Red Mist (16 page)

“And these explanations for the Jordans’ seeming carelessness are based on what?”
I ask.

“Based on Special Agent Long’s assumptions at the time,” Jaime says, as I dig myself deeper into a case that I shouldn’t want
any part of.

Because I’ve been tricked.

Jaime Berger pulled a number of stunts to make sure I’m sitting in this very living room and having this very conversation.

“Unfortunately, assumptions are easy to make when you believe a case is already solved,” I say.

“Yes.
They had the Jordans’ DNA on bloody clothing that Lola Daggette was washing in the bathroom of her halfway house,” Jaime
agrees.

“I can see why the GBI, why the prosecutor, wouldn’t have been unduly caught up in the details of the alarm system,” I remark.

“I’m curious about why you’re caught up in these details.”
She reaches for her glass.

“An intruder knowing or not knowing whether the alarm was set tells us something about this person.”
I get in deeper, as Jaime
knew I would.
“Do you happen to know if the keypad was visible from outside the door?
Could an intruder have looked through
the glass and seen the alarm was or wasn’t set?”

“It’s not easy to tell from the photographs.
But I think it’s possible someone could have looked through the glass and seen
the light on the keypad was either green or red, indicating the status of the alarm.”

“These details are important,” I explain.
“They tell us something about the mind-set of the killer.
Was the Jordan house random?
Was it luck of the draw?
Did someone break out the glass of the kitchen door and unlock it, deciding, if an alarm went off,
to run like hell?
Or did this individual have reason to know there was a good chance the alarm wasn’t going to be set?
Or could the person see
it wasn’t set?
I assume the Jordan house still exists?”

“The kitchen has been remodeled.
I’m not sure what else has been, but there’s an outbuilding in back that didn’t used to be
there.
The original kitchen door is gone, replaced by a solid one.
The alarm company used by the current owner is Southern
Alarm.
There are signs posted on the property and stickers on the windows.”

“I bet there are.”

“We’ve found nothing that might indicate what the facts are about the Jordans’ alarm system except that the company was Southern
Cross Security.”

“Never heard of it.”

“A small local company that specialized in installations in historic buildings where the main priority was not to damage original
woodwork, that sort of thing.”
Jaime takes another sip of her drink.
“It went bankrupt several years ago when the economy
tanked and real estate values went into the toilet, especially for grand old homes from the past.
A lot of these mansions
are now condos or office spaces.”

“This is what Marino found out.”

“I’m wondering why it matters who found it out.”

“I ask because he’s an experienced and thorough investigator.
Information he gets as a rule is reliable.”

She studies me as if what I just said isn’t true.
She’s checking to see if I’m jealous.
She expects I’m unhappy that Marino
is here because of her and planning to resign from his full-time position at the CFC.
Maybe she’s experiencing a secret satisfaction
that she’s stolen Marino from me, but jealousy is not what I’m feeling.
I’m unhappy
about her influence on him, and not for any reason she might divine.
I don’t trust her with his well-being or with the well-being
of anyone.

“Did you ask Colin Dengate if he knew anything about the alarm system?”
I ask her.
“Did you ask if he might have heard the
investigators discussing why the alarm wasn’t set?”

“Any matters relating to the police investigation he doesn’t share with me,” she says.
“He directs me to the source, which
is proper but not helpful.
Not even cooperative, if we’re honest about it.
He’s allowed to talk and voice his opinions but
chooses not to with me.”

“Does he talk to Marino?”

“I wouldn’t have Marino approach him directly.
That wouldn’t be appropriate.
Colin should talk to me.
Or you.”

A mistake,
I think.
Marino is the very sort of rough-around-the-edges no-nonsense cop that Colin Dengate would feel quite comfortable
with.

“What kind of doctor was Clarence Jordan?”
I ask, as if what happened to him has become my responsibility.

“Had a very successful family practice on Washington Avenue.
You don’t murder someone like Clarence Jordan, and you don’t
kill his wife.”
Jaime’s eyes are steady on me as she talks and drinks.
“You certainly don’t kill his beautiful little children.
People aren’t going to want to accept that Lola is innocent.
Around here, she’s Jack the Ripper.”

“Your method for inviting me to help you as an expert isn’t exactly what I’m accustomed to,” I finally say.

