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Stacy felt her mind seize at his comment. “Wait a second. Jesse harassed Colton for money?”
“Yup.”
Stacy let her mind snap back to an earlier conversation. “Austin talked to the bank manager at the Wells Fargo Bank downtown. He learned that Monica and George DeVito had been putting large sums of money into an account for Colton.”
Gavin made a face. “Monica and George gave off a vibe at the press conference that neither of them had much contact with Colton.”
Stacy finally looked over and began removing the plastic lid from her food carton. “Someone had been withdrawing the money almost as quickly as it was going in.”
Gavin cocked his head to the side. “Really? Going how far back?”
“Several months,” Stacy said, forking pieces of General Tso’s chicken into her mouth. It tasted spicy, meaty, and delicious.
“Jesse Williams was killed over a year ago. Unless the deposits and withdrawals go that far back, then there’s no connection.”
Stacy wagged her empty fork at Gavin. “But that means that someone else might have known that Colton was getting large deposits of money, or at least had access to it.”
“And my theory that he’s been withdrawing this money to go on the run could still be valid, assuming he killed Brooke Crawford or was involved somehow. Or someone could be withdrawing money on his behalf and giving it to him.”
Stacy didn’t really like that theory but conceded the point.
She stabbed another clump of her food. “So, how did Jesse die?”
“Stabbed to death,” Gavin said, rather stoically. “They were walking back from Greenspoint, which is a notoriously dangerous neighborhood in Houston when both got jumped. Someone beat Jesse badly, but Colton only managed some minor bruises. Paramedics transported Jesse to the hospital, where he died. Later, during the investigation, Houston PD interviewed some of the gangbangers that took part in the assault. It turns out Colton was in on a plot with those thugs to lure Jesse there to kill him.”
Stacy thought back to Austin’s earlier statement questioning the true nature of Colton DeVito.
“So, Colton pre-planned Jesse Williams’s murder.”
“Yes. The punks that Colton ‘hired’ to attack Jesse sang like canaries when questioned by police. Colton even managed to get some swings and kicks in on his own. The police found Jesse’s skin and blood under Colton’s fingernails. Plus, there were text messages and Facebook Messenger posts between all of them discussing the details of the attack.”
Stacy listened carefully and thought back to how many homicide investigations in recent years had been solved because of social media. She wondered why criminals had to discuss everything they were planning and doing on social media platforms.
Gavin ate some more. “It was a trail of intent and evidence that led police right to them. He was charged with first-degree murder.”
“Okay,” Stacy said, setting down her food and stepping closer to Gavin. He pushed himself away from the wall and stood upright as she came closer. “He goes to trial and gets convicted. How is it overturned?”
“Appeals judges generally defer to trial court findings, especially on serious charges like murder, particularly on findings of fact as opposed to matters of law. Recently, a good source of trial error that has led to successful appeals has been the jury charge—the document that the judge prepares for the jury, instructing them how to decide guilt or innocence and the sentence for a defendant.”
Stacy shook off the legal jargon. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Gavin cleared his throat. “For example, if the judge refuses the request to include a lesser included offense in the jury charge, that could be the basis for appeal.”
“And that happened in this case?”
“Yes. Most errors in trials are harmless, but there are, of course, some types of errors that are so serious they are presumed harmful. When Colton DeVito got a new trial, his parents hired two lawyers from a prestigious New York firm. They uncovered that the Houston PD had coerced a confession out of their son. Add that problem to the issue with the juror bribe and the whole trial was a mess.”
Stacy closed her eyes for a moment. Coercing confessions from suspects was something detectives learned not to do during their first week. She reopened her eyes and settled them again on Gavin.
“Appellate courts rarely interfere with decisions made by the lower courts, but in some cases where the law specifies a particular sentence, the appellate court may send the case back for resentencing if the lower court gets it wrong.”
“And Colton got a new trial and was acquitted.”
“That’s right. The coerced confession sank the case for the prosecution. Even though the rest of the statements taken by Colton’s buddies were done by the book, Colton’s coerced confession tainted the others and created enough reasonable doubt.”
Stacy dropped her head and put her hands over her eyes. “And that’s all it takes,” she commented rhetorically.
Gavin nodded.
Stacy leaned on the back of a chair for a moment, collecting her thoughts. A moment of clarity crossed her countenance.
“What about the other people that Colton hired? They would have been witnesses for the prosecution.”
Gavin nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yes. I’m sure they were. Each of them—depending on what the police did and the Harris County DA decided to do—could’ve had charges brought against all of them in connection with Jesse Williams’s death. But if they did testify against DeVito, any lawyer worth anything would’ve made sure to cut a deal with the DA in exchange for testimony.”
For the next few minutes, Stacy and Gavin sat on the floor of her loft and ate the rest of their food in silence. Stacy caught Gavin staring at her intently. When she met his stare, he smiled, blushed, and looked away. Stacy thought it was disarmingly cute.
Stacy explained what happened at the DeVito house and how Austin discovered someone making withdrawals using Colton DeVito’s debit card at the Wells Fargo Bank downtown.
