Judgment Calls Page 31

The Fletchers’ discovery of Griffey there was not a good sign.

  Johnson must’ve been thinking the same thing, because he decided to revisit what I thought had been our mutual decision not to search the Easterbrook-Jetson home. He pulled me aside while Townsend continued the conversation with the Fletchers.

  “I know we’re playing it safe, but finding the dog changes the picture. We need to go through the place now while he’s still playing victim. If we wait until a body shows, he might lawyer up.”

  I shook my head. “I still don’t like it,” I said. “Look at him—he’s a basket case. Later on, his state of mind might vitiate any consent we get from him. If, God forbid, her body does surface, we can easily get a warrant, since this is her house. We won’t need to have probable cause against the husband.”

  “And what do we do about the fact that our doctor can move whatever he wants and start dumping evidence the minute we’re out of here?”

  Johnson’s point was well-taken, but it wasn’t enough to justify a thorough search this early in the case. Not only could Townsend try to throw out the search down the road, we’d pretty much be killing any chance we had of continued cooperation from him. Hell, even if he was innocent—which he so far seemed to be—he might bring in a lawyer if he thought we were zeroing in on him unfairly. In any event, if Townsend was involved in his wife’s disappearance, he certainly could have disposed of any incriminating evidence before calling the police.

  I explained my thinking to Johnson and proposed a compromise. “Why don’t you offer to take a look around to make sure there’s no sign of a break-in? I don’t have a problem with you doing a general walk-through; I just don’t want a detailed search yet. If you check for broken windows and the like, we can at least look for the obvious and avoid any major fuckups.”

  “Okay with you if I ask him about it in front of his buddies?”

  I gave a quick nod. If Townsend felt pressured to consent to a search because his friends were around, so be it. Courts only care about claims of involuntariness if the supposed coercion comes from law enforcement.

  Before Johnson walked away, I added, “We should also get people searching up on Taylor’s Ferry. Hopefully by the time the department has a search plan together, Walker can tell us what she might have been wearing.”

  Griffey perked up when Tara came down the stairs, apparently satisfied that nothing helpful was going to come from foraging through her sister’s closet. I’d already been positively disposed toward her, based on her obvious concern for her sister, and I warmed to her even more when she found the energy to get down on the floor with her sister’s dog and comfort him with a bear hug.

  After a few minutes spent on introductions to the Fletchers and the inevitable words of comfort, Tara grew antsy again. “Griffey, up,” she commanded, pointing him toward the stairs. “Sorry, I can’t sit still. You mind if I throw him into the tub real quick, Town? He’s a little crunchy, and it’ll get my mind off things.”

  It was clear that Tara’s nervous energy was grating on her brother-in-law; he seemed more at ease once she’d followed Griffey to the second floor and he could turn his attention back to the Fletchers.

  “I keep expecting the phone to ring, but I’m not sure exactly what kind of call it would be; maybe a ransom demand or something. Obviously, I want it to be Clarissa explaining that this is all a misunderstanding, that she went with a friend somewhere and forgot to leave a note, and Griffey just happened to get out. I don’t know what kind of call it should be.…” At this point, he was just rambling. I didn’t point out that the leash suggested Griffey had not simply escaped from the yard but that someone had been walking him. Townsend would have to come to realizations in his own time.

  I was beginning to think that a ransom demand would be good news at this point. At least we might get an indication that Clarissa was alive.

  “This lifestyle of ours,” Townsend said, looking around. “Why does any of this really matter, right? Maybe it just invites problems.”

  Johnson used the moment as his in to ask permission for the walk-through. Consistent with everything else about the man, his transition was smooth.

  He started by asking Dr. Easterbrook if he’d ever noticed anything that might suggest that someone was scoping out the house or following them, perhaps planning a way to get to Clarissa by herself.

  “No, nothing at all like that,” Easterbrook replied. “You know, this neighborhood is so isolated up here. We hardly see anyone at all on our street who doesn’t live here.”

  “Can you think of anyone who has a conflict with you of some kind? Someone who might be motivated to do something to scare you or retaliate against you?”

  “Why would someone hurt Clarissa to get to me, detective?”

  “Just exploring all possibilities, doctor. Maybe a disgruntled patient from the hospital? A former employee?”

  “No,” Townsend said, slowly shaking his head. “Clarissa would occasionally get some threats about her cases, but she always assumed they were only blowing off steam. Never anything we gave worry to. No one would want to hurt her. She’s such a good, wonderful person.”

  “I was just exploring all the possibilities,” Johnson repeated. “Come to think of it, we should probably take a look around and make sure there’s no signs of a break-in, just in case. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not, but I’m sure I would have noticed something earlier. Given the security system, I don’t see how anyone could have gotten in.”

  “As long as you don’t mind, I’ll go ahead and check it out. No harm, right?”

  Johnson sidled off before anyone might want to stop him, and the Fletchers seized the opportunity to extricate themselves from a situation where they knew they couldn’t be of much help. As they launched into their good-byes, feeding Townsend more premature assurances that everything would be okay, I caught up with Ray. Truth was, I didn’t want to be alone with Townsend, struggling like the Fletchers to avoid all those lame clichés—this will all work out, only a silly misunderstanding, other completely useless pronouncements suggesting the speaker had any clue as to how the day would end.

  We hit the basement first. My basement is a dark, damp, dusty wreck of concrete and cinder block that my imagination has populated with thousands of spiders and their cobwebs. The Easterbrooks’ had been finished into a laundry room and a home gym that had better equipment than my health club. Not only did we not find any bodies, blood, or guts, there weren’t even any windows to check. In place of the flimsy things that are so often kicked in for basement break-ins, the Easterbrooks had glass bricks.

