Lisa Lutz Spellman Series E-Book Box Set: The Spellman Files, Curse of the Spellmans, Revenge of the Spellmans, The Spellmans Strike Again (133 page)

For some people, gardening is a soothing, fun, spiritually nourishing activity. For my sister, who has never met a vegetable she liked, it would be hell on earth. Hard labor, patience, dirt, produce—all things she loathes—and now she would be spending over 13 percent
¹
of her waking hours learning how to make things she hated grow. If that isn’t justice, I don’t know what is.

Rae looked as if she might cry or try to make a run for it across the border. Mom and Dad just seemed relieved that the ordeal was over. Maggie and David kept to themselves, whispering whatever it is that they whispered. Those two could have their secrets so long as they stayed together.

Henry walked me to the door.

“How do you feel about the outcome?”

I turned to Henry. “I could kiss the person who came up with the organic gardening idea.”

“Good to know.”

I phoned Morty from the parking lot of the courthouse and shared my exciting news. The conversation was brief, however, since the movers were at their Florida condo and he was trying to have a conversation with me while dodging large pieces of furniture.

ME
: What’s your ETA?

MORTY
: I had a pastrami sandwich on rye today.

ME
: Huh?

MORTY
: How many lamps do I need?

ME
: I can’t answer that question for you, Morty.

MORTY
: Izzele, are you there?

ME
: Yes.

MORTY
: What were we talking about? There’s lots of noise here.

ME
: Pastrami sandwiches and lamps.

MORTY
: Speaking of pastrami, I want to go to Moishe’s the second I arrive. Make a reservation.

ME
: They don’t take reservations.

MORTY
: Make one anyway.

ME
: Fine. Morty, when are you arriving?

MORTY
: Watch out. I only got the two feet.

ME
: When are you arriving?

MORTY
: What day is it?

ME
: You should know what day it is.

MORTY
: What difference does it make?

ME
: It’s Tuesday.

MORTY
: I’ll be in Frisco Thursday next week.

ME
: Don’t call it Frisco. Only tourists do that.

MORTY
: Stop telling me how to talk. I’ve been doing it a lot longer than you.

ME
: Doesn’t make you better at it.

MORTY
: See you Thursday in the Frisco, Isabel.

ME
: Bye, Morty.

T
he Schmidt case moved forward with the speed of light—at least that’s how it seemed in comparison to the Merriweather case. The DNA results proved that the unidentified blood found on the victim and the skin particles found under the victim’s fingernails did not match the DNA of Levi Schmidt. That DNA belonged to someone else, someone who conveniently was already in the system. His name was Jesse Harper, and he was currently doing a ten-year stint in San Quentin for rape.

Armed with this information, Maggie filed an immediate writ of habeas corpus.
¹
While the evidence was compelling, the DA wanted a confession out of Jesse Harper to seal the deal, and that confession would take weeks of negotiation. Still, Rae was hopeful, which had the unfortunate side effect of taking the edge off her gardening work.

As for Demetrius, I knew from the start his case wouldn’t be so easy. I just didn’t realize how not easy it would be. I presented what I believed was an irrefutable argument to Maggie, beginning with the absence of convincing physical evidence. If he’d murdered a woman, shouldn’t he have had her blood all over him? If he was foolish enough to keep her television, how could he be so crafty as to hide a murder weapon so well that it was never discovered? There was also the ten-year-old witness, who saw a man who showed no signs of having just committed murder casually leave Ms. Collins’s home. Aside from all that, Demetrius didn’t have a single violent crime on his record. Nothing pointed to murder. But having no evidence pointing to a murder suspect isn’t incontrovertible evidence that the suspect did not commit the murder. Once Demetrius was incarcerated, the burden of proof fell back on the defense. Turns out that my case hinged on circumstantial logic. And you can’t free a man just because it makes sense.

