"I don't think they are mistakes, Cyn. I think someone in the Crime Lab doesn't want certain evidence coming to light. The question is, who?"
Pierson sat quietly for a few moments, thinking about what MacFarland had said. "Are you now convinced that Maureen Freeman is not the killer?" she asked.
MacFarland got up and started pacing around the kitchen. "At first, I thought she was guilty. There were some quirks in the case, but nothing that a good prosecutor couldn't handle. But the more I dig into this, the more improbable it seems that she is the one who shot her husband. Here's the things that don't add up for me.
"First, where was Freeman killed? Not around the house. There's no blood evidence that he bled out anywhere around the house. The casings for the two shots that killed him have not been found. And I doubt that Maureen could actually carry her husband--"
"Maureen Freeman is actually a fairly strong woman," said Pierson. "But I agree with you, her husband weighs about fifty or sixty pounds more than her. I just don't want you underestimating what a woman can accomplish when she wants to."
"Whose side are you on, for God's sake?"
Pierson finished her coffee and, glancing at the clock, she shrugged and poured herself another cup. "I’m on the side of truth, Mac, always on the side of truth."
MacFarland shook his head in bewilderment. "Okay, that's all well and good. Do you mind if I continue?"
Pierson smiled and waved him on.
"Second, it appears he went fishing, and presumably caught some fish. At least there was evidence that fish were gutted and cleaned. Yet there were no fish found.
"Third, at one time there was evidence that he had been around pine trees that had been coated with a very specific fire retardant. We know of at least thirty sites around Denver where that retardant was recently used, but none of those spots are in the city limits of Denver. This would indicate to me that the victim was killed near one of these spray sites and then planted in the victim's garage."
Pierson stared at him, waiting for him to go on. When MacFarland remained silent, she took a sip of coffee, then put her cup down.
"Okay, here's what you're not taking into account, Mac. Only the suspect's prints were found on the gun, which was registered to her. Her alibi for the time period in which the victim was killed and subsequently discovered is pretty lame. She claims she was alone in the house for several days and had no occasion to go out. The suspect admits that she moved the body and wrapped it up in a blanket that could have planted all of the debris that might indicate where he was killed. The suspect had a motive for killing her husband--"
"What was that?" demanded MacFarland.
Pierson scowled at her former partner. "Aside from the fact that just about every wife at some point wants to kill her husband, it appears that she was suspected of stealing money at her husband's business."
"Yeah, that was Newsome's testimony," said MacFarland, recalling the interview notes. "Something about that guy doesn't sit right with me. I just can't put my finger on it."
"You suspect everyone, Mac."
His expression was deadpan. "Usually, everyone is guilty of something," he said.
Pierson laughed, then picked up the empty cups and put them in the sink. "Despite the circumstantial evidence implicating Maureen Freeman, I tend to agree with you. I think she is being set up, probably by the real killer. So how are you going to find him?"
MacFarland stood up and headed slowly for the hallway. "I'm not," he said. "I'm no longer a detective. I just sell hot dogs. It’s up to you guys to solve the case."
Chapter 30
Monday, December 14, 1222 Hours
Pierson went in early on Monday morning to return the file that she had borrowed on Saturday. As far as she could tell, Iverson never knew it was missing. She tried to get some of the answers to MacFarland's questions, but she was generally unsuccessful. Nor was she able to find any time or opportunity to meet privately with Alan Iverson.
Meanwhile, MacFarland went about his business, selling hot dogs and giving away food to his homeless friends. He kept a lookout for Jerry Baker, but it was not until just after noon on Monday that Baker approached MacFarland's corner. MacFarland had mixed feelings about seeing the lawyer. On the one hand, he wanted to give him his assessment of the case. Surely the lawyer had access to the file, but would he know about the missing evidence? MacFarland knew that any doubts about the integrity of the evidence could be used to get the case thrown out of court. The problem was, how would Baker explain how he learned of this evidence tampering? There was no way of bringing that out into the open without getting MacFarland and, more importantly, Pierson into a lot of trouble. Am I willing to go that far, MacFarland asked himself.
As the lawyer neared the cart, MacFarland finally resigned himself to telling Baker that he couldn't help with the case. I'm no longer a detective, he reminded himself.
So MacFarland kept his concerns about the TetraKO evidence to himself. He described his other concerns with the case, but Baker had already formed very similar conclusions. "I can create enough doubt in the jury's minds," he said, "to probably get an acquittal. I will just have to work harder to get the right people on the jury."
MacFarland was very familiar with this aspect of court proceedings. Lawyers for both sides tried to get the jury stacked with people who would be sympathetic to their side of the verdict--defense lawyers wanted jurors who would doubt that the defendant could ever even harm a fly, while prosecutors wanted people who really wanted to see justice done. Each side could challenge the other side’s choices.
"I’m convinced your client is innocent," said MacFarland quietly.
Baker looked up from his bratwurst. "But you can't help me?" he said.
"I don't see what I can do," said MacFarland. "It really is up to the police to gather the evidence."
Baker did not do anything to conceal his disgust. "The police only gather evidence to prove that the person they have is guilty," he said angrily. "Don't lecture me about leaving anything up to the police. That's why I hire my own private eyes."
