I mulled everything over for a while thinking about the case. I couldn’t stand it any more. I went outside and drove to the office. I hoped I didn’t slip with the cane and fall down the stairs.
I made it upstairs, went in the office, and got the DVD from the safe. There was no way to watch it in the office. Normally, we’d use Rodney’s laptop, but he’d taken it home with him. Maybe Willa’s computer could do it, but I didn’t know how.
I went back to the apartment and watched the DVD. Rodney had done a good job of editing. It started with Buford’s Rolls pulling up to the curb at about nine in the morning. Serena got out and walked away from the car.
I could’ve stayed right there watching Serena walk, but I had work to do.
The scene changed to the parking lot where the Rolls pulled into a space. Ramon got out and walked away. The scene faded out and then back in when the car left the parking space. The time stamp showed it to be about eleven o’clock.
The next scene, at about noon, showed the Rolls returning, pulling up to the curb, and letting Missy out. Then the car parked in another space, and Ramon got out and walked away.
So far, the video bore out what Ramon had told me. The surprise came next.
At about one-thirty a panel van pulled up next to the Rolls. I could make out the Arnold Locksmith and Security logo on the side. The driver got out and looked around. The resolution of the video wasn’t good enough to clearly show his face, but it was William Sproles, there was no doubt about that. The shape of his head, his hair, and his mannerisms all fit. I wished we could do what they do on CSI and zoom in and sharpen the image, but that’s only on television.
Sproles was holding a box. He took the box to the rear of the Rolls and opened the trunk.
Sproles returned to the van, got something else, which could have been a gun. He put it in the trunk of the Rolls and closed the trunk lid. Then he returned to the van, got in, and drove away.
This was what I needed, a video of someone, anyone planting something in Buford’s Rolls where the cops had found the gun. It being someone closely related to the crime made it that much better. Of course, none of the details in the low-res video could clearly identify him or verify without a doubt that that’s what he was doing. Any moderately competent defense lawyer would have a field day shooting down the evidence, particularly since it was obtained with a bogus warrant, and given the quality of the video. But maybe it would be enough to coerce a confession.
I was satisfied. I went to bed.
Chapter 27
“Bill, I’ve got good news and bad news.”
Why do people always say that when there’s seldom enough good news to offset the bad news? This time was different. The good news was great, and the bad news wasn’t all that bad.
I was sitting at my desk spinning the DVD on the tip of a pencil. My cell phone was “on speaker” like they say. Rodney sat at his desk and listened.
“What’s the good news?” Bill asked.
“I have evidence that clears Buford Overbee.”
Bill sighed. “So what’s the good news?”
“Seriously, I have a video of someone planting something in the trunk of his car the day of the murder.”
“Okay, what’s the bad news?”
“Well, given that your case is in the dumpster, I am hoping you’ll help me with the interrogation. We need a confession to wrap it up.”
“You want to grill the suspect here in the room?”
“That would be best.”
“What do I tell the boss?”
“Tell him you’re reinforcing the case against Overbee so that a slick lawyer doesn’t get him off.”
“How about if I come over there and look at your evidence? With all the budget cuts, I can’t commit department resources on a hunch, particularly for a closed case.”
“My door is always open, Bill. Look on the bright side. Here we can drink. How soon can you be here?”
“Hear that knock on your door?”
About an hour later, Bill was sitting across from me with a drink in his hand. I told him how I got the video and what the Overbee clan had said about their shopping trip. The date/time stamp on the video established the time frame.
I ran the video start to finish on Rodney’s laptop. Bill leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, and watched intently.
“Well, Stan, that sure is a nice piece of evidence,” he said when the video had played out.
He turned away from the laptop monitor and sat back in the chair across from my desk. “Only problem is it’s circumstantial. You can’t make out the face, no clear shot of either license plate, and you can’t tell what the guy put in the trunk. Not to mention that we shouldn’t even be looking at this thing since the warrant was phony.”
“But the coincidences are compelling,” I said.
“Let’s hear it.”
“First,” I said, “the panel van is from the company Sproles works for. Second, Sproles was out on a bogus service call at that time. I have a copy of the service order. Next, the image matches his description. Finally, how many white Rolls Royces are there in this town? It goes on and on.”
Bill wasn’t moved by my arguments. It usually took a lot to get him to back off.
“But there’s loose ends too,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like this video was made the afternoon after the killing. Only a few hours. How did he know where the Rolls would be parked that quick? From what you told me, Overbee’s wife went shopping on a whim. Where did the gun come from? There’s no record of it anywhere, and all of Overbee’s guns are unregistered.”
I wanted him to see the big picture, but he was buried in the details. Our different approaches to solving crimes always worked off one another. But that was when we were on the same side.
“Even so,” I said, “all things taken together, it adds up. Sproles killed Vitole and then planted the gun to frame Overbee.”
“I guess that’s possible. His wife saw Overbee’s car at the Vitole house that morning. But why plant it? Why not just toss the piece in the river?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, all these unanswered questions, what do you want to do?”
“Let’s get him in the room and beat a confession out of him.”
“Get me more, Stan. We don’t have enough. Maybe Sproles’s wife can add something. Maybe Mrs. Vitole.”
I filled his glass. He took a sip and listened.
“Maybe we can turn them all on one another. We interview them separately and offer a deal to the first one that spills, and they rat one another out. It’s worked before.”
We both lit cigarettes, Bill his next, me my last.
“Where would we do that?” he asked.
“At the house. In the room.” The house was headquarters. The room would be one of the interrogation rooms. The best place to question a witness. Police territory and a stark, intimidating place. Made you look for the bright light and rubber hose.
“Not on your Aunt Matilda’s straw hat. The boss sees you and me dancing around the squad room with witnesses on a closed case, I go down harder than you did. Ain’t gonna happen. I like my job.”
“Why not show the video to the boss?”
“That’s a thought. He’s usually pretty fair when it looks like we have the wrong perp. He’ll be pissed though. Reopening a closed case always gets attention upstairs.”
“Who’s prosecuting?”
“ADA Weatherly. New guy.”
“Okay. Here’s what let’s do. Get Weatherly in. Show him the video. Tell him Overbee’s lawyer has it, which he will. The defense will be allowed to use it in court because it’s exculpatory. Tell them they’ll have lots of egg on their face in court and in the press if it comes out that they knew about it and prosecuted anyway.”
Bill looked at me with a worried look on his face.
“Stan, what if they find out how you got it?”
“How could they? I didn’t leave a copy of the warrant. The rent-a-cop was so happy to be working with the police, that he never asked for it.”