Just after he had piled a second helping of spaghetti on his plate, Pierson started describing her day at work. At first, MacFarland paid little attention to what she was saying. All he had to do was feign polite listening, and what she said had little impact on him. But the longer she talked, particularly when she started mentioning people they both had worked with when he was in the department, he found himself becoming more and more depressed by the conversation. He was about to ask her to drop the conversation when she casually mentioned that they had brought Maureen Freeman in for questioning.
Suddenly, he became interested.
"I heard that it was her gun that was the murder weapon," he commented between bites.
Pierson looked at him in surprise. "How did you hear that? Nothing's been released to the press yet."
"The District Attorney's office can't keep anything secret," he said.
"The assholes," snorted Pierson. "What else did you hear?"
"Not really that much," he replied. "Mainly that the gun is a match to the murder weapon and that the wife and husband had been fighting lately."
Pierson nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. It seems she's been working in her husband's store. That's been causing problems between the partners."
"Really?” He twirled his spaghetti on his fork and raised it up to his mouth, but didn't take a bite. "What sort of problems?"
"Hey, it's not my case, so I don't know all the details. But I hear that the partner thinks Maureen Freeman has been pilfering money from the store."
"Any idea how much?"
Pierson shook her head. "We are trying to get our hands on the store's financial records, but the other partner says it may be upwards of fifty thousand dollars."
"That's a little bit more than pilfering," said MacFarland. "Who's handling the case?"
"Iverson," said Pierson, watching MacFarland for a reaction. Alan Iverson had been the detective who had screwed up the chain of custody in the murder trial of Peterson, a foul-up which had helped get Peterson acquitted.
MacFarland didn't take the bait. "Iverson is usually pretty thorough," he said unconvincingly. "He should be able to handle this case."
Cynthia Pierson's sixth sense kicked in. She could tell how MacFarland really felt about Iverson. No matter. She felt the same way. Iverson was a lazy cop. "Everyone in Major Crimes is pretty certain that the wife is the killer."
MacFarland looked at her out of the tops of his eyes. Even he could tell that Pierson was holding something back. "But?"
"But I don't think so, Mac. I’m not sure she is the killer. Something doesn't smell right with this case."
MacFarland sat quietly for a moment, concentrating on finishing up his dinner and attacking the last meatball which he had saved as a special treat. By now it had gotten a bit cold, though, and it didn't taste as wonderful as he had expected. Over the years, he had come to trust Pierson’s instincts.
"Can you get copies of the case files?" he asked.
Pierson shook her head. "I could lose my job if I showed those to you. They’re not public record yet.”
MacFarland stared past her. Finally he slowly nodded. "It was stupid to ask," he said. "The case isn't important enough for that kind of a risk."
Chapter 16
Tuesday, December 8, 1138 Hours
MacFarland tried to push the Freeman murder case out of his mind. He had enough of his own problems to deal with. First, someone else tried to encroach on his corner. "You weren't here last week," insisted the encroaching squatter. "I drove by and saw that it was vacant."
"It was just temporary," said MacFarland. "One or two absences doesn't give you the right to take over my spot. Go over to the other side of the courthouse. No one has been using that spot for several months."
The other problem he had to deal with was a customer complaining that the hot dog he just finished eating was nauseating. "Here's your money back," said MacFarland. "Sorry you didn't like the hot dog."
The man took the money, but was not finished complaining. "It's not the money that's the issue. You shouldn't be selling lousy dogs. How long have they been sitting around going bad?"
Since all of his product was recently purchased, MacFarland was pretty confident that his dogs were fresh. "I follow the health codes," he said. "I don't sell any expired meat here."
At that moment, Jerry Baker came up to the wagon. He listened for a moment while the customer continued his tirade. Finally he put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Friend, you have three options. First, you can file a complaint with the City. Not much will happen from that, other than you will cause this poor man unnecessary grief. Second, you can hire a lawyer and together you can sue the shirt off this guy. That's about all you'll get, since the lawyer will get most of whatever assets you win. And third, you can get the hell out of my way so I can order lunch."
