The Price of Justice (9 page)

Kincaid disappeared into the kitchen, then returned with a bottle of Michelob in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He handed Tommy the water, then sat at the other end of the sofa.

“Thanks for seeing me again. I won’t take too much of your time.”

Kincaid crossed his arms. “Don’t think I can help you much. I already told you what I know, which is nothing.”

“Well, for starters, have you thought about who else was in your group at the dance that night?”

“Look, I told you. It was a long time ago. I don’t remember.”

“Hey, buddy, you don’t know what a long time is. Now, my high-school dances were a long time ago, but yours? And I can tell you the name of every boy and girl I hung out with back then.”

Kincaid squirmed in his seat, then took a gulp of his beer. “I guess you have a better memory than me,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

Tommy leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. “Look, I’m not trying to pin anything on you. We have the killer. But you told me yesterday you hadn’t seen him before. Maybe someone else at the dance did.”

Kincaid stood up, said, “I’ll be right back,” then left the room. He returned a few minutes later with the school yearbook. Together, they looked through the pictures of graduates, and when they came to one who’d been at the dance, Kincaid pointed him or her out. Tommy wrote down the names of each one, and, if Kincaid knew where they’d ended up, added that to his notes.

When they finished, Tommy asked, “Had you dated any of these women before Carly?”

“Why? What difference would that make?”

“Maybe one of them got jealous when they saw you with Carly.”

Kincaid looked at Tommy with a quizzical expression. “But she was raped. And you have the guy who said he did it.”

“Look, I’m just fishing around. Maybe one of your prior girlfriends knew Sanders, pointed Carly out to him. Told him to rough her up. And then it got out of hand.”

“That really seems like a stretch to me, but these two,” Kincaid said as he pointed to two names on Tommy’s list. “I’d dated them both.”

Just then, the front door opened, and Kincaid’s mother stepped inside. She glanced into the living room, saw Tommy, and scowled. “What’s he doing back here?”

“Just had a few more questions, Ma. He’ll be leaving soon.”

“Not soon enough for me. No use in digging up the past, far as I’m concerned.”

“I’m almost finished, Mrs. Kincaid, and then you won’t see me again.”

With the scowl now plastered onto her face, she walked past the living room into the kitchen.

Kincaid sighed. With his voice just a whisper, he said, “Nobody my age should be living with his mother.”

“I’ll get out of your hair in a minute.” Tommy went over a few more questions, then thanked Kincaid and left. He’d gotten what he needed from him. No use in annoying his mother any longer.

C
HAPTER

17

A
s soon as Dani opened the front door of her home, she could hear the crackling of wood logs burning in the fireplace and smiled at the fresh pine scent. She stepped into the living room, and Doug stood up from his chair and pulled her into his arms.

“I missed you,” he said after he’d kissed her. “Tough flight?”

Dani nodded. Her plane had been delayed three hours on the ground and had to circle LaGuardia Airport for another ninety minutes because of heavy rain and strong winds. She’d expected to be home before Jonah went to sleep. Instead, she’d arrived a little after nine p.m., just in time for “honeymoon hour.”

“Hungry?”

“No, just tired.”

“Want to forgo the couch? Head up to bed?”

“And miss this fabulous fire? Not a chance.”

They settled themselves on the sofa, Dani snuggled against Doug’s chest, and once again, she was reminded how lucky she was. Perhaps she didn’t have the wealth of someone like Winston, but she had the ultimate riches—a husband she loved and who loved her in return. Add to that a cherished son, and there was nothing else she desired—except that elusive magic ball that would accurately assess a person’s guilt or innocence. No more men and women put away for years, maybe for the rest of their lives, maybe executed, even though they were innocent of any crime.

“How’s the case coming along?” Doug asked.

“No smoking gun yet, unfortunately.”

“You don’t need one. Just piece by piece, create a compelling narrative. You have someone else’s confession. That’s a major starting block.”

“The circuit court judge didn’t think so.”

Doug stroked Dani’s hair, then squeezed his arms tighter around her. “You got stuck with a bad judge. It’ll go better at the appellate court.”

Dani laughed. “My optimist husband. I suppose when your students dissect cases, everything goes as it should. Not so in the real world.”

“Well, yes, I guess I am an optimist. But remember, the cases we examine in law school are all appellate decisions, not those of a trial judge. Unfortunately, politics often gets in the way of intellectual soundness when those judges are chosen.”

They chatted some more before Dani headed up to bed. She didn’t want to think about Win Melton anymore. She didn’t want to think about incompetent judges, or corrupt prosecutors, or innocent prisoners. Instead, she wanted to dream about a world in which only good things happened, where poverty and crime and despair didn’t exist. And where a thirteen-year-old boy with an intellectual disability could compose a symphony that was performed by a professional orchestra.

The next night, Dani, Doug, and Jonah sat in the Performing Arts Center at Purchase College, where the Westchester Philharmonic would perform Jonah’s symphony,
A Summer Afternoon
. As the orchestra tuned its instruments, Dani looked down at her hands, locked together tightly, then looked over at Doug. He, too, wore an expression of consternation. They knew little of classical music, having been exposed throughout the years only to the various rock and pop groups popular at any point in time. Now, a full audience would judge their son.

