Chapter 45
“How about giving us a DNA sample? It would let us rule you out.”
Holden scoffed. “Why would you need that?”
“There are two distinct sets of DNA in Sarah’s panties. Neither matched Darrell York.”
“So? Maybe she had consensual sex prior to being assaulted by Darrell.”
“Come on,” I said. “Your friend admitted to it.”
“Wesley was clearly out of his mind when he wrote that!”
This is where I stretched the truth a bit. “If it’s a fallacy, then why does Landon’s DNA match?”
That hung there for a moment, and Holden’s face grew even paler. “If you have any more questions, you can talk to my attorney.”
Holden stepped back, closed the door, and latched the deadbolt.
We walked back down the hallway toward the elevator.
JD muttered, "I do believe that guy is shitting in his pants right about now."
I called Brenda and asked her to test Landon's DNA against the DNA evidence in the Sarah Sweet case. There was a good chance my bluff wasn't a bluff at all.
The evidence would have to be transferred to the crime lab. I asked for a rush job.
We took the elevator down to the lobby, stepped outside, and the valet pulled around the Porsche.
Storm clouds brewed on the horizon. It was about to get ugly.
We hopped in and sped over to the law offices of Sterling, Hartwell, and Harrison, LLP. The firm was located in Stratton Plaza. JD parked the car. We climbed out and strolled through the lobby, then took the elevator up to the third floor.
We stepped through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors into a small lobby that had a comfortable couch, a flatscreen display, a coffeemaker, and a mini fridge with bottled water.
The receptionist greeted us with a smile. "How can I help you, gentlemen, today?"
I flashed my badge. “We’re here to see Ian Harrison."
“Do you have an appointment?" she asked.
"It's urgent. I think he’ll want to speak to us.”
The receptionist dialed his extension. "Mr. Harrison, two deputies are here to see you. They say it's urgent." She paused and listened intently to his response. "I'll tell them." She hung up the phone, then addressed me. "He's just down the hall," she said, pointing, "Last door on the right."
I smiled with appreciation, and we walked past the desk and down the hall, moving past other offices that had ocean views.
We reached Ian's office, and I knocked on the door, which was open.
He sat behind his desk on a phone call, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the teal waves beyond. He waved us in and got off the phone. “I’ll call you back.”
The office was nice and stylish. Leather-bound legal tomes lined bookshelves. There was a couch, a coffee table, chairs, and a flatscreen display mounted to the wall. A minibar with soda, bottled water, and snacks provided in-meeting refreshments.
Ian stood up and extended his hand across the desk. "Gentlemen, I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you again, but I suppose the circumstances aren't exactly joyful."
We shook hands.
"Please, have a seat," he said, offering the chairs across the desk from him.
We obliged.
"Working late?”
"Work never ends," he said with a smile. "What can I do for you?”
He sat down and leaned back against his chair.
This was an upscale office that catered to upscale clients. A small boutique firm that handled corporate elite in matters involving insider trading, wire fraud, tax evasion, SEC investigations, FINRA compliance violations, and crisis management issues.
"I'm not sure if you're aware, but Landon Walsh was killed earlier today," I said.
I surveyed him carefully as a solemn frown tugged his face.
"Terrible news. My wife called earlier to let me know.
" He shook his head. "I just got off the phone with a friend, talking about it. We’re all in shock. Please tell me you have some leads. Is this connected to Cameron’s shooting? Should I be concerned?"
"I think you should be very concerned," I said.
Momentary panic filled his eyes. "What do you think the connection is?"
"I think you know what the connection is."
Ian's nervous eyes flicked between the two of us. "I'm sorry, I don't follow. You think this is connected to the Sarah Sweet case?"
There was no doubt in my mind that he’d just gotten off the phone with Holden. He knew exactly why we were here. But he was playing dumb.
I slid the copy of Wesley’s letter across the desk to him.
Ian looked at it for a moment with trepidation, then back at me. Then he picked up the letter. He unfolded it and skimmed through, but he already knew what it said. "Wesley clearly wasn’t in his right mind when he wrote this.”
"Funny, that's what Holden said.”
"The case is closed."
"The case is being reopened.”
His face tightened. "You would need substantially more evidence than this to bring charges. With Wesley's history of drug use and mental instability, this will get tossed. Hearsay. How do we know it's even authentic?”
"Once that gets authenticated, and I believe it will, it will be admissible hearsay, since Wesley is deceased and cannot testify. It could be considered a dying declaration.”
Ian tried to hide his displeasure. He knew I was right.
"Imagine the fallout if that letter should get leaked to the press," I said. "Your career is over. So is Holden’s. He can kiss that TV deal goodbye.”
"Is that a threat, Deputy?"
I ignored him. "You know what I think? I think one of you found out Wesley was going to come clean.
You knew he was going to pull the rest of you down.
He had to be eliminated. Easy enough. A simple overdose would solve the problem.
Nobody would look into it. Nobody would think twice about a junkie dying after coming out of rehab. "
Recognition flashed in Ian's eyes.
"But then there were unintended repercussions.
" I had put all the pieces together. "Wesley had confessed to his therapist. She was the only other person on Earth who knew. She had to be dealt with. What if she violated her oath? A long shot, but a risk. Now you, as a lawyer, know that she can’t violate her professional ethics. Just like you have an attorney-client privilege. Someone like Holden, on the other hand, might let paranoia get the best of him.”
Ian knew where I was going with this. It was obvious by the look on his face.
"I think Holden killed Cameron and Landon,” I said.
“I think you're next on the list. If you disagree, you're just lying to yourself.
Right now, you're the only other person who can testify against him.
You're the only person who was on that boat and knows exactly what happened to Sarah Sweet.” I let it hang there for a moment.
"If you're smart, and I think that you are, you'll realize this is an opportunity to make a deal.
Come clean, testify against Holden, and let the truth come out.
The family deserves that. Sarah deserves that. "
Ian stared at me with those sharp eyes for a moment, contemplating his next move.
"That is quite the imaginative story, Deputy.
I think that would make a fascinating episode on a crime scene drama, but it's just not reality. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve got work to do.” He pushed the letter back across the table.
"You can keep that," I said. “There's more where that came from. By the way, I will be back with a court order to compel your DNA. Right now, you should be asking yourself, what are the odds your DNA shows up in Sarah Sweet’s panties? I think the odds are pretty high.” I shrugged. "Something to think about."
We pushed the chairs away from his desk and stood up. Ian looked unsettled as we turned and walked for the door.
I shared a grin with JD as we walked down the hall toward the reception area. We both enjoyed turning up the heat on these scumbags. With any luck, they'd be cooked pretty soon.
We left the building and walked across the parking lot to the Porsche. My phone buzzed with a call from the sheriff. I swiped the screen and held the device to my ear. The sheriff barked, “How the hell did she get that letter!”
He was not a happy camper.
“Who?”
“You know damn good and well who.”
“Paris? I didn’t give it to her.”
“Well, it’s all over the damn news now. You think that’s going to taint a potential jury pool!”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
Then we both said in unison, “Darrell.”
I sighed. “Well, can you blame him? He wants everyone to know he’s innocent.”
That leak to the press set quite a few things in motion.