My Sister's Grave

CHAPTER 36

 

 

 

 

 

Tracy was running on fumes, unable to recall the last time she’d slept through the night. She felt the fatigue in her limbs and heard it in her voice as she and Kins sat in the conference room with Faz and Del, updating Billy Williams and Andrew Laub on the A Team’s active files.

 

During the weeks since Dan had filed his reply brief to Vance Clark’s Opposition to the Petition for Post-Conviction Relief, Tracy and Kins had retraced many of their steps in the Nicole Hansen investigation without success. They’d re-interviewed the motel owner and motel guests. They’d run latent fingerprints lifted from the motel room through King County’s Automated Fingerprint Identification System and run down hits, crossing off persons with lock-tight alibis as potential suspects. They’d spoken again to the dancers at the Dancing Bare, to Nicole Hansen’s family, to her friends, to a couple of ex-boyfriends. Tracy had created a timeline of the last few days of Hansen’s life and had identified any person with whom she’d come into contact. They’d also executed search warrants that had been spectacularly unproductive.

 

“What about the employee files?” Laub asked.

 

“They came in late yesterday afternoon,” Tracy said, referring to the files they’d subpoenaed of current and past Dancing Bare employees. “I got Ron getting a head start on them,” she said, meaning the A Team’s fifth wheel, Ron Mayweather. Each of the four Homicide teams had a fifth detective assigned to them for carrying out some of the more mundane tasks of investigative work.

 

Laub turned to Faz. ”Where are we on the cars in the parking lots?”

 

Faz shook his head. “We got bubkes,” he said. “We’re still running down an out-of-state plate in California and one up in British Columbia. We’re making nice to our buddies across the border.”

 

“Anything on HITS?” Laub asked.

 

Tracy shook her head. “No.”

 

When the meeting broke up, Tracy was craving caffeine, but Williams met her at the door. “Hang out a minute,” he said, and she suspected she knew why.

 

When they were alone, Williams said, “Vanpelt’s show last night created a shit storm. You can expect another phone call.”

 

Vanpelt’s early Christmas present had been an hour-long report profiling Edmund House, Cedar Grove, and Tracy on her show, KRIX Undercover. Vanpelt had spliced historical photographs of the town with photographs of Tracy, Sarah, their parents, and Edmund House. She’d used interviews of Cedar Grove residents discussing how Sarah’s disappearance had shattered the town’s bucolic existence, the emotional impact the trial had had on the town, and how they felt about the possibility of going through it all over again. No one was happy about having their lives dragged back through the media mud.

 

Tracy leaned against the conference room table. “I thought it might,” she said to Williams. “How bad is it?”

 

“Media fielded two dozen requests for interviews from the local and national media, and that was before the Seattle Times ran the story on the front page this morning. They want an interview. So do CNN, MSNBC, and half a dozen others.”

 

“I’m not doing it, Billy. It won’t end the inquiries. It will only heighten the attention.”

 

“Laub and I agree,” Williams said. “And we’ve told Nolasco as much.”

 

“Yeah? What did he say?”

 

“He said, ‘what do we do if House gets a new hearing?’?”

 

 

 

Nolasco rarely looked happy, but that afternoon when Tracy entered the conference room he was scowling like he’d received Botox injections while constipated. Lee again sat beside him, his chin resting on the palm of his hand and his eyes locked on a single sheet of paper on the table, no doubt another statement they’d ask Tracy to sign. She just couldn’t seem to keep from disappointing them.

 

“What’s the status of the Hansen investigation?” Nolasco asked, before Tracy had the chance to sit. Tracy didn’t think for a minute Nolasco had called the meeting to discuss the Hansen case.

 

“Not much different from when we spoke last night,” she said, pulling out a chair.

 

“And what are you doing to change that?”

 

“At the moment I’m sitting in here, so not much.”

 

“Maybe it’s time we brought in the FBI.”

 

“I’d rather work with a Boy Scout troop.” In Homicide, FBI stood for “Famous But Idiots.”

 

“Then I suggest you get me something to take upstairs.”

 

Tracy bit her tongue as Nolasco gave a nod to Lee, who reached below the table and retrieved a half-inch-thick stack of paper.

 

“We started getting these just after Ms. Vanpelt signed off last night,” Nolasco said, sliding the stack to her. Tracy flipped through copies of e-mails and transcribed phone messages. They weren’t pretty. Some called her unfit to wear the uniform. Others asked for her head on a platter.

 

“They want to know why a Seattle homicide detective sworn to serve and protect the public is working to free a piece of shit like Edmund House,” Nolasco said.

 

“These are the haters,” Tracy said. “They live for this. Are we going to start making decisions to appease the fringe now?”

 

“The Seattle Times, NBC, CBS, are they also the fringe?”

 

“We’ve been through this. They’re interested in sound bites and ratings.”

 

“Maybe,” Nolasco said, “but in light of recent events, we believe it prudent the department issue a statement on your behalf.”

 

“We’ve prepared something for your consideration,” Lee said.

 

“Consideration,” Nolasco said. “Not approval.”

 

Tracy motioned for Lee to slide the single sheet of paper across the table, though she had no intention of signing anything. They could issue what they wanted. They couldn’t make her attach her name to it.

 

Detective Crosswhite has had no official role in the investigation or in the proceedings to obtain Post-Conviction Relief for Edmund House. Should Detective Crosswhite be called upon to participate in these proceedings, it will be as a member of the victim’s family. She has not, and will not, officially or unofficially use her position as a Seattle homicide detective to influence the proceedings in any manner. She will have no comment on the proceedings or the results of those proceedings now or in the future.

 

She slid it back. “First you want me to comment. Now you’re forbidding it? I don’t even know what this means.”

 

“It means you will testify if subpoenaed,” Nolasco said. “That will be your only involvement. You are not to serve in any manner as a consultant for the defense.”

 

“Involvement in what?” She glanced to Laub and Williams, but they looked as confused as Tracy felt.

 

“We thought you knew,” Nolasco said, looking suddenly uneasy.

 

“Knew what?”

 

“The Court of Appeals granted Edmund House’s Petition for Post-Conviction Relief.”

 

 

 

Kins stood as Tracy hurried back to her cubicle to gather her things. “What happened?”

 

Tracy slipped on her coat, still not fully comprehending what she’d just heard. She’d waited twenty years, but now it seemed as if everything was moving too fast. She was having trouble processing it.

 

“Tracy?”

 

“The Court of Appeals granted the petition,” she said. “Nolasco just told me.”

 

“How the hell did he know?”

 

“I don’t know. I need to call Dan.” She grabbed her phone from her desk and started from the bull pen.

 

“When’s the hearing?”

 

“I don’t know that either.” She rushed to catch the elevator, seeking a private place to call Dan and take a moment alone to absorb everything. She felt like she’d taken a punch to the head and was still clearing cobwebs. The post-conviction relief hearing was the platform Tracy needed to demonstrate that the inconsistencies in the testimony and the evidence introduced at Edmund House’s first trial raised serious questions about his guilt. If Dan could get a judge to agree, the court would be forced to order a new trial, bringing Tracy one giant step closer to getting the investigation into Sarah’s death re-opened.

 

As the elevator descended, she squeezed her eyes shut. After twenty years, Sarah might finally get justice, and Tracy might finally get answers.