| |
Dan checked his watch before he left the office. He really didn’t want to do this. But hadn’t that been true about virtually everything he’d done since this case began?
Apparently Garrett picked up on his anxiety. “I could handle this interview for you.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“It...might be best. I know that trip out to the cabin was grueling.”
Is that all he was implying? He hoped Garrett wasn’t going to reopen that can of worms about his supposed lack of objectivity. He didn’t need another fight. “No. I’m doing this. And—by the way. I apologize for what I said before. I lost my head. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know. No worries.”
“I am doing this interview. But I’m glad to have your company.”
Maria buzzed past them, phone in one hand, Hermes purse in the other. “I’m going to stop by the jailhouse, time permitting. I haven’t seen Ossie recently. Want to see how he’s handling the latest breakthroughs. Talk about the trial. How to dress, how to act.”
“Thank you,” he said, but she was already gone.
“Keep the door open,” Jimmy said, chugging right behind her.
“You’re going by the medical examiner’s office?”
“Yes. Chatting with the CSIs too. When they submit a flurry of reports right before trial, I sniff trouble.” Jimmy paused a moment. “And what are you doing this morning, Cragheart?”
A reference to Gloomhaven, the official Last-Chance-Lawyers team sport. “Stirring up trouble, mostly.”
He pointed a finger. “Don’t stay dry too long. Aquaman needs frequent immersion to maintain his strength.”
“I will bear that in mind.” He turned his attention back to Garrett. “Ready to do this thing?”
Garrett grabbed the Jag keys from a dish on the table. “One last time. I can do this alone.”
“No.” He grabbed his backpack and led the way. “This is the bastard whose lies put my father behind bars. We should’ve talked a long time ago.”
* * *
According to Garrett’s report, Bradley Ellison had been a member of the St. Pete police force for twenty-two years. He retired a detective captain, one of only six in the department. His reputation was strong and unsullied—not a single complaint or Internal Affairs investigation in all those years. Since he retired, Ellison spent his days investigating cold cases, sometimes for clients, or when he had no clients, on his own initiative.
“He seems to have a strong desire to see justice done,” Garrett explained, as they stood on the front porch of Ellison’s home waiting. “He doesn’t get any compensation for some of his work.”
“I guess a man has to do something in retirement. Better than working crosswords all day.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying. He cares about right and wrong. He is not the kind of person who would accept bribes. Or offer false testimony.”
He turned slightly. “What are you saying, Garrett?”
“You know exactly what I’m saying.”
“You’re wrong.”
The door opened. Ellison was probably around sixty-five. He’d gained some weight since retirement, but not all that much. Rolled-up sleeves. Faded blue jeans. Muscular biceps.
Ellison dispensed with the usual pleasantries. “You’re Sam Pike’s boy.”
He felt his lower lip tremble. He tried to stop it but couldn’t. “I am.”
“Thought so.” Ellison opened the door wider. “Come in.”
They stepped into his living room. Ellison gestured toward a musty and worn sofa. They both seated themselves.
“Just to be clear, I’m not here to talk about my father.”
“Glad to hear it,” Ellison said. “It was an unpleasant business. Long time ago. Best to leave it alone.”
He bit down on his lip. “I will never leave it alone.”
“I’m sure any son would feel the same way.”
Dan felt as if everything inside him was going to erupt to the surface. “My father was not a murderer.”
Ellison pressed his lips together. “I liked your father. Testifying against him was the hardest thing I ever did. But it had to be done.”
“Why?”
Ellison raised his head slightly. “Justice.”
“My father—”
Garrett cut in. “It would probably be best if we stuck to the Ossie Coleman case.”
“Agreed.” Ellison walked to his desk and lifted a tall stack of files. “I guess you boys already know that I like to dabble a bit in unsolved mysteries.”
“And you’ve had an astounding rate of success, from what I’ve read,” Garrett said.
Ellison shrugged. “I have a lot of time on my hands, since I left the force. Wife died. Daughter is in California, just as far away from me as she could possibly get. Might as well try to do some good for the community. The Ossie Coleman case always bothered me. So I got obsessive. Turned out all that knowledge was useful. Once someone claiming to be Ossie showed up. You’re representing the kid, right?”
“Yes.” He was glad Garrett could be congenial. Because he was afraid he couldn’t open his mouth without something terrible coming out.
Ellison sat in a recliner, on the opposite side of a battered coffee table. “This case is probably the most famous unsolved mystery in the city. In the history of the city. There have been other claimants, you know.”
