Chapter 9
“Ican assure you that my client’s main concern is to fully cooperate with law enforcement. He is confident that when the truth comes to light, he will be completely exonerated.”
Bennett Cutler stood in front of a bank of microphones outside Jamie Simmons’s home.
“Mr. Cutler,” one of the reporters shouted.
I recognized her as Laura Anderson from Channel Seven.
She anchored the six o’clock news and had been a staple in Northwest Ohio for over thirty years.
It wasn’t usual for her to handle press conferences like this.
But twenty-two years ago, she had covered the story of Ellie Luke’s murder.
Like Gus, she had been a rookie at the time.
I’m sure she felt she had come full circle.
“Obviously new evidence has come to light,” Anderson said. “You must be privy to the nature of that. Can you confirm my sources that Mr. Simmons’s own daughter is the one to have come forward with that evidence?”
Sam walked into my office looking grim. I knew he was preparing his own press conference for later this afternoon. Bennett Cutler had given him no choice. He had the county commissioners breathing down his neck as well.
“Is he done yet?” Sam asked.
“Looks like he’s just getting revved up,” I said.
“I don’t want Hojo anywhere near this today,” Sam said.
“He did okay the other day,” I said. “He’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about how he’ll do,” Sam said. “I just think right now it’s better if there’s one voice talking to the media. Mine. Hojo’s ethically bound to keep quiet anyway.”
“Fair enough.”
Sam stood next to me, scowling as he watched the screen. “Have they said anything yet?” he asked. An elderly couple stood just behind Bennett Cutler. The wife had tears streaming down her face.
“Who put them up to that?” Sam asked. Horror drew deep lines in his face as he realized who the couple was.
Bennett Cutler sidestepped and put an arm around the elderly man.
“Mr. Luke!” Laura Anderson shouted. “Have you been in communication with your son-in-law?”
“He wouldn’t,” I murmured.
George Luke lifted his chin and leaned forward into the closest microphone.
“My family has been through hell,” he said.
“For twenty-two years, we’ve been asking for justice for my daughter.
I have more questions than answers, just like you.
But every member of my family has cooperated with the police. We’re going to keep doing that.”
Bennett Cutler patted George Luke on the back. To his left, Claudia Luke looked ready to be sick.
“That wasn’t what he thinks it was,” I said. “Cutler is using that poor couple as a shield. He’s trying to make it look like they don’t believe Simmons killed their daughter.”
“Gus needs to get George Luke in here,” Sam said.
“He’s got to be feeding them God knows what,” I said. “Please tell me nobody has discussed the new evidence with them.”
“I have no idea what Simmons is telling his wife or his in-laws,” Sam said.
“I need to know. The sooner the better. I can’t compel Simmons to testify at trial, but I can certainly use any statement he made to family members. That’s not privileged. Lord, Bennett Cutler knows that. Has Gus questioned Erin Luke again yet?”
“Cutler got in the way of that.”
“He can’t represent both of them. That’s a clear conflict of interest.”
“I suppose that’s Erin Luke’s problem, not ours.”
“It’s like he’s gaslighted that whole family for two decades,” I said. “I need to understand the power he has over them. Simmons did more than collect a box of souvenirs from that murder, Sam. He’s collected Erin Luke’s whole family.”
Sam’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen.
“It’s Gus,” he said. “Bennett Cutler called him an hour ago and said he’s bringing Simmons in right after that circus in front of their house. The arrest warrant has been signed.”
“And Cutler is setting up the photo op as we speak,” I said. I couldn’t watch anymore. I clicked off the television and tossed the remote on my desk. “Well, at least his strategy won’t come as a surprise. Cutler wants to taint the jury pool as much as he can.”
“I’d like to shake him,” Sam said. “He’s using that poor family as pawns. It doesn’t matter what George Luke actually said. Just the optic of him standing beside Simmons’s defense attorney is going to make it look like they’re supporting that bastard.”
“Give it time,” I said. “We really don’t know what Simmons has been telling him or telling Bennett Cutler.
My bigger concern is Hayden. If Cutler gets to her, he could poison this whole thing.
The Lukes need to understand what happened.
Where are we on BCI and the analysis of that earring and the other bits from Simmons’s box? ”
“They’ve moved it all to the front of the queue,” Sam said. “I expect some preliminary findings in the next couple of days. I don’t expect any DNA. But if they can definitely match those earrings, at least.”
“And the underwear,” I said. “If the Lukes can’t yet bring themselves to believe they’ve been harboring their daughter’s murderer all these years, they can at least start believing what an absolute creep he is. I’m really worried about Hayden. If they all turn against her …”
“I know,” Sam said. “She’s the key to this in a lot of ways. We need her solid.”
“Mara.” Caro poked her head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt you. But there’s someone out here asking for you.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Sam said.
“You’ll be there when they bring Simmons in?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Actually, no,” Caro said. “I really am sorry. We tried to get him to leave. He won’t. He’s here looking for you, Sam.”
“Where is he?” We heard a shout from out in the hallway. “I know he’s back there. I have a right to speak to the sheriff. I have a right to punch his damn lights out for what’s been done to me.”
Sam went rigid, drawing his shoulders back.
“Sam,” I said. “Whoever …”
Sam ignored me, walking out of my office in two short strides. Caro shot me a look that seemed to say, “You better follow him and make sure he doesn’t make things worse.”
I stepped around my desk and followed Sam out into the hallway.
“You have to wait in the lobby!” Justine, one of our new interns, raced after a tall, muscular, middle-aged man wearing a blue flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots. He had thinning brown hair and a permanent scowl on his face.
“Hold on there,” Sam said, his voice booming with authority. “I’m going to need you to take a step back, turn around, and walk out that door. If you’re looking for me, this isn’t where we’re going to have our conversation.”