After compiling all the data that I had on Merriweather’s case, I returned to Maggie’s office to see if it was enough. She shook her head and said, “No.” Then she excused herself to use the restroom. Then she returned to her desk and consumed half a stack of saltines and drank some ginger ale. I did my best to pretend not to notice, which came off as more suspicious than just asking, “Are you feeling all right?” Maggie then reminded me of what I was up against.

To free a man who has been wrongly incarcerated, you need a really good reason and you a need a reason that wasn’t presented in the original defense. While I knew that Harkey had mishandled Merriweather’s case, I also knew that police misconduct would be a hard sell and there wasn’t enough evidence yet to convince a judge to even reopen the investigation.

My only chance of freeing Merriweather would be to look into all of Harkey’s cases to see if there was a common thread. If I could cast doubt on Harkey’s reputation, there was a chance that all of his cases would require some review.

Maggie could subpoena all of Harkey’s cases, but that would draw direct attention to the case and to me. I told her to hold off. There might be an easier way.

•   •   •

I returned to the Spellman offices and immediately pounced on Dad.

“I need to see the police files on all of Harkey’s cases when he was working homicide. Any chance you can get those for me?”

I had hoped for a simple yes or no answer, preferably yes, but my father said, “What’s going on, Isabel?”

“Can’t you just do this for me and not ask any questions?”

“Uh, no.”

“It’s very simple. Rick Harkey was the arresting officer on the Merriweather case.”

“The convicted murderer that you’re wearing on your shirt?” Dad asked.

“Yes, the innocent convicted murderer. The DNA evidence is conveniently missing, the case was purely circumstantial, has as many holes as a Wiffle ball, and it looks like Harkey coerced the alibi into retracting her testimony. If I can prove misconduct on other cases, then maybe we have a shot at proving a trend, which could result in a reinvestigation of Harkey’s cases in general.”

“So, you’re not doing a good deed, looking into a wrongful conviction; you’re still on a Harkey witch hunt.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“What are you getting yourself into here?”

“There’s no other way, Dad. And I just know Demetrius is innocent.”

Dad said he’d think about it. But Dad uses the “thinking” excuse as a stalling tactic. He’s done it for years. When I was twelve, I asked for a puppy. He’s still “thinking” about that one. I took my father’s response as a clear-cut no.

I’d hoped to escape the house before I ran into Mom, but she intercepted me in the foyer.

“Isabel! Just who I was looking for.”

“Do I know you?” I asked.

“I believe you’re due for another lawyer date. How’s the hunt coming along?”

“Mom, are you aware that the doorknob to the dining room is now missing?”

“Yes. Now how is that date coming along?”

“I’m busy,” I replied. “Why don’t you go to the store and pick one out for me?”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” I replied.

“Okay,” Mom said, not losing her suspicion.

There was a catch, but I’ll get to that later.

CHAPTER 3

I
needed ten years’ worth of police files, which meant I needed either a cooperative DA or a cop who had access to police records. I went to the only other cop I thought might cooperate in my endeavor.

The door to Henry’s office was slightly ajar. I shoved it a bit and said, “Are you busy?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“You’re always in some neighborhood,” he replied.

“Isn’t everyone?”

“Come in and close the door behind you.”

I did. I was about to sit down when Henry said, “Don’t sit.”

I didn’t.

Henry then circled his desk and proceeded to frisk me without even asking first. I slapped his hands away. His payback was reaching into my coat pocket and pulling out a dirty tissue.

“Ha,” I said.

“Throw them out when you’re done,” Henry said, tossing the tissue into his trash and then searching his desk for hand sanitizer.

“What were you looking for?” I asked.

“Drugs, Isabel.”

“Get over it. It was a one-time deal.”

Once Henry was satisfied that I hadn’t brought contraband into his office, he offered me a seat.

“I need a favor,” I said.

“Of course you do. Why else would you visit me?”

There was enough of an edge to Henry’s reply that I felt, well, guilty. And here’s something that might surprise you: I don’t feel guilty all that often.

