Wrong Turn Page 8

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a long day, that’s all.’

  ‘So what did you find out? What kind of evidence did you get?’

  ‘False alarm, kid. Nothing but a false alarm. I’m calling it a day. You might as well go home, too.’

  She should have pressed him for more details. She shouldn’t have accepted his assessment at face value. She should have protested. But she didn’t. Instead, the next morning, she accompanied Boz and two patrol officers to assist in the arrest of Martha Sherman.

  For days, she was bothered by lots of questions. The seemingly tailored anecdotes from Andrew Sherman about Martha’s horrible mistreatment of Emily – tales that no one else could confirm until some of Andrew’s friends and employees started popping up at the station to back up his story. She took many of their statements and each one sounded hollow and no matter how much she pressed, every one of them was vague about details.

  Whenever she meekly pointed out some of her concerns to Boz, his dismissive responses caused her to back down right away. She should have questioned Boz’s attitude. She should have challenged his judgment. But Boz was the experienced detective and she was just there to observe, learn and assist Boz in any way that he asked. She believed Boz always did the right thing. And that was the attitude that sent her careening around the bend, down a very wrong road.

  Now, back in the present, she went to her computer and got an address for Lisa Pedigo. At the time of Emily’s murder, Lisa had lived in a house across the street from the Sherman residence and two houses closer to the intersection leading out of the cul de sac. She now lived in Mechanicsville. Did she tell Boz something about the Sherman family that no one above Boz wanted to hear? Did Lisa see something in the neighborhood that didn’t fit the official theory? And was Boz complicit in an effort to conceal evidence from the defense? She did not want to believe that about Boz. The only person who could answer her questions was Lisa Pedigo. She had to talk to this woman as soon as possible.

  She went downstairs to check with Brubaker for the latest on Charley’s situation. ‘Lieutenant, I hear that the attorney won’t let that little girl answer a single question. The lawyer and the dad have stepped outside several times to talk on the sidewalk and then come back inside.’

  ‘And left her alone with Cafferty?’ Lucinda asked.

  ‘No. Every time they left, Waller left specific instructions that no one could ask her a question in his absence and told the detective to stay outside of the room until he returned. Cafferty’s about to have a cow; he knows that Waller and his division have a long history. There’s been a lot of shouting going on. I’d say the lawyer’s taking real good care of her.’

  ‘Good. Call my cell if you learn anything else. I’ve got to run up to Mechanicsville. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  A half hour later, Lucinda’s cell rang. ‘Hey, Brubaker, did Cafferty tire of playing with Waller?’

  ‘No. They’re still going at it. Same ol’. Same ol’. I was calling about something else.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘You remember Gloria Phillips?’

  ‘The congressman’s second wife – the one that survived?’

  ‘That’s the one. She asked for you and when I told her you were out of town, she got hysterical.’

  ‘Really, I’m surprised she remembered me – she dealt more with the DA’s office than with me.’

  ‘Well, it was you she wanted. She’d just heard about the congressman’s release from jail and was certain he was coming to kill her, too. Said she’d gotten four hang-up calls in the last forty-five minutes. During the last one, the person on the other end whispered her name and then said, “My little habanero”.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She said that the only person who ever called her that was Phillips and she insisted it was a veiled threat. She’s sure he’s going to try to kill her again and this time he’ll make sure he doesn’t fail.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s stupid enough to go after her physically so soon after his release – but then, again, he is a politician, so who knows? Tell her to pack an overnight bag and send a patrolman to pick her up and bring her into the Justice Center. Tell her I’ll talk to her as soon as I get back, and get her to some place safe for the night. If she gets hungry before I return, send someone out to get her lunch – don’t let her go out on her own.’

  Charley, Gloria, Lisa, Martha – it was all piling up too fast. And what about Jake? Why hasn’t he called? Have they still not taken Rogers into custody?

