Phillip Margolin - Executive Privilege

A black shape rose from the couch. “Please put down the knife, Mr. Miller. My weapon is bigger than yours.”

The shape morphed into a woman holding a gun. Brad’s heart skipped a beat, and he found it hard to breathe. The woman was tall and athletic. She wore tight jeans and a black and red TRAILBLAZER T-shirt under a black satin TRAILBLAZER jacket. Her piercing green eyes and the grim set to her mouth gave Brad the immediate impression that she was not someone to mess with.

“You can relax. My name is Dana Cutler, and I just want to talk to you, not kill you.”

“What’s this about?”

“The knife,” Dana said, gesturing with her gun at Brad’s hand. He looked down, surprised to see he was still gripping the shaft.

“Let’s continue this conversation in the living room,” Dana said as she switched on the lights and motioned Brad into an armchair. She ordered him to keep his hands, palm down, on the armrests and sat facing him on the couch.

“No sudden moves. I’d hate to shoot you.”

Brad eyed Dana’s gun nervously. “How did you get in?”

“Easily. You don’t have an alarm, and the lock was child’s play.”

“If you’re a burglar, I don’t have anything worth stealing. If you want to hire a lawyer, I don’t handle criminal cases.”

“You’re handling one, Clarence Little.”

Brad hid his surprise. “Actually, I’m not,” he said. “I was taken off the case. If you want to talk to someone about that case, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“When were you taken off the case?”

“A few days ago.”

“Why?”

“My supervising attorney felt I was getting too involved.”

“Involved how?”

“I can’t really discuss that. I’d have to reveal attorney-client confidences.”

“Are we in court, Brad? Do you think the rules of evidence apply when the person asking you a question is aiming a loaded gun at your balls?”

“Good point,” Brad answered nervously.

“I’m glad you agree. Now tell me what you were doing that got you canned.”

“I decided that Clarence Little may not have murdered Laurie Erickson and I was gathering evidence of his innocence.”

“Why don’t you think Little is guilty?” Dana asked, intrigued by the direction their conversation was going.

“First off, he says he didn’t do it.”

“He’s on death row. What did you expect him to say?”

“Yeah, but he had proof.”

Brad explained about finding the bodies in the woods and the pinkie collection. He was careful to keep Ginny’s name out of his narrative.

“Has the forensic expert printed the fingers yet?”

“I don’t know. I’m under strict orders to stay away from the case. I’m probably going to be fired because of it.”

“Am I missing something? How can they fire you for trying to prove your client is innocent?”

“There’s a little more to it.”

Dana Cutler listened intently to Brad as he explained his theory that Christopher Farrington had ordered Charles Hawkins to use Clarence Little’s MO to frame the serial killer for the murder of Laurie Erickson and his belief that Hawkins had replicated the plan by using the Ripper MO when he murdered Charlotte Walsh.

“Fascinating,” Dana said when Brad finished. “I’ve come to the same conclusion.”

“You have?”

“I came at the problem from a different direction, but I think it’s significant that we both arrived at the same place.”

Curiosity replaced fear as Brad’s dominant emotion. “Why the melodrama?” he asked. “Breaking and entering, and holding me at gunpoint.”

“There have been several attempts on my life, so meeting in public places during the day is out. This seemed like the best bet for privacy.”

“Who are you?”

“Have you been following MurderGate?” Dana asked, using the name the press had given to the scandal.

Brad nodded.

“I’m the photographer who took the pictures of Farrington and Walsh that Exposed printed, and I’m certain that Charles Hawkins killed Walsh and Erickson under orders from the president.”

“Hawkins is the logical suspect, but we don’t have any proof.”

“It has to be him,” Dana insisted. “Farrington couldn’t have killed either woman. He was at the library fund-raiser in Salem when Erickson disappeared, and he was at the farm or with the Secret Service or his wife when Walsh was murdered.”

“I don’t think the Secret Service would lie to cover up a murder, but Farrington’s wife might.”

“The timing doesn’t work. Credible witnesses vouch for Farrington until he goes up to his room at the White House. If Claire Farrington lied when she said her husband was in bed with her, he would still have to get out of the White House without being seen. Then it would take at least forty-five minutes to get to the mall. That’s way past the time when Walsh was killed. No, I think we can rule out the president as the person who actually murdered Walsh.”

“So you’re going with Hawkins?” Brad asked.

“Hawkins came back to the governor’s mansion to get the information for Farrington’s speech. He was alone with Erickson. He came in the back door, which is next to the basement door, and the basement is where the laundry chute empties out. He gets the paper for the speech, murders Erickson, and puts her down the chute. Then he backs up his car to the basement door and puts her in the trunk.”

“What about Walsh?” Brad asked. “Hawkins went from the hotel to the farm and met with the president. Assuming that Farrington ordered him to kill Walsh, did he have time enough to do it?”

“Her car was disabled. She couldn’t drive off.”

“But Walsh had to have been killed soon after she returned to the mall. The news reports said that Walsh had Triple A but she never called them or anyone else to help her or pick her up.”

“Hawkins could have called someone from the farm and sent them to kill Walsh,” Cutler said. “The night Walsh was murdered two men tried to kill me for the pictures I took, and there have been other attempts on my life. So we know the president and Hawkins have access to assassins, and that’s the clincher.”

Brad looked confused. “I don’t get it.”

“Hawkins and the president have access to the CIA, Special Forces, and Defense intelligence operatives now, but they didn’t have access to those people when Erickson was murdered. Farrington was only the governor of Oregon then.”

“Hawkins was an army Ranger. He could have buddies from the military he could call on.”

“True, but no one but Hawkins was seen going into the governor’s mansion. He’s the one who claims to have been the last person to see Erickson alive. Erickson was tiny. She wouldn’t have been able to put up much of a fight against someone like Hawkins. If he was with her he wouldn’t have needed help. If Farrington wanted Erickson killed on the evening of the library fund-raiser, my bet is that Hawkins did it.”

“Do you know that there may have been a third murder?”

“What!”

Brad filled in Dana on the hit-and-run killing of Rhonda Pulaski and the disappearance of Tim Houston.

“Unfortunately, this is all speculation,” he said. “We don’t have any concrete evidence that Hawkins killed anyone. We don’t even have evidence that Farrington and Erickson were having sex. The only person who might be able to help us is Erickson’s mother, Marsha, and she refused to talk to me.”

“Tell me about that.”

As soon as Brad finished telling her about his visit to Marsha Erickson, Dana stood up.

“Get your coat,” she said.

“Where are we going?”

“To visit Mrs. Erickson.”

“It’s too late to go out there tonight. She lives in the country. She’ll probably be asleep.”