Chapter 27
The long drive did me good. I insisted on being behind the wheel. It kept my mind from wondering what was happening in court today. I trusted Jeanie, but it was so hard to give up control.
Eric was quiet most of the way. We listened to every episode of Tallon of Justice posted so far.
For the first six episodes, she covered what was publicly known about the murder, recapped the prosecution’s case in chief, and aired her bombshell prison witness who relayed what Katy told her.
I also finally got to hear for myself the episode that made Addison Quick accuse me of misconduct in open court.
I was speechless as we listened to the thirty-eight-minute episode. She had another interview with another anonymous source using voice distortion software.
“The sleep-walking defense,” Tallon said.
“It’s an incredible story. Is it possible that a person could commit such a heinous act while not being fully aware of it?
My source can confirm that Katy Loomis consented to having her blood drawn at the hospital just a few hours after Tom’s murder.
From what I’ve been able to learn, she had no lawyer present at the time.
We know the defense mounted a successful suppression hearing for critical evidence before this case went to trial.
So, I have to wonder what was in those toxicology results that Katy and her attorney felt would strengthen her defense?
We may have the answer as the defense begins its case.
But here’s what I was able to learn so far. ”
Tallon’s witness spoke in great detail about some of Katy’s statements to the police the morning of the murder. Statements the jury was never supposed to hear.
“She insisted that she was under the influence,” the source said.
“You were in the hospital that night?” Tallon asked.
“I was,” the witness said, though she seemed hesitant. “I was in a position to hear her very clearly. She said she didn’t remember what happened.”
“Where is she getting this?” I said, my anger rising. “The only people who know about Katy’s statement are us, the cops, and Addison Quick. I can’t think of a single reason why any of them would leak Katy’s ramblings.”
“It makes for a pretty compelling narrative,” Eric said after the episode concluded. The GPS said we were fifteen minutes from the address Emma gave us. “If we weren’t directly involved, I’d probably subscribe to the thing just for pleasure.”
“Miranda said the last episode before this one made it into the top twenty for all true crime podcasts this week. I don’t know what that translates into as far as listeners. Maybe it’s better if I don’t.”
“Let’s focus on the things we can control.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Tell me what those are again? Because to me it feels like a pretty small list.”
“Let’s just hear what Maisy has to say.”
“I need to stop making decisions based on what my family wants or thinks they need. Even this. I wouldn’t be doing this if Emma hadn’t begged me.”
Eric gave me a sidelong glance. “Yes, you would have. Or I would have if you couldn’t.”
I made the final turn. According to the directions and the street view map Eric pulled up, Maisy lived two miles at the end of a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I grumbled a response.
“It’s a good lead,” Eric continued. “One that you were absolutely right that Sharon should have followed. If Emma had been able to figure out how to find Maisy, Sharon should have too. It’s laziness.
No matter how I feel about Katy or any of the rest of it, this is the kind of thing that keeps me up at night.
I have a low tolerance for incompetent police work. ”
“You really think it was incompetence?”
“How many times have we had this conversation in other cases? You know I always give the benefit of the doubt to the investigator. It wasn’t so long ago that I quit rather than staying involved with your work. This is a weird role reversal for me, Cass.”
I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse. But I was glad he was with me on this one. I felt like I could no longer trust my own judgment.
“That one,” he said, pointing to an old farmhouse with faded blue siding. There was a barn under construction behind it. In the side yard, I saw a large chicken run. Two goats roamed free, chomping on the grass. One of them gave us a side eye as I pulled up and parked halfway down the gravel drive.
Eric slid on his aviator sunglasses and came around to open my door before I could even unbuckle my seat belt. I should have worn different shoes. My low heels sank into the dirt. It must have rained here last night. I knew I’d walk out of here with half an inch of mud on my pants.
We didn’t quite make it to the porch when the storm door swung open and a man walked out.
He had gray hair, cold dark eyes, and walked with a swagger.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Eric’s hand go instinctively to his right side.
He had a concealed carry permit and kept his gun holstered on his belt. If the man noticed, he didn’t show it.
“Mr. Altman?” I called out. “I’m Cass Leary. This is my partner, Eric Wray. My assistant said your wife would be expecting us this afternoon.”
