High in Trial

SIXTEEN

One hour, forty minutes before the shooting





Dog Daze Boarding and Training had started its life as the horse barn behind Judge Stockton’s big old Colonial farmhouse. Before that, when the house was first built in the 1890s, it housed livestock; the judge had added concrete floors and good ventilation to pamper the riding horses his wife Jessica loved so much. A fire had damaged much of the structure a short time ago, but it had been rebuilt with state-of-the-art concrete kennels that opened onto individual runs, an indoor training room, and an attractive front façade that featured colorful cutouts of playful puppies climbing the walls and jumping over the door frame. Paw prints were stamped into the concrete walkway that led to the front entrance, and Buck followed them inside.

Maude was just coming out of the boarding area, drying her hands on a paper towel, and she looked surprised to see him. “Good day to you, Buck,” she said. The pressurized door swung shut on the sound of barking and the faint smell of antiseptic that came from the corridor behind her. “What a lovely surprise. Raine’s not here, I’m afraid.”

She was a slim, athletic woman in her sixties with short, no-nonsense silver hair and a crisp British accent she sometimes confessed she’d worked hard to keep over the forty years she had lived in Hanover County. She’d been a fixture around the Stockton household for as long as Buck could remember, first as the judge’s clerk, then as family friend, and finally as Raine’s mentor and business partner. There wasn’t much that had gone on in this county over the past forty years that Maude didn’t know about, nor were there many questions that she couldn’t answer.

He said, “That’s okay. Actually, I think you’re the one I need to talk to.”

On the drive out, he’d tried to erase the anxiety that kept gnawing away at his stomach and furrowing his brow, but the look on Maude’s face told him he hadn’t quite been successful. She said, “It sounds serious.” She tossed the paper towel in the trash. “Come into the office and sit down. What’s troubling you?”

“I need some help with an old case of Judge Stockton’s.” He followed her through the swinging doors that separated the reception area from the playfully decorated yellow and blue office where they kept the records and did the paperwork associated with the business. One of Maude’s silky-coated golden retrievers had been napping behind the desk; he rose and stretched as they entered, and Buck held out a hand for him to sniff.

Maude said, “I thought Roe was in charge of cold cases now. Shall I make some tea? Or coffee if you like.”

“No, thanks.” He scratched the golden retriever behind the ears and was rewarded with a satisfied grin. “And this is one of those cases that has Roe stumped as much as it has me. Probably because there’s nothing there. At least I hope there’s not.”

Maude pulled out a rolling black chair from behind the desk and sat down, gesturing Buck to one of the straight-backed guest chairs opposite. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The golden retriever stretched out behind the desk and went to sleep. “I’m intrigued,” she said. “What can I do to help?”

Buck unfolded the sheaf of papers in his hand and passed it to her. On top was the ID photo of James Allen Berman. “I was hoping you could give me some inside information on this case from the nineties. Started out as an armed robbery at the Cash-n-Carry, ended up as a murder.”

Maude looked at the picture and kept on looking at it. She didn’t raise her eyes or make a move or even draw a breath, but Buck didn’t think it was his imagination that her lips seemed to lose color. He watched her carefully as he continued.

“Judge Stockton actually proposed the deal that pled it down to second, but he seemed to be worried about this guy. He wanted to keep an eye on him when he got out, but nobody seems to know why.”

Still she didn’t look up. She was like a statue, frozen there, porcelain white skin, marble white lips, the glossy cap of her hair suddenly looking as cold as marble. And she said nothing.

“So I talked to a fellow who knew Berman while he was upstate. He seemed to think Berman had a grudge against Judge Stockton. Now, a lot of inmates are bitter about the lawman that sent them up, and some of them are even stupid enough to threaten revenge. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one who swore to get even with the judge who granted their plea bargain and even went so far as to carry around his obituary like some sort of target or something. The judge died of a stroke. I was here when it happened. Something’s missing from this picture, Maude. I was hoping you could help me put it together.”

Still, she remained silent. She was silent for so long, so silent and so motionless, that Buck was starting to grow alarmed. Then she said softly, “Twenty years. My word. It goes by so quickly.”

She set the papers aside and, without looking at Buck or, in fact, anything else in the room, she rose and walked to the window. She repeated absently, almost to herself, “My word.”

The golden retriever, sensing her distress, went to stand beside her. She dropped a hand to his head, stroking it, gazing out the window. “I told him he should recuse himself,” she said without turning. She spoke in a leisurely, almost ruminating manner, as though relating a tale that was of only the most passing interest to either of them. “But he was the district court judge. How could he take himself off the case without explaining why? And the explanation would have destroyed Jessica. He couldn’t be the cause of that. Neither of us could.”