“There’s more than one thing going on.
By getting you down here, I’m helping both of us.”

“Not sure I see that.
What I do see is you know how to work Marino.
Or, better put, you still know how to work him,” I remark.

“You’re a person of interest in a federal investigation, Kay.
I wouldn’t trivialize that fact.”

“It’s also pro forma, and you know that better than most,” I say.
“In light of who I am, and especially because of my affiliation
with the Department of Defense, any allegation has to be looked into.
If I’m accused of being the Easter Bunny, it has to
be checked.”

“You wouldn’t want it in the news that you’re being accused of anything at all.
Certainly not accused of attacking someone
and maiming that person.
Wouldn’t be pleasant to wake up to that headline.”

“I hope you’re not threatening me.
Because that comment sounds like one a defense attorney might make,” I reply.

“Good God, no.
Why would I threaten you?”

“I think it’s obvious why you might.”

“Of course I’m not threatening you.
In fact, I’m in a position to help you,” she says.
“I might be the only person in a position
to do so.”

I don’t know what she’s talking about.
I don’t see how Jaime Berger can help me, but I don’t ask.

“A lot of people might be sympathetic to Dawn Kincaid,” she says.
“In my opinion, you might be better off if your attempted
murder case never sees a jury.”

“So she can get away with it?
I fail to see how that’s helpful.”

“Does it matter which case she’s punished for, as long as
she is?”

“She’ll be tried on cases other than mine.
For homicide.
Four counts of it.”
I assume this is what she’s alluding
to.

“A shame she has the scapegoat of Jack Fielding for those homicides, the Mensa Murders.”
She stares thoughtfully at what’s
left of her Scotch.
“Blame those sadistic crimes on a dead man who was a bodybuilder, an unstable and aggressive forensic
expert who was involved in a number of activities that will offend your average juror.”

I am silent.

“If the worst happens and the murder cases don’t go well, that rather much leaves you hanging out to dry.
If Dawn manages
to successfully blame the murders on Jack, you have no case, in my professional opinion,” Jaime says, and now she’s the prosecutor
talking.
“If jurors believe Jack was the killer, then it will appear you attacked an innocent woman who happened to show up
on your property to retrieve her dog.
If nothing else, you’re going to get sued and it’s going to be expensive and ugly.”
She’s the defense attorney again.

“It wouldn’t be good if the belief is that Jack was the killer,” I admit.

“What would help your case is a silver bullet, don’t
you agree?”
She smiles at me as if ours is a pleasant conversation.

“Yes.
We always hope for silver bullets.
I’m not sure they exist, except in folklore.”

“It just so happens they can exist,” Jaime says.
“And we happen to have one.”

S
he lets me know happily, confidently, that DNA results from recent retesting of evidence connects Dawn Kincaid to the Jordan
murders.

“Swabs and samples taken in the Jordan house, including blood from the handle of a knife, samples that came back as unknown
at the time of the murders, are a match,” Jaime explains, as I check my iPhone for messages and deny her the reaction she
expects from me.

Gratitude.
Relief.
What can I do to thank you, Jaime?
Anything you want.
You just name it.

“Dawn Kincaid was definitely there,” Jaime states, as if there can be no doubt.
“She definitely was inside the Jordan house
at the time of the murders.
She left pubic hair and urine in the toilet.
She left
skin cells and blood under the fingernails of five-year-old Brenda, who apparently clawed the hell out of her.”

She gives me a moment to feel the weight of what she’s just said, pausing for effect as I think about another matter entirely.

You okay?
Where are you?
Benton has just text-messaged me.
Who or what the hell is Anna Copper LLC?

“I guess I can understand your interest in Kathleen Lawler,” I say to Jaime, as I answer Benton with a question mark.

I don’t know what he means.
I’ve never heard of Anna Copper LLC.

“I’m sure Kathleen hopes there’s a deal to be had if she cooperates with you,” I say to Jaime.
“Maybe you can finagle a reduced
sentence or influence a pardon board.”

“She’s been very cooperative,” Jaime answers.
“And yes, she wants her life back.
She would do just about anything.”

“Does she know about the DNA?
That new test results point at her biological daughter?”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?
I get the feeling the GPFW is keenly interested in everything said and done in there.”

“I’ve been careful.”