Dani looked over at Jonah. He seemed relaxed in his seat, with a smile on his face. A moment later, the lights dimmed in the auditorium, and the murmured conversations in the room tapered off into silence. A slim, gray-haired man dressed in a tuxedo walked from behind the curtain onto the center of the stage, and the assemblage clapped. He was the conductor, Dani realized, when he faced the crowd and bowed. He turned to the music stand, picked up his baton, and began to wave it at the musicians.

Sounds filled the room that made Dani’s skin tingle. The first movement was thunderous, and she felt her heart beat faster as she was caught up in its majesty. It reminded her of the crashing of giant waves when they vacationed at Montauk Point, and Jonah’s exuberance playing in the surf. The second movement was melancholic, heartbreakingly so. She wondered from where Jonah drew that emotion. He was so happy at home and at school with his friends. The third movement was playful, and once again, she pictured Jonah as he took pleasure in the simplest activities: playing with their cat, Gracie; helping her plant flowers each spring; watching a baseball game on TV with Doug.

She was dazzled by the music, exhilarated that it was her son who’d created something so beautiful. Dani sneaked a look at Jonah and saw him looking intently at the musicians, his arm moving in time with the conductor’s baton. When the symphony ended almost thirty minutes later, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause. For the first time that evening, Dani felt her body relax. As the applause petered out, the conductor stepped forward and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re honored to have the composer with us tonight. Jonah, would you come up here?”

As Jonah made his way to the stage, the applause picked up again, and by the time he arrived next to the conductor and took a bow, it was booming. Tears ran down Dani’s cheeks. She could not have been more proud of her son.

On Monday morning, Dani showed up for work two hours later than usual, and as soon as she stepped into HIPP’s office, she heard a gasp from the receptionist.

“Your hair!” the startled young woman said.

Instinctively, Dani raised her hand to feel her locks, no longer reaching her shoulders but now just grazing her chin. Instead of thick waves, her hair was straight, turning under in a bob. Brownish-red highlights replaced the isolated gray strands that had previously sprouted from her head.

“I thought it was time for a change. How do you like it?”

The young woman looked Dani over before nodding her approval. “You look ten years younger.”

As Dani wound her way through the office, she was greeted with gasps followed by approval. She hoped Doug’s reaction would be the same.

Finally settled in her office, she buzzed Melanie. “How’s the appeal taking shape?”

“I’ve found some good case law. With the added evidence we’ve discovered that corroborates Sanders’s confession, I think the appeal will be granted.” Melanie caught herself. “Well, at least it should be granted. Who knows?”

Dani chuckled to herself. Melanie had been at HIPP long enough to become jaded by the judicial system. Like the others in the office, she’d started out with the bright-eyed assumption that the judicial system worked—and it did. Except when it didn’t.

“Need any help on the brief?”

“Nope. I’ve got it covered.”

“Okay. There are a couple of people on Win’s list who live in the city. I’ll track them down. When Tommy gets back, he can interview Win’s best friend in New Jersey.”

Dani hung up and sat back in her chair. The more they searched, the more the facts seemed to corroborate Sanders’s statement. It disturbed her that Ed Whiting was so unwilling to consider his confession. He’d been particularly hard-hitting in his brief to the circuit court, as though he were hell-bent to ensure that the only way Win left the jail was in a coffin. Of course, she’d run across rigid prosecutors before, men and women who seemed more concerned with preserving their wins than justice. Still, Whiting’s refusal to attend her deposition of Sanders, to form his own impression of Sanders’s veracity by questioning him in person, went beyond what even the most jaded prosecutors would do.

She picked up the phone once more and dialed Amelia Melton. The family matriarch had requested that Dani keep her apprised of their progress on a weekly basis. As usual, her personal assistant answered Dani’s call. Within a few minutes, Dani heard the standard greeting from Mrs. Melton.

“Yes, what news do you have for me?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Melton, how are you today?”

“Please, dispense with the pleasantries. You don’t really care how I’m doing, and I don’t care how you’re doing. I am interested only in Winston’s case. Have you made progress?”

“I believe we have. We’ve located a waitress who remembers Sanders being in her restaurant every morning during the same week Carly was murdered. That provides further evidence that Sanders’s confession is truthful.”

“And is it enough?”

Dani hesitated. How could she explain to this woman who was used to everyone following her commands, that the judicial system could be arbitrary? “Maybe, but I wish we had more.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I wish we had found someone who’d spotted Sanders near Carly. His MO was to stalk his victims for a few days.”

“Well, I assume you’ll keep looking.”

“Of course.”

There was silence on the other end for several moments. Finally, Mrs. Melton said, “I realize you weren’t keen on taking this case. I hope that it’s not keeping you from pursuing it as vigorously as you’ve handled your other cases.”

“Mrs. Melton, I work zealously for any client. I don’t give up easily. And I won’t with your grandson.” Dani hoped that was true. If she learned that Winston was, in fact, guilty, she didn’t know if she would fight as hard for his freedom. As long as it was just doubts she harbored, though, she’d push forward.

“Let’s see that you don’t. Remember, your organization only gets the bonus if you’re successful.”

Dani didn’t need that reminder. She was acutely aware that the financial health of HIPP rested on her shoulders. She finished her report to Mrs. Melton, then hung up, relieved that she wouldn’t have to speak to her for another week.