“I know who you are,” he said, his voice gruff. “And I don’t care.”
Eric and I exchanged a look.
“Listen, man,” Eric said. “You know why we’re here. I won’t pretend otherwise. We’re not the cops. We just want to talk to your wife. Is she here?”
“I said I don’t care who you are and why you’re here. Maisy won’t be talking to you or anybody else today. You wasted your time. Now I need you to get the hell off my property.”
I looked toward the house. Was she inside? What had changed?
Eric put his hands out in a gesture of peace. “Five minutes,” he said. “That’s all we’re asking. We could have done this over the phone but your wife said she wanted to talk in person. We just made a four-hour drive. If there was a problem, now’s a pretty inconvenient time to bring it up.”
“You got a warrant?” Altman said.
Eric’s whole body tensed. “I told you. Not a cop.”
“Good,” Altman said. “So when I call one and tell them I have trespassers, what do you think they’ll do?”
I took a step forward. Altman took three steps toward me, menace etched in his scowl. “Billy!” he called out.
Three men came around from the back of the house. Each one was bigger than the other. The biggest, presumably “Billy”, had a shotgun over his shoulder.
Eric got in front of me, hand on the heel of his gun.
“This isn’t worth it,” Eric said. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to Altman.
“Get gone,” Altman said. “Or you’re about to have a pretty bad day.”
“You’re going to shoot us?” I said. “That’s your play? Buddy, you have no idea what I’ve been through in the last two days. Actually, you might be doing me a favor putting me out of my misery.”
“Cass …”
“No,” I said. Though I didn’t step out from behind Eric, my temper rose.
“This wasn’t a whim. I didn’t get in my car and spend the last few hours driving all the way up here to have a gun waved in my face.
Your wife told us to come. So if she doesn’t want to talk to me now, let her tell me herself. ”
“Cass!” Eric barked. He grabbed me by the arm. “We’re leaving.”
“Damn right you are,” Altman said.
In the back of my mind, I knew Eric was right. No good could come from escalating the situation. And yet, I was at the end of my rope in every sense.
Eric practically dragged me back to the car and deposited me in the passenger seat.
He came around to the driver’s side, got in, and slammed the door.
He shoved the car into reverse and backed up at high speed in a straight line, cop-style, then kicked up a cloud of dust as he maneuvered us back onto the road.
“I’m gonna kill her,” I said, punching a fist into the dashboard. “Are you kidding me? This is how our day goes? She couldn’t have called Emma back?”
Eric didn’t respond. His jaw bulged, he clenched it so hard.
I didn’t know if he was angry at me or at the Altmans.
Probably both. But he kept on driving, going over sixty along the pockmarked dirt road.
I think he hit every dip, causing my teeth to rattle.
Finally, he made the turn onto pavement.
We went another two miles before hitting one of the main drags heading to the highway.
He came to a four-way stop, arriving first. But he didn’t move. Instead, he waved off every other car. One honked at him, earning Eric’s middle finger.
“Why aren’t you moving?” I asked. Eric’s eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror. I turned back to see what he was looking for. I didn’t see anything. The intersection was at the bottom of a hill.
“Eric?”
No answer. He just kept staring at the mirror, his eyes blazing.
Finally, another thirty seconds went by.
A rusted-out blue Honda crested the hill.
We were now the only other vehicle at the four-way.
Eric slammed on the gas and sped through the intersection.
He then made a sharp right turn at the next cross street.
I had to brace myself on the dashboard. My seatbelt went taut, pressing me back against the seat.
He pulled into a gas station. We had over half a tank. A minute later, the blue Honda pulled in. Eric slid into a parking space in front of the attached convenience store and turned off the ignition. The Honda pulled into the space next to us.
“Wait here,” he said.
“But…” I looked over. There was a woman behind the wheel. She was small. Disheveled. And when Eric approached her, she rolled down her window, allowing him to lean in.
“What in the …” I unsnapped my seatbelt, about to ignore Eric’s instructions. Before I could open the door, the woman opened hers. Eric turned and opened the passenger door behind me. The woman got in.
“Maisy,” I said.