He broke off, seeing the look of disbelief in the lawyer’s eyes. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Alex tried again.
“Okay, so what do you think happened? You think someone else killed her? You think she just walked off the edge of the earth?”
“She set me up!”
“What?”
“She framed me!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Why do you think her body was never found?”
Alex realized that this was no time for pussyfooting round — not if he wanted to save his miserable client’s neck.
“Because you buried her?”
“Because there was no body! She’s not dead, I’m telling you. She’s sitting in a room somewhere, watching the TV, laughing her head off at this whole cornball sideshow!”
“You think so?” Alex practically sneered.
“Goddamn right, I think so!”
“And have you got anything by way of … evidence?”
Burrow looked at the lawyer like he wanted to hit him.
“If I had evidence d’you think I’d be in this shit hole?”
Alex was breathing heavily, trying to restore calm.
“Okay, I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. But just tell me one thing … why would she frame you?”
“What?”
“Motive? What’s her fucking motive?”
Burrow’s face showed how hard he felt the full force of his lawyer’s skepticism.
“You think I’m bullshitting, don’t you?”
Alex sighed.
“I think you’re clutching at straws.”
But he knew that this didn’t make sense either. Why would Burrow be clutching at the straw of a crackpot theory, when the governor had just thrown him a rope?
“I think she did it because I…”
He trailed off. But Alex could see in his eyes that he wanted to say more. He tried an encouraging tone.
“What? Bullied her at school? You think she’d take it this far? Just to get revenge on a bully?”
But Burrow’s mood had changed.
“Look, forget it, okay? Let’s just forget it. You’ve done your best for me. I can’t say you haven’t gone the extra mile. Now let me just prepare for the inevitable.”
Alex was looking at Burrow with an uneasy thought going through his mind: this was not the response of a guilty man.
10:52 PDT
Martine Yin was checking her makeup in the trailer outside San Quentin prison preparing for her next report. It was a hot day, and she decided to swap her blue jacket for a man’s waistcoat — the one that she wore as a semi-professional snooker player.
Her mind was focused on the matter in hand. She had spotted Burrow’s lawyer going into the prison and had been hoping to get an interview with him when he came out, but she found herself caught in a media scrimmage and was unable to get anywhere near his car before it broke through the line and receded into the distance. She knew that the lawyer had been scheduled to meet the governor that morning, but that was just a formality. Besides, if anything had come out of that meeting, it would have been announced by the governor’s office.
Nevertheless, she did want to talk to Sedaka, if only to get the low-down on how his client took the inevitable bad news. But she had missed the opportunity. Aside from that, she assumed that Alex didn’t want to talk about it. In fact he probably couldn’t talk about it. But still, it would be nice to get an exclusive.
The problem was how to contact him. All she had was the number of Sedaka’s office. The secretary had been polite, but consistently refused to give out Sedaka’s cell phone number.
So now Martine just had to sit tight outside San Quentin awaiting further developments. The report this morning had gone well. Of course as the execution time approached, things would hot up. The closer to midnight they got, the bigger this story would become. There was no chance of the governor granting clemency — notwithstanding his own unpopular views on capital punishment. Indeed the only thing that could upstage the execution itself would be if Dorothy Olsen walked in off the street and said: “Surprise, surprise! I’m alive!”
Martine smiled at the thought. It reminded her of all the urban legends and conspiracy theories about the Lindbergh baby, complete with several people claiming to be the dead tyke — including one who was black and female!
There were a few doubts about the case against Hauptmann, who had been executed for the murder of the baby. Some said his trial was unfair — not least the atmosphere of vengeance amid which it had taken place. But it was a strong case nevertheless. Likewise the case against Clayton Burrow.
The cell phone cut into her thoughts.
“Martine Yin.”
“Hi, Marti, it’s Paul.” Paul was an eager kid who worked at the station. “We’ve just had a tip-off about what’s going down in the Burrow case. You’re not gonna believe this.”
In response to what he said next, her jaw dropped.
11:04 PDT
“And he didn’t say why?”
“No. He just claimed she framed him and then pretty much clammed up.”
Back in the car, Alex hadn’t even bothered to tell Nat about Burrow’s response at first, and Nat hadn’t asked. Alex realized that the look on his face must have said it all. Only when they hit the road and found themselves back on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, did Nat ask.
“So what are we going to do?” asked Nat.
“Not got a fucking clue.”
“Why would she frame him?”
“Well everyone knows he bullied her in high school.”
“Yeah but framing him for murder’s a bit OTT.”
“That’s what I thought. But the fact of the matter is, he was thrown a lifeline and he didn’t take it.”
“Maybe you read him wrong? Maybe he doesn’t want to live at any price?”
“Maybe. But then again maybe I read the case wrong.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Nat, maybe — just maybe — he’s innocent.”
“You believe him?”
“Why else would he refuse the lifeline?”
“He probably doesn’t remember where he hid the body. It was nine years ago, don’t forget.”
Alex shook his head.
“That’s not what he said.”
“Okay, let’s assume he’s innocent… how are we going to prove it with only — ” he looked at the clock on the dashboard — “thirteen hours to go?”
Alex thought about this.
“We’ve spent the last few weeks arguing the law. Maybe it’s time for us to take another look at the facts.”
“And what are we supposed to be looking for?”
Alex didn’t answer immediately. Instead he pulled out his iPhone and called the office. Juanita answered.
“Hi, Alex,” she said, as his number popped up on the display. “How did it go?”
“Not good, Juanita.”
He had phoned her on the way to San Quentin and told her about Dusenbury’s offer.
“He refused?” she asked incredulously.
“He said he didn’t know.”
“But how-?”
“Listen, I haven’t got time. I’ll fill you in when I get back to the office. In the meantime, I need you to do a couple of things.”
“That’s what you pay me for.”
“I want you to go online and find out everything you can about the feud between Clayton Burrow and Dorothy Olsen.”
“We already looked into that, boss.”
“I know, but all we found out was that she was the butt of his jokes. What we need to find out is if there’s anything behind it.”
“What’s to find out? He was a bullying jock and she was the smart, geeky girl with glasses. What else is there?”
“Okay, I know it’s a long shot, but I got the impression that Burrow was holding out on me.”
“How do you mean?
“Well it’s just that none of it makes sense. If he’s guilty, why the hell did he reject the deal?”