Alex Barclay - The Drowning Child

The other panelists nodded.

‘It’s my view,’ said Alice, ‘that the investigation into Kevin Dunne’s death was fast-tracked for political reasons. It was not carried out in the interest of justice. The lack of evidence is staggering.’ She raised a finger for each item on her list. ‘No DNA – not a hair, a fingerprint, a droplet of sweat, blood spatter – nothing. There was no motive . There was no weapon . Let me make this very clear: I’m not denying that my client stopped on the side of the road and picked up Kevin Dunne, who was hitch-hiking on a dark, rainy night. Anthony admitted that from day one. What I am saying, though, is that when Anthony let Kevin Dunne out by the side of the road, Kevin Dunne was very much alive and well. That he was not seen by passing motorists can be explained by the fact that it was raining, it was a rural road, therefore, extremely dark, and he was dressed in dark clothing: he would have been almost invisible.’

‘What do you believe happened to Kevin Dunne?’ said the presenter.

‘I believe he was beaten to death, consistent with the autopsy findings,’ said Alice, ‘but I know that my client had nothing to do with it.’

‘Your client was the last person to see the victim alive,’ said the presenter.

‘With all due respect,’ said Alice, ‘the last person to see Kevin Dunne alive was his killer.’

Ooh. Nice one.

Ren expected that was Alice Veir’s parting shot – she had delivered the facts of the case, she had delivered a memorable closing line. But the presenter wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.

‘Now,’ said the presenter, glancing down at her notes, ‘there was also an eyewitness who placed Anthony Boyd Lorden close to the location where Kevin Dunne’s body was eventually found one year after he disappeared.’

‘Eyewitness testimony is notoriously flawed,’ said Alice, ‘and that’s been proven time and time again. There are a huge number of parameters that impact on its reliability: the lighting, the distance from the eyewitness to the suspect, how the selection of suspects is shown to the eyewitness, what is said to the eyewitness. To give you one example: if I’m a police officer and I show you six faces on a sheet of paper and I ask you “which one of these men did you see on XYZ road?”, you will deduce that the suspect is among those men, right? However, if you are asked, “Is the man you saw that night one of the men on this page?”, then, that’s a whole different matter. You cannot underestimate the factors that can lead to misidentification. As human beings we want to please, we want to help, we want to give the right answer. While I do believe that the eyewitness was acting in good faith, this was a case of mistaken identity, affected by various other factors. And one year on – how could this eyewitness have been sure?’

‘Why did you take on this case, Ms Veir?’ said the presenter. ‘After all this time?’

‘It was in 1991 that Anthony Boyd Lorden stopped to pick up Kevin Dunne,’ said Alice. ‘At that time, I was a young law student at the University of Washington. I was studying the law so I could help people, so I could make a difference. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do here: make a difference in Anthony Boyd Lorden’s life.’ She paused. ‘Or what remains of it, after this travesty of a conviction.’

I wouldn’t want to be on the other side of a courtroom to you, Alice Veir.

Alice was resisting the presenter’s attempts to move on to the next panelist. As she was thanking her, Alice interrupted.

‘For any of your viewers who are interested,’ said Alice, ‘I’d like to direct you to Anthony’s interrogation video, which has been posted on the website justiceforanthony.com. Remember, this boy was seventeen years old, and this was a seven-hour interrogation without a break. The video has been edited – in a fair and unbiased manner – down to three hours just in the hopes that people might watch it. If you do, what you will witness is the brutal, relentless, and devastating abuse of a young man. Those two detectives knew exactly what they were doing: they knew the power of their words, they chose the volume at which they delivered them. They knew the power of their physicality, their facial expressions. They knew the effect of their threats, the delivery and withdrawal of praise...’ She paused. ‘Anthony Boyd Lorden was one of the unlucky ones – someone who put himself in the frame, who volunteered to become a part of our justice system, a system that has drastically failed him, that has robbed him of the best years of his life. Anthony came forward to give information he thought would aid in a homicide investigation. He drove twenty miles to do that, because he remembered that boy who died, he had met him, he had kindly offered him a ride on a dark, wet night. And he let him out on the side of the road where he had asked to be let out. Anthony reluctantly watched Kevin Dunne walk away into the darkness: he had urged him to wait until they reached the next town where there would be more light. And one year later, when Anthony learned that the boy had been found dead, he was devastated. He went straight to the investigating officers to offer help again. And one year after that, he was rewarded by being robbed of the next twenty-three years of his life. Where is the justice in that? I believe in justice. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that not another moment of Anthony Boyd Lorden’s life is taken away from him.’

The presenter turned to the next woman. ‘I’m now going to go to our next panelist, Emma Ridley, who is a lawyer with the Innocence Project Northwest.’ She paused, then clearly went off-script. ‘Maybe you ladies need to come together on this one... this falls into your region, Emma, am I right?’

Eye-dart from the Innocence Project lawyer. ‘Well, yes, that would be great,’ she said. ‘We would very much welcome that opportunity.’

Tense smile from Alice Veir, and the light of a small flame in her eyes.

What the heck was that about?

Ren went to justiceforanthony.com. The interrogation video was front and center of the home page. Ren checked the time. It was twelve forty-five.

I have three hours to spare. I’ve probably got twice that if I incorporate the time I usually spend staring at the ceiling.

She hit Play. Anthony Boyd Lorden appeared on screen. He had tight-cut brown hair, good skin, broad shoulders. He looked fit and healthy, young, eager, and trusting.

There is something about you...

He was sitting in a chair that had been backed right up against the wall of a cramped interview room. Two huge detectives sat opposite him, dwarfing him, their backs to the camera.

Ren had tears in her eyes before the first hour was up.

You fucking assholes.

This is what Alice Veir fights against. This is the good fight.

Ren watched the video again on fast forward, and it was like a flicker book showing the deflation of a soul.

Outside, in the quiet night, the sound of sirens erupted.

Ren’s cell phone beeped with a text. She looked down at her screen. The text was from Gary.

Fire at the Veirs’...

Two fire trucks, an ambulance and two squad cars were parked outside the Veirs’ house. Ren parked across the street. A weak strand of smoke drifted up from behind the house.

There were neighbors standing out front, others watching from their windows. Ren walked up to the open ambulance doors. An EMT was finishing his checks on John Veir, who was sitting in the back, dressed in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, his bare feet on the metal step. There was a blanket around his shoulders. He jumped up when he saw Ren, stormed over to her. He raised his hand and stabbed a finger at her, sending a waft of kerosene her way.