  FOURTEEN

  Lucinda pulled into the driveway of a large two-storey traditional home with a broad front porch flanked by two massive pillars. The grass was a blanket of brilliant green and smelled as if it had just been mowed that morning. She rang the doorbell and heard approaching footsteps.

  The door opened halfway and a diminutive woman with envy-inducing skin, smooth, clear and in a light shade of café au lait, asked, ‘May I help you?’

  ‘Are you Lisa Pedigo?’ Lucinda asked.

  The woman’s brow furrowed as her deep brown eyes looked over the detective. ‘Who are you?’

  Lucinda pulled out her badge. ‘Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce, ma’am. I’m outside of my jurisdiction so you have no obligation to speak to me, but if you would, I’d like to ask you a few questions about an old case.’

  The woman nodded, ‘Yes, I’m Lisa Pedigo. Please come in.’

  Lisa led her to a formal sitting area with soft white carpet, white sofas, red chairs and black lacquered tables. Lucinda wasn’t sure how anyone could ever feel comfortable in the room – or how it would be possible to keep that carpet clean and unstained – but Lisa appeared to be in her element and very proud of her home.

  ‘Ms Pedigo, do you remember the Emily Sherman murder?’

  ‘I certainly do. I kept waiting for that Lieutenant . . . uh, I forget his name . . .’

  ‘Boswell?’ Lucinda suggested.

  ‘Could be. But anyway. I kept waiting for him to contact me again. He was so excited when he left here. He said that I was a huge help to the investigation and that what I knew would make sure that justice and right won out over power and influence. I asked him for his opinion about the murder; he said he couldn’t talk about that just yet.

  ‘When I didn’t hear back from him, I called and left messages but he never returned my calls. I even called the district attorney but he never telephoned me either. I thought it was odd that they never wanted my testimony at trial.’

  ‘Did you have any suspicions about that? Did it worry you?’

  ‘It certainly did. In the end, I suspected they didn’t want me in the courtroom because they knew I would help the defense raise reasonable doubt about Martha’s guilt.’

  Lucinda’s heart pounded. ‘You thought she was innocent?’

  ‘It seemed quite possible. How could Martha have gone anywhere to harm Emily? She didn’t have a car. Martha was stuck at the house.’

  ‘OK. How did you know Emily had taken the car?’

  ‘I saw her run out of the house, jump inside of Martha’s car and back out of the driveway before peeling off down the road at far too fast a speed. I remember thinking that she was too young for her driver’s license but then other people’s children do seem to grow up every time you turn your head.’

  ‘You told the detective about what you saw?’

  ‘I certainly did. I also told them that less than a minute later, Martha ran out of the house, looked up the street and then slumped onto the garden bench and sobbed.’

  ‘Did you ever see the car return home?’

  ‘No, never. It was never in that driveway again.’

  ‘Could it have been parked in their garage?’

  Lisa chuckled. ‘You obviously never saw the inside of the Sherman’s garage. Packed floor to ceiling with boxes and stuff. You couldn’t have found space to park a skateboard in there.’

  The memory of the scene at the Sherman home came rushing back to Lucinda.
She recalled the methodical dismantling of the garage and the fear that the teenager’s body might be found in the midst of all the clutter. She thought it was odd that Boz entertained that theory, because there was no odor of decomposition present. Now she wondered again: why did they do that? ‘What kind of person was Martha Sherman?’

  ‘She seemed very nice. But my children were rather small at the time, and you tend to spend more time with women who have children in the same age range as yours. But I do remember that she always seemed to have a smile on her face. Well, not always. It was often missing when Emily was around.’

  ‘Did she mistreat Emily?’ Lucinda asked.

  ‘Oh no. I never saw any sign of that. I’d say the opposite was true: Emily was mean to Martha.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, very. Like one time, on a scorching hot afternoon, I was weeding a garden bed when Martha pulled into the driveway. She walked up to the front door carrying two large paper grocery sacks – one in each arm. Emily came running around the side of the house and right up to the porch.

