“Because he was stupid.”
“Well, duh.”
“He hated cops, saw us as a threat to his freedom, and wasn’t about to let us put him behind bars again. He would rather go toe to toe with us than go back to prison.” Dantzler was quiet for several seconds, then said, “Don’t you find it interesting that Stone had the rifle and ammo right there in the living room?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, I do.”
“What are you saying, Jack?”
“Something Rocky said when we first got there has stayed with me. He said, ‘I’ve been told you were coming, and I ain’t got nothing to say to you.’ How did he know we were coming?”
“He saw us out on the street in front of his house. The four of us, huddled together, talking. He’s an ex-con-he could spot a cop a mile away. Hell, he could smell a cop a mile away.”
“That’s possible.”
“But you don’t sound like you believe it.”
“I don’t. I think he meant exactly what he said-he knew we were coming to see him.”
“Other than the four of us, who knew we were going to see Rocky?”
“Rich knew. Laurie. Bruce Rawlinson. I told Charlie Bolton. And I’m sure others knew as well. It wasn’t like some big secret.”
“You’re inferring there is a leak in the department.”
“Stone knew we were on the way. So, yeah, there’s a leak somewhere.”
“Jesus, now we’re not only fighting the bad guys on the outside, we’re fighting the enemy within. That pretty much sucks.” Milt scratched his head and grimaced. “You have a candidate for who the snitch might be?”
“No. But I’ll wager you this,” Dantzler said. “The snitch, whoever he turns out to be, is the person who killed those four people.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
There were times when Dantzler cursed his own stubbornness. This was one of those times.
His stubbornness placed him squarely at odds against his colleagues, all of whom were willing to convict Stone for the Colt Rogers and Devon Fraley slayings. They also believed that given his kinship to Eli, and his access to the murder weapon, Stone was a likely suspect for the murder of those two boys in 1982. Although none of them believed deep in their heart of hearts that Stone was the lone killer, they were willing to cast aside their true feelings and grant him that distinction.
Sympathy had replaced evidence.
All Dantzler had to do was sign off on it and both cases would be closed. Like that, simple as snapping his fingers. Sealed, air tight, official. With Dantzler’s blessing, the late Kevin “Rocky” Stone would forever be remembered as a four-time murderer.
But marching in lock-step with the crowd wasn’t part of Dantzler’s nature. It never had been, and he wasn’t about to change now. This was especially true when he was certain the crowd was marching in the wrong direction and to the beat of a misguided tune. If he was deemed an outsider, a lone wolf, so be it. He would always stand his ground against an erroneous consensus.
If Dantzler gave the green light, and if Jeff Rosen agreed-which he would-then Kirk Foster could go to his boss, the governor, and have him sign the required documents necessary to free Eli. Within a matter of hours, John Elijah Whitehouse, the Reverend, would be released from prison and allowed to return home, to be reunited with his family, to live out his final days being cared for by his loved ones.
But as much as he wanted to, Dantzler wasn’t about to sign off on it. He couldn’t agree with the prevailing sentiment. There were, he argued, too many stumbling blocks standing in his path. For starters, he couldn’t convince himself that the easy way was the correct way. In his experience, it was usually the exact opposite. The hard way typically turned out to be the correct way. Also, nothing had changed evidence-wise, a fact his colleagues seemed willing to overlook or dismiss. Dantzler wasn’t prepared to take that leap, regardless of any sympathy or empathy for Eli.
Empathy is never enough to overturn a jury verdict.
No, Eli didn’t kill Rogers and Fraley, and Dantzler remained convinced the old man didn’t kill those two young boys, either. But the mountain of evidence said otherwise, that Eli did in fact kill Osteen and Fowler. Until or unless Dantzler could bring down that mountain, Eli had to remain in jail. As a detective, he was bound to the evidence, not to the tug of his heart.
Dantzler was now the lone voice arguing against laying the four murders on Kevin Stone. That made his the lone voice keeping an innocent man behind bars.
He felt like a traitor to his own cause.
Dantzler pulled up next to the Church of the Holy Father, got out of his car, and walked around to the front door. Standing outside, he could hear a voice coming from inside the church. He opened the door slightly and peered inside, fearing he had arrived in the middle of an evening service, or possibly a funeral. But he hadn’t. The church was empty, save for Isaac Whitehouse, who was standing alone in the pulpit, reciting a passage from Paul’s letter to Galatians in a deep, melodious voice.
Isaac stopped speaking the moment he saw Dantzler open the door and step inside the church. Closing his Bible and notebook, he waved Dantzler forward. Stepping down off the stage, Isaac stopped at the second row of seats, leaned over, and picked up a small tape recorder. After turning off the recording device, he extended his hand to Dantzler.
“It’s an old habit of mine to record my sermons in advance,” Isaac said. “I’ll listen to it several times between now and Sunday, make a few notes, pick out the obvious flaws. This way, I have the opportunity to critique it, to see if I’m being redundant, of if I am using certain phrases too often, or being plain old boring. There’s nothing worse than a dull sermon. This gives me some idea of the strengths and weaknesses before the curtain goes up on Sunday.”
“Sorry if I interrupted,” Dantzler said.
“Don’t apologize. I was almost finished. And to be honest with you, it wasn’t going particularly well. I’ll record it again later this evening, after I do a major overhaul.” Isaac pointed to one of the pews. “Have a seat, Detective. Or if you prefer, we can go to my office.”
“This will be fine,” Dantzler said, sitting. “Did you hear about your cousin, Kevin Stone?”
Isaac nodded. “Rachel told me. A real tragedy, Detective Dantzler. A sad end to a sad life.”
“Will you preach at the funeral?”
“There won’t be a funeral per se, only a brief graveside service. But, yes, I will say a few words for Kevin. He was, after all, family. I feel it’s my responsibility to help lay him to rest.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Where will he be buried?”
“He won’t be. Believe it or not, Kevin had a will. He wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered over his mother’s grave.”
“Mind my asking who is paying for the cremation?”
“Rachel and Kirk.”
“When was the last time you saw Kevin?” Dantzler asked.
“Let me think about that. Oh, five years ago, maybe. I only saw him once or twice after his release from prison.” Isaac looked away. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, Detective Dantzler, but Kevin was one of the nicest, sweetest young kids you could ever hope to meet. He was two years older than me, and when I was young-I’m talking really young-Kevin was my big hero. He was only six or seven, but I thought he was just so cool. And he always treated me like a kid brother, his best pal. Then Aunt Grace died and everything changed. His father, Vince, was a great guy, but he was simply too busy to keep a close watch on Kevin. Vince was a plumber and an electrician. He worked all the time. All the time. And to be perfectly frank, Vince lacked good parenting skills. He was a good guy, a mediocre father.
“About a year or so after Grace died, this would be when Kevin was eight or nine, he began hanging around with the wrong crowd,” Isaac continued. “That’s when he drifted away from us. Sadly, it meant drifting away from the very people who could have helped him through what had to be a difficult time.