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

do us any good.  He said there was a meet on for that night, and he had no reason to lie about it.  But if he won’t testify, how do I put Dale in that alley?”

“You’ve got him on drugs, and you’ve got him on domestic abuse.  If it were me, I’d be wondering what else would fall out of Dale Scott’s tree if I really shook it.  If it were me, I’d get Joe on it right away.”

. . .

Joe was already on it. “I’ve had a funny feeling about this whole thing for a while now,” he told her.  “Ever since Trent.”

Lily smiled.  “Is that like an itchy feeling at the back of your neck?” she inquired.

“Yeah, something like that,” the private investigator said.

“But my father says we have to be right and we have to make it bulletproof -- pardon the pun.”

“Your father’s right,” Joe said.  “So let’s go back to the beginning -- again.”

“The beginning?”

“Yeah, the beginning,” he told her.  “And let’s start with you and me having a little chat with the client.”

. . .

In the sweltering interview room at the Jackson County Jail, Jason Lightfoot looked from Lily to Joe and back again.  It was two hours after the service for his mother had ended.  “What do you mean, there may have been a reason for the cop to go after me?” he asked.

“Well, don’t get your hopes up too high,” Lily advised him, “because we’re nowhere near being able to prove it yet, but if we’re right, we may have a good case for self-defense.”

The shell of the man he had been eight months earlier smiled, and it was an ironic smile.  “After all this time of thinking I was some kind of cold-blooded killer,” he said, “you’re tellin’ me you maybe don’t think I am anymore?”

“It’s why we’re here, Jason,” Lily said.  “We don’t know.  So we need to go over every single thing you remember from that night, and maybe a few things you don’t realize you remember.”

“Ask me,” the Indian said in return.  “I’ll tell you whatever I can.  It was a Sunday.  Around noon, I hitched a ride out to my mother’s place, like I did almost every Sunday.  She was so drunk when I got there, I don’t know if she even knew who I was.  I fixed her something to eat, but she didn’t eat it.  Then I read to her for a bit, but I don’t know if she heard me.  Around five o’clock, I went over to my uncle’s, just like he said.  We sat around talkin’ for a while, we went out for a walk, we had dinner, and then he drove me back to town.  I got to The Last Call about nine.  There was a grease fire, so I cleaned up the kitchen first.   Then I ate.  Then I sat down at the bar.  After the bar closed, I cleaned up, and then I had one more drink.”

“Is this what you actually remember, Jason, or what you remember your uncle and Billy saying in court?” Lily needed to know.

“I think I remember,” he said.

“How many drinks did you have that night?” Joe asked.

“Just like Billy told you, I had seven shots of rum.”

“Do you, yourself, remember drinking seven shots of rum that specific night?”

“I don’t remember,” Jason had to admit.  “I don’t remember much about any night.”

Lily sighed.  “Okay, then what?”

“Then like I always did, I took out the garbage and went to my box.”

“Straight to your box?” Lily pressed him.  “I mean, you’re not just repeating what someone else said you did, or what you always did?”

Jason thought about it for a moment.  “No, I remember.”

“Okay, then, when you came out of the bar, do you remember seeing anyone in the alley?” Joe asked.  “Anyone at all?”

“No,” the Indian said.  “I don’t remember seein’ anyone.”

“All right,” Lily said with a sigh, thinking he hadn’t been much help.  And then she remembered. “Before I forget,” she murmured, pulling a slim package out of her briefcase and handing it to the Indian.

Jason’s eyes grew large as he unwrapped it.  It was the photograph of his mother.  “You found it!”

“Sure did,” Joe said.  “It was right where you said it would be.”

Jason nodded.  “Thanks,” he said, fingering the frame.  “This was taken a couple of years before my father died -- when she still had reason to smile.”

“Joe found something else in your bed, too,” Lily said.

The Indian looked up, and it was clear he was confused.  “What do you mean?” he asked.

“When I was getting the photograph of your mother,” the investigator explained, “I found a bullet in your bed.”

“A bullet in my bed?” Jason was clearly stunned.  “I slept on that bed every night for years.  I never knew there was a bullet in it.  What was it doin’ there?”

“Well we’re assuming it was fired it into the bed at some time,” Joe replied.  “Do you remember any incident, going back as far as necessary, where Detective Scott might have shot at you or at your box for some reason?”

Jason shook his head emphatically.  “I don’t remember nothin’ like that, nothin’ at all.  Sure, he used to rough me up, but that was years ago, and he never pulled his gun.  I never gave him reason to.  Is someone sayin’ I did?”

“No, no one is saying that at all,” Lily assured him.  “We just had to ask.  What else do you remember?”

“I remember puttin’ the garbage in the dumpster,” he said slowly.  “I don’t really remember gettin’ into my box, but I guess I did, ’cause that’s what I always did, and that’s where the cops found me.”  He looked at Lily and Joe.  “Then I must’ve gone to sleep ’cause I remember I had a dream.”

Lily sighed, but Joe leaned forward.  “Do you remember what you dreamed about?” he asked.

“I remembered it real good when I woke up,” he said.  “You know, all the details and everything.  But now, well, now