Daniel Palmer - Helpless

“Which is?”

“That he’s being framed for something he didn’t do,” Marvin said.

“What are you asking me to do here?” asked Rainy.

“All I’m asking is that you look at this case through different eyes.”

“Such as?”

“For starters, don’t you think it’s a little too convenient that you bust James Mann, and a few days after you come to Shilo, you bust his supplier? I would think that would give a seasoned investigator such as yourself a moment’s pause.”

“Is that what you think?” Rainy said.

“Do you know what the longest hitting streak is in baseball, Agent Miles?”

“Joe DiMaggio,” Rainy said without hesitating. “Fifty-six games.” She looked at both men, who seemed genuinely surprised by the quickness of her answer. “My mom got me into baseball,” she explained.

“Well, the probability of that streak happening again has been mathematically proven. Guess how many years, statistically speaking, it will take before a streak like that happens again?”

“Fifty?” Rainy said.

“Try five hundred,” Marvin replied.

“And your point is?”

“The probability of your coming to a small town like Shilo to make an ID of a girl and days later uncovering the supplier is more remote than that streak being broken in our lifetimes. That’s what I think.”

Rainy shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see how baseball and the case against Mr. Hawkins—”

“Tom, please,” Tom interrupted. He wanted Rainy to use his first name so she’d be more inclined to view him as a person, not just a case. Rainy, in response, flashed Tom a look as if to say he’d always be Mr. Hawkins to her.

“I don’t see how baseball and the case are related,” Rainy finished.

“I’ve done some digging of my own into James Mann,” Marvin said. “The guy was about to become president of a major pharmaceutical company. Seems as unlikely a person to be procuring these images as my client is to be distributing them. That just makes it even more bizarre. Three times more unlikely to happen than the next DiMaggio, I’m willing to bet.”

“There is no typecasting for these crimes. You know that.”

“No, but there is instinct. And I’m asking you to keep an open mind here. These men don’t even know each other.”

“The Internet makes friends out of strangers all the time,” said Rainy. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Mr. Pressman. I realize that it’s your job to believe in your client’s innocence. But we’ve looked at the evidence against Mr. Hawkins. One of the top computer analysts in my squad even helped your computer forensic guys crack the encryption code.”

“What about Tom’s home computer?”

“That came back clean,” Rainy said.

“Because his work computer is easier to access. Somebody would have to trick him into downloading a virus or break into his home to tamper with his home PC.”

“It’s true,” Tom said. “I don’t always lock my office. People are in and out of the building all the time. There aren’t any security cameras, and people know when I’m at practice and won’t be showing up unexpectedly.”

Rainy fell silent. “What I strongly suggest,” she eventually said, with an increasingly severe expression, “is that you think about cutting a deal.”

Marvin leaned over the conference table, closer to Rainy. Tom could see the determination in his face. “Why would my client go through such extreme measures to launder the money he allegedly earned while engaged in this criminal activity, and then suddenly become reckless?” he asked.

“I’d say we’d need Tom to answer that question,” replied Rainy.

Marvin appeared unmoved by her response. He continued. “Then he risks his carefully controlled enterprise, which he’d allegedly run in secret for years, by having an affair with one of the girls?”

“Attraction can make you do stupid things,” said Rainy.

“And nobody in Shilo sees Tom coming and going,” Marvin said. “No one notices him getting close to their kids. Nobody ever raised an alarm. No police reports filed. No request to investigate. Does that really make sense to you, Agent Miles? Do you really believe that to be true?”

“I believe in following the evidence,” answered Rainy. “Not forming conclusions.”

Marvin said, “And you think Lindsey could have kept this from her mother? All the other girls?”

“Kids keep secrets from their parents all the time,” Rainy said. “Secrets are an essential part of growing up. We all have them. We all keep them. Teenagers, especially girls, are highly impressionable. They could have been convinced to stay quiet. Tom could have made these girls feel special, important, and different from the others. And they’d keep on feeling that way. They’d feel that way for as long as what they were doing stayed secret. That’s what I believe.”

“Agent Miles,” Tom said, “do you have any kids?”

Marvin shot Tom a disapproving glance. Tom held up his hand to urge patience from his attorney.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Rainy replied.

“It’s relevant because you’d think differently about me if you knew what it felt like to be a parent.”

“I still don’t see—”

“I’m not saying you’d think I was innocent,” Tom continued, “but I do think a part of you would wonder if I was like most parents. If I spent my every waking moment thinking about my kid’s well-being. If I’d sacrifice my own life for hers. If I’d do everything in my power to make sure my child had every possible advantage in life. You’d wonder that about me. I believe that’s true. And then you’d wonder how in the hell I could do what I’ve been accused of doing.”

“What is it you want from me, Mr. Hawkins?”

“Tom, please,” he said. He looked Rainy in the eyes. Something about her expression had shifted. Where before he’d seen judgment, now he saw a trace of doubt.

“What is it you want from me, Tom?”

“What I want is for you to look at the evidence again,” Tom said. “But this time, instead of hoping that you’ve miraculously found your missing link, try using a different approach.”

“What approach would that be?” asked Rainy.

“This time, try to think of me as an innocent man.” Tom held Rainy’s gaze for a moment. He felt something pass between them. It wasn’t that she suddenly believed him to be innocent. But he could see now that she wanted him to be innocent.

It was a start.

Tom went out to get the mail a few hours before nightfall. He sifted through a stack of bills on his walk back up the driveway (those would have to wait), saw a promotional flyer from the Plenty Market (he’d canceled his customer loyalty card), and noticed one surprising item in the mix. It was a letter, addressed to him, from Adriana Boyd.

With his back against the kitchen counter, Tom opened the letter using a butter knife. Inside, he found a slender, hand-bordered card, monogrammed with Adriana’s name. Her handwritten note, written in purple pen and elegantly scripted, wasn’t dated.

Dear Tom,

I hope this note finds you as well as can be. I believe in you and know that you’ll soon be cleared of any wrongdoing. I also wanted to apologize for Roland’s recent behavior. I know that he’s told you to keep away from me. He’s asked that I do the same with you. I’m respecting my husband’s wishes only in part, as I’m keeping you in my thoughts and prayers each day. It is important to me that you know you haven’t been forgotten.

I believe in you.

With care and concern,

Tom reread Adriana’s card before slipping it back in its envelope. He tucked the card and envelope inside the kitchen junk drawer, buried underneath a couple rolls of Scotch tape, pens, pencils, an address book, and one partially used disposable camera.