“Did Lola Daggette have injuries when the police arrested her shortly after the murders?”
I inquire.
“Was she checked for
injuries?
For abrasions, for scratches or bruises?
Was she given a forensic physical examination?”

“Not that I know of.
But there were no obvious injuries, and that should have been a clue,” Jaime says, and she’s right.
“There
was no question Brenda struggled with her assailant and scratched this person
badly enough to draw blood.
So it should have been problematic for the police that Lola had no scratches.”

“If she had no injuries, then it should have been a clue,” I agree.
“And if the DNA of this biological evidence recovered
from underneath Brenda’s fingernails didn’t match Lola’s DNA, that should have been another clue.
A very big clue, and a very
big problem.”

“Yes, it should have suggested that Lola didn’t do it.”

“Or that she didn’t do it alone.”

“It’s called people having their minds as closed as a steel vault,” Jaime says.
“People around here wanted these murders solved.
They needed them solved for their own peace and safety, and to feel order and sanity had been restored to their lovely little
city.”

“Unfortunately, that happens.
Especially in extremely emotional, high-profile cases.”

“It was Dawn who killed the Jordan family and got clawed and scratched and made a sandwich and used the downstairs toilet,”
Jaime summarizes.
“And ironically, the reason I know this for a fact is because of what happened to you in Massachusetts.
Dawn’s DNA profile was entered into CODIS after her arrest for your attempted murder, and when I had DNA from the Jordan crime
scene retested and entered into CODIS, we got a hit.
It’s a shock, I realize that.
It’s stunning.”

“Maybe not a shock.”
I refuse to give Jaime that.
“Kathleen Lawler indicated Dawn might have been in Savannah when the Jordan
murders were committed.
January of 2002, she said to me, when I was talking to her today.
Supposedly that was the first time
the two of them met.
Do you think Kathleen might have any idea what her daughter did?”

“I can’t imagine it.
Why would Dawn confess such a thing unless she was hoping to get caught,” Jaime answers.
“This is such
a tremendous break in more than one case.
We know for a fact that Dawn Kincaid was here in Savannah.
She had to be.
It won’t
matter if she continues her lies about what happened at your house on February tenth.
If she had any credibility, it’s about
to be gone.”

“So I should be doubly motivated to help you make your case,” I say.

“Justice, Kay.
On more than one front.”

“When did you get the DNA results?”

“About a month ago.”

“No news about it, as far as my case is concerned, or I’d know,” I comment.
“I haven’t heard a word.
But that doesn’t mean
other people don’t know.”

“Neither Dawn nor her counsel knows her DNA’s been connected to the Jordan case, to multiple homicides committed nine years
ago,” Jaime says, with confidence I don’t feel.

“What lab did you use?”
I ask.

“Two different independent ones in Atlanta and Fairfield, Ohio.”

“And no one knows,” I say skeptically.
“The FBI doesn’t know?
I’m assuming the attorney general of Georgia allowed the retesting?”

“Yes.”

“And the AG doesn’t know the results?”

“He and other key people understand the importance of not releasing information until the case has been prepared.
And I’m
still in the early stages of that.”

“One of the biggest threats to any investigation is leaks,” I remind her of a fact that would have been obvious to her not
so long ago.

She is full of herself.
Or maybe she’s desperate.

“And it seems to me in this particular case, the threat level would be very high for leaks,” I add.
“Extraordinarily high,
in fact.
There are a lot of people who have a personal interest in the Jordan case, including powerful people in Georgia’s
state government who might be embarrassed that a New York lawyer came down here and discovered one of their most notorious
murder cases had been mishandled and a teenager was sentenced to death for a crime she didn’t commit.”

“I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.”

“No, but maybe you’re being idealistic.
You’re excited about this case, understandably, but I wouldn’t be much help to you
if I didn’t point out that you very likely aren’t flying under the radar or operating under a mantle of secrecy.”
Tara Grimm
is on my mind, and I wonder if she’s aware of the new test results.

She knows retesting was ordered.
Who told her that?

“So you’re willing to help me.
I’m delighted to hear it,” Jaime says, but she doesn’t look delighted.

She looks tired and haunted, her eyes getting sleepy and not as bright as I remember them from times past.
She seems uncomfortable
in her own skin, constantly shifting her position on the couch, tucking her feet under her and placing them back on the floor.
Restless and fidgety and drinking too much.

