Follow the Money

13


I was weeks into the summer and both the case and my life were adrift. Sliding sideways, if not backward. I had to focus. I had to shake the tree a little harder, to borrow one of Jendrek’s lines, and I figured the best place to start was with the biggest tree of all. So I got up early and drove to the prison.

The mere fact that I’d come to see him again seemed to encourage Steele. He took a seat across from me at the same drab metal table we’d sat at before and grinned. He seemed hopeful, and his desire for good news really made me wish I had some.

“I’ve got to be honest with you,” I began. “I’ve spoken to just about everyone, and we don’t have much to go on.”

He didn’t seem surprised, but his hope was not diminished. “You’ve spoken to Matt’s mother? His sister?”

“It was the same old story. Nothing new.” I flipped through my notepad. I suddenly regretted coming. The room remained damp and cold and Steele still had no chance of ever getting out. “I even met with the detective who was the first one to get to your house that night. There’s nothing new there either.”

But Steele was undeterred. “That guy had me pegged as the killer the second he got there. I could see it in his eyes. The way he looked at me after he found Sharon. I knew I was done for.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a feeling I had. As soon as the cops got there, I knew I was going to jail. I knew no one would believe me.”

“Well, the detective’s attitude hasn’t changed much.”

Steele shook his head. “He’s just like all the others though. All these people are always going to say the same thing. They’ve been saying it for years. They can’t change now.”

“We’re hitting a wall here.” I shuffled the papers in my file, as if to emphasize the fact that I’d done everything I could. But it was more to justify my defeat to myself than to Steele. Finally, I smiled and said, “Not that it means much, but I did get a threatening call from one of Matt’s friends.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I laughed. “Some guy said he was watching me and not to step out of line. I’m pretty sure it was just some guy Matt’s in prison with, you know, making the call just to help him out.” I heard myself talking. Something in my voice resonated with doubt. The note under my door was real and proved that someone out there knew who I was and what I was doing. But they weren’t the same people. I thought about mentioning the note and then let it go. It didn’t prove anything. It was just weird.

Steele thought about the threat for a second and said, “The fact that he had someone call you, to me that says he’s worried. I know there’s got to be something else out there.” Steele shrugged, as if the facts were plain as day. “Matt was in the house that night. Someone, somewhere, has to know something. Someone had to see something.”

“The only name I’ve come across is an old friend of Matt’s named Danny Kelly. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Not to me. Maybe Becky would remember it. I don’t know. Like I said before, I didn’t really know Matt. I sure as hell didn’t know any of his friends.”

“You don’t have any idea who Danny Kelly is?”

Steele shook his head.

“Matt’s mom and sister both knew the name. In fact, I got it from his mother. I’ve been trying to track him down. There’s no mention of him anywhere in the file. I’d just like to ask him if Matt ever talked about that night. If he ever mentioned anything that might be useful.” I grinned and shook my head. “I’ve got to tell you though, we may not find him.”

“Just keep trying.” Steele scratched behind his ear and added, “You’ll find him.” He spoke with a prophetic certainty that made him sound omniscient or insane. I couldn’t decide which. All I could do was smile. His optimism was disheartening. The more assured he was, the worse his disappointment would be.

I returned to my notes. I had no real agenda for the meeting. I had only come to grope in the dark, hoping something useful might come of it. Steele watched me flip through the papers.

“What about Ray Gee? Ring any bells?”

“No.”

“His name has come up a few times. I guess he’s been around, asking people questions. The detective said he thought he was a reporter. Matt’s sister claimed he offered her money to change her story. I’m more inclined to believe the detective, if I have to believe any of them. Whoever he is, he seems to have a strange interest in you.”

Steele’s eyebrows went up and he leaned back. “That’s a little odd, don’t you think?”

“Sure, if any of it’s true. But it’s impossible to say. The detective seems credible, the Bishops don’t. I don’t know what to think.”

“Is there any way to get in touch with this guy?”

“I doubt it, unless he contacts us. The detective dismissed him as a nut, and the Bishops are convinced we’re all in some kind of conspiracy with the guy. They’re not the most stable people. They seem to think the whole world’s out to get them.”