The customer looked at the lawyer in surprise, then abruptly turned and walked away.
MacFarland smiled at Baker. "Thanks," he said. "Though I wish you hadn't told him to file a complaint. Those things do tend to come back and haunt you."
Baker waved off MacFarland's concern. "That kind of clown never follows up. They just want to make a scene. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't complain until after he had finished eating the hot dog."
"He did seem to be enjoying it," commented MacFarland. "You want another brat?"
"You remembered! Yes, with all the fixin's."
MacFarland pulled a brat off of his heating rollers and put it into a bun. "Condiments are your responsibility, Mr. Baker."
"Thanks," said the lawyer as he took the brat. "Please, call me Jerry."
"Sure thing, Jerry," said MacFarland. "And you can call me Mac. Most of my friends do. So, how's your day going?"
Baker laughed, then concentrated on piling relish, mustard, and onions onto his brat. "You know, in my business, I get my fair share of guilty people who need me to get them the best deal they can get. And I usually deliver. I'm quite good at what I do."
MacFarland smiled. "Yes, I know. You've gotten a couple of my perps off Scot free. I always regarded you as the enemy, Jerry."
Jerry Baker didn't seem put off by MacFarland's candid remarks. "I was never truly the enemy. If I thought a guy was a real scumbag or would do the crime again, I got the best deal for him and for society that I could. Sometimes that meant jail time. Most of my clients, though, are rich bastards who are not likely to commit the same crime again. The way I play the game is they give me a comfortable slice of the lifestyle they’ve put in jeopardy, and I get them just enough jail time to convince them to behave in the future."
"They are still murderers and thieves," said MacFarland. "Don't the moral implications of helping that kind of person get away ever bother you?"
Baker was munching on his brat. He took a sip of Coke before he responded. "Frankly it does, Mac. But I have a job to do. I provide the best defense ethically possible; the DA provides the best prosecution ethically possible. And we let a jury decide who did the best job."
"So it's just a job for you?"
"Most of the time, yes, it is. But today, I have a real puzzle to deal with."
MacFarland cocked his head questioningly.
"Most of the time--hell, all the time!--I can tell when my clients are guilty or not. Most of the time, they are guilty, and I take that into account. Still do my job, mind you, but I know what's going on. But I now have a client who I know is innocent, yet everything points to her being guilty."
MacFarland looked up, his curiosity raised. "Yes, I heard you say that once. You’re talking about the wife of Otto Freeman?"
"You know about the case? Yes, of course you would. Despite being a hot dog vendor, you're the kind of guy that would have ears and eyes in all the right places. Yes, Maureen Freeman. I've looked at the evidence the police have, and I can't see any way to put a dint in it. Of course, we're just starting. I've had to hire
a private eye who is pretty good at finding out things the police don't want you to know about."
MacFarland showed his surprise. "Are you saying that the police are covering something up?"
Baker shook his head. "Nothing so nefarious as that. But you've been a cop. You know how the game is played. You have a huge caseload. The sooner you can solve a crime, the more successful you are. So lots of times, cops focus on the first obvious suspect, and sometimes overlook a less significant suspect."
MacFarland felt a bit defensive. "With good reason," he said. "Cops develop an instinct for this. Not that mistakes don't happen, but most of the time, we--they get it right."
"I'm not disagreeing with that. But all I need is a reasonable doubt. If I can put a reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurors, I can get my client off. But in this case, I am having problems finding any basis for that reasonable doubt."
MacFarland shrugged. "Maybe she is really guilty," he said.
Baker shook his head. "Nope. I've got instincts too, and Maureen Freeman is innocent. The police haven't caught the real killer yet. But they are building a rock solid case against an innocent woman."
Chapter 17
Tuesday, December 8, 1840 Hours
The next evening, Pierson handed MacFarland a folder. Her only comment was, "This was all I could get my hands on. There's more, but it's locked up in Iverson's desk.”
