Philip Margolin - Capitol murder

Millie considered other possible explanations. Brad Miller would have asserted the attorney-client privilege if another client revealed the location of the evidence. And he could have asserted his own Fifth Amendment right to be free from self-incrimination if he was afraid he’d committed obstruction of justice because he had moved the jar and uncovered the corpses. Neither of these explanations made a lot of sense.

The easiest way to find out who had told Brad where to find the fingers and the bodies would be to ask him. Millie had mailed Clarence’s letter to Miller care of United States Senator Jack Carson. It was seven o’clock in Portland, which made it ten o’clock in Washington, D.C. Millie went on her computer and found the phone number for the senator’s office. When the receptionist answered, Millie asked to be put through to Brad.

“Brad Miller.”

“Thanks for taking my call, Mr. Miller. I’m Millie Reston, a lawyer in Portland, and I’m representing Clarence Little. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I won Mr. Little’s postconviction cases. His convictions in the Benford and Poole cases have been set aside.”

“I assumed Clarence would get someone to attack the rest of his convictions once it was established that the jurors who convicted in Benford and Poole could have been influenced by evidence concerning a crime he didn’t commit.”

“That’s what the judge held. You made my job easy by proving Mr. Little didn’t kill Laurie Erickson.”

“You know it was another lawyer who won the appeal in the Ninth Circuit.”

“I know you weren’t the attorney of record when Little’s conviction in the Erickson case was thrown out,” Millie said. “But everyone knows that it was you and Dana Cutler who provided the real basis for the reversal.”

“That’s ancient history. When I moved to Washington, D.C., to clerk at the Court, I lost track of what was happening in Oregon. I haven’t been involved in the case for some time, so why have you called me?”

“I’ve been prepping for Mr. Little’s trials, and I had a question about something that happened while you were representing him.”

“Okay.”

“It’s about the jar with the pinkies and the two bodies you found. I’m confused about how you found them.”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.”

“All I want to know is who told you where to find the jar and the bodies.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Reston. I can’t help you.”

“Does that mean you’re protecting a confidence of Mr. Little’s?”

“I can’t comment on that,” he said.

“We both represent Mr. Little, so you won’t be violating a confidence if you answer my question.”

“Look, Miss Reston, I can’t even be sure you are who you claim to be. You could be a reporter looking for a story and pretending to be Mr. Little’s lawyer. But even if you are who you say you are, I can’t help you. I don’t even know why you’re asking me about this. Clarence is your client. Ask him.”

There was dead air for a moment, and Millie thought Brad was going to hang up. Instead, he asked her a question.

“When were you appointed to handle Clarence’s postconviction cases?”

“Shortly after the Ninth Circuit reversed in the Erickson case.”

“That was a month or two before the presidential election, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I just received a letter in the mail from your client. It’s similar to a letter from Mr. Little that was hand-delivered to me on the evening of the presidential election. Did you have anything to do with those letters?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Millie answered a little too quickly.

“Do you know who helped him send them to me? They weren’t mailed from the penitentiary.”

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry I bothered you,” Millie said, ending the conversation abruptly. She hadn’t expected Brad to ask her about the letters, and she was scared to death that he would talk to someone at the prison about them. She was sorry she’d called Brad. She might have put herself in harm’s way if he followed up. Even worse, although he had not come out and said it, Miller certainly acted like a man protecting a client’s confidences.

Millie went back to the files after she hung up on Brad Miller, but she had trouble concentrating, because she could not help thinking about their conversation. Miller was no longer involved with Clarence’s case. Why would he refuse to answer her question? The only reasonable explanation was that Clarence had revealed the locations as part of a confidential communication, which the law forbade Brad to reveal.

That evening, Millie tossed and turned for almost an hour after getting into bed and slept in fits and starts. She was exhausted when she woke up, and had no appetite. She dreaded confronting Clarence about the pinkies, but she had to know if everything she believed she and Clarence had together was built on a lie. She had to know if Clarence was the person who had revealed the location of the two murder victims and the jar full of horrific souvenirs.

The first time Millie met Clarence Little at the state penitentiary, she had been afraid. But fear had given way to trust and trust to love. Now, once again, seated at the table in the contact visiting room, Millie’s stomach was in a knot, her throat was dry, and she dreaded meeting Clarence. Then the door opened and he walked in with a wide smile on his face. He looked so happy to see her that she could not help returning his smile. As he walked toward her, Millie’s doubts were nudged aside by the joy she felt whenever they were together. Suddenly her suspicions seemed foolish. How could someone who made her feel this way be a sadistic torturer?

“This is an unexpected surprise,” Clarence said as soon as the door closed behind the guard.

Millie remembered why she was visiting Clarence and her smile disappeared.

“What’s wrong?” Clarence asked.

They’d come to know each other so well, Millie thought. He could read the slightest shift in her mood. Isn’t that what people in love were able to do? Didn’t they become one person, one soul?

“I… I was going through the transcripts and the police reports to prepare for trial and, well, something is bothering me.”

Clarence reached across the table and took her hands in his. As always, his touch was electric and disorienting.

“Tell me. Let me help you,” he said.

“It’s the pinkies, the ones in the jar, and the bodies in the forest.”

“What about them?” Clarence asked.

“How did Brad Miller know where to find them? Who told him where they were?”

Clarence didn’t flinch. He looked totally at ease. “Have you asked him?”

“I did but he wouldn’t discuss it.”

Clarence frowned. “That’s strange. And there’s nothing in the case file that explains how that evidence was found?”

“No.”

Clarence shook his head. He looked puzzled. “Brad isn’t involved with the murders of those poor girls anymore. If he knew, what reason would he have to keep that information from you?’

Millie felt sick. Her voice broke a little when she spoke. “He might not tell me if the information was given to him by a client.”

Clarence’s brow creased and he seemed confused for a moment. Then his eyes widened.

“You think that I told him? How would I know? I had nothing to do with those girls.”

Millie felt awful. She had broken the trust that bound Clarence to her. Clarence looked up and locked eyes with Millie’s.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, his voice shaking. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do,” Millie pleaded, desperate to heal the breach her ridiculous suspicions had created.