Nancy Grace - Murder in the Courthouse

“Yes, Mr. Fincher. Many Westerners underestimate the ways of the Far East.”

“But not you.” Finch really didn’t know when to stop.

“No, not me. Remember, Mr. Fincher, ‘When you seek it, you cannot find it. Your hand cannot reach it nor can your mind exceed it. But when you no longer seek it, it is always with you.’ That’s a Zen proverb that could possibly help you.”

“A what?”

“A Zen proverb.”

“OK. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hailey and Billings read over the email contents and its “All Courthouse Alert” address, typically saved for emergencies, weather closings, or other bureaucratic necessities. It was perfectly in order.

“Great, Cecil. Thanks. It’s perfect. Please send,” Billings said appreciatively.

They all watched intently as he pushed the send button. Just seconds later, they breathed a collective sigh of relief when it showed up as sent email.

“So where do we get the reward money?” Billings quickly moved on to the next obstacle.

“It doesn’t have to be a lot. A hundred dollars will do. Don’t you have a petty cash fund?”

“I do. And I will let you explain to the sheriff’s party committee why we won’t have the punch spiked at the Christmas party.” He smiled when he said it.

“We catch this guy and I’ll buy you the Christmas spirits for the sheriff’s party myself.”

“Promise?”

“Yep. And you’ve got two witnesses right here, Finch and Cecil.”

“OK, you’re on.” They shook on it, standing there at Snodgrass’s cubicle.

Just then, two Savannah police officers entered the room. With them was Tish Adams, following along behind them, talking in a low but strident voice. “I just don’t think Todd should be brought over in the jailhouse bus with all the other inmates every morning. It’s simply too dangerous .”

“Ma’am. Isn’t he charged with murder?”

Tish Adams’s lips pursed. “Yes. You are correct, officer. But he’s innocent. And you’ll see that very soon. But that’s neither here nor there. My son, Todd Adams, should not be thrown in the pot with convicted felons, dope dealers, child molesters, killers, and I mean real killers .”

“Mrs. Adams, what do you propose? Do you want to bring him over yourself like he’s in second-grade carpool over at Frederica Academy?”

“Sir, I do not take kindly to your attempt at humor. This is my son we are talking about. And no, I am not suggesting I pick him up and bring him. But what about a sheriff’s transport van? They’ve got those, right? A private van?”

“I will look into it, Mrs. Adams.”

Tish Adams’s voice went stern. “Please see that you do. If anything happens to my son… there will be a lawsuit against this county like nothing you’ve ever seen. That’s a promise.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will pass that along.”

Adams looked around the group, giving them all a stony stare, including Hailey, Finch, and Billings. She then relented and gave a weak smile.

“Thank you. After all, he is my son. You’d do the same, I’m sure, if you were in my position. I hope you understand.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tish Adams looked slowly around her as if she couldn’t quite take in that she was really here, in the courthouse, begging on behalf of her son. Straightening her back, she turned without another word and walked through the cubes and out the door, pulling her oxygen canister along with her.

Hailey’s heart hurt for the woman.

Oxygen or no oxygen, the officers didn’t feel as much empathy for Tish Adams, especially after her threat to sue the county. They gave each other a significant look, shrugged it off, and continued directly over to the lost and found bin. They looked down into it and turned around to spot Billings.

“Hi, Lieutenant. Is this it?” One directed the question to Billings.

“Yep, but make sure you photograph it first, if you don’t mind.”

“Got it.” The younger one pulled a police-issue camera out of a black bag he wore over his shoulder. He started flashing shots of the pouch in the bin and the bin itself.

In the midst of the flashes, another officer came in, carrying a black suitcase similar to a big makeup case. Without a word, he placed it on the carpet beside the bin and kneeling down, clicked open hinges on either side. As he folded it out in both directions, Hailey saw it was a fingerprint kit. He started dusting with the dark powder.

“Hey, Lieutenant Billings. How’s it going?”

“Fair, Traylor. Fair. Thanks for coming over. You’re the best.”

“You really think somebody killed Elle?” He tossed it over his shoulder as he worked, never taking his eyes off the slim edges of the bin as he dusted them carefully with what appeared to be a soft-bristled makeup brush.

“I do,” Billings answered with no hesitation.

“But why ? She was a nice lady.”

“Don’t know that. Yet, anyway.”

“I sure hope you get him. She brought a whole dinner to the house one night right after my wife got out of the hospital last year. Out of the blue. Didn’t know she even knew Margie and I had a baby. You know… complications.”

“I remember. How’s the baby?” Billings made small talk.

“He’s trying to walk now.” The crime-scene tech slowed just long enough to throw a big grin at the three of them, and then turned back to the exacting science of fingerprints.

Hailey watched carefully. The guy knew what he was doing. He not only got the upper edge, but all down the three sides of the bin, all the way down to the carpet, just in case. The fourth side was pushed against the wall.

He then went back into his bag and pulled out what looked like a pair of extremely long tweezers, reached into the bin, pulled out the pouch by its strap with the tweezers, and laid the beaded bag onto a sheet of pristine, clear plastic he’d spread on the floor. It would be hard to get a full print off the beads, but he was trying.

Then, he had a go at the strap and the zipper. “Can I open?” He turned back to Billings.

“Sure, that’s what we’ve been waiting for.” Instinctively, the three of them edged forward as the tech, with blue surgical gloves on, took the zipper with a smaller set of tweezers and unzipped the tiny black bag.

Resting inside the beaded pouch along with a single gold tube of lipstick, her driver’s license and credit cards held together by a blue rubber band, sat Eleanor Odom’s EpiPen. It was small and sleek, no bigger than a writing pen. Hailey was right.

The sight of Eleanor’s purpling face, her hands tearing at her own throat, her tongue thick and swollen in her mouth, her eyes bulging as the small blood vessels in her eyes burst from asphyxiation… leaped to Hailey’s mind. But for this pen. The pen that could have saved Eleanor’s life. That should have saved Elle’s life.

“Hey, guys! We got a winner! Somebody wrote back.”

The spell was broken.

“The guy that found the bag! He wrote back already! I told you this would work!” Snodgrass was now standing over his keyboard staring at the screen, looking for all he was worth as if the email and reward had been his idea from the get-go.

“Who is it?” Hailey had just gotten the words out of her mouth and come to peer over Snodgrass’s shoulder at the return email when the double doors to the clerk’s office inched open extremely slowly. Barely pushing through, first came a double-tiered cart on wheels stacked to the brim with cleaning solutions, stacks of unopened toilet paper, and paper towels, with a tall bunch of multicolored dusters and mops attached upright at the back.

The cart creaked slowly forward and when the doors whooshed shut behind it, a short elderly man poked his head out from behind the mops. “Hello, everybody. You wanted to know who found the little purse? I did. Last night. But I didn’t open it, oh no, I’d a never opened up a lady’s purse like that. I just came straightaways here to the lost and found and set it in there. That’s just what I did, all right… I didn’t take a thing from it. You can look and see… the Lord knows I’d a never…”