Jesus. Blind me with stats. Have you spoken about it with Emma Ridley from the Innocence Project Northwest? said Ren.
Silence. Yes, said Alice. Im sorry, but what is your interest in this case? Her tone had sharpened. With all due respect... shouldnt your focus be on Caleb?
It is, said Ren. Of fucking course it is, you snippy bitch. Im just curious what you thought of the theory proposed by Emma Ridley. That Kevin Dunne may have been clipped by the side-view mirror of a passing vehicle? Have you read her report?
I scanned it, said Alice. Its not the focus of my defense.
Your hackles are skyward.
Did you show it to a Medical Examiner to maybe try to get a second opinion? said Ren.
Im sorry, said Alice. Im under a lot of stress...
Youve noticed Ive noticed.
Im worried about Caleb, about my brother, about Teddy, said Alice. And this case is all-consuming. The trial is coming up. Im raising awareness about false confessions too, so Ive a lot of speaking engagements. Im trying to do the best I can for my client. He was seventeen years old, zero evidence showed he did anything, but here we are: twenty-four years later. The prosecution constructs a wonderful, convincing narrative, and bam, Anthony is jailed. Its terrifying, is it not? Hes forty-one years old just four years younger than me. Ive had my life what has he had?
Youre discounting Emma Ridleys alternative scenario, said Ren, So your case is based on...
A golden triangle of police coercion, flawed eyewitness testimony, and incompetent legal representation.
Ren got off the call, sat back, and thought of Anthony Boyd Lorden, his eager face.
Imagine being so utterly broken, so distraught, so traumatized, so terrified, that one word transforms your entire future: yes. In one horrifying swipe, your twenties are taken away, your thirties, your milestones, decades of significance, where love happens, where life happens, where relationships are formed, relationships with good people, not charged, violent, petty, feuds behind prison walls.
That one word: yes. Yes, I did it. Yes, I took a weapon no one ever found, and I bashed in the skull of a boy who I gave a ride too. A stranger with whom I spent just twenty minutes of my seventeen years, talking about football, talking about summer jobs, talking about school, talking about cars. YES. I am a monster. A monster who stopped to pick up a guy dressed in black who was walking in the dark. I am a monster. Right? I am a monster. Am I not? I did this. Didnt I?
She thought of John Veir.
Am I damning him?
What if it was Merrifield? What if John and Alice are being forced to lie?
Jesus Christ. Imagine being part of the team who wrongfully convicted someone.
I dont think Id ever get over it.
She went back through her notes and found one person she thought might shed light on Merrifield and Veir: Rob Lockwood, Veirs friend, and Merrifields psychologist.
38
Shannon Fuller was lying on her living room sofa in the dark, staring at the television. It wasnt on. Her son had been murdered, her property had been trampled on, her house and bar had been torn apart, she had spent hours putting it back together again, then she had shut out the world, crying on and off all night. She had heard the vans arrive again this morning, heard the search teams talking, shouting, laughing, told Seth to take care of everything.
She got up slowly, sat on the edge of the sofa, bent down and picked up the pile of damp tissues from the floor. She put them in the garbage in the kitchen and wandered out into the bar.
Seth was leaning on the counter, playing with a piece of card. He jumped when Shannon came out.
You scared the crap out of me, he said.
Its very easy to scare the crap out of you these days, said Shannon. What time is it?
Lunchtime, said Seth.
You didnt fix any food for them.
He shook his head. No. Im sorry. I didnt want to disturb you.
Thats OK, she said. Im glad you didnt.
She looked around the bar. I guess everyone will steer clear of us now, said Shannon. Were bad luck, were too sad, or were crawling with police.
John Veir was on the news this morning, said Seth. Someone torched his house.
What?
Well, not torched lit his garbage can on fire.
Are they OK? said Shannon.
Seth nodded. Theyre linking it to that missing inmate...
Really?
Seth nodded.
Shannon walked around the front of the bar, pulled up a stool in front of him. Could you get me a Coke, please?
Seth was about to turn around when Shannon placed her hand on top of his, pressed down on it hard, so he couldnt move it.
Im drawing a line right here, right now, said Shannon. I agreed to trust you that wherever you were the night Aaron died is your private matter. I watched you lie so easily to that FBI agent. And I lied for you. Youre jumpy as hell. Im not sure why, but youre going to have to be honest with me about everything from now on. So lets start with whats in your hand.
She grabbed his wrist, turned his hand over and he opened his palm. There was a business card in it. She looked up at him. Special Agent Ren Bryce? OK... whats going on here? The truth: now.
Seth let out a breath. Nothing.
Nothing is never nothing with you, Seth Fuller. Youre thinking of contacting an FBI agent? Talk to me.
