Jamie stuck a bookmark in her place and folded Lemmie’s novel closed. Donnally took this as a sign she was about to hit the punch line.
“Hamlin hired one of them in a rape-murder case down in San Jose. It happened about two years ago. The defendant stalked the victim for months. At her home, at her office, even at the grocery store. She got a restraining order and the police arrested him twice for violating it. The defendant’s parents were Silicon Valley, new-money types. They retained Hamlin with only one instruction. It was okay to lose in the guilt phase, they didn’t care whether he got convicted of the crime, but it was a must-win at penalty phase. They weren’t going to have a kid of theirs on death row and have the case coming up and coming up in the press over the next twenty years.”
“I take it that it wasn’t just the victim’s family who wanted what people all call closure, but the defendant’s.”
Donnally hated to say the word. Closure was the concept of choice for death penalty supporters. It seemed to him minds were more like windows than doors, and a victim’s family watching the execution of her murderer through the green room glass couldn’t thereafter shut in, or shut out, the past.
Janie nodded. “Exactly. The case finally got to trial about four months ago. Hamlin used the guilt phase as a long sentencing hearing. He didn’t argue about the facts of the crime, only used it to set up the penalty phase. He didn’t object to anything the DA wanted to use in evidence; even made himself look incompetent by seeming to stumble into letting the DA’s own witnesses bring in crazy stuff the defendant did that the DA hadn’t known about.”
“And the DA didn’t see it coming.”
“Nope. By the time the jury was done finding him guilty, they were primed for the psychologist’s testimony and he wove together everything into the story Hamlin wanted to tell.”
“And the jury bought it.”
“Back in an hour with a life-without-parole sentence. The psychologist told me he foolishly showed up to hear the verdict and needed the bailiffs to escort him to his car afterwards. The victim’s father and brother tried to fight their way through the phalanx of officers in order to get to him.”
“Did they bother him later?”
“A few calls and threatening notes. He got a restraining order, but he got one last call a month afterwards. A woman’s voice saying that it wasn’t over and he better watch his back.”
“What about-”
“And that Hamlin better watch his, too.”
Chapter 33
Reaching for the ringing cell phone by the bedside, Donnally felt like he was fighting his way to the surface of a murky lake under a moonlit sky, except the moon was his screen. He looked at the time: 5 A.M.
“What were you doing outside of Frank Lange’s house last night?”
It was Ramon Navarro and he hadn’t waited for Donnally to say hello.
Donnally walked into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
“Making a dry run, it turns out. I was hoping to talk to him, but he had a party going on.”
“Talk to him about what?”
“Perjury he committed in a case.”
“That may have led someone to kill Hamlin?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what got you started-”
Donnally cut him off. “What’s going on?” He didn’t like getting jammed. It was time to find out why Navarro was grilling him about Lange.
“A patrol cop who’s been around a long time spotted you walking across Divisadero near his house.”
“Who was that?”
“Doesn’t make a difference who.”
“Then tell me.”
Donnally heard Navarro sigh. “Deondre Williams. He still has good eyes for an old guy. The only reason he recognized you is because of talk-a helluva lot of talk-in the squad room about you being the special master in the Hamlin case. There are mixed feelings about it.”
“Despite the mixed feelings, tell him to keep what he saw to himself.”
“Then tell me what you were doing there.”
Donnally headed down the stairs to the kitchen to make coffee. He was now too alert to return to sleep.
“I have dead-bang proof of Lange’s perjury in a case and I’m going to use it as leverage to get him to give me information about Hamlin and the dirty stuff that might’ve gotten him murdered.”
“Were going to use it. He’s toast. Roasted last night in a fire that burned down his house. He never even made it out of bed.”
Donnally stopped between steps. He thought of Lange and the woman arguing upstairs.
“Arson?”
The words must have come out more like a statement rather than a question, for Navarro asked, “Why do you say that?”
“I saw him arguing with a woman. I didn’t recognize her, but I’ve got a photo. I’ll send it to you along with the rest of the ones I took. They’re from across the street and through windows so they’re a little fuzzy, but maybe you can do something with them.”
“No question but it was arson,” Navarro said. “So far we’ve found five main points of ignition. Looks like somebody used a gas can to soak a spot on each outside wall of the house, then ran lines of fluid from one to the other. They made certain he had no way out. Everyplace he looked down, he’d see flame coming up at him.”
“That’s four points.”
“The fifth was on the top floor. In his storage area. His safe and the file drawers were open and the can was lying in the middle of the floor. At least that’s what the guys on the ladders are saying. We haven’t been cleared to go in there yet.”
Unless Lange had left the safe open by mistake, something he wouldn’t do while he was having a party, the arsonist must have been well-known enough to Lange that he would trust him-or her-with the combination.
“Looks like somebody was trying to destroy both him and his records.”
“And they did a helluva job. Victorians like Lange’s are nothing but painted kindling nailed together.”
Donnally walked into the kitchen and turned on the television. A local news reporter stood across the intersection from Lange’s house. Originally painted tan, the sides now were mostly black from flame and soot. All the windows visible to the camera were blown. Firefighters carrying a yellow body bag strapped to a stretcher were walking down the stairs and past Navarro, standing on the wet sidewalk among snaking fire hoses and framed by a ladder truck on one side and the medical examiner’s wagon on the other.
“Is that Lange in the bag?” Donnally asked, “Or were there more victims?”
Navarro surveyed the crowd as though expecting to see Donnally among the spectators lining the far sidewalks. His eyes locked on the news camera.
“You watching on TV?”
“Yeah.”
“Just Lange. Or at least we think it’s Lange. Body’s burned pretty bad, but it’s the right shape.”
“What about neighbors?”
Navarro pointed at the house next door. The near corner, visible in the camera frame, was blackened. “The place is being remodeled. Nobody is living there.”
Donnally watched Navarro turn toward the medical examiner’s wagon as it pulled away with the body inside.
“Got to go,” Navarro said. “I’ll have a look-see at the ME’s office while the fire inspector does his work, then come back and go through the house if he’s sure the place won’t collapse on me.”
“Mind if I come along?”
“A fishing expedition?”
“Let’s not call it that.”
Chapter 34
Donnally telephoned John Gordon at his construction company after he got into his truck. He had no doubt that Gordon would be there before anyone else, sitting at his desk, drinking the Folgers or Maxwell House coffee he brewed himself and checking the day’s work schedule.