MacFarland felt uncomfortable, and as he usually did, he started wiping the surfaces of his cart. Just as Baker was about to leave, MacFarland looked up and coughed. "There is one other thing that bothers me about the case," he said. "I'm not sure how you can use it, but it struck me as odd."
Baker stopped, his body radiating his impatience. "What is it?"
"The interview with Brian Newsome," said MacFarland. "He didn't come right out and accuse her of theft, but Newsome sure seemed to implicate Maureen Freeman in possible losses at her husband's business. That seemed to give the police a motive for her to kill her husband. According to Newsome, Freeman was going to turn his wife in.” He hesitated a couple of seconds, then added, "Something just doesn't jive in all that."
Baker came back to the cart. "Newsome's testimony bothers me a lot," he said. "But I find it odd that you give any credence to Newsome's statement at all."
MacFarland stared at Baker, frowning. "What do you mean?"
Baker barked a quick ironic laugh. "Oh, I thought you knew. Given your history, I am surprised you believe one word that Newsome says."
Now MacFarland was really puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"You mean you didn't know? Brian Newsome is related to Norris Peterson. They’re cousins."
Chapter 31
Tuesday, December 15, 0911 Hours
Baker's revelation left MacFarland speechless and conflicted. Baker had wandered off back to his office without MacFarland making any commitment to help him, even though Baker pressed him once more to do so. MacFarland said he needed to think about it, and that's what he did. For the rest of the afternoon and throughout the evening. The fact that the business partner of a murdered man was related to the man who had killed his wife and ruined his life did not logically imply that Peterson was involved
in the crime. Yet that was exactly what MacFarland wanted to believe. MacFarland was shocked when he realized how much he wanted to blame Peterson for the jeweler's murder. Fortunately, his training and professionalism forced him to admit that there really was no connection between Peterson and the death of Otto Freeman.
But supposed Norris Peterson was involved in the murder? What exactly would his involvement be?
He wanted to discuss this new development with Pierson, but she came home and avoided him. She didn't want dinner. Instead she went to her room and shut the door. He knocked at her door and said he wanted to talk to her, but she told him to leave her alone. MacFarland shrugged, and went to bed.
He did not get an early start the next morning. He overslept, and when he went down to the kitchen to prepare his product, he saw how late he was going to be. He didn't think that it would matter much if he didn’t go downtown at all. There were just ten days until Christmas, and the courts were practically deserted. On the other hand, he imagined Rufus, standing around waiting for him, cups of coffee in hand. He couldn’t leave his friend like that.
He finished loading up his cart. He came back into the kitchen to get his coat. Pierson entered the kitchen just as he was about to leave. "I thought you had already left for work," he said.
"I thought you had already left too," she replied.
He smiled. "Guess we're both running late this morning. I wanted to talk to you about something Jerry Baker told me. Can you come by sometime today? I'll bribe you and your partner with free dogs."
She sat down wearily at the table. "I'm not going in today," she said. "I've been suspended."
He was not sure he correctly heard what she said. He closed the door he had just opened, and returned to the table. "Did you say you've been suspended?"
She looked up, her expression cold and withdrawn. "It seems that Iverson did notice that his case file was missing. It also seems that he complained to Chamberlain about someone taking it."
"Oh, Christ, I'm sorry. How did he find out that you took it?"
"I told him, of course," snapped Pierson. "It's bad enough I’m breaking rules for you Mac. I'm not going to compound it by covering up my actions. When I heard that Chamberlain was going to instigate an investigation, I went to him and told him that I took the file."
"Did you tell him why you took it?"
Pierson gave MacFarland an exasperated stare. "Don't worry, I didn't mention anything about you seeing the file. I don't take friends down when I fall."
MacFarland was annoyed with her suspicions about his motive. You would think that after knowing someone for more than a decade, she would have better insight into what made him tick. Then he realized that he himself didn't know why this case had caught his attention either. Now he knew that his inner sixth sense, his detective insight, had told him right from the beginning that Norris Peterson was involved in the case. He didn't know how he was involved, but he would find out. So far the only thing linking Peterson to the murder was his cousin's business relationship with the victim, and that link was enough for MacFarland.
Now was not a good time for Pierson to be suspended from the department.
"How long are you suspended for?"
"Two weeks. I get to spend the fucking holidays at home! I think he suspended me more to give Iverson time to cool down than because he is really pissed at me. Iverson, the poor bastard, is really being fucked over by someone at the top. The DA is pissed at the department for screwing up evidence. Those pine needles you were worried about? Turns out that was evidence from another case that got mixed up with the stuff from Freeman's garage."
MacFarland looked at Pierson in shock. "You're shitting me! How could that happen?"
"Who the fuck knows? Supposedly some newbie in the lab didn't follow protocols and delivered a sample bag to the wrong work station."
"I can't believe that happened," said MacFarland. It was all too convenient to be coincidence. He tried to recall all the documents he had reviewed. "What case were the pine needles from?"
Pierson looked tired. "I don't know, Mac. I didn't think it was important enough to interrupt Chamberlain ripping into me to ask about that."
