didn’t have access to ViCAP back then to sort it all out.”

“I guess,” I said.

Havens took a sip and made a face. “How old are these beans?”

“Forget about the beans. What should we do with all of this?”

“We can put in a request with the county for the physical evidence on these two. But I’m betting they sanitized them, just like Wingate.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Whoever’s behind the cover-up.” Havens sat down at the table. “I’ve been thinking about this.”

I gestured to the stacks of information surrounding us. “I can tell.”

“We agree these three might have been the work of a single killer?”

“Agreed.”

“And whoever he is, he’s no longer active. Probably dead.”

“Fourteen years ago, I don’t know that he’s dead, but probably not active.”

“My point is this. Someone downtown framed these three guys and got away with it.”

“Do you even know anyone downtown, Havens? I mean one person? One name?”

“Fuck you. I say we see where this takes us.”

I looked down at the case files. The face of Billy Scranton looked back at me. Murdered at age thirteen.

“So we’re going to take a pass on finding out who actually killed these kids?”

“If something pops about the killer, we’ll go for it, of course. But for right now let’s focus on what we do know. Someone in Cook County was in the business of framing innocent men and putting them up on death row.”

“You tell Sarah about your theories?” I said.

“I gave her the basics.”

“What about Z?”

“What about her?”

“Will she buy any of it?”

“She might not have a choice.”

“What does that mean?”

Havens was about to respond when his laptop pinged with an e-mail. A few seconds later, my cell phone buzzed with a text. They were both from Z. It was Sunday morning, and she wanted us back in her classroom. Within the hour.

Sarah was waiting outside Fisk. She hugged both of us, giving me what felt like an extra squeeze and a wink. When it came to emotions, I was good at hiding them. Sarah Gold wasn’t going to be a problem. At least that’s what I told myself.

“You been here long?” Havens said.

“Five minutes.” Sarah took a sip of her coffee. “What does Z want?”

I shook my head. “It’s gotta be about the woods.”

“Damn.”

“Relax,” Havens said. “I’ve got a plan.”

We talked for ten minutes, then headed into class. Z raised her head as we filed in.

“Close the door, Mr. Joyce.”

I did. Z took off her glasses and stared me down as I found a seat.

“I called you in this morning because there’s something urgent we need to discuss.” Z kept her eyes fixed on yours truly as she spoke.

Havens cleared his throat. “What is it?”

Z pulled out a plastic bag and held it pinched between her fingers. Inside was a wrinkled business card. “Recognize this?”

“We can’t see it,” Havens said.

She laid the Baggie flat on her desk. I got up from my seat and walked to the front of the room. Sarah and Havens crowded close beside me. The business card was bent at the edges and smudged with dirt, but I could make out the print just fine. The Medill crest. My name. My cell phone number.

“Mr. Joyce?” Z played a hand along the sealed edge of the bag as she talked. There was an orange sticker on the bag. Her fingers prevented me from reading it.

“That’s my card,” I said.

“Any idea where it was found?”

“Looks like I might have dropped it somewhere.”

“Please sit down. All of you.”

She waited until we’d taken our seats. Then she walked to the back of the room and opened the door. A cop came in. He didn’t identify himself as a cop. He didn’t need to. He had the look. Long and lean. Dark. Cool without trying. The kind of look actors in cop movies strive for. And never quite achieve. Except, of course, for De Niro.

The cop took a seat, positioning himself where he could keep an eye on all of us. Z walked back behind her desk and remained standing as she spoke.

“This is Chicago detective Vince Rodriguez. He works with Homicide.” She let the last word rattle around the room for a couple of seconds before continuing. “He brought Mr. Joyce’s business card to my attention. Ian, we need to talk about this, but I thought I’d give you, Sarah, and you, Jake, the opportunity to sit in or leave. As you see fit.”

Sarah shifted in her seat. Havens clasped his hands behind his head and stared a bullet at Z. Rodriguez took it all in without ever moving his eyes.

“I think we’re good where we are,” Havens finally said. “As long as it’s all right with Ian. And the detective.”

Rodriguez floated to his feet. I could see the gun on his hip. A detective’s star was clipped beside it.

“Ms. Zombrowski wanted you all here because she thinks you might be involved as a group. And this approach might save some time. I’m not sure, but we’ll see. Ian…” Rodriguez turned to me. His face was largely impassive, except his eyes, which were darkly lit and relentlessly patient. It wasn’t an easy face to talk to…especially when you were about to lie.

“Yes, sir?”

“The card. Do you remember losing it?”

“No, sir. I have a stack they gave us at the beginning of the quarter, so it would be tough.”

Rodriguez chewed on that brilliant morsel for a bit. “No idea where we might have found it?”

I shrugged and turned my palms up. Rodriguez looked to my two classmates. They didn’t offer much help. The detective sighed.

“Your card was found in Caldwell Woods.” His eyes caught mine at the mention of the woods. “You know where that is?”

Havens cleared his throat. “We know where the woods are, Detective.”

“Mister?”

“Havens. Jake Havens.”

“You know where the woods are?”

“We’ve all been there, sir. In the last few days.”

Z coughed. Rodriguez skewed his features into something resembling a question mark. Havens continued.

