O’Brien gave it to him, disconnected and immediately called the Miami FBI headquarters. As his call was being put through, he thought about what the attorney general’s assistant had said. And he wondered how the cabinet could be meeting without the governor in attendance. “Special Agent Miles,” said the voice on the line.
“Lauren, this is Sean O’Brien, how are how?”
“I’ll be damned…if it’s not Sean O’Brien…maybe Miami-Dade PD’s best dropout. What do I owe the privilege? Last time you resurfaced was the Miguel Santana case. After you two met, we never even found a trace of his body.”
“And I spent seven days in a hospital, too. Lauren, I didn’t ask to investigate Santana, but I had no choice. I have no choice in another very urgent matter, either. I could use your help this time around.”
O’Brien heard her inhale quickly. “I don’t know. What do you want?”
“I’m bringing something to you. Don’t have time to explain on the phone. I’m catching a flight to Miami today. I’ll come by your office this-”
“Wait a minute, Sean-”
“Lauren, please. It is truly a matter of life and death. I’m emailing a picture I took of a message left in blood.”
She sighed and said, “I’ll be here.”
“Thanks, Lauren.” O’Brien hung up and called Miami PD for Ron Hamilton.
“Detective Hamilton, homicide.”
“Ron, this is Sean.”
“Hey, ol’ buddy. You’re supposed to be moving on with your life. Aren’t you teaching at UCF, or running a charter fishing boat by now?”
“I wish. Remember the murdered supermodel Alexandria Cole?”
“Sure, how do you forget a loss and a face like that?”
“The kid I arrested and convicted didn’t do it.”
“What?”
O’Brien gave Hamilton a quick rundown of the events and then said, “I’ll explain more when I get there. I’m catching a plane for Miami today. I need a big favor.”
“Name it.”
“Pull the old case file for me.”
“Sean-”’
“Two people have died in the last twenty-four hours. Both knew the ID of the real killer. Charlie Williams is being readied for the needle. A prison guard who may have known the killer’s ID is missing. Is Don Guilder still the DA?”
“Guilder retired. Stanley Rosen took over.”
“Rosen, I remember the name. Guilder was the original prosecutor. Can you get me in to see Rosen immediately?”
“See what I can do. But this better be something we can sink our teeth in, because if it’s not, I’m the one that’s going to get snake bit.”
“Okay. Ron, one other thing. I’m sending a package overnight to your home.”
“What’s in it?”
“My gun.”
THIRTY-SIX
The District Attorney for Dade County, Florida, said he could give Sean O’Brien fifteen minutes. O’Brien thought about that as he parked his rental Jeep in the county’s parking garage and caught the elevator to the eleventh floor.
“Fifteen minutes,” Ron Hamilton had said. “That’s all I could get you on short notice, Sean.” Hamilton had to testify in court and couldn’t meet O’Brien until after five. O’Brien looked at his watch as he rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor. Sixty-two hours left.
The DA’s office was furnished in earth tones, lots of plants in the lobby, framed pictures of the Dade County Courthouse and the Florida Supreme Court Justices. It had a subdued feel. Young attorneys in dark suits walked from one hall to the next. Some stopped at the receptionist desk to pick up messages and take a mint from a silver bowl that sat next to small stacks of business cards.
“Mr. Rosen will see you now, Mr. O’Brien,” said the petite receptionist between the soft buzzing of incoming calls. She pointed to her right, “It’s at the end of the hall to the left…the double doors.”
O’Brien followed her directions and met Rosen’s secretary, a woman with a warm smile. She said, “Right this way, Mr. O’Brien.”
District Attorney Stanley Rosen didn’t bother to stand up behind his massive desk when O’Brien entered his office. O’Brien recognized Rosen. He was in his mid fifties.
His hair, now fully white, parted on the left side in a boyish style. He had a sailor’s deep tan. O’Brien remembered Rosen as one of the state prosecutors in a murder trail involving a woman who shot her husband six times, the final shot hitting him in the groin. She had been the victim of abuse for more than twenty years.
Rosen typed on his computer keyboard, looking up once, offering O’Brien a cursory smile. “Mr. O’Brien, please take a seat. Be with you in just a moment.”
The secretary left, quietly closing the door. O’Brien sat in one of the two chairs in front of the big desk. He looked at the framed pictures of Rosen with Governor Owen, the Mayor of Miami, and one photo with actor Sylvester Stallone at a golf tournament.
Rosen stopped typing. “Ron Hamilton mentioned it was urgent. Said you’d explain. I remember some of the highlights of your career with Miami-Dade P.D. You seemed to have had an excellent arrest and conviction record. I also recall media counts of Internal Affairs investigating some allegations of improper interrogation and arrest techniques you may or may not have used. Is your trip to this office related to that?”
“If you’re asking me whether one of my convictions is suing the county for something, the answer is no.” O’Brien leaned forward in the chair. “There have been two murders in Volusia County in the last thirty-five hours.”
“What’s that have to do with Miami-Dade?”
“The murders are a direct result of an arrest and murder conviction in Dade County eleven years ago. The man convicted, Charlie Williams, is innocent. He was found guilty, after I arrested him of killing his former girlfriend, Alexandria Cole.”
“What would you like this office to do, Mr. O’Brien?”
O’Brien gave Rosen the details of the events, including his meeting with Charlie Williams. He concluded by saying, “The case needs to be reopened and a brand new investigation launched into finding the real perp. I don’t think he’s finished killing. The D.O. C guard hasn’t been found, and he’s the direct link between the killer and what happened to Father Callahan and Sam Spelling.”
“But you can’t prove that.”
“I will.”
“I need more.”
“You’ll get it.”
“When you bring it to me, we’ll talk further.”
“There isn’t time to go on a scavenger hunt. I need you to help get a stay of execution until I can find the perp.”
Rosen sat back in his large leather chair, crossed his fingers, pursed his lips once and said, “Mr. O’Brien, these murders are horrific. I don’t want to come across in a fashion that in any way seems to diminish the gravity of what you are telling me. However, I’m suggesting to you that without something concrete, something I can take to a jury and get a conviction, I’m not in a position to reopen a capital murder case, especially one that’s so high profile. I can’t reopen something predicated on what amounts to a former detective using speculation and deductive reasoning, based on information garnered from witnesses that can’t be corroborated because they’re dead. I apologize if that sounds calloused, but it’s fact. You haven’t told me, or given me something I could take to a grand jury or even a criminal jury in a murder trial.
These events, in and of themselves, are heinous crimes, but are they related to the murder of Alexandria Cole eleven years ago? Maybe. Will they prove that Charlie Williams did not do it and point the way to the person that did? No.”
“This is the prosecuting office of Dade County,” O’Brien said, his voice rising. “Is it because this was such a high profile case that has you gun shy? You have a moral obligation to reopen this case. If you don’t, and if Charlie Williams is executed, this office and you will be held culpable parties to his murder. Because that’s what it will amount to-an innocent man killed when it could have been prevented. Prove to me that doesn’t fit the definition of murder, counselor.”