The Lady Who Cried Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (21 page)

Frantically pawing at a ginger snap hiding out of his reach, Irving knocked the only canister to have survived the previous attacks on the kitchen to the floor. The glass canister shattered into a hundred pieces. Chelsea jumped at the sudden noise. Molly scrambled to get close to her mistress. The flour housed inside formed what resembled a mushroom cloud across the floor to cover Bevis and the chocolate mousse.

Startled by the crash, Archie jumped and grabbed her forehead.

“What was that?” Mac asked.

“Irving decided to get a start on dusting for fingerprints.”

Epilogue

Twelve Hours Later

At forty-four years of age, Charles Dawson had spent most of his adult life in the prison with no visitors. Deserted by his family upon his conviction of a double homicide after years of being a screw up, he had had no contact with the outside. For that reason, he found it peculiar when the guard fetched him from his cell saying that he had a visitor. He found it doubly puzzling since it wasn’t visitors’ day.

His curiosity was piqued when he was escorted into the conference room to find a gray-haired man in what appeared to be a very expensive suit sitting behind the table with a notebook, laptop, and folder. Upon his entrance, the man rose from his seat and stuck out his hand. “Charles Dawson, my name is Edward Willingham, senior partner at Willingham and Associates.”

Charles held up his hands to show that his handcuffs made it difficult for him to shake hands.

“Take off those cuffs,” Ed ordered the guard.

The guard objected. “Our policy is for prisoners—“

“As of three minutes ago, this man ceased being a prisoner,” Ed said. “Call your warden, who may not be able to take your call because he’s rushing around to get the paperwork completed so that this man can leave by five o’clock today.” He smiled at the man standing before him in the prison uniform. “I was on the phone with the governor when he signed the pardon.”

Charles Dawson was too shocked to notice when the guard took off his cuffs. When he found his voice, he asked in a gravely tone, “What…?”

“Let me begin by telling you that Senator Harry Palazzi, the man who killed the two women he framed you for murdering, is dead.” Ed went around the table to sit down behind his laptop. He opened up the folder.

“Good,” Charles said. “If he wasn’t, I’d end up back here.” Slowly, he sat down across from him. Numb from disbelief, he didn’t quite feel the chair. Realizing he could find no reason why this man was there to free him, he asked, “Who are you again? Why are you here?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“The last lawyer I met rolled over and died and let me get railroaded in here,” Charles said. “I told him that Senator Palazzi killed those women. Hell, he told me so to my face, and when I told my lawyer he said that even if it had been true, that no one would believe an honorable man like Senator Harry Palazzi would do such a thing.”

Ed referred to the folder in front of him. “That was Francis Miller, a public defender appointed by the court to defend you?”

“Yes,” Charles said.

“Are you aware that after your conviction he became a junior partner at Samuel Brooks and Associates? He is now a senior partner,” Ed said. “We’re naming him in your law suit, along with everyone else who has played a role in this injustice.”

“Why?” Charles sputtered out.

“Most likely money,” Ed said. “Power. A nice office—“

“I mean why!” Charles shouted. “Why me? Why are you here now when I have been saying for years that I didn’t kill those women? No one believed me. I lost everything. I don’t have a family. Now I’m free, but I have no place to go! That man and his powerful friends who proclaimed him an honorable statesman stripped me of everything. What good does it do letting me out now? Like you’re going to give me back the last twenty years? My youth? I have nothing! What good is it going to do for you to sue them for me? Like—” he laughed, “and how much of whatever we get are you going to take for yourself, Mr. Fancy Lawyer!”

Ed looked at the man sitting across from him in orange overalls with tears filling his eyes. They were tears of shock, anger, betrayal, relief and fear.

“Nothing,” Ed said in a soft voice. “I’m taking nothing of how ever many millions the jury will award you—and I know that once they see the evidence we have, they will award it all to you.”

“What about your fee? Certainly you aren’t doing this for nothing.” Charles gestured at his suit. “Someone has to pay for that suit.”

“My fee is paid by the Forsythe Foundation,” Ed said. “Named after Mickey Forsythe, a fictional character created by Robin Spencer—

“I heard of her.”