Gavin listened intently. A few times, he nodded, and other times, he looked down at his interlocked fingers. In those moments, Stacy noticed the burnt red rings around his wrists.
The scars on both wrists came as a result of his father, Wendell. Wendell Knox was an alcoholic and couldn’t keep a job. When he did find work, he’d show up to work until his probationary period was over, and then it was back to the heavy drinking. Wendell came home drunk, and there were many nights Gavin cried himself to sleep because he could hear his father punching his mother in the next room.
As Gavin got older, they would fight. Wendell would come at Gavin with a baseball bat, tire iron, anything he could find. Wendell would knock Gavin unconscious, drag him out behind the house and tie him to a metal railing with bicycle chains. They were tied so tight that they dug into his skin. If Gavin tried to free himself, they’d cut further into his flesh. Wendell would leave Gavin out there in the cold or the rain all night. Each time Gavin was tied up, the chains were tighter than before, and they cut deeper into his wrists.
When Gavin told Stacy this story over dinner at the Blue Point Grille, she couldn’t forget how his lips quivered, and he stared down at the table with shame and regret. Hearing Gavin recount the details was awful, and a pang of sadness and guilt overwhelmed her then as it did now when she thought about it.
Gavin had been sitting with both feet tucked under his legs. His shirt had become wrinkled and untucked as he uncurled his legs and pushed himself up from the floor.
“I think there are a lot of disparate threads with this case that could add up to something or might add up to nothing,” he said. Stacy felt him watching her closely for a reaction.
“There isn’t enough here for me to build a case, even if we find Colton DeVito. I think it’s wise to start over from the beginning, but there needs to be a lot more hustle and evidence collected before I can even think about prosecuting anyone for anything.”
Stacy blanched at the news but had expected what Gavin would say. She tucked a few wisps of hair behind her ear and ran her hands over her legs.
Once he steadied himself, Gavin walked over to Stacy. “More importantly”—he paused as he looked down at her chest—“how are you feeling? Any other serious episodes like the one at police headquarters?”
The sincerity in his voice and the concern on his face accentuated his handsome features. “No,” she lied. “Just some minor incidents, but nothing major.”
Relief washed over his face at the news. "Good. If you ever need anything...."
Without thinking, Stacy placed a flat palm against his arm. "I'm fine, really. But I appreciate the concern."
Stacy heard her cell phone thrum from the counter in the kitchen. Gavin placed his hand over hers, and they held a long stare. The phone stopped ringing and then only remained silent for a second before it began to ring again.
Stacy looked back across the room at it. “I’d better get that.”
“Yeah,” Gavin said, trying to hide a mischievous grin.
When Stacy swiped her finger over the screen, Austin’s voice blared from the speaker.
“Stacy, where are you?”
“I’m at home going over some details on the case. Where are you?”
“At headquarters.” He took a breath and paused. “We have a witness that has come forward. Someone that saw Colton DeVito the night he disappeared.”
Stacy felt her muscles seize. She turned toward Gavin and pointed at the phone and stuck up a thumb. Gavin stepped closer.
“That’s great, Austin.”
“Yeah. He’s a cab driver named Miguel Olivo. Claims he gave Colton a ride across the city the night that Brooke Crawford was killed. He claims Colton was acting funny during the cab ride. I told Diana about him already.”
“This is good, Cerrera, really good. Don’t let him go. I’ll be right there.”
Gavin waved his arms in a circular motion, trying to get her attention.
“And Gavin will be there real soon as well.”
A long pause filled the line. "Wait, how do you know...?"
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll be there soon!”
Stacy thought she heard Austin groan as she ended the call.
“Did you catch any of that?”
Gavin nodded, wide-eyed with excitement. “Another important piece to the case. Let me go home and change, and I’ll be at the station in half an hour.”
An awkward silence grew between them. Gavin leaned close to Stacy and then backed away. She stayed motionless, trying to anticipate his next move.
“Thanks for dinner and the company,” he said, marching across the floor and jerking back the door. “See you in a few.”
With that, Gavin left. Stacy took a moment to collect her thoughts and emotions. Having Gavin to talk to as a colleague was great, but she found herself enjoying being in his company too. In her apartment tonight, the idea of him eying her with admiration made Stacy feel unexpectedly good and loved.
A noise underneath the loft stairs jolted her reverie as a rattling sound permeated the space, followed by a dull thud. Stacy had left her Glock upstairs in the bedroom. She quietly stepped over to the kitchen and pulled a knife from the block nestled under the counter.
Stacy sidestepped the outer kitchen wall and ducked under the stairs to the small closet. Her heart raced, and every muscle in her body was taut.
Stacy held the handle of the knife tightly and silently counted to three in her head.
Then she reached down and pulled back the handle, flashing the knife’s silver blade into the dark space.
A voice screamed. “Stacy! Don’t stab me!”
When Stacy stepped back, a crouching figure tumbled sideways onto the floor, dragging two jackets and some overturned boxes behind her.
Stacy let out an exasperated sigh. “Mother! For God’s sake, what is going on?”