A Reasonable Doubt by Susan Sloan (free novels .txt) 📕

“It means you’re going to have to tread very carefully,” Joe said. “Attorneys from Seattle don’t just waltz into the Port Hancock Police Department, wanting a case file, and expecting to get it.  They have to be invited.  Or at least given permission.”

“And that kind of permission would have to come from pretty high up, don’t you think?” Stiversen added.

“Who else knows about this?” Flynn asked.

“You mean, the suits and the file?” Joe replied.

“No, the plane.”

“Other than Arnie, I’ve told just one other person, and Arnie says he’s told no one.” Joe said.  “But I didn’t know about the suits at the time, just about the plane.  And I didn’t remember the file until later.  I don’t know who else knows about the suits or the file.  Arnie and I were hoping you might.”

“You told the chief about the plane, didn’t you?” Coello said.

“Yes,” Joe confirmed.  “And I assume he told the two of you, which is how come you know about it.”

“Yes,” Flynn said.

“The problem is, we have no way of knowing who else he might have told,” Joe added.

Flynn frowned thoughtfully.  “This information has opened up a whole new road for us to go down,” he said finally, “and I think that I speak for Teri as well as myself when I say that we’re willing to take it as far as it goes.”

“You do indeed speak for me,” Coello agreed.  “After the chief told us about the plane, we interviewed all the owners of planes that were up that day, which is probably what triggered the suits showing up.”

“But we sure as hell didn’t give anyone permission to take the file,” Flynn added.  “We didn’t even know about the assault case.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Joe said.  “Frankly, if I had, we wouldn’t be here now, having this conversation.”

Flynn nodded.  “Joe, we’ll keep you and Arnie in the loop on this,” he assured them.  “But until we know for sure what’s going on here, I think we’re going to be very careful about what we say, and who we’ll say it to.”

“I’m definitely on board with that,” Coello confirmed.

“We were hoping you’d see it that way,” Stiversen declared.  With that, he produced the White Horse file.  “This is what the suits didn’t get when they showed up yesterday.  Now it’s yours, to do with as you see fit.”

. . .

Joe drove to Morgan Hill, pulling up to the Burns’ house just after five-thirty.  Dancer met him outside.

“How’d it go?” the US Marshal asked.

“Just as we’d hoped,” Joe told him.  “Flynn and Coello are on board, and we can trust them.”

Dancer nodded.  “Good,” he said.

“You know none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t told me about that Pullman case,” Joe said.  “Two incidents can maybe be a coincidence, but sure as hell not three.”

“Some cases you just don’t forget,” Dancer said.  “I’d been with the service maybe two or three years at the time.  It was my first recovery.”

“You think we should tell Lily?” the private investigator inquired.

“I don’t know why not,” Dancer replied.  “I think she can handle it.  As a matter of fact, she has something to tell you, too.”

“What?”

“She can describe the plane.”

Joe’s jaw dropped.  “Lead me to her!”

“You think Wayne Pierson and Grady Holt are the ones who dropped the bomb?” Lily exclaimed.  “I can’t believe it.”  She knew them both well enough.  They had been one year behind her in school.

“Right now, they’re sure looking good for it,” Joe said.

“And when you get your mind around that, there’s another piece of the puzzle that slides into place,” Dancer said.  “Grady Holt’s uncle is none other than our good friend Officer Buzz Crandall.  And you remember him, don’t you?”

Lily’s eyes widened.  “You mean, the guy in the pickup -- the first guy, the one who almost ran me over -- that was Grady?”

“It all fits,” Joe said.  “It was his Silverado that sideswiped you.  And then Crandall was driving it when you got run off the road.  A little too convenient to be just a coincidence, I’d say.  But you’ll know for sure as soon as Port Hancock’s finest get you in to identify Holt’s voice.  You do remember his voice, don’t you?”

Lily nodded.  “I’ll never forget it.”  And then she laughed.  “Oh wow!” she said.  “You have no idea how great it is to be able to say that about something again -- that I’ll never forget it.”

“In that case, keep up the good work,” the private investigator told her with a grin, “and you’ll be back to your old ornery self in no time.”

. . .

Dancer left his 4-Runner in the Jackson County Jail parking lot, and made his way to the third floor visiting room.  Ever since the bombing, he had been coming to visit Jason Lightfoot.  Since Dancer was not an attorney, regulations required that they meet on either side of a Plexiglas window, at opposite ends of a telephone, instead of in the private room where they had spent so many hours playing gin rummy and discussing the case with Lily.  But Jason didn’t mind all that much.   He and Dancer could fill up an hour talking about anything and nothing before either of them even realized it.

“How’s the lady lawyer doin’?” he always got around to asking.

“She’s getting better every day,” Dancer told him, always mindful that, unlike conversations with an attorney, every word they spoke was being recorded.  “She’s starting to remember all sorts of things now.  As a matter of fact, she told me to tell you that, if she can get her memory back, after everything she’s been through, she expects that you can do the same. I think that means it won’t be long now before she’ll be back to work.”

“Yeah, well, that’s good, I guess,” Jason replied.  “’Cause October’s gonna be comin’ around pretty soon.”

. . .

It was almost seven when Joe parked his car in his garage and let himself into his cozy rambler on the outskirts of Port