The man stopped short. Sam had a couple of inches on him, but it looked like it might be a fair fight if it came to it.
“We’ll have our conversation right here,” the man said. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of being jerked around and having my name dragged through the mud. I want some answers. Now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Would you like to tell us who you are?”
“You’re the prosecutor?” he asked.
“I’m Mara Brent, yes,” I said. I put a light hand on Sam’s arm. His bicep was hard as granite. His right hand played at the handle of his holstered sidearm.
“You don’t know who I am?” he asked.
“Right now, I don’t care who you are. I care about you taking a few steps back,” Sam said. This time, the authority in his voice seemed to have an impact. The man blinked and dropped his shoulders.
“I just want to talk,” he said. “I deserve to know what’s happening.”
“What can we help you with?” I asked.
He put his head in his hands. The man went from nearly open aggression to weeping in two seconds flat.
“The conference room is open,” Caro said, using her most motherly tone. “It’s just through here.”
The man nodded. He let Caro put a hand on his arm and guide him to the room across the hall.
Sam shot me a look. He was by no means ready to stand down himself, but he let me lead the way as we walked into the conference room.
Caro plopped our new guest down in a chair at the end of the table.
Sam stood sentry by the door, ready to spring into action if he sensed any further aggression.
I took the seat on the other side of the table.
“Can I get you anything?” Caro asked. “Water, coffee?”
The man shook his head. He looked up at me, eyes pleading.
“You really don’t know who I am?”
“I really don’t,” I said.
“My name is Dane Fischer. And I need you to tell me. Did Jamie Simmons kill my cousin?”
Sam and I exchanged a look. Dane Fischer. It took half a second for the synapses in my brain to fully fire. Dane Fischer. Ellie Luke’s cousin. This was the man Gus thought had killed Ellie all these years, but could never prove.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fischer,” I said. “We can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
“But I saw the news,” he said. “You’re arresting Simmons for Ellie’s murder. Right?”
“Yes,” Sam said. There was no point in trying to put him off. He was right. It was in the news. The arrest would be public record in a matter of minutes.
“He killed her.” Fischer repeated it like a mantra. “He killed her. I told them. I told them. Do you have any idea what the last twenty years of my life have been like? Are you going to do something about that?”
“Mr. Fischer,” I said. “I can’t imagine how difficult this has been for your family. I really wish we could talk more. But it’s as we said …”
“I need you to tell me something. That detective. Gus Ritter. He was mentioned on the news too. Is he going to be the one to handle this case?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “Gus Ritter is the lead detective on Ellie Luke’s case. Yes.”
Fischer’s face went white. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“For what?” I asked.
“I don’t think you get it,” Fischer said.
“They all think I did this. My whole family. That detective made them think I did this. I never hurt Ellie. I would never have hurt Ellie. I would never hurt anyone. Nobody would believe me. Ritter let them think the worst of me. All this time. Are you going to tell them the truth?”
“Mr. Fischer,” Sam said. “You were never charged with Ellie’s killing. I don’t know what you think it is we can do for you. My only interest is in getting justice for that girl.”
“I should sue you,” he said, rising from his chair.
“I should sue you both. Sue the county. Maybe even Ellie’s family.
You all have destroyed my life. Made me live under this cloud.
You have no idea what it took for me to get sober.
To stay sober. They’ve painted me as this devil.
I lost everything. Do you understand that?
Everything. I didn’t do anything wrong. Nobody believed me because you people didn’t care.
That detective told them he thought I killed her.
My aunt and uncle believed that. Ellie’s sister believed that.
Even now, they’re out there protecting Jamie Simmons.
They’d rather believe the worst of me than face the fact they got it wrong.
They don’t care about Ellie. They don’t care about justice. None of you do.”
“I assure you,” I said. “That’s not true. I’m truly sorry we can’t discuss this at greater length with you.”
“I don’t know why I came here,” he said. “I don’t know why I thought either of you would be more decent than the last sheriff. The last prosecutor. Gus Ritter is still wearing a badge. We’re not finished. Know that. I’m getting a lawyer.”
“You don’t need one,” I said. “You’re not under suspicion anymore, Mr. Fischer.”
The bravado was back. Fischer puffed his chest out, daring Sam to make a move on him.
“You’ve said your piece,” Sam said. “Now I’d like you to walk out of this office, Mr. Fischer.”
Fischer jerked his chin at Sam. A challenge. To his credit, Sam stayed rigid, letting him pass. Fischer stormed down the hall. He knocked a plant off Caro’s desk as he passed it.
“That mother—” Sam started. I put a hand on his arm.
“Let it go,” I said. “He’s in the wrong, but he’s not wrong that he’s probably been treated terribly by Ellie’s family all these years. Let’s not do anything to make this thing even worse than it is.”
Sam shook his head. “I have a feeling this thing is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I’m just worried the circus is going to make it that much harder for all of us to get justice for that girl, Mara.”
“I know,” I said. “Just … stay on BCI. Get me that evidence.”
I went up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “We’re going to figure this all out. We’re going to make sure Hayden Simmons has all the support we can give her. And I’m going to do my job.”
Sam smiled. “You’re pretty good at it.”
“Yes,” I said. “I am. And so are you. So is Gus. Do me a favor and remind him of that.”
Sam’s face darkened. “I better get across the street and be there when Simmons surrenders.”
“Yes. You better. But then after that, you’re going to come over to my house, remember? Will’s at a friend’s house tonight. We’ll make dinner.”
Sam kissed me and patted his stomach. “I can’t wait. Just make me a promise.”
“Of course.”
“I won’t let you talk about the Luke case. And you won’t let me.”
“Deal,” I said. But as Sam left the conference room, I wondered how good either of us would be about keeping that promise.