Dead to Rights by Jack Patterson (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

what you did and refrain from exacting justice. But I just can’t help but wonder if there are other possibilities, possibilities that you didn’t consider for whatever reason.”

“We did our job, Mr. Murphy. And we did it so well, we even got a conviction—and it’s the kind people around here appreciated.”

“All I’m saying is that maybe, intentional or not, you buried the truth . . . and now you’re going to bury an innocent man. Have you ever considered that possibility?”

Sloan narrowed his eyes and fixated his gaze on Cal.

“You big city newspaper reporters come down here to our little town and think that solving a murder is as easy as goin’ for a jog in the mornin’. As easy as pickin’ up one foot and puttin’ the other one down. Well, let me tell you one thing, Mr. Murphy, when there’s a murder like this, especially a high-profile one, you’re tryin’ your darndest to solve a crime while everyone else is breathin’ fire down your neck. The DA wants updates. The media wants update. Hell, the governor called me for updates. Everybody wants it to go away as quickly as possible so they can get on with their lives. And in this case, I was right there with ‘em.”

Cal caught a glint of a tear in Sloan’s eye.

Sloan continued. “I wanted it all to go away. My little girl was gone, and there was nothing I wanted more than to be left alone so I could grieve. All your questionin’ does is rip scabs off wounds that I thought were healed a long time ago.”

“I understand, Sheriff. I’m simply trying to answer all the questions I know my editor will ask as well as our curious readers. This piece has to be as comprehensive as it is conclusive.”

Cal exhaled and restrained himself from asking Sloan why he signed out of the office between the coroner’s estimated time of death that night that Susannah was murdered. This wasn’t the time to press Sloan again on his questionable actions. Cal watched Sloan cast a nervous glance at Betty.

“Look, Sheriff, if you didn’t get a conviction on Isaiah Drake, who would you have gone after next? In your mind, who was the next likely suspect?”

Sloan slid the toothpick between his lips forward and took a deep breath. “Ain’t no doubt in my mind who I would’ve gone after next.”

Cal refused to wait for Sloan to give him a long and drawn out explanation. “Who would you go after then? Who’d be your next prime suspect?”

Sloan sighed and shook his head. “I would’ve gone after Jordan Hayward.”

CHAPTER 16

ON THEIR WAY TO PICKETT COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL, Cal and Kelly spent a few minutes reflecting on what they’d learned so far. And Cal figured he was no closer to drawing any conclusions than he was after the day they started interviewing people.

“If we think that Isaiah Drake is innocent, something we need to determine not only for the paper but also for The Innocence Alliance, then we need to have an alternative theory. And right now, I don’t know who that might be or how you could even begin to unravel a case like this. Drake just looks so guilty.”

Kelly perked up. “The problem in this case is you’re thinking like a deductive journalist instead of an inductive one.”

Cal shot her a glance. “Deduction is the only way to definitively prove something.”

“Exactly,” she said, raising her finger. “The key word there is definitively. If you’re going to raise doubt, you don’t have to have lock solid proof. The prosecution didn’t, did they?”

“The jury thought the prosecution’s proof was beyond the reasonable doubt clause.”

“Again, that’s what they thought. All you have to do is find a thread to pull on in order to create reasonable doubt in the minds of your readers—and maybe enough that The Innocence Alliance will take on Drake’s case.”

Cal shook his head. “I’m not sure I can do that, Kelly.”

“Why not? An innocent man may die.”

“Or a murderer may walk free. So far, all I have are my own hunches that Sloan’s team conducted a shoddy investigation. But in the end, their conclusion that Drake was the killer may be right.”

“Honey, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“Yeah, but just because smoke is billowing over your head doesn’t mean you started it.”

Kelly nodded imperceptibly. “You have a point.”

Cal wheeled their car onto Pirate Drive at 2:45 p.m. and found a spot in the Pickett County High parking lot. They checked in at the front office and received an escort to the football field where head football coach, Cecil Faris, was getting ready for spring practice.

“Coach Faris,” Cal said as they approached, “might I have a minute of your time?”

Faris wore a wide smile blemished only by the lump of tobacco wedged between his bottom lip and gum. He looked down to his right and spewed a stream of amber saliva onto the ground.

“What can I do ya for?” Faris asked, offering his hand.

Cal and Kelly both shook his hand.

“Are you two from Atlanta down here to cover the fastest receiver in next year’s recruiting class? Clarence Bailey is the real deal. I saw him run down a rabbit once.”

Cal chuckled. “No, you’ve got us confused with someone else. We’re here from The Seattle Times, and we’re working on a story about Isaiah Drake.”

Faris took his baseball cap off and scratched the top of his head before wiping his face with his hand. He repositioned his hat and stared blankly at the bleachers behind Cal and Kelly.

“I’d rather talk about the Bailey kid. Much better story.”

“Frankly, I would, too, Coach,” Cal said. “But, unfortunately, my assignment revolves around Drake. He’s almost out of appeals, and I’m trying to write a story about how this all happened.”

Faris sighed and crossed his arm. He barked out a few commands to the straggling line of players filtering onto the field. Seemingly ignoring Cal’s request, Faris looked over his shoulder and spoke to