MacFarland shook his head in bewilderment. Then his memory clicked into place. He could see the evidence sheet with the mention of the pine needles. "Did they exclude the fish scales also?"
Pierson's eyes narrowed. "No, they didn't. Remind me why that is important?"
"The pine needles and the fish scales were both found on the victim's left shoe. Seems odd that they would claim the pine needles were now from another case, but not the fish scales. Is the Crime Lab that sloppy?” MacFarland knew now that it wasn't really pine needles they were worried about. It was the addendum list of possible sites where the chemical retardant had been used in the past several months. The actual crime scene was on that list!
Pierson shook her head. "No, they are not. Now I see why Iverson was so upset when he found his case file gone. He knows someone is tampering with his case, but he doesn't know who or why. Shit, what have I walked into?"
"I don't know, Cyn, but the more I see of this case, the more I am convinced that you were right all along. Maureen Freeman is not the killer. But someone doesn't want us to know who the killer really is. That someone has the power and influence to turn good cops bad."
Pierson stared at him, realization suddenly dawning in her eyes. "You know who this person is, Mac?"
MacFarland nodded slowly. "I think I do, though I don't know exactly what the connection is. But the money and power behind this case is the cousin of Freeman's business partner. None other than Norris Peterson."
Chapter 32
Tuesday, December 15, 1145 Hours
MacFarland and Pierson spent the next hour discussing MacFarland's belief that Peterson was involved in this crime. Pierson could not deny that Peterson had some connection to the case--after all, Brian Newsome was related to Norris Peterson. Newsome had been identified as a possible person of interest in the case, especially when he had balked at releasing the financial records of the jewelry store. But after a day or so and some cat and mouse games with Newsome's lawyer, Iverson got his hands on the books for Newsome Jewelry Company. It didn't take long to find that there actually was over $50,000.00 missing, which Iverson found sufficient motive for murder.
The problem was, who had taken the money? According to Newsome, Otto Freeman had hired his wife on a part time basis to manage the books. Although Newsome questioned her qualifications, according to his statement he had acceded to Freeman's decision to maintain harmony in the partnership. "I try to bend over backwards to make this business a success," he had said.
Apparently he did not bend over enough, for several employees stated that they overheard numerous arguments between the two partners over the continued employment of Maureen Freeman. On some occasions, the arguments took a turn towards violence as chairs were crashed and tables overturned. Neither man, however, ever physically assaulted the other one. The outbursts were usually short-lived. Even so, the animosity between the two men was quite worrisome to many of the employees.
As Pierson and MacFarland discussed the case, MacFarland realized that while Newsome had a motive for murder, he couldn't find any way to tie Peterson into it. Yet clearly, Peterson must be involved. Once before, Peterson had used his vast wealth to buy jurors and Assistant District Attorneys, to influence cops, to subvert the legal system. If he did it once, why couldn't he do it again?
MacFarland could think of no reason to doubt Peterson's involvement.
All he had to do was prove it.
Even though it was late in the morning, he drove his cart downtown and set up at his location. Jacinto waved at him, curiously glad to see his competitor still at his corner. Rufus was nowhere in sight, of course, since MacFarland was at least two or three hours later than usual. Rufus was not the kind of guy to stick around waiting for someone. He
had "things to do, people to see, decisions to make."
MacFarland pulled out his cell phone and called the number on the business card that Jerry Baker had given him. When Baker answered, MacFarland said simply, "I think I want to help you."
Baker cut the call short and said he would meet MacFarland in person. Fifteen minutes later, Baker walked up to MacFarland's cart. "A bratwurst," he said. "With all the trimmings.”
"I provide the brat," said MacFarland. "You put the trimmings you want on yourself."
Baker smiled and took the bratwurst. "So you decided to be my PI," he said. "I am glad to hear that. I didn't want to discuss it on the phone. Never know who is listening."
MacFarland was surprised by that, since he doubted anyone would listen to Baker's phone conversations. But stranger things had happened in the world. Just maybe Baker's paranoia was justified. MacFarland nodded. "There's several things about the case that don't seem right. Have you seen the police reports?"
"I should be getting them today or tomorrow," Baker said. "If you've already seen them, I don't want to know anything about that. On the other hand... is there something I should be looking for?"
"Two main things. The first thing I noticed is that the crime didn't occur at the Freeman residence."
"I suspected that. But if not there, where did it happen?"
"I don't know," said MacFarland. "But I think I can find out. It might require some leg work, though."
"I can cover your expenses. We'll work something out for your time, too."
MacFarland smiled. "I’m not really a licensed private investigator, Jerry. I'm just a hot dog vendor."
"If you can solve this case, Mac, you’ll be a life saver."
MacFarland smiled grimly. "If I can find the person who is really responsible for this crime and put him in jail, that will be more than enough payment for me."
Chapter 33
Friday, December 18, 2325 Hours
It wasn't snowing in Denver yet. Up in the mountains, on the ski slopes, the weather experts predicted more than a foot and a half of snow--the ideal present for all of Colorado's skiers. Down on the Front Range communities from Fort Collins to Castle Rock, it wasn't cold enough to form snow--just a wet, messy slush.