Three Dog Day (11 page)

“
Detective Nichols said he would go with me the next time I try the physical challenge for the deputy test, but I'm wondering if I should just give up. What do you think, Evangeline?”

“
Dory, do you think it's possible you're so set on doing this because you live alone and don't have a man in your life?” Her friend touched her arm. “Maybe you just need someone to talk things over with, day to day. Someone to help you figure out what to do.”

“
No way. I'm of the opinion that men are too much trouble.”

“
Mine isn't,” she said with a serene smile. “It's all in the way you train them. How long since you've had a lover, my friend?”

“
Three in the last four years and not one was as good as a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a good book,” Dory sighed.

“
That must've been the men's fault. I imagine you know what you're doing in that department.” Evangeline chuckled.

“
They do call me the Panther,” Dory said, batting her eyelashes at her friend, who giggled.

“
My husband has some single friends who would give anything to date you,” Evangeline told her. The women laughed over food and drink until nearly midnight.

Finally Dory said, “Thank you, my friend, you helped a lot, but I can't give up this deputy thing, I'll retake the test when they offer it again. In the meantime, did I tell you that Sheriff Ben appointed me as an investigator and gave me the case of the puppy mill?”

“
Wonderful! Investigators make more money than deputies and they don't have to wear those clunky uniforms and those dreadful shoes. As an investigator, depending on what sites you have to check out, you can even wear stilettoes. Funny how much more information a nicely dressed attractive woman can get out of a man.” She grinned.

“
Makin' me feel better with every word that's comin' out of your mouth, girl.”

The women hugged each other good night.

D
etective Wayne Nichols needed an attorney's advice about how to get his foster mother, Jocelyn, out of prison. While he knew a number of defense lawyers and prosecuting attorneys from the DA's office, he wanted someone in general practice who could keep quiet about what he was going to say. He had met Evangeline Bontemps at the end of the previous summer when she provided information critical to the solving of the Tom Ferris homicide. Since then, she and Dory had become friends. He was slightly concerned that his secrets might reach Dory, but Ms. Bontemps' reputation for confidentiality was impeccable. Plus, he'd already told Dory part of the story and sworn her to silence. She knew better than to share anything he had told her in confidence.

Evangeline Bontemps' office was a suite in an historic office building in downtown Rosedale. Wayne had been in the building several times while investigating the Ferris case, so he had no trouble finding the well-lit and tastefully decorated office.

“
Good Morning, Detective,” Evangeline's secretary, Kimberly Reed, greeted him. She was a soft-spoken young woman who wore her dark hair in a braid that hung down her back. “Miss Bontemps is expecting you. She's finishing up a previous appointment and then I'll show you in. Would you like coffee?”

“
Thank you,” Wayne nodded. Taking his coffee, he sat down in the waiting room and looked at the beautifully framed photographs of the historic downtown area of Rosedale that hung on the wall opposite his chair. Shortly thereafter a man in a dark pin-striped business suit walked out of Evangeline's office, scowling. Evangeline herself came out a few moments later.

“
Good Morning, Detective,” she greeted him in her low-pitched voice. Evangeline was of Creole descent and hailed from New Orleans. She was slim and dressed in a well-cut plum colored suit. Her hair was very short, which Wayne didn't usually care for on women, but the severe style did nothing to take away from her confident femininity. In fact, it suited her well. “Please come in and have a seat.”

Wayne did so, glad that Evangeline closed the door to ensure privacy.

“
I'd like to hire you as my attorney, Ms. Bontemps.”

“
Certainly. What can I help you with, Detective?”

Wayne took a deep breath and began. “There's a woman named Joci Kemerovo who's serving a life sentence at the Women's Huron Valley Correctional prison in Michigan. I knew her as Jocelyn Outinen, my foster mother. She's been in prison for over thirty-five years. She killed her husband in self-defense. He had been abusing her for years. What finally drove her to fight back was finding out that he had killed her other foster son—my young brother, Kurt.”

Evangeline settled back in her chair, her warm brown eyes focused on Wayne. “Go on.”

“
Jocelyn got second degree murder and a life sentence. She's probably in her mid-seventies now.”

Evangeline took a deep breath. “How do you know she didn't kill the boy?”

Wayne was impressed that she got to the heart of the problem so quickly. He had been dreading this part. “May I assume that anything I tell you will be held in confidence?”

“
You may. This is privileged communication.”

“
I wasn't a witness to either murder.” Wayne went on, “I arrived after the husband died. Jocelyn took me to see where my brother was buried in a shallow grave. I uncovered him. He'd been dead longer than Aarne, killed by multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. Afterwards, Jocelyn showed me the drawer in the house where the gun was kept. I was only twenty then and not in law enforcement. I was afraid if I left the gun there, the police would think Jocelyn killed my brother. I stupidly took the gun with me that day, a thirty-eight special with a six-inch barrel. I have it still.” He stared down at his empty hands.

“
So the gun will have both Mr. and Mrs. Outinen's fingerprints on it?”

“
She said she never touched the weapon. I took it out of the nightstand drawer using a handkerchief. The gun has never been tested, but if a lab were to look at it, I believe it would show only Aarne's fingerprints. Do you have any thoughts?” Wayne asked.

“
Getting Mrs. Outinen released on the basis that the killing of her husband was committed in self-defense is possible, although the state of Michigan is known to be loath to release prisoners. Your first step will be to visit her in prison and determine whether she's mentally capable of contributing to her defense. I saw an article in my alumni newsletter about a group of women in Lansing, Michigan who have established the Abused Women's Commutation Project. Their mission is to get cases reopened where women killed their abusive spouses but did not get fair trials. The legal counsel for the project is a woman I know named Enid Lawton. We were in law school together. I could call her and see what she thinks the chances are for Jocelyn.”