“I’m helping you now by reminding you there may be people who know about the new DNA results and might try to interfere or
already be interfering,” I say to her.
“The DNA evidence you retested was entered into the FBI Laboratory’s Combined DNA Index
System and got a hit in the Arrestee Index, and next Dawn Kincaid’s
identification was confirmed.
Therefore, you can’t say with certainty that the FBI isn’t aware that Dawn Kincaid, who is of
intense interest to them, might be linked to nine-year-old murders in Savannah.
If the attorney general knows, it’s possible
the governor does, and the governor seems quite invested in having Lola Daggette executed.
When I talked to Tara Grimm, it
was clear to me that she knew about evidence retesting and that there might be, and I quote,
‘a jailbreak’
at the GPFW.”

“They record everything in there,” Jaime replies matter-of-factly, as if she’s not at all concerned about what I just said.
“I knew damn well when I sat in that contact visit room in Bravo Pod that every word was being recorded, which is why I resorted
to writing notes on my legal pad when it was critical that what I communicated remain confidential.
Kathleen is motivated
to be careful what she talks about, but I admit Lola is another matter.
She’s very limited intellectually and has poor impulse
control.
She’s given to boasting and flaunting herself, will do almost anything for attention.
While she knows we’ve retested
evidence, I’ve not told her the results.”

“I’m just wondering if she knows them anyway.
It might explain her hostility toward Kathleen, the mother of the person whose
crimes Lola has spent the last nine years paying for,” I suggest.

“My bigger worry is this hitting the media before I’m ready,” Jaime says.

“I don’t think that should be your biggest worry.
I notice you’ve installed a security camera, an alarm system.”
I don’t add
that she might be carrying a gun.
“Maybe you should be worried about your professional and personal safety,” I add.

“And I imagine you would have a first-rate security system and
camera surveillance if you were working down here.
Or someone would do it for you,” she adds, and I wonder if she’s referring
to Lucy.
“As soon as I have more forensic facts and am completely sure of my case, I’ll file a petition to vacate Lola’s capital-murder
convictions.
I’ll redirect prejudice to the facts.
I’ll redirect a lust for revenge to hard science, and hopefully you’re
going to help me.”

She pauses as if expecting me to tell her I will, but I don’t offer that assurance.

“There was never any evidence to link Lola to those crimes except for the bloody clothing Dawn Kincaid obviously instructed
her to dispose of or to clean or maybe planted in her room to frame her,” Jaime says.
“But I need details.
I intend to be
fully armed when I go forward.”

“How did Lola and Dawn know each other?
Or do we know if they did?”
I inquire, as Benton text-messages me again.

Where are you?
Not answering in your hotel room.

I’m safe,
I text-message him back.

Call when you can.
(Anna Copper has a tarnished rep.)

I answer him for the third time with a question mark as Jaime says, “Let me interject that I’m not violating privilege.
Lola
has given me permission to discuss the details with you.”

“Why?
Besides the fact she likely would do whatever you said.”

“Your influence would be taken seriously by the courts,” Jaime
answers.
“What we lack is a recognized and reputable forensic expert who will stick his or her neck out.”

She means Colin Dengate isn’t going to stick his neck out.
Or at least that is what she believes.

“It’s not a popular position to take in light of the outrage over
these murders,” she adds.
“Public sentiment is nothing less than hateful, even after all these years.
The beauty in proving
Dawn Kincaid murdered the Jordan family is it also helps you,” she makes that point again.

She’s trying to bribe me into doing the right thing, and maybe that’s what is offending me most.

“If Dawn Kincaid slaughtered an entire family in their sleep, she’s certainly capable of committing the crimes in Massachusetts,
and no one is going to believe a word she says about you,” Jaime concludes an argument that isn’t necessary or complimentary
in what it implies.

“Has Lola mentioned Dawn Kincaid?
Has she admitted or insinuated that Dawn is the mysterious accomplice she refers to as
Payback
?”
I ask.

“No.”
Jaime cradles her drink and looks at me from the corner of the couch, where she is restless and getting drunker.
“She
says she doesn’t have any idea.
She woke up in her room at the halfway house the morning of January sixth and discovered articles
of her own clothing on the floor, clothing that was covered with blood.
Terrified she would get in trouble, she tried to wash
them.”

“Do you believe that?”