MacFarland took the file up to his room and closed the door. He leafed through the photocopies and printouts for about an hour. The file consisted of crime scene descriptions, two interviews with Maureen Freeman, and several interviews with employees of the Newsome Jewelry Store, as well as victim's partner, Brian Newsome. He noted the case number, the detective (Alan Iverson) assigned to the case, and the names of the officers who first arrived on the scene. They were two officers he didn't know.
The victim was Otto Marvin Freeman, born November 4, 1962. He was a white male, five feet eleven inches tall, two hundred and fifteen pounds. A picture of him showed a pudgy-faced man with a pointed chin, narrow nose, and deep-set eyes. He had dark brown hair, thin eyebrows, but otherwise no other facial hair. In the photo included with the report, he wore wire-rimmed glasses. Overall, he looked like a happy and contented man. In the photograph included with the file, Otto was wearing a tuxedo, white shirt, and silver tie. He had the appearance of a very successful businessman.
Maureen Anne Freeman was four years younger than Otto. She had shoulder-length blond hair, brown eyes, a broad smile, and a narrow face. She looked older than her years, but that might have just been the photograph. She wasn't wearing any jewelry in the photo. MacFarland found that strange, since her husband sold jewelry.
The couple had no children. At least none were listed in the report.
MacFarland skipped over the formal police incident report, and instead focused on the primary documents. Most of the time, these weren't included in the file, but Pierson had somehow gotten copies of the detective's notes. Unlike the official incident report, the detective's notes often included speculations and side comments that told MacFarland what the detective was thinking. He focused his attention on one particular interview that caught his attention. This interview was with the victim's business partner, Brian Newsome. All police interviews were recorded but Iverson was old school. He still kept notes of his own interviews.
Case 72236-MC24113
Interview with Brian Newsome, 30 Nov 2015, 1620 hours at Interviewee's residence
Has been partners with vic for more than ten years. Last saw vic Wed, 25 Nov, at 1700 hours. Said vic left store alone.
Keeps checking his watch.
BN says vic has been showing signs of restlessness, worry, anxious. "Something serious has been bothering him.” Might be fights with wife over missing money. Wouldn't say more than that without talking to his lawyer. Pointed out that he is not a suspect, but he still shut down. Says he was home when vic was killed.
[Check with wife and neighbors.]
BN says no problems or conflicts with vic. Doesn't know if vic has any enemies. "Otto was the nicest guy you could imagine. I can't imagine anyone wanting him dead."
Asked if there were any business problems, but party was evasive. Asked if I could see the books for the business; Party said he would need to talk to his lawyer. [Something here - need to follow up.]
MacFarland looked to see if there were any financial records, but he couldn't find any.
MacFarland checked the autopsy report. Although the body was found on Saturday, the victim had been killed on Thursday. The fatal shot had been a bullet to the left side of the head. The victim also had received a second post-mortem shot in the chest. This bullet had missed the heart, but since the victim was already dead, there was reduced blood loss.
There were several pages of notes of interviews of Newsome's neighbors, who seemed to confirm his alibi. The detective had a note appended to the bottom of his last interview. No one can really account for his whereabouts for entire three day period. Might be problems for DA. Need to pin this down.
He looked over the notes and information regarding the suspect.
Maureen Freeman apparently had been home all weekend. According to her statement, she had arrived home at noon on Wednesday, and hadn't left her house until Saturday, claiming that she had been feeling ill. She said her husband had gone off on a fishing trip, so she had spent Thursday and Friday in bed. On Saturday, at approximately ten in the morning, she had decided to go to the grocery store. She discovered Otto's body when she went into the garage. She thought an animal had gotten into the garage and died. When she discovered it was her husband, she tried to turn the body over. She stated that she was not aware that her husband was dead, and thought only that he had collapsed. When she turned him over, she saw the blood on his chest and realized that he was not breathing. She wrapped him up in a blanket because he was cold and left him in a sitting position. She went back into the house and called the police.