“Everyone has,” Ed said. “Our purpose is to right injustices and provide aid, financial or otherwise, to right wrongs like this one. Your case is a perfect example. Now, the man who had the evidence of Senator Harry Palazzi killing his wife and her friend has had this evidence for many years, but chose to do nothing with it for his own selfish reasons. Last night, he turned it over to the authorities in exchange for immunity from criminal prosecution.”

“So he can’t be arrested for letting me rot in jail,” Charles sneered.

“He got immunity from criminal prosecution,” Ed said with a smile, “but not civil. He’s going to be named in our lawsuit. He’s got a nice big house in the Outer Banks. Have you ever thought of living on the beach?”

“Sounds lovely.” The tears in his eyes turned to ones of joy. In spite of his best effort, they spilled from his eyes.

Ed returned the smile. “Where would you like to go when you leave here?”

“I have no place to go,” Charles said. “I told you. I have no one. Even my family believed those lies those bastards told about me—about what I did to those women.”

“Well, the truth is coming out.” Ed gestured to the guard. “I took the liberty of making a few phone calls and brought someone here to walk out with you.”

The guard opened to door to allow a young man and woman, holding a small boy in her arms, to come in.

Charles stood up.

“Let me introduce you to your son,” Ed said, “your daughter-in-law, and your grandson. I thought maybe having a family would help you get your life back on track.”

Holding his son, Charles Dawson was unable to hear the lawyer over his sobs of joy.

A week later, the news of the day was about the late Senator Harry Palazzi, murderer and rapist.

First, there was the discovery of his murdered wife’s body, along with that of her friend in a grave under a work shed in the Maryland Mountains. Then, it was released that a witness had recorded evidence of the late senator detailing how he had killed them when they had confronted him about raping his wife’s best friend.

In Charles Dawson’s behalf, Edward Willingham filed a two hundred million dollar lawsuit against the Palazzi estate, Samuel Brooks’ estate, Kevin Cooper, Dawson’s defense attorney, and others for railroading an innocent man into jail. His chances of winning looked very good.

The senator’s political party was still reeling to come up with a suitable spin for the revelation of who had really murdered Senator Harry Palazzi’s wife and her best friend when Florence Everest’s rape tape was leaked to the media. When Mac asked his lawyer about how the tape got leaked, Ed Willingham had said, “Why Mac, to make public any information given to me by a client would be a violation of client-lawyer privilege.”

“But Florence Everest is dead, Ed.”

“Good thing for me then, huh?” the lawyer said. “Dead people can’t sue.”

After the tapes had been made public, human nature had taken its course. It seemed as if every day a woman or two would come forward to say that she, too, had been raped by the senator. Apparently, Harry Palazzi, confident that his people would cover for him, had attacked at will.

Any good that Senator Harry Palazzi may have done in office was overshadowed by the statements of the women, well over a dozen, whom he had brutalized and then intimidated into silence. In spite of efforts by the late senator’s media friends to ignore his attacks on women and the violent way he had died at the hands of his own homicidal son, the sheer volume of rape victims and the brutality of his own actions on the recording made it impossible to spin the facts.

Within seven days, the count of women who had come forward was up to fifteen women, with the earliest rape going back to when Palazzi had been a sheriff deputy.

Senator Harry Palazzi was going down in the history books as a rapist and murderer.

The late senator’s political party was scrambling to find a suitable candidate to take his place in the senate who could make voters forget about the monster who had formerly held his seat. There were rumors that calls were being made to Catherine Davenport Fleming, Ben’s wife, to accept the appointment to finish his term and run for his office in the next election.

When asked, Catherine flashed her stunning smile and demurred, “A wise woman once pointed out to me that it took only one person to get prayer yanked out of our schools. Why can’t one person put our country back on the right path to greatness? I have to wonder if I have the strength and determination to be that one person our country needs.”

The senator’s son, Bevis Palazzi was going down in the crime books as a sexual pervert, an embezzler, and serial killer.

Further investigation of Bevis’ activities proved that he had stolen his comatose client’s money to get cheek implants, a nose job, liposuctions, and lip implants. He had also used her money to take Nick Fields on lavish trips in an effort to court him. Khloe Everest’s theater friends confirmed that the aspiring politician was a homosexual, kept in the closet by his father. According to statements from witnesses who knew the two men, Nick was not a homosexual, but he did like money and would do anything for it—even play husband to Bevis’ role of wife.