“A boy named Skylar Wingate was killed there years ago. I don’t know if Z, Ms. Zombrowski, told you…” Havens paused a moment, allowing Z and her betrayal of her class to twist in the wind. “We’re working on the case for this class. All three of us were in that part of the forest preserve. Two nights ago, around dusk. We found what we thought to be the boy’s grave site, looked around for a bit, and left. Probably got there just before seven and stayed about an hour and a half.”

Rodriguez was seated again. He’d taken out a notebook and was writing in it. For the first time, I noticed a small recorder, red light on, sitting on the table beside him. We waited until he finished. The detective looked up at Havens.

“That it?”

“We saw flashlights in the woods. Probably around eight, maybe later. We didn’t know who it was and bugged out.”

Rodriguez turned to me, then Sarah. “You two? Anything else?”

“Are you reopening the Wingate case?” I said.

“You don’t get to ask the questions, Mr. Joyce. Where were you when you dropped the card?”

“I don’t know.”

“Take a guess.”

“We found a small depression in the ground. Close to the water. We thought that was where Skylar had been buried. I remember kneeling down and searching the area.” I shook my head. “Not sure what I was looking for, but I might have dropped the card there.”

“We were also crashing through a lot of underbrush to get to the site,” Sarah said. “He could have dropped it anywhere.”

“How about a cave?” Rodriguez said.

Havens snuck me a look he shouldn’t have. The detective didn’t miss it.

“We never went near any cave,” I said.

“You sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rodriguez wrote the lie down in his notebook and closed it. “I think that’s all for now.”

“For now?” I said.

Rodriguez stood. Z got up with him.

“We got an anonymous tip on a body, in a cave not far from where your business card was found,” Rodriguez said. “Fortunately for you, your card wasn’t found
in
the cave or we’d be talking downtown. If I discover, however, that any of you
were
in that cave, I come back with cuffs. And it won’t be pretty. We understand each other?”

He looked around the room. No one spoke.

“Good.” Rodriguez flicked a look toward the back of the room. He and Z filed toward the door.

“Detective.”

Rodriguez turned. “Mr. Havens?”

“The body you found in the cave…was it a child?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about a connection to the Wingate case.”

Rodriguez tightened his lips and glanced at Z.

“Go ahead,” she said. “They need to hear it.”

The detective retraced his steps to the front of the room and leaned against the edge of Z’s desk. One foot stayed on the floor; the other dangled. His hands were clasped elegantly in front of him.

“I know all about Skylar Wingate, Mr. Havens. He was taken almost fifteen years ago. In a homicide investigation, that’s a lifetime. You understand what I’m saying?” Rodriguez didn’t want or wait for an answer. “Evidence is the lifeblood of what we do. If you want me, or anyone else, to take you seriously, bring us some facts. Not a theory. Not a hunch. Not a coincidence. Hard, provable facts. Preferably ones that lead somewhere. Are we clear?”

We all nodded. Rodriguez didn’t seem half satisfied but got up with a grunt and walked to the back of the room. Z led him out, the door slamming shut behind them. She returned in less than a minute. “I’m sorry that had to happen.”

“It’s not illegal to go into the woods,” Havens said.

“And how were we to know there was a body there?” Sarah added.

I couldn’t tell if my classmates were really angry or just blowing off steam after the cop left. Either way, Z didn’t seem fazed in the least.

“Why did you run?” she said.

We gave a collective shrug.

“Why did you go in the first place?”

“Are you telling me you never did something similar?” Havens said.

“I didn’t run when the police showed up,” Z said. “Not if I had a right to be there.” She dropped her voice a notch. “Now, tell me, please, you didn’t go into that cave?”

“That was the first we’ve heard of it,” I said.

Z searched our faces, each in turn, but found nothing.

“Who is he?” Sarah said. Z knew who Sarah was talking about. I thought Rodriguez might have that kind of effect on women. Regardless of circumstance.

“Rodriguez? Smart cop. Good guy. Honest.”

“You mean they’re not all honest?” I said.

“It’s not a joke,” Z said. “Maybe I should have told you this in our first class. If so, I apologize. But here it is. Don’t screw with a Chicago cop. They can be ruthless, extremely violent, and largely devoid of conscience. If you threaten them, they’ll do whatever they have to in order to protect themselves or whatever else they feel needs protecting. They carry a badge. They carry a gun. And some of them don’t think twice before using either.”

“I suspect we might have gotten a little taste of that already,” Havens said. Then he described our trip to the evidence warehouse and my traffic stop.

“And you didn’t feel the need to mention this when Rodriguez was here?” Z said.

“I don’t remember him asking about it.” Havens smiled. We all did. Except for Z.

“What did they get out of the car, Ian?”

“Paperwork from the Wingate file. Police reports, case notes. Stuff like that.”

“And you kept no copies?” Z said.

“Those were the copies,” Havens said, cutting me off. He didn’t want Z to know about the notes I’d reconstructed from memory, which was fine by me.

“So you have nothing from the warehouse?” Z said.

“Hardly.” That was Sarah. Hard to believe, but I’d almost forgotten about last night—the vodka, the beach, the swim.

“How so, Ms. Gold?”