Maureen came under suspicion when a search of the garage found the murder weapon hidden amongst some cans of paint. Ballistics verified that the gun, a Sig Sauer Mosquito .22LR, had been used to kill the victim. No Gunshot Residue, or GSR, was found on the suspect. The gun was registered to Maureen Freeman and had been legally purchased two years earlier.
He then went through the original crime report, reviewing the procedures followed by the officer on the scene. He gave the autopsy report a thorough examination. The medical examiner on the scene had estimated the time of death sometime late Thursday evening or early Friday morning. Given the cold temperatures, the exact time of death was difficult to determine in the field. The lab report indicated that Otto had dirt and debris on his clothes, consistent with having been outdoors fishing. MacFarland wondered idly where Otto was fishing at this time of year. Then he wondered why anyone in their right mind would be fishing in November. There was evidence that the body had been moved--from the actual crime scene?--and that there was very little blood found in the location where the police found the body.
Neighbors who were interviewed stated that they did not recall hearing any gunshots, although a neighbor across the street was certain that he heard shots fired on Saturday morning. Iverson had a note in the margin "Not consistent with TOD." Well, if Time of Death was two days earlier, of course the sounds would not be consistent.
After a couple of hours, he closed the report, then went downstairs.
Pierson was sitting in the living room, reading a book. She looked up as he entered the room. "Well?"
MacFarland shrugged. "There are a couple of anomalies, things that Iverson has to get resolved. But nothing jumps out at me that says she isn't a prime suspect."
Pierson scowled, then resumed reading her book.
Exasperated, he finally mentioned his meeting the day before with Jerry Baker and described B
aker's concerns. "He claims his client is innocent," he summarized.
Without looking up, Pierson said, "He's right."
Chapter 18
Wednesday, December 9, 0930 Hours
Rufus had just wandered off to visit with some friends over near the Capitol building when MacFarland saw Cynthia Pierson walking towards his cart. A young man, her new partner, Benny Lockwood, accompanied her. He was dressed in a light grey wool suit, more appropriate to early fall than this time of year. A cold front had moved in during the night, and this morning was almost thirty degrees colder than it had been the day before. A blast of frigid air blew in from the mountains, and Lockwood tried to pull his suit jacket tighter around him. MacFarland chose that moment to hold out his hand in greeting. "Pleased to see you again, Lockwood."
Lockwood looked at MacFarland's outstretched hand, then slowly reached and shook it. He shivered in the wind.
"Can I get either of you anything?" MacFarland asked. "Sorry I don't have coffee. That seems more appropriate than cold cans of soda."
Pierson shook her head. "No, we've already had enough shitty coffee. I just wanted to get out of the office for a bit. Needed some air."
MacFarland looked up at the grey sky. "Probably a good time to get out. Feels like snow in the air," he said. "We'll probably get a couple of inches by this evening.” MacFarland went back to setting up his condiment trays and arranging his product. He knew that Pierson was here for more than fresh air, but he didn't want to be the one to initiate the conversation. Perhaps he had been on the street too long, but he was reluctant to instigate any interaction with a cop--even if he had been partners with that cop for more than five years.
Pierson didn't respond. Instead, she folded her arms and waited for MacFarland to finish prepping his cart. Finally MacFarland looked up. "You got something on your mind?"
"We had a drug deal go downhill," she said. "Someone outed our snitch and we found him in a dumpster in Aurora. The Aurora Police Department has the lead in the case, but we think the perp is from our hood. You know anyone who might know something?"
MacFarland started putting product on the rollers, even though it was still early in the morning. Cynthia Pierson hadn't discussed any cases with him for more than three years, yet now she was giving him internal police files and asking for intel on drug dealings. Farfetched as it might seem, he began to wonder if Jerry Baker had gotten to her. "Why now?" he asked.