Heart of Ice

Chapter Thirty-five

The next morning, Camille Hazelton gave the word and Mitch Crawford was arrested for the murder of his wife and daughter. There was no fanfare. No TV-style chase toward a chain-link fence. It was mundane, as criminal cases often are. Emily and Jason picked him up as he was going into the dealership.

“This is the biggest mistake you ever made,” he said, setting his briefcase down. “And you’ve made a lot of them.”

He looked right at Emily and she just dug her eyes deeper into his gaze.

“That’s fine,” Jason shot back. “We learn from all of our mistakes. Guess you don’t.”

Jason kicked the black briefcase to the side.

“Hey that’s pig leather! Be careful or I’ll sue!”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Emily began. The words came from her lips, and with each one she thought of Mandy and her baby. This monster standing cuffed in front of her would never hurt anyone again.

The Cherrystone jail staffers—and two guys in custody for driving under the influence—could barely contain their glee over the arrest of Mitch Crawford. He came into the jail kicking like the brat that most of his advance publicity pegged him to be.

“These coveralls smell bad,” he said. “I can’t wear this filthy thing.”

“You’ll wear it or you’ll walk around naked,” a jailer said. “You pick.”

The car dealer with the dead wife and baby had a complaint for everything. The food was bad, the place was filthy, and the staff was unprofessional.

“He thinks he’s on a damn vacation,” one of the DUIs said to the other with whom he was sharing a cell.

“Yeah. Cry me a river. This is no all-inclusive resort, that’s for sure.”

When it came time to shower, Mitch Crawford begged for unused flip-flops so his feet “didn’t have to feel the slime of the vermin who’ve been here before me.”

That didn’t win him any friends, in a place where he probably could use one. It wasn’t that anyone was going to “shank” him for a pack of smokes. It was more like someone might rough him up a little just because they could. It was also because in jail, outside of watching TV for an hour and hoping for a litter detail, there wasn’t much to do.

Mitch Crawford was fresh blood and a welcome break from the jailhouse ennui that ensured long days.

“Shut up, you big baby,” the older of the DUIs called over when the murder defendant complained about the filthy conditions of his holding cell. “Your dad sold me a lemon and I might just take it out on you.”

As Emily continued to work on what she knew was a thin case, she skipped out on the arraignment and the bail hearing the next day. While it was true she was busy, she also saw no need to see Cary McConnell argue on behalf of his client. It would be, she thought, like a barracuda cuddling up with a great white shark.

Camille Hazelton called her from the courthouse. Emily could hear the sound of the prosecutor’s heels as they smacked the marble floor.

“Interesting morning in court,” she said.

“I’m guessing that he’s already out.”

“You’d be guessing wrong then.”

“How much?” Emily expected the bail figure to be around $1 million. There weren’t many murder cases in the history of Cherrystone, but the few such cases in recent memory usually ended up with the suspect behind bars pending the outcome of their trials. Few had the means of a successful businessman like Mitch Crawford.

Camille presented her words like she was pulling a tablecloth from under a china tea set.

“I asked for—and got—five million.”

“You’re kidding. How did you manage that?”

“I really don’t know. I mean, I know I’m persuasive, but even I didn’t expect that. I threw the number out, stating all that was true—flight risk, private plane, more money than God. Cary objected, of course, but he didn’t challenge me on the flight-risk aspect, which was key. He told the judge that his client’s wealth shouldn’t hold him to a higher standard, but it was halfhearted.”

“I love it when Cary has an off day.”

“Yeah, there aren’t too many of them.”

“How long do you think it will take for Crawford to raise the money?”

“It’ll take some doing. We’ve seen his finances. Very few of his assets are liquid. I’m not sure he’ll put up the dealership—and I’m not sure if he can. Seems that his stepmother still owns a chunk of the place. And they haven’t spoken in ten years.”