He weighed it up, his shoulders sunk, he opened his mouth to speak.
Shannon smiled. Youve been doing that since you were four years old: slumping your shoulders, dragging yourself into a conversation you really dont want to be a part of.
He smiled, but there was sadness in it. You got me. He paused. Let me pour your Coke.
He handed it to her, took his time getting eye contact. You have to promise me you wont judge.
Have I ever judged you? said Shannon.
No, said Seth. No. Im sorry, but... theres something thats been on my mind about John Veir...
John? said Shannon. What about him?
Did he ever tell you about Franklin J. Merrifield... and me?
You? said Shannon.
Seth took a deep breath. Merrifield was dealing in BRCI
Shannon put her hands over her face. No, Seth. Please dont tell me
You promised not to judge.
He took her hands gently away from her face, squeezed them.
Im sorry, said Shannon. Go ahead, sweetheart... but, youre breaking my heart, here.
So Merrifield was dealing heroin and TNT
Heroin! said Shannon. You
No! said Seth. I didnt do heroin, I swear to God.
TNT, then? said Shannon. I dont even know what that is.
Fentanyl... patches. He lowered his eyes.
Shannons eyes were lit with anger. Jesus Christ, Seth. Fentanyl? And you were taking it?
Seth nodded.
What? said Shannon. Chewing patches? I saw a news program about that. Its an overdose waiting to happen. Its, like, fifty times stronger than heroin.
Seth looked away. About a hundred, actually. And I only did it once.
Jesus Christ once is all it takes! What were you thinking? That patch is for putting on your skin! To slowly release it if youve got cancer or youve had an operation or... its not for you! And after getting off heroin, you dont have a clue what your tolerance is like. Why would you gamble with your life that way?
I know, I know, said Seth. I havent touched it since that last time with Merrifield. I swear to God.
When was that? What happened?
Like, eight months ago, said Seth. Thats what Im trying to tell you about. This one night, I got a patch from Merrifield. You know how Fent makes you; sleepy, slows your breathing and shit. I started nodding out, but it was weird, I was kind of aware that this wasnt good. And I remember Merrifield, he was still in the cell with me, I remember thinking, Hes going to let me die right here, he doesnt give a shit if I die right here.
Shannon was shaking her head, struggling to hold back tears.
Then John Veir showed up, said Seth.
39
Ren called Rob Lockwood, the BRCI psychologist, and agreed to meet him in a coffee shop in Salem, instead of going through the visitors procedure at the prison. She ordered coffee for both of them, and they sat in a quiet corner.
So, how long have you been treating Franklin J. Merrifield? said Ren.
For the past year or so, said Lockwood.
Were you surprised he escaped? said Ren.
Yes, actually, said Lockwood. I mean, I knew he was unhappy with the outcome of his appeal, and he was angry and very bitter at his buddy, his accomplice, but Merrifields not very bright. I dont think he would have the smarts to pull something like that off.
Thats slightly different from having the desire to escape, though, said Ren. If he got help on the inside and bought his way into someone elses plans, or made himself indispensable for other reasons, then anything could have happened.
Merrifield is a loner, said Lockwood. I just cant see how that would work.
Were you aware of any contact between him and John Veir, outside of routine interaction? said Ren.
No.
Do you think Merrifield could have had anything to do with Calebs disappearance? said Ren.
I dont know, said Lockwood. He shrugged. I wish I could give you a better answer than that.
What was his reaction to losing his appeal? said Ren. Just anger, or was there more to it? Did he have any plans to do anything further about it?
Lockwood nodded. He mentioned reaching out to a lawyer who specialized in wrongful conviction lawsuits.
Holy. Shit. Did he mention a name?
Lockwood shook his head. No.
You know John Veirs sister has quite a high-profile wrongful conviction case, said Ren.
Really? said Lockwood. John didnt mention that.
Did Merrifield?
Not to me.
Was Merrifield the type to want revenge? said Ren.
Yes, said Lockwood. Absolutely. He held grudges. That was the kind of guy he was. Small slights, big ones it didnt matter.
I know John Veir is a friend of yours, said Ren. Id like to ask you about him.
Sure, said Lockwood. Go ahead.
Do you think its likely that he could have carried out the arson attack on his own house? said Ren.
Did Merrifield?
Not to me.
Was Merrifield the type to want revenge? said Ren.
Yes, said Lockwood. Absolutely. He held grudges. That was the kind of guy he was. Small slights, big ones it didnt matter.
I know John Veir is a friend of yours, said Ren. Id like to ask you about him.
Sure, said Lockwood. Go ahead.
Do you think its likely that he could have carried out the arson attack on his own house? said Ren.