“She reports several instances of erratic behavior by Erin Faulkner-and her belief that Erin was hiding some secret.”
“That may be, but-”
“The third affidavit is from a man Erin dated, James Wesley. He, too, reports strange behavior on her part. The fourth is from a doctor-of sorts-Erin was seeing. Dr. Jamison Harris.”
“He’s the candle guy?”
“Uh… yes.” Christina paused. If Derek knew that, then Derek had actually read the brief before the hearing-quite out of character for him. Why was he so interested? Was it because this was a death-penalty case? Was it because Ben’s name was on the pleadings? Or was there something more? “We also have affidavits from several people connected to Erin’s father, Frank Faulkner. Two from his coworkers at the chemical plant. Dr. Conrad Reynolds and Chris Hubbard.”
Derek closed the brief and removed his glasses. “Counsel… what is the point of all this?”
Christina braced herself. Here we go. “The point, your honor, is to make it clear that there are a lot of unanswered questions regarding the Faulkner deaths.”
“That could probably be said in every murder case, Ms. McCall.”
“Your honor, we can’t in good conscience allow an execution to take place when we don’t know what really happened.”
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Counsel… in every criminal case, there will be uncertainties. Because ultimately, other people are unknowable. In any true sense. Are you familiar with Jean-Paul Sartre?”
He pronounced the name Gene Paul Sar-ter. Ben suppressed a grin. For all his vaunted Yale education, his facility with existentialists hadn’t improved over the years.
“Yes, your honor,” Christina replied. “I’m very fond of the French language.”
Yes, Ben thought, but is the French language fond of her?
Derek continued. “Sartre said, ‘Hell is other people.’ Do you know why he said that, counsel?”
Because he’d had dinner with you? “No, your honor.”
“Because ultimately, no matter how much time we spend with someone, no matter how hard we try to get to know them-we can never really know them. It’s sad, yes-but very true. Take it from the voice of experience.”
Take it from the voice, Ben thought, of a man who’s split up and reconciled with his wife about a dozen times.
“Now, I’ll grant you, some of these affidavits are interesting. They raise perplexing questions. Questions to which we will probably never know the answers. But imagine what would happen if we halted every criminal prosecution until we knew all the answers. We’d never be able to convict anyone.”
“Your honor,” Christina insisted, “this is a death-penalty case. There should be a higher standard.”
“Not in the eyes of the law. The standard is ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’-and that’s plenty high enough. A jury has already found this man guilty under that exceedingly tough standard. I’m not going to override their judgment based on a few unanswered questions.”
“Your honor, that conviction was based primarily on the testimony of a witness who later recanted.”
“So you say. But that evidence is not before the court. And frankly, it never will be. Unless you’ve got something more for me-I’m afraid this hearing is finished.”
“Baxter! Get over here!”
Baxter didn’t much appreciate being yelled at, but she figured this was not the time to make a fuss. She was just pleased he was speaking to her; since that brief lip lock in the car, he’d barely been able to look at her. Why did she always screw everything up?
She hustled around to the back of the cabin. There was a sharp slope that descended to the lake, covered with scrub trees and bramble. Mike was standing at the top. “What is it?”
“Take a look at this,” he said, pointing at the slope. “What do you see?”
She shrugged. “Typical Oklahoma backwoods scrub.”
“Look again.”
Baxter suspected she was being tested, and she didn’t want to fail. But she saw nothing extraordinary. A few trees with no leaves. Lots of unidentifiable ivy and bramble. Tall spindly plants with long thorns. You could see it anywhere in the state. What on earth did he think-
Wait a minute. There was a section where everything had been pushed down, just a few feet from where Mike was standing. All the brush had been flattened; there were several broken branches and plants. It was as if someone had started to cut a path about a foot or so wide down the side of the hill.
“Something’s been here. Recently.”
“That’s right,” Mike said, hustling toward the slope. “And it went down fast.”
Together, they carefully descended the slope. At the base, just off the lake, he showed her a deep impression. “And this is where it landed.”
Baxter crouched over the spot. The ground was only slightly muddy, but enough to leave a trace of what had been there. She spotted a small shape, outlined in the mud. It seemed flat at the top, but the bottom was three-sided, like the lower half of a hexagon.
She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander. She’d seen that pattern before. It was common. She saw it all the time. But she couldn’t place it…
Until she did. “A pants pocket.”
Mike nodded. “A jeans pocket, to be precise.”
“Sheila Knight was wearing Levi’s when we found her body.”
“Damn straight. And look here, where the mud has been scraped. I think something was dragged.”
“Like a body?”
Mike didn’t comment. “And look over here.” He pointed to a place in the mud only a few feet from the jeans pocket.
“A footprint!” Only the top part was visible, but it was still undeniably the imprint of a shoe.
“Not much of one, but enough to make clear it isn’t Sheila Knight’s foot. And they had a heavy rain out here yesterday around noon.”
“So?”
“So this footprint was made after that. In the last twelve hours. As was the jeans pocket imprint.”
Baxter’s eyes widened appreciatively. “She was down here last night.”
“She fell down here,” he corrected. “Or was pushed.”
“The coroner said there were scrapes and bruises on her body,” Baxter recalled. “Her leg was injured. And her clothes were dirty. It didn’t seem important, given the big hole in the side of her head. But now-” She pondered a moment. “If there was a second person here, why didn’t we see him? We were watching the road all night. And the front door.” Baxter felt her heart racing. Did this mean she had been right all along? That Mike finally believed her? “Morelli, are you thinking-”
“It’s too soon for thinking. We need to collect all the evidence we can and see what we turn up.”
“Yes, but-”
“Baxter-round up the troops. I want every available officer in these woods looking for more traces of an intruder.”