Buck frowned, completely lost now. “Jessica,” he repeated, baffled. “Raine’s mother—the judge’s wife?”

“It was the car, you know. The car that poor boy hit that night, the car that would have proven—or at least cast a reasonable doubt—that he was not at the gas station at the time of the robbery. Don Kramer built his whole case around it. If he could’ve found the people in that car…”

Buck said uncertainly, “Mrs. Stockton? Was she driving the car he hit that night?”

Maude shook her head slowly and turned. Her smile was tired and infinitely sad. “No,” she said. “I was.”

* * *

The fairgrounds looked different than they had the day before. The RVs were still there with their barking dogs bouncing in their ex-pens and the smells of morning bacon and coffee lingering faintly in the air. The rows of minivans and SUVs were the same, hatchbacks open on crated border collies, cocker spaniels, bearded collies, and shelties. The same colorful blue and yellow agility equipment was set up under the pavilion, and the jumpers-with-weaves course was defined by white gating a few dozen yards away. Dogs were being walked in the grassy area, canvas camp chairs were set up around the ring, and the smell of greasy nachos and roasting hotdogs came from the concession area. But the applause seemed muted, the runners lacked enthusiasm, and the day itself seemed wrapped in a pall of dull-gray light.

By force of habit, I took Cisco’s lightweight canvas crate from its storage position behind the front seat and slung its strap over one shoulder, my day bag over the other. Cisco waited patiently—we’d worked hard on that—until I unclipped his seat belt, took his leash in hand, and said, “Release.” He bounded out and began to sniff the ground beneath us for familiar footprints.

The border collies poked their noses over the barrier and I knew they needed to be walked. “You’re next,” I promised them. “I’ll be right back.”

I couldn’t help noticing as I passed the pavilion that there were fewer spectators than there had been yesterday. Some were gathered in small, tense groups, and I knew they were talking about Marcie. One woman was crying. Others, oblivious to the drama that was taking place beneath the surface, were widely scattered around the bleachers, studying their course maps or watching the competition, some with dogs but most without. I paused to watch a golden retriever fly across the first three jumps of a sequence, and realized it was Gunny when I recognized the handler. I put down my crate and bag and stood to watch.

Gunny knocked a bar and missed two weave poles, but it wasn’t a bad run, all things considered. When the ring crew started breaking down the course, I realized with a pang that the next event was the one Cisco and I had entered for the afternoon.

Ginny saw me and waved. I set up Cisco’s crate near a concrete pillar while she and her mother made their way over to me with Gunny. There was no point in trying to claim a space in the livestock barn. We wouldn’t be here that long.

“Nice run,” I told Ginny, because it’s something you say even when you know it’s not exactly true.

She shrugged. She looked as tired and dispirited as I felt. “My heart wasn’t really in it.”

Aggie said, “Have you heard anything?”

I tucked my day bag inside the crate and zipped it up. “I have the border collies with me,” I said. “Neil can’t take them. He just got out of the hospital.”

Their shocked looks didn’t surprise me, but it was a long story and I didn’t want to stand around while I told it. “The dogs need to be walked. Can you give me a hand?”

Ginny put Gunny in his crate while I got Bryte and Flame out of the car. Ginny took Bryte and Aggie took Flame, and we started across the dog walk field while I explained the events of the morning. My mother always said “evil be to him who evil speaks” so I didn’t think it was necessary to include the details—which, to be honest, were mostly fabricated by Miles—about organized crime and mobsters breaking Neil’s knee. The point I wanted to make was that Neil was as much of a victim as Marcie and, for the time being at least, he wasn’t capable of taking care of the dogs.

“It’s like,” Aggie said, catching a trembling lip between her teeth, “a conspiracy or something. I never imagined that someone we knew… that something like this could happen to people in our own club…”

Cisco romped at the end of his twenty-foot leash, play-bowing to the border collies, sniffing the grass, trying to tell the world that everything was going to be okay. I couldn’t help smiling as I watched him, and I suddenly wished Miles were here.

I said, “Have you heard anything about Marcie’s next of kin?”

Ginny said, “She was president of the club, but no one knew her very well.” Her tone was subdued. “She had someone working for her, a kennel boy, who took care of the dogs while she was away. She didn’t have many real friends. Someone said her mother was in Pennsylvania, and she has a sister somewhere. Neil would know, but I guess he’s in no condition to think about it now.”

