Redemption

Chapter 8

Ken Finger was indeed still around.

Decker had finally reached Lancaster, and she arranged to meet them at Finger’s office, which was located a block over from the downtown courthouse.

His secretary, Christine Burlin, a woman in her midforties, met their request with a stern look. “Mr. Finger is very busy at present,” she said when confronted with Decker, Jamison, and Lancaster.

Lancaster took out her badge. “I think Ken can make some time for this.”

Burlin stared at the badge far longer than was needed.

“Come on, Christine,” said an exasperated Lancaster. “It’s not like you don’t know who I am. Some of your kids go to the same school as Sandy. And you know Decker as well from working with Ken.”

“Well, I try to maintain a professional atmosphere at work, Detective Lancaster.”

“I’m all for professional,” said Decker. “So where’s Ken?”

Burlin looked up at him. “I heard you were back in town for a few days,” she said. “You still working for the FBI?” Decker nodded and she looked at Jamison. “I remember you too. I take it you’re still consulting with the Bureau?”

“I’m actually a special agent now,” said Jamison.

“That’s a strange career change, from journalist to FBI agent.”

“Not that strange,” replied Jamison.

“Why?”

“An FBI agent looks to find the truth and make sure the right people are punished. A journalist digs to find the truth and makes sure the public knows about it, and that sometimes leads to bad people being punished.”

“Hmmm,” said Burlin, looking skeptical of this. “I guess that could be.”

“Where’s Ken?” said Decker impatiently. “We’re wasting crucial time here.”

Burlin frowned. “I see that you haven’t changed one bit.” She picked up her desk phone and made the call.

A few moments later she escorted them into Finger’s office. It was large with ample windows. His desk was constructed of dark wood with a leather top. It was strewn with books, legal pads, files, and stapled pleadings. A large bookshelf held old law books and red file folders, neatly labeled. There were chairs set around a coffee table. A credenza against one wall was set up as a bar, and also held two large glass jars of M&M’s. Ken Finger sat behind his desk.

Finger had only been about thirty when he had defended Hawkins against a capital murder charge. There apparently had been no other takers who wanted to defend in court the man charged with brutally murdering two men and two kids.

He was now in his forties and worked as a defense attorney for those who needed it. And in Burlington, like most towns, there were a great many who needed his services. His tidy brown hair was turning gray, as was his trim beard. His pleated trousers were held up by bright red braces and his white shirt had French cuffs. His striped bow tie was undone and hung limply around his wattled neck. His belly stuck out from between the braces.

He rose and greeted them, motioning them over to the seating area around the coffee table.

“I guess I know why you’re here,” he said, after Burlin closed the door behind her.

“Guess you do,” replied Lancaster.

“How the hell are you, Decker?” Finger said.

“Okay,” said Decker as he sat down. “So you’ve heard?”

“How could I not? Burlington’s not that big. And although it’s not like the attack on the high school when you lived here, it’s still newsworthy when a convicted murderer comes back to town and then gets murdered.”

Lancaster said, “Had he come to see you?”

Finger shook his head. “Hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since he went to prison.”

“You never visited him there?” asked Jamison.

“Well, I take that back. I did go visit him there because we filed an appeal, but it was turned down flat. I mean, we didn’t really have any grounds for an appeal. If anything, the judge went out of his way to accommodate us. And the jury could have returned a death sentence, but they didn’t. I actually told Meryl that his escaping the death penalty was the best he could expect. Why make waves?”

“Were you convinced of his guilt?” asked Lancaster.

Finger shrugged. “It didn’t matter to me one way or another. My job is to defend. It’s the state’s job to prove guilt. I live in the creases of reasonable doubt. All defense lawyers do.”

“But did you think he was guilty?” persisted Decker.

Finger sat back and steepled his hands. “You know that the attorney-client privilege survives the death of a client.”

“I’m not asking for you to reveal any privileged communications,” Decker pointed out. “I’m just asking your opinion on the matter. That’s not privileged and can in no way injure your client. He was already convicted and now he’s dead.”

Finger grinned. “You would’ve made a good lawyer, Decker. Okay, yeah, I thought he’d done it. I think he went over there just to steal some stuff and ran into a whole lot of trouble that he couldn’t handle. It wasn’t like the guy was a career criminal. Hell, he hadn’t had so much as a parking ticket. I think that was one reason he didn’t get the death penalty. I think he lost it and started shooting and strangling, and before he knew it, he had four dead bodies. Then he just got the hell out of there.”

“And no one saw him drive up, enter the place and then leave, or hear the shots?” said Decker.

Finger shrugged. “Who knows? People said they heard nothing.

One house was playing loud music. In the other the folks said they were watching TV or sleeping. The third house the people weren’t home that night, and the fourth house was abandoned. And the houses weren’t that close. And then there was the noise from the storm.” He gave Decker a funny look. “Hell, Amos, you and Mary are the ones that made the case against him. Prints. DNA. Motive. Opportunity. And the murder weapon found hidden in his home. I mean, as a defense lawyer, I had nothing really to work with. I considered it a miracle he only got life without parole.”

“And the stolen goods?” said Lancaster.

