Brian Freeman - Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7)

‘Oh, yeah. Lots.’

‘Do you have many crowd shots?’

‘Sure. Crowd shots. Runners. I staked out several spots along the route, and I got onto the roof above the Canal Park shops so that I could get pics as people hit the finish line.’

‘I’d like to see them,’ Cindy said. ‘Are they all digital?’

‘Yeah, but you’re talking about hundreds of photos. What are you looking for?’

She started to give Heather a brief explanation about the man in Jay Ferris’s photographs, but the explanation got longer when she realized that Heather knew nothing about the murder or the trial. Heather didn’t get the newspaper, and her awareness of current events didn’t extend beyond an occasional report on the MPR classical music station. Cindy gave her the background of the case and then explained about the man she’d followed in the mall who’d eluded the police efforts to find him.

‘One of Jonny’s sergeants thinks he saw this guy in the marathon crowds,’ Cindy went on.

‘And you thought maybe I snapped him?’ Heather asked.

‘Exactly.’

‘That’s one needle in a pretty big haystack. Thousands of people cram the marathon route.’

‘I know.’

Heather shrugged. She went to a rolltop desk in the corner of the living room and dug inside several cubbyhole drawers. Finally, she withdrew a USB flash drive, which she deposited in Cindy’s hand.

‘Here you go,’ she said. ‘That’s a backup drive of all of my marathon pics. Knock yourself out.’

‘You lied to get on to that jury, didn’t you?’ Carol Marlowe asked.

Howard’s head snapped up at the dinner table. He put down a square of Sammy’s pizza and stared at his wife. Their six-year-old, Annie, chewed a strand of spaghetti that dangled from her mouth and watched with wide eyes.

‘What do you mean?’ he said.

‘Did you tell them you’re obsessed with that doctor?’ Carol asked.

‘No, I didn’t, because that’s not true.’

‘Oh, really? You think so? I’ve got a good mind to call the judge. How many articles about Dr. Perfect would they find if they searched your computer?’

‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ he protested. ‘So I read some things about the case. Everybody in town did the same thing. I can still be objective.’

‘Sure you can.’ His wife cut a square of pizza in half and stabbed it with a fork. ‘Annie, stop playing with your spaghetti.’

Howard went back to his dinner in silence. Carol was jealous. She resented that he was in the midst of something big — that he had a starring role in a drama that was consuming the city. He didn’t believe she’d follow through with her threat about calling the judge, but the thought of it made him nervous. If they looked, yes, they’d find articles about the case on his computer. And pictures of Janine Snow he’d gathered around the web. He’d be kicked off the jury, which was the thing he feared most. This was the event of his life.

‘So what’s your plan, Howard?’ Carol continued, not letting the subject drop. ‘Do you have some fantasy of rescuing her? Will you be the one to convince the jury to let her off, and she’ll be grateful to you forever?’

‘That’s crazy,’ Howard said. ‘I’m doing what the judge said. I’m keeping an open mind until I hear all the evidence. Now would you drop it, please? I’m not allowed to talk about the case, so stop asking me about it.’

‘Open mind,’ his wife muttered. ‘You think she’s innocent. You’ve said so from the beginning. Did you tell the judge that?’

‘I never said anything like that!’ he protested. ‘I’ve always said I don’t know what happened. You’re the one who convicted her from day one. You and your friends at the grocery store. What is it about her that drives you crazy, Carol? Is it that she’s everything you’re not?’

The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back, and the implication hung in the air, as toxic as poison. Janine Snow was rich, successful, and beautiful. Carol Marlowe was none of those things. His wife went from angry to hurt in the blink of an eye. She pushed back her chair, which toppled behind her, and stood up with the rigidity of a statue. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t. She stalked to their bedroom in silence and slammed the door, making the house shudder.

‘Oh, hell,’ he hissed.

Annie leaned over and whispered, ‘That’s a bad word, Daddy.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Is Mommy mad?’

‘I guess so.’ He added: ‘Are you done with your dinner? You can go watch television.’

Annie hopped out of the chair. He cleaned up the dishes, and then he sat in the living room by himself. The smart thing to do was go to their bedroom and apologize, but he knew it would just prompt more anger and more yelling. He didn’t have the strength for another fight with Carol.

Howard left the house to clear his head. It was dusk in the neighborhood, but it was summer, and he heard the noise of kids squealing in the nearby yards. He sat in his Chrysler in the driveway with the windows rolled down. Humidity made his neck sticky. Bugs flew inside. He smelled the overgrown lilac bushes on the side of their house.

He thought: Carol’s wrong. She didn’t understand what was at stake. She didn’t realize how hard he was trying to do the right thing. Block out everything he knew about the case. Ignore the attraction he felt to Janine Snow and the fascination he felt for who she was. Listen to nothing but the evidence.

There had been more witnesses at the trial.

They’d heard from a ballistics expert who talked about the bullet recovered from Jay Ferris’s brain and about the gun Jay wore in the photograph provided by his brother. Yes, the two were consistent. No, they couldn’t be matched without the gun itself. Yes, it was one of the most common guns sold in the country.

They’d heard from the private detective. Melvin Wiley. Yes, Jay knew about the affair and had witnessed Janine’s prescription drug use on the videos. Yes, he’d sworn to get even with his wife.

They’d heard from an attorney named Tamara Fellowes. Yes, she worked for a law firm that was suing Janine Snow over the death of a patient. Yes, she knew Jay Ferris, and yes, Jay had called her in December. No, she would not discuss the contents of the conversation, but she did testify about what she’d heard in the background of the call — a woman’s voice screaming at Jay.

‘Don’t do this to me, you bastard! Don’t you dare do this!’

Did she recognize the voice?

Yes, it was Dr. Janine Snow.

Howard backed onto the street and drove. He headed east out of his Piedmont Heights neighborhood and soon found himself on Skyline Parkway, with the green fairways of the golf course on his left and the steep pitch of the hillside on his right. The Enger Tower loomed above him. He turned at Hank Jensen Drive and made his way up to the parking lot at the base of the monument. There were other cars there, from people enjoying the summer evening. In a Ford Taurus, two teenagers groped each other, kissing, their clothes askew. When the girl saw Howard watching them, she extended her middle finger. He looked away.

Everything made him think of the trial.

A teenage boy had driven here with his girlfriend on January 28, just like the boy and girl in the Taurus. They passed a Rav4 on the way to the tower but couldn’t say exactly when or where.

Howard left the parking lot and kept driving. It was as if he were on autopilot, not setting a course. He was back on Skyline Parkway, and moments later, his LeBaron drifted to a stop at a spur road that climbed sharply up the cliffside to his left. At the summit of the road was the mansion belonging to Janine Snow. He knew he shouldn’t be here, but he turned the wheel and drove slowly to the top of the hill.