“We’ll take the dogs, of course,” Aggie assured me. “I’m sure once we get them back home we’ll be able to find out who’s in charge.”

I nodded. “I gave Neil your phone number. He was… well, he wasn’t really coping very well. But I know he’ll be in touch.”

Aggie shook her head solemnly. “Such a horrible thing.”

And Ginny pushed her fingers across wet eyes. “Unbelievable,” she said thickly. “I really just want to go home.”

I helped them load the border collies into the back of their minivan, and we talked briefly about crates and dog food and all the other things that must have been left in the hotel room and were by now in police custody. It was all so incredibly sad. I looked at Flame, who had fought so valiantly to try to lead us to her mistress, and I leaned through the open window of the hatchback and took her face between my hands. “You are a good, good girl,” I told her solemnly. “You did everything right. You did.”

I looked at Aggie. “You’ll make sure she gets a good home?” I said. “Not just with someone who wants to win, but with someone who wants her. Do you promise?”

Aggie smiled at me. “Honey, I’m a dog person. You ask Maude. We know what’s important. I’ll take care of this little girl, don’t you worry about that.”

I believed her. And I had to leave it at that.

Cisco and I walked back to the pavilion. The course for the next event was almost complete, and the competitors were starting to gather. I could almost smell their adrenaline, taste their anticipation as they studied the obstacles, visualized their runs, and waited anxiously for the judge to call them in for the briefing. This was the best part. No one was a loser now. Anything was possible. Someone would leave today with the fastest collie in the southeast. Or the fastest golden, or cocker, or bichon. Someone else would break the old record for fastest weaves. Someone would get a double-Q. Someone would be high in trial. Titles would be given out by the dozen. Dogs would go home with squeaky toys and their owners would tack another ribbon on the wall and swell with pride. Years of training would pay off today, or not, dreams would come true, or not, and every competitor here would go home with the best dog in the world. This was why I loved this sport. For this moment.

Cisco made a high sharp sound in his throat and his ears went forward. I shook myself out the reverie of longing to follow his intense gaze, but I really didn’t have to wonder what had caught his attention. Sarah was standing on the other side of the ring from us with Brinkley, and Cisco’s tail was swinging like a fan on high speed at the sight of him. She was in deep conversation with a man who had his back to us, and as I watched, Brinkley noticed Cisco and gave a sharp bark of greeting. Sarah looked at him and then at us. She waved and then, surprisingly, said something to the man and pointed to me.

He turned and looked straight at me. My heart stopped.

It was the big-shouldered man who’d been with Marcie last night at the hotel. He started walking toward us, and as he did, the gap in his half-zipped windbreaker widened just long enough to reveal the curve of a leather shoulder holster and the unmistakable glint of a gun.



* * *



Maude looked at Buck with something almost like sympathy on her face. Sympathy for the blank incomprehension that must have shown in his eyes, or sympathy for what she knew she was about to say would do to him.

She said, “Isn’t there a saying about chickens that come home to roost? What are the odds that young man should be tried on a capital offense before the one judge who could have testified to his innocence? Yet, in another way, it was almost inevitable.” She smiled vaguely. “You see, men like Jonathan aren’t fashioned to be less than honorable. It isn’t in their DNA. If they stray, or even try to stray, from that very rigid line that’s their truth, it’s as though they have an invisible compass that pulls them back, correcting the course. Most of the time that compass is their own conscience. But sometimes it takes the form of the hand of God.”

Buck said slowly, “You’re saying Judge Stockton was in the car—the one Berman hit that night? But that doesn’t make any sense. Why didn’t he report the accident? If not that night, then later when he realized the car was material evidence in a case… What was the big deal? Why keep it a secret?”

“He was supposed to be at a conference in Seattle that weekend,” she explained simply. Her hands were laced together lightly before her, her shoulders firm and square. The golden retriever, reading something in her posture, sat at her side with shoulders straight and head high, mimicking her stance. “I was supposed to be at a dog show. Instead, we were together at a lodge in the mountains. It wasn’t the first time. We were quite, quite desperately in love and had been for years.”

It was a long time before Buck could speak, though half-formed thoughts buzzed around and collided in his head like broken-winged insects. He couldn’t quite look at her, this woman he thought he knew, had known for all of his life. But he couldn’t judge her, either. He wanted to, but he couldn’t.