  ‘Martha smiled at her. I imagine she thought the girl was coming to open the door for her. But instead, Emily shoved Martha, knocked her sprawling into a rose bush, sending groceries flying in every direction. Then, that girl hopped on her bicycle and pedaled down the street. When she passed by me, I realized she was laughing.

  ‘I ran across the street to help Martha. I pulled her to her feet. The two of us gathered her purchases up from the lawn and the flower bed. Martha kept saying she was OK but I insisted on going inside and putting something on the cuts she got from the thorns. But Martha only shrugged when I asked her about Emily; she wouldn’t say a bad thing about that girl, though, heaven knows, she had plenty of reasons to do so that afternoon.’

  ‘When did that happen?’

  ‘Oh, nine months or so before Emily died.’

  ‘Did you mention that in your interview?’

  ‘I certainly did.’

  ‘What else did you tell the detective?’

  ‘I thought you kept records of those interviews.’ Lisa said.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, but, we have a little problem with the transcript document. Apparently, someone filed away a redacted media copy instead of the original.’

  ‘Redacted?’ Lisa asked.

  ‘That just means that when a document is made public, someone goes through it and, using a permanent marker, blacks out some of the information not appropriate for release. Most often they obscure people’s birth dates, phone numbers, social security numbers – private information. And occasionally, a judge will deem some of the material too inflammatory or prejudicial for public release.’

  ‘Well, don’t you keep the tapes of those interviews? I know he recorded it.’

  ‘The tapes were damaged, ma’am.’

  ‘Ah, well, I suppose with the conviction you no longer thought you had any need of that and someone got careless.’

  Lucinda didn’t correct her on that point; she just waited for her to continue.

  ‘Let’s see,’ Lisa said. ‘It’s been quite a few years, lieutenant. I’m not sure I can completely recall.’

  ‘If I showed you a transcript of your interview, would that help you remember?’

  ‘It might.’

  Lucinda handed her the thick document and said, ‘What I’d like to know Ms Pedigo, is what you said in the places where the words are blacked out, if you can recall.’

  ‘It will probably help if I read the whole thing from the beginning.’

  ‘Take all the time you need,’ Lucinda said.

  Lucinda leaned back in the sofa watching the woman as her eyes went down a page, flipped it and started at the top of another. At this moment, she knew it did not look good. If Boz listened to what Lisa said, why didn’t he raise an objection before or during the trial? If he hadn’t been involved in the concealment of Lisa’s statement, why did he allow the omission to stand? She had to find out if the defense had even been aware that Lisa had made a statement to police.

  Lisa rose out of the chair and sat next to Lucinda on the sofa. She pointed to the largest section of blackout and said, ‘This is where I told him about Emily driving off in the car that afternoon before she died.’ She flipped a couple of pages. ‘Here is where I told him about the time Emily pushed Martha over – like I was telling you. And right here, is something I’d forgotten.’

  ‘What was that, Ms Pedigo?’

  ‘It had slipped my mind but I knew Andrew was having an affair.’

  No wonder he placed the blame on Martha; he wanted her out of the way. ‘With whom?’ Lucinda asked.

  ‘I didn’t know at the time,’ Lisa said, ‘so I didn’t tell the detective back then but I found out her name later when I saw the wedding announcement in the newspaper – she is the current Mrs Sherman. She was Dora Canterbury, the heiress to the Canterbury real estate empire – word is her father is rich enough to buy and sell Donald Trump several times over – and she is an only child.’

  Lucinda felt her stomach churn. The obvious injustice and the nefarious motives behind the framing of Martha Sherman would be recognizable to a kindergarten student. And Boz was mixed up in all of this? And he never said a single word about it to her? And she’d never questioned a single thing he’d been doing, throughout the whole investigation. How could she have been so naïve?