“
I have Jocelyn's file. I'll copy it and send it to you so you can forward it to Ms. Lawton. In addition to setting my foster mother free, I also want to get the record set straight about what really happened to Kurt. I want to have Aarne Outinen on record as his killer.” Wayne tried to steady his breathing.

“
That's going to be much more difficult. I assume you wish to avoid serving time for failure to report the crime? And that you don't plan to turn over the gun.” Evangeline's eyes focused on him like a laser beam.

“
Yes.” Wayne paused. His heart was beating hard and he could feel a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I tried to get Jocelyn to turn herself in after Aarne's murder, but when I couldn't, I helped her escape. I'm guilty of covering up two murders and withholding evidence.” Wayne heard his voice wavering and hated himself for it.

“
I'm going to need some time to look into this, Detective. Meanwhile, I suggest you leave as soon as possible for Michigan to see Jocelyn. It's an election year, and although the governor is a strict law and order man, this is a hot button women's issue. He won't want it to hit the media. With the correct pressure from Ms. Lawton, he might commute Jocelyn's sentence to time served.”

“
How long should I plan to be in Michigan?” Wayne asked. “I'm using personal time for this. And I'd like to remain in touch with the office, since we have two major investigations going on.”

“
A journey into the past won't be quick. This sort of thing takes time.” Evangeline's tone was serious. “I'd plan on two days. You need to meet with Jocelyn's doctor to get her health records, the social worker to attest to her mental health, and the deputy warden to find out what kind of a prisoner she's been. I also wonder why Jocelyn took you and Kurt in as foster children. Do you think either of you could be a blood relative of hers?”

Wayne was startled into silence. It had never occurred to him that he and Jocelyn might be related.

“
After that, provided I can get you an appointment, you can drive up to Lansing to meet with Ms. Lawton. She'll probably want you to meet with staff members from the Governor's office, and that could take some time to arrange. I'll let you know what I find out.” Evangeline rose, reached across her desk and shook Wayne's hand. Her hand was soft and cool in his sweaty palm and when he looked directly into her eyes he saw the pity there. The facts lay between them—a palpable ancient history with the power to send Wayne Nichols to prison. And they both knew it.

Wayne went home to pack a suitcase for the trip to Michigan. He called Ben and heard the discouraging news that nothing had turned up on their John Doe. Wayne offered to return to the office, but the sheriff said it wasn't necessary. Until they got an ID, they were stymied. Evangeline called to say that she'd gotten him an appointment with Enid Lawton on January twelfth, the day after tomorrow.

“
I'd get on the road as soon as possible, Wayne. It's about an eight-hour drive to Ypsilanti. I checked the weather. It's rough up north, but if you can get there tonight and see Jocelyn tomorrow, you should be able to make the appointment in Lansing on the following day.”

“
Icy conditions don't bother me,” Wayne told her. “I learned to drive on snow and ice, and I don't scare easy.”

Wayne felt less confident when he was north of Tennessee. The roads were a nightmare, with multiple semi-trucks overturned on both sides of the freeway. After a long grueling drive, Wayne reached the Marriott in Ypsilanti late that evening. He had phoned for reservations and was shown his room with a minimum of fuss. He ordered from room service—a steak and a glass of red wine. As soon as he finished eating, he fell into bed.

Detective Wayne Nichols drove his truck into the parking lot at Ypsilanti Huron Women's Correctional Facility the next morning. He parked in the lot and joined a line of people waiting to be admitted. This was the only prison in Michigan that housed women—over two thousand in a facility that had been built to hold a quarter of that number. After identifying himself through a microphone, he waited while the person checked with someone in administration.

The exterior gate slid open. Wayne was now inside the fence, walking up the concrete sidewalk through the flat emptiness of a snowy entrance yard. He strode beneath a long row of cell block windows. The hair on the back of his neck rose. He was being watched. Another electronic lock let Wayne through the door of the administration building and into the presence of a female guard. Wayne gave his name and produced his credentials, including his detective's license.

“
Who are you here to see?” the bored guard asked him.

Just in time Wayne remembered the name Jocelyn was imprisoned under. “Joci Kemerovo,” he said.

The guard typed her name into a computer and said, “Acute Care Infirmary, second floor. Somebody has to take you up there. Hang on. We have to wand you first.”

About twenty minutes later, a tall female guard in a brown uniform appeared, checked with the guard at the front desk, and approached Wayne.

“
Follow me,” she said. Her voice was deep and her stride almost as long as his. His breathing quickened. His legs seemed stiff, and his knees were almost locking. He licked his lips and swept a hand across his forehead to wipe off the sweat. When something metal fell clanging to the floor in a room off the hallway, he jumped. He dreaded meeting his foster mother after all these years—after all this time he had failed to find her. Or even look for her.

When they entered the Infirmary, Wayne was blasted with the smell of bleach underscored by the rank odor of infection. Jocelyn was lying in the third bed. She was curled in a fetal position, away from him. He would never have recognized her, had it not been for the name on the chart hanging at the end of her bed. She looked impossibly tiny. The coverlet hardly rose over her body. He fought down the terrible urge to flee. But he had come this far. He had to see it through.

“
Can you give us some space?” Wayne asked the guard. She nodded and walked to the far corner of the room. He leaned over his foster mother's bed and whispered, “Little mother, can you talk to me?”

Her eyes snapped open. “Wayne, is it you?” Her voice was high and cracked.

“
Yes, it's me.”

“
Help me sit up,” she said and held out her hands. Wayne took them in his, seeing the veins through the thin skin and enlarged knuckles, blue from arthritis. He eased her into a sitting position. She was so thin she could have been a concentration camp victim.