Steele looked around at the walls and said, “I know the feeling.”

I watched the subtle movements of his small body. I listened to the resonance of his voice. I was out of questions. Again I wondered why I’d come. But this time I knew the answer. It wasn’t to shake the tree, but to test it, to inspect it. I leaned into him and hesitated.

“Jim, I’ve got one more question I need to ask you.”

He said nothing. I folded my hands together and rested my weight on my elbows, the question practically leapt out of me. “Did you kill your wife?”

It was the one question you never asked. Even I knew that. But there it was, hanging in the air between us.

Steele barely moved, other than to let a smile come over him. He clasped his hands together said, “In a dozen years, no one has ever asked me that question.” Then he reached out and set his hand on my arm. Its warmth only magnified the cold of the room.

He leaned in closer and whispered, “No.”

***

It was a two-hour drive back to the office and I thought about Steele’s denial the whole way. He looked me right in the eyes when he said it. No wavering, no hesitation. Even if it wasn’t the truth, the guy definitely believed what he was saying. There was no questioning that.

I wondered whether a dozen years in prison could cause a man to so completely rearrange the past in his own mind that his memory was effectively changed. In movies, they always talked about repressed memories, but what about completely fabricated ones? Was the drive to escape guilt so strong that Steele could have consciously revised his memories and then forgotten his revisionist efforts?

I figured anything was possible, but that innocence was more likely. The more I thought about the steadiness of his voice and eyes, the more I began to believe that Steele really was innocent, despite the evidence against him. What had gone wrong in the first investigation? How had no one managed to find anything to support his story? There had to be something.

I was still thinking it through when I got back downtown. I was so lost in thought that I only half noticed the two guys lingering by the entrance to the parking garage. I saw them, but I didn’t really look at them. One was a wiry little guy with an earring and a face like a ferret. The other was big, bearded, and dressed in leather, as though the ninety-degree weather meant nothing.

I parked the car and started working my way across the large garage when I saw the big guy walking my direction. Somehow I saw it right away. I sensed it. He was coming for me. He looked right at me and I looked away, moving for the entrance to the building where the elevator banks were. I glanced up and down the rows of cars. I was in the parking garage of one of the largest buildings in one of the largest cities in the world and there were no people except for me and this guy coming toward me. I wondered for just a second — where was the little guy? — until the bearded one called out.

“Olson.” The words echoed through the garage, ricocheting off the concrete walls and ceiling.

I looked at him like I was still confused about who he was talking to when I felt someone push me from behind. It was the little guy. I’d been flanked. He grabbed one of my arms, twisted it up behind my back, and ran me between two parked cars and up against the garage wall.

The Ferret said, “Don’t f*ck around, smart guy.” His breath in my face was like a cloud of rotten fish. He held me against the wall, face first, until the big guy got there.

I felt the big guy’s oversized hand on my shoulder and he spun me around like I was a rag doll, put his hand against my chest, and held me there, his weight nearly suffocating me. The hairs in the guy’s moustache were like black wires, sticking out in all directions like they’d sprung from a dark and tightly wound inner core.

He said, “Here’s a little kiss from Matt Bishop.” Then he hit me so hard in the stomach that I nearly lost consciousness. I was crouched and bent over, one hand against my aching guts and the other out against the floor, holding me up like a football player waiting for the snap. But I wasn’t going anywhere, at least not until I started breathing again.

The big guy bent down and talked quietly in my ear. “You’re gonna stop this bullshit and you’re gonna mind your own business. Keep asking questions and someone’s likely to get hurt. And that someone is you.” Then he leaned in even closer until I could feel the hairs of his beard drag lightly along the back of my neck. He spoke quietly the second time. It was almost a whisper. “Matt’s got nothing to hide, so quit looking.”

I tried to gasp a response, but my insides had seized completely and nothing would come out. I looked up at the two of them as they grinned down at me. The big guy turned and walked away while the Ferret stood there. Then he laughed and raised his foot. I cowered almost immediately, preparing for the kick. But all he did was put his shoe against my shoulder and push. I lost my balance and collapsed as he turned and walked away.