“But they were all easily disproved. Until now.”
Ellison continued. “Most people didn’t believe the crime would ever be solved. I mean, realistically, after fourteen years, the chances that a missing child will be found are all but nil. But I held out hope.”
“Did you find any of Ossie’s missing records?”
“I wish. That would simplify matters considerably.”
“Any idea what happened to them?”
“None.”
“Care to speculate?”
“No. We do have some old photographs of the real Ossie, before he disappeared. I’ve worked with them quite a bit. Doesn’t look like your client to me.”
“Did you know you’re on the prosecution witness list?”
“They’re hoping to call me as some sort of an expert witness. Thought it might have more credence to have an independent investigator rather than another member of the police department.”
Probably true. “What are you going to say?”
“That depends on the questions put to me.”
Wiseass. “Are you going to dispute my client’s claims?”
“I don't think he’s the missing heir, if that’s what you mean. I don’t know that much about the murder.”
“You think Ossie’s a con artist.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m told he claims to have some memory loss, and there is evidence of brain trauma. He may genuinely believe he’s Ossie Coleman.” Ellison took a deep breath. “But he isn’t.”
“Have you heard about the cabin in the woods?”
“More than heard. I’ve seen it.”
“You went out there?”
Ellison shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard a journey. I used to go out that way quite a bit, once upon a time. Great fishing.”
The police gave him a view of the crime scene? “Doesn’t that create a plausible explanation of where Ossie has been all these years?”
“Not to me.” Ellison put his feet up on the recliner. “To me, it creates far more questions than it answers. Who was behind the abduction? A cipher who spent the occasional weekend torturing, molesting, and killing kids? Why wasn’t your client killed? How did he escape? How did he find his way back to civilization?”
“The medical examiner said the corpse on the premises had been dead a long time. Perhaps after he stroked out, Ossie left—”
“I can’t rule any theory out or say anything is too outlandish. No explanation is going to be commonplace. This is an extraordinary case. Has been from the start.”
“And what do you think is the correct explanation?”
“I don’t know. Insufficient data.”
“The sparsity of evidence doesn’t prove my client isn’t Ossie. Just like it doesn’t prove he’s a murderer.”
“But he does have the strongest motive to eliminate Harrison Coleman. Harrison was the oldest surviving son and the one the old man was closest to. They were tight. If the old man were going to leave his fortune, or an extra-generous share of it, to anyone—”
“Or put someone in charge of his business—”
“Exactly. It was going to be Harrison. Would you like to see my files? I’m more than happy to share my research.”
“That’s a ton of work to do without getting paid.”
“It fills the time.”
“You sure you’re not on anyone’s payroll?”
Ellison turned slowly. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I’ve already talked to one witness I’m certain the police are paying to cooperate. And you have a history of saying...exactly what the police need someone to say.”
Garrett winced and tried to speak, but Ellison cut him off. “What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Pike?”
“Your history of lying goes way back.”
Ellison rose. “I have never given false testimony in my entire life, Mr. Pike. And that includes when I testified against your papa.”
He could feel his fists clench. He told himself to stay cool, but it wasn’t working. “I will not rest until I see you and whoever put you up to your lies behind bars.”
“You’d rather believe some big conspiracy theory than accept the simple truth.”
“You don’t get it.”
“I do. I loved my pa too. Broke my heart when I lost him. But at some point, a man has to grow up and realize no one is perfect.”
“My father was not a murderer! And I won’t let you—”
Garrett stepped between them. “Okay, we’re getting off topic.”
He shoved Garrett away. “I’m watching you, Ellison. Now and always.”
“I’m not hiding,” Ellison shot back. “You want to take a shot at me? Go for it.”
“We don’t need any of that.” Garrett grabbed Dan’s arm and pulled him toward the front door. “I get the distinct impression this conversation is concluded. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ellison. We truly appreciate it.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Ellison said, as Garrett dragged Dan away. “There are people in this town who don’t want Ossie Coleman to reappear. And if you have any sense, you’ll stop obsessing on me and start worrying about them.”
“Who? Conrad Sweeney? Is that who you’re talking about?”
“This broken-down old ex-cop is never going to do you any harm. But Sweeney could shoot you in front of a dozen witnesses and there’d be no arrest, no repercussions.”
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. He’ll kill you dead. Or hurt you so bad you’ll wish you were dead. Whichever he thinks will be most effective.”