“That’s not true,” I replied, even though as far as I could recollect, it was true.

“What do you need?” he snapped.

“Now I feel bad. I’m not going to ask.”

“Go ahead,” he said.

I quickly got to my feet and said, “I’ll be back later.” Then I made an abrupt exit.

Two hours later

I returned with a picnic basket (i.e., a large paper bag) full of farmer’s market items—anything I could find in the unprocessed food category, including organic cheese and crackers, since I can’t make a meal of apples and whole-grain bread.

“Can you take a break?” I asked when I entered his office.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Drugs,” I replied. “And lots of them.”

Henry rolled his eyes.

“A snack. I thought we could have an afternoon picnic.”

“Seriously?”

“This picnic will include entertainment.”

“They always do. In the form of ants.”

“This entertainment I’m speaking of is better than any episode of
Doctor Who
in the history of
Doctor Who
.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Get your coat. It’s chilly outside.”

An hour later Henry and I were seated on a wool blanket just outside the fence of the organic garden in which Rae was doing time. While the inspector and I dined on sustainably-grown nourishment, our afternoon’s entertainment was the pained expression on Rae’s face as she dug ditches, planted zucchini, and watered the tomato plants. The frozen look of disgust on her face carried an uplifting comedic edge. In fact, we both lost our appetites because we were laughing so hard. I hoped that as long as her probation lasted, she would rail against her punitive assignment. Henry, on the other hand, simply enjoyed the fact that Rae was forced out of her comfort zone and into a job that served society rather than manipulated it.

As we gathered our picnic remains, our spirits were considerably elevated, I imagine in the same way someone leaving a great theater production might feel.

“That was the best show ever,” Henry said, smiling. He doesn’t smile all that often, so it was a surprise.

“I know. I came here the other day, out of curiosity. Stayed an hour. Figured I shouldn’t keep it all to myself.”

“Kind of you,” Henry replied.

On the car ride back to the precinct, Henry said, “Okay, what do you want?”

“I need to look at police files from when Harkey was on the job. Preferably before DNA evidence had really evolved and for anything that was a potential capital offense.”

“I gather this is in regard to the Merriweather case?” Henry asked.

“You gathered correctly.”

“Is this about freeing Merriweather or taking down Harkey?”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

I
f you found my relinquishment of choice in the lawyer-date matter suspicious, you were on the right track. I was simply making sure that when my final lawyer date went down in flames, Mom would take the brunt of the fallout.

In truth, I had kept the secret long enough. My mother had few weapons left beyond her knowledge of Prom Night 1994. It was time I took that sword away from her. But I get ahead of myself. First, may I introduce you to Jason Berendt, Lawyer #5, RIP?

We met at some swanky bar in the financial district. I wore my
JUSTICE 4 MERRIWEATHER
T-shirt, a corduroy jacket, and a knee-length skirt with boots. I ordered a whiskey on the rocks and waited at the bar.

[Partial transcript reads as follows:]

JASON
: Isabel?

ME
: Jason, the lawyer?

JASON
: Yes. But Jason is just fine.

ME
: Have a seat.

JASON
: Thank you. Bartender, can I get a Budweiser?

ME
: My mother didn’t tell me you drank piss beer.

JASON
: [long pause] I guess I never mentioned it to her.

ME
: Interesting.

JASON
: Who is Merri—

ME
: Merriweather. Demetrius Merriweather. Wrongly convicted for murder twenty years ago.

JASON
: I see. You want justice for him.

ME
: Now that I know you can read, tell me something else about yourself.

JASON
: I’m a lawyer.

ME
: That I know. It’s in the rule book.

JASON
: Excuse me?

ME
: Nothing. So what do you do for fun?

JASON
: Golf. Snow sports. I’m a total gym rat.

ME
: Why is it all you people play golf?

JASON
: “You people”?