As part of his agreement for immunity and protection, Kevin Cooper filled in the blanks. “I caught Bevis Palazzi leaving the scene after he killed Dee Blakeley. He claimed it was an accident.”

The private investigator was sitting across from the Garrett County prosecutor in a state police jail interrogation room where he was staying before leaving with the US Marshal to go into protection.

The thick case files stacked up in front of him, Ben Fleming laughed. “He accidentally stabbed her over twenty times.”

Cooper chose to ignore the remark. “According to what Senator Palazzi told me, Bevis went over to her apartment to plead with her to withdraw her charges. If they had been taken seriously by the jury, they would have destroyed his father’s reputation. Then, Bevis had no hope of going very far in his own political career. All that she had to say was that it was all a misunderstanding. He even offered her a bribe. But she wouldn’t listen, and she ordered him to leave. She walked away from him, and he lost it. He grabbed the knife, and the next thing he knew, she was dead. Luckily for him, I caught him and took him home. I was agreeable. I knew a good thing when I saw it.”

“Say that to the families of the three other women Bevis killed because you didn’t arrest him for his first murder,” Ben replied.

“It’s Nick’s fault that those other women are dead,” Cooper said. “Bevis paid him very well to be with him. He offered to support him so that he didn’t have to work as a male stripper. If Nick had taken the money the first time Bevis offered it to him, then he never would have killed Amber Houston. Bevis offered an allowance plus a sports car if he didn’t follow Khloe to Hollywood, but no, Nick wanted to be a star. If he had stayed, then Tiffany Blanchard would still be alive.”

“Was it Bevis who outed Nick as being straight and ruined his career in order to get him back here?” Ben asked.

“I’m sure it was,” Cooper said. “When Nick came back, his Hollywood career was over. That was when Bevis offered him a house, a Ferrari, and a big allowance. All he had to do was be faithful to Bevis, even if he was just faking. It wasn’t like Bevis was asking for that much. If Nick had kept his zipper shut, then Bevis wouldn’t have gone berserk and killed Khloe.”

“And cut out their uteruses and put them in his freezer as trophies,” Ben said. “Face it, Bevis was a serial killer with an insane jealousy and hatred toward women. He learned that hatred from his father. You knew all about it, and you did nothing to put an end to it. That makes you an accessory after, if not before, the fact.”

“Call it what you want,” Kevin Cooper sat back in his seat and smiled. “I’ve got immunity. Hey, if it weren’t for me, the justice department would never have found out about the voter fraud, which has launched a huge investigation. In a few months, about a dozen senators and congressmen in both parties are going to wet their pants when the feds come knocking on their doors. And the justice department will be thanking me.”

“What a great American,” Ben’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

Chuckling, Kevin stretched out his arms and laced his fingers behind his head. “Hey, with all the stuff that Brooks’ clients have been mixed up in, I knew that it was only a matter of time before the authorities would eventually catch up with one of them. That’s why I kept copies and recorded everything. I’ve made myself much too valuable to send to jail. While those guys are going to jail, even if it is a country club jail, the US Marshal is setting me up with whole new life. This time next week, I’ll be fishing and working on my suntan.”

“That’s right.” Ben closed the file and stood up. “I heard the marshals have got a nice place and job picked out for you.”

Sitting forward, Kevin rested his elbows on the table top. “I know a good thing when I see it.”

“That you do.”

Ben didn’t bother shaking hands with the private investigator, whose license was then revoked since his identity had been erased. The prosecutor waited until he had left the jail and was in his car before he allowed himself to smile.

It does pay to have influential friends in high places. One of Ben Fleming’s friends happened to work for the United States Marshal’s office, in the department of placement for protected witnesses. Ben had asked her to select a very special place and occupation for Kevin Cooper. He didn’t care to know where or what Kevin would end up doing. He only asked that it be a place and job that would befit such a man.

Thirty days from the day of Ben’s final interview with Kevin Cooper, Charles Dawson was sunning himself on the private beach of his house in the Outer Banks, which was a small part of the settlement that Kevin Cooper’s attorney had recommended their client make to keep his assorted dirty dealings from being made public in court. The Mercedes convertible in his garage was part of another settlement from a recently disbarred defense lawyer. Then, there was the several millions of dollars that had been gifted to him from a mysterious benefactor. His lawyer, Ed Willingham predicted that millions more would come in after the civil trial against the Palazzi and Brooks estates.