  FIFTEEN

  Now that lunchtime had come and gone, Jake wondered why he hadn’t heard back from Idaho. How could a simple fingerprint check take so long? It would be understandable if they were doing a blind database search looking for a match, but this was ridiculous. They probably just couldn’t be bothered to communicate, he thought.

  The agent out west had specifically told him not to call but his silence had gone on for far too long, making Jake feel as if his patience had been shredded at high speed in a food processor. He picked up the receiver and called to find out what was up.

  ‘I told you I’d call you, Lovett.’

  ‘I’m not a patient man.’

  ‘Well, it’s a massive SNAFU and I’ve been busy trying to calm down the guy that we falsely arrested. In fact, I just dropped him off at his campsite where his wife lit into him for disappearing but when he pointed at me and said, “He arrested me at gun point when I went to take a leak,” she jumped on me and let loose the wrath of God. The woman had more obscenity laden ways to tell me I was an irresponsible moron than I heard from anyone since my first wife.’

  ‘Back up,’ Jake said. ‘What’s this about a false arrest?’

  ‘When he told us he wasn’t Mack Rogers, he was telling the truth. When he gave us his identification, I told him we’d charge him with identity theft. Turned out the fingerprints didn’t match Rogers but did match the ones on file when he was in the Marines.’

  ‘You’re kidding. How could you make a mistake like that?’

  ‘I swear, Lovett, you don’t need to get on my case, too.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Jake mumbled. ‘But what went wrong?’

  ‘I’ll send you this guy’s booking picture. I promise you, you won’t be able to tell the difference between him and Rogers either.’

  ‘That close, hunh? Did you check to see if he was related to Rogers?’

  ‘He said he never heard of him and we couldn’t find a connection anywhere.’

  ‘What about the possibility that he’s an accomplice of Rogers?’

  ‘Before we got word on the fingerprints, we were checking on his whereabouts when those girls disappeared. He was posted out of the country when all but the most recent ones had gone missing. In that time frame, he said he was living in Idaho and hadn’t travelled out of state. We couldn’t find anything to contradict his statement – no plane, bus or train tickets back east. And looking at his work records, the only periods of time when he had enough days off to drive to Virginia and back did not coincide with any of the deaths.’

  Jake sighed. Another dead end. ‘Thanks for your efforts. Let me know
if anything else turns up.’

  ‘Next time, I’m not going to let anybody know anything until I’m damn sure, Lovett – I don’t relish another round of public humiliation, thank you very much.’

  Jake almost objected to the agent’s attitude but quickly realized that he’d feel the same way and he couldn’t blame the man a bit. ‘Sorry it all turned out like this. I know you’re as disappointed with this outcome as I am.’

  ‘Just find that bastard, Lovett. And nail his hide to the wall.’

  Jake had nothing to do but start another round of calls. He heard about a transvestite who was harassed in Alabama. The poor trannie’s birth name was Mackenzie Rogers but any similarity to the fugitive ended there. The deputies refused to call her Marie but bullied and insulted her for eleven hours before allowing her to return home. Predictably, they did not offer her a ride back in a squad car. When she hitched and accepted a ride from the wrong person, she was beaten and dumped on the side of the road.

  Dozens of ex-wives pointed an accusatory finger at their former husbands – most of whom had never been in the state of Virginia, let alone anywhere near the house on DeWitt Street. They were questioned and released, their days ruined and, in some cases, their jobs imperiled. Many who were acquainted with those temporarily accused would never look at them the same again. Once those kinds of suspicions are expressed, you can’t completely take them back; the stain corrupts for a lifetime.

  Jake wished that local law enforcement would be more circumspect in handling potential suspects; but was grateful that the description of Rogers made it clear that he was not Black or Hispanic. The harassment potential if the case involved a person of color would have spread like a virulent infection throughout the South and beyond. Still, despite the description, an officer in Detroit brought in a homeless black man. Fortunately, the patrolman was laughed out of the station house and the poor man was given a hot meal before being returned to his makeshift home under a bridge.