“Hawkins didn’t have an explanation for that because he said he didn’t commit the crime. But if you want my opinion, I think he chucked it all when he knew he couldn’t fence them without it tying him to four homicides.”

Decker shook his head. “He had five hundred dollars in his wallet the night he was picked up.”

“And the prosecution suggested that was the proceeds from his fencing the stolen goods. But the stuff that he was supposed to have stolen would have fetched more money than that, I think.”

“And you postulated a theory that Hawkins was planning to use the five hundred bucks to purchase painkillers for his wife, Lisa, off the street. Did he tell you that, or did you just come up with it?”

“Hey, I don’t just ‘come up’ with stuff, Decker,” Finger said firmly. “That’s what he told me.”

“So where’d he get the money?” asked Lancaster.

“He never said.”

“I wonder why,” said Decker. “I mean if he could have come up with a viable explanation that would have taken a big chunk out of the prosecution’s case.”

“Believe me, I tried. But he wouldn’t say.”

Lancaster said, “He’d gotten laid off from his job a while back. They had no money.”

“I’m just telling you what he told me about it, which was zip. And I wouldn’t let him take the stand, so the prosecution was able to bring out the money during the trial. I tried to poke holes at it and brought up him wanting to buy drugs for his terminally ill wife to get some sympathy in the courtroom, but I could tell the jury wasn’t buying it. They were connecting the dots on the money and the stolen goods. There was no way around that. And for all I know the five hundred bucks did come from that. Who’s to say what a fence will pay for hot goods connected to a string of murders? And there was no way a fence would have come forward and gotten involved in the case. So there was no avenue for me to investigate unless Meryl opened up about it, which he never did.”

Lancaster said, “But more to the point, why would he go to a house that early in the evening and that was full of people?”

Decker interjected, “There were no cars out front. David Katz’s car was parked in the back of the house. And Hawkins wouldn’t have been able to see that if he approached from the front, which he had to. The Richardses only had one car at the time and the wife had taken it. The other car was in for repairs.”

“But there were lights on when the first responders got there,” countered Lancaster. “Pretty stupid burglar to hit a house all lit up.”

Finger spread his hands. “What can I tell you? That’s what happened. Like I said, the guy wasn’t an experienced criminal. And he had no alibi. You know that.”

Decker said, “And Hawkins might have thought the lights were on just because of the storm. With no cars out front, and the house didn’t have a garage, he might have thought it was empty.”

Finger added, “And if he didn’t do it, someone went to a lot of trouble to frame him. Why would they? He was a nobody. Blue-collar guy his whole life. I’m not saying that’s bad. Hell, I admired him for that. My old man was a mechanic, could do stuff I never could. I’m just saying Meryl was a regular guy with a regular life. Not worth the trouble.”

“And yet somebody went to the trouble of killing him,” said Decker. “And his life wasn’t exactly regular. His wife was dying and his daughter was a drug addict.”

“That’s true. Hey, did you check with Susan? She’s still around.”

“Gee, why didn’t we think of that?” said Lancaster.

“So you don’t think she’s good for it?” said Finger.

“What I think about an active police investigation is none of your business, Ken.”

Finger smiled. “Come on, Mary, I thought we were friends.”

“We’re also professional adversaries because I have to testify in court to put away your guilty clients, and you do your best to discredit my truthful testimony.”

“Hey, it’s called cross-examination. We don’t have many arrows in our quiver, but that’s one of the prime ones. And the state has all the resources. I’m just one guy.”

“Keep telling yourself that. It’s a good day when the Internet works at the police station. My computer’s about fifteen years old. And I haven’t had a raise in eight years.”

He smiled impishly. “You can always come over to our side. Be an expert witness. Pays pretty well.”

She returned the look. “Thanks, but no thanks. I have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.”

“I sleep like a baby,” retorted Finger, grinning.

Decker looked over at the bookshelf where a bunch of files were stacked. “We need to see your records on the case.”

“Why?”

“Because there might be a clue in there as to who killed Hawkins.”

“The privilege still applies, Decker.”

Decker looked at the man. “Hawkins came to me and asked me to prove his innocence. He did the same to Mary.”

Finger glanced sharply at Lancaster, who nodded. “That was the only reason he was back in town. To tell me and Decker that we got it wrong and he wanted us to make it right. We went to the Residence Inn to meet with him to go over that. That’s when we found him dead.”

Decker said, “So it seems to me that by his words and actions, Hawkins has waived his privilege, because how else can we prove his innocence if we can’t look at your files?”

Finger sighed. “Well, you make a compelling argument, I’ll give you that. And I guess it couldn’t hurt at this point. But it’s been a long time. You think I still have that stuff?”

“Most attorneys I know never throw anything away,” replied Decker firmly.

“So you’re thinking he’s innocent now, after all this time?”

“Some people here thought I’d killed my family,” said Decker.

“I wasn’t one of them,” said Finger quickly.

Decker rose. “So let’s go get those files.”

“What, you mean now? They’re in storage probably.”

“Yeah, now.”

“But I’ve got to be in court in twenty minutes.”

“Then I’m sure your secretary can help us. Now.”

“What’s your rush?”

“After all these years, I’m not waiting on the truth one second longer than I have to,” replied Decker.