He said after a time, with difficulty, “So he broke the law, lied to two officers of the court, and sent an innocent man to prison to protect you.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh dear, no. I wanted to come forward. When I realized—I was the one who recognized Berman when the case came across Jonathon’s desk six months later, and when I put the timeline together, I realized he couldn’t possibly have been here committing a robbery and sixty miles away on the Centerline Road at the same time. I knew we had to speak up… but by then we couldn’t, you see.”

Into Buck’s stunned and unwelcoming silence she explained gently, “By then, Jessica had been diagnosed with cancer. Jonathon, Raine—they were all she was living for. If the truth had come out, if she’d learned about us, it would’ve destroyed her. And neither one of us was willing to do that. As much as he loved me, he loved Jessica more. Enough to sacrifice his integrity, his principles, his ethics, and his career for. Enough to lie for. Enough to send a man to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.”

Buck couldn’t remain seated. He stood, paced a few steps across the small room, pushed his hand through his hair. The golden retriever watched him alertly. He drew in a breath and released it in measures. He tried to focus on the pieces that were falling into place. All he could think about was how easy it was to believe what you got used to seeing. All those years, he’d never guessed. No one had.

He said, “Judge Stockton was afraid Berman would recognize him if the case went to trial. That’s why he pushed the deal.”

“In part,” Maude admitted. “In other part—he was afraid Berman would be convicted. It was a death penalty case. He couldn’t have lived with that. The young man was no saint, and no doubt he deserved a good deal more than the twenty years he served if all the crimes for which he’d never been convicted were taken into account. But if he’d been convicted of a first-degree murder that he didn’t commit… no. Jon couldn’t let that happen.”

“Then Berman saw the judge’s obituary and recognized the photograph.” Buck’s voice was toneless and his eyes flat. He was thinking aloud. “He put it all together and realized what happened. The judge must’ve been afraid something like that would happen. That’s why he wanted Roe to keep an eye on him.”

A slow alarm darkened Maude’s eyes. “Something like what?”

Buck looked at her sharply. “You’d know, wouldn’t you, if any strangers had been poking around here the last few weeks? Any strange phone calls Raine might have gotten?”

Maude said, “No, nothing that I know of. Do you think…? Is there cause to be concerned?”

Buck’s lips tightened grimly. “Raine needs to know about this,” he said. “You handle it any way you want, but she’s going to have to know.”

Maude’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Is she in danger, Buck? Is she in danger because of me?”

“Not now,” he said. “Not yet. But twenty years in prison is a long time to hate somebody who did you wrong, and it must’ve made him even madder when the judge died before he could get out and get even. The obituary would’ve listed the details about his survivors. That’s why he carried it around for so long. That’s what he meant by ‘sins of the father.’ He’s a long way from here now, and maybe we’ll catch him before he finds Raine, but she’ll have to be warned. And sooner or later she’ll want to know why.”

Maude said softly, “It will break her heart.”

For a moment her pain was reflected in Buck’s eyes. “I know.”

Maude nodded slowly and turned back to the window. “I’ve a brother in Florida, you know. He’s just bought a hotel, and he asked me to consider helping him run it. Perhaps it’s time for a change.”

Buck knew he should say something, but he didn’t know what. In the end, all he could manage was, “You do what you have to do. But tell Raine to give me a call when she gets in, will you?” He started for the door.

Maude said, “That won’t be until Sunday.”

He looked back her.

“She’s at an agility trial in South Carolina,” Maude said. “I should think she might’ve mentioned it to you. It’s all she’s posted about on Facebook for days. Cisco won a blue ribbon.”

Facebook. For some reason that word seemed to echo in his head and along with it a dozen police bulletins he’d received over the past year, all of them jumbled up and unrelated to each other. Everything within him seemed to go cold. He said, “Where in South Carolina?”

“Pembroke. It’s the big season opener at the agricultural fairgrounds there. She always—”

Buck snatched out his phone and started dialing, his heart going like a freight train. Maude moved toward him in alarm.

“Buck?”

“Damn,” he said tightly. “Voice mail. Damn it…” He pushed out the door with Maude following helplessly. “Raine, listen to me. You’re in danger. Get in your car and drive to the nearest police station, do you hear me? Call me from there. Do it now.”

“Buck,” Maude called after him. “Is there anything I can do?”

But he was already on another call, lengthening his stride until he was almost running as he moved toward his car. “This is Sheriff Lawson, Hanover County, North Carolina. North Carolina ID NC7548—”

The rest was cut off as he slammed the door of the cruiser and spun the car around in the narrow parking lot. He sped down the driveway, leaving a plume of dust and gravel in his wake, and all Maude could do was watch.



~*~