  Climbing back up the stairs, we could hear Townsend letting the Fletchers out the front door, so we headed up to the second floor, where Tara had Griffey in a bathroom off the main hallway. She was fighting to get a dog brush through his hind leg. Predictably, Griffey stood compliantly while Tara tried to avoid pulling his entire coat off by the roots.

  She looked up at us from the tile floor, removing her hand from the brush to push her bangs from her forehead. The brush stayed entangled in poor Griffey’s coat. “I was just wondering whether I should show this to you. I thought he felt a little crusty downstairs when I was petting him, but it looks like he’s actually got something dried into his coat back here.”

  Johnson knelt down and looked more closely at the side of Griffey’s hip. Then he reached into an interior pocket of his suit jacket, removed a latex glove, and slipped it over his right hand.

  “Do you mind giving us a second, Ms. Carney?”

  Tara seemed surprised by the request but left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  “Looks like clay or something,” Johnson explained, “like he brushed up against it here on his side.”

  “Shit. We should have gotten the crime lab over here immediately when the Fletchers called.”

  I was beginning to panic. Why the hell hadn’t Johnson taken care of it? “Wasn’t obvious,” he said, responding to the unspoken questi
on. “Until you know for certain what you’re dealing with, it’s hard to know what kind of resources to put into it. Take the small chance of any evidence off the dog, plus the likelihood that we’re dealing with a runaway wife, and it’s a tough call.”

  It made sense, but it didn’t excuse the fact that we nearly allowed Tara Carney to take what might be our best piece of evidence so far and soak him in a bathtub.

  Johnson flaked some of the beige paste from Griffey’s coat into an evidence bag and marked it with his name and the date, using a Sharpie pen.

  Shit. What else had we missed? “I think we should go ahead and get the crime lab out here and search around Taylor’s Ferry. Everything about this feels bad.”

  “Your call,” he said, pulling out his cell phone.

  This new gig was going to take some getting used to.

  PHENOMENAL PRAISE FOR JUDGMENT CALLS

  “Alafair Burke has been on the front line in the courtroom and the streets, and brings her world alive in this exciting first novel.”

  —Linda Fairstein

  “Captivating. Alafair Burke is a wonderful writer, with the kind of style and confidence I most admire. I’m a big fan and look forward to the next novel in the series.”

  —Sue Grafton

  “Judgment Calls expertly shows that the most gripping drama is not found in the courtroom but in the places where choices get made, in the shadows cast by politics and corruption and human desires. Burke comes out of the gate with a first novel that proves she’s got what it takes and will be sticking around.”

  —Michael Connelly

  “A terrific debut; very different from her famous father’s work, but the storytelling DNA is all there, for sure.”

  —Lee Child

  “First-rate, suspenseful entertainment … we’ll be hearing more from tough, tart, sexy, high-minded Samantha Kincaid.”

  —Washington Post

  “Burke’s earnest, fast-paced debut introduces a sharp new crime series revolving around Deputy DA Samantha ‘Sam’ Kincaid, a hip, 30-ish lawyer working in Portland’s Drug and Vice Division. As a former DA herself, and now a teacher of criminal law, Burke brings a hyper-reality-TV quality to the text … This is a solid first effort from Burke, daughter of another ‘crime fighter writer,’ James Lee Burke.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Burke blends courtroom drama and criminal investigation with surprising aplomb, and she uses her Northwest setting to good advantage … This promising debut augurs well for a successful series.”

  —Booklist

  “If you love Law and Order, you’ll love Judgment Calls.”

  —New Orleans Times-Picayune

  “A grabber of a first novel.”

  —Houston Chronicle

  “Burke writes with both a clarity and a self-assuredness that belies her first-novelist status. The plot lines are tightly woven, and she adroitly ties things together in the end. This is the first in what should be a popular series.”

  —Library Journal

  “Alafair Burke is the real deal … Judgment Calls is a fine work, introducing what I hope will be a long-running series about the trials and tribulations of Samantha Kincaid … with Judgment Calls, Alafair Burke has arrived on the crime fiction scene in dramatic fashion … in a year during which there have already been many worthy debut novels to choose from, Alafair Burke’s entry must be considered one of the top choices. Believe the hype—she’s going to go very far.”

  —January Magazine

  “Alafair Burke is, without question, a new writer to watch. Judgment Calls is a remarkable debut—a skillfully told tale with memorable characters and plot twists that will keep readers involved from the first page to the satisfying end. Take this one home with you—you’ll enjoy it, and not many years from now, you’ll be able to tell your friends that you knew she’d be a star when you read her first book.”

  —Jan Burke

  “It’s no mystery why Alafair Burke’s first novel, Judgment Calls, is already getting rave reviews … Burke demonstrates a natural-born propensity for suspense.”

  —Phoenix New Times

  “An engrossing novel that compares to the best of the genre.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  “Author Burke is a splendid guide through its satisfyingly twisty plot.”

  —The Seattle Times

  “Fast-paced, well-plotted debut.”

  —Raleigh News-Observer

  “[Burke] has developed her own unique style of storytelling that is both fresh and wholly original. Judgment Calls is an exciting first novel and the perfect summer book to send shivers of suspense down the reader’s spine.”

  —Tucson Citizen

  “It’s her meticulous approach to nailing the criminals in the courtroom that gives Judgment Calls its principal appeal … As a female sleuth figure, Kincaid seems standard issue … but she and the book get into fresh territory when she applies her mind to her case and the courtroom. It’s the attention to the minutiae of trial tactics that illuminates Kincaid’s character and gives distinction to the novel.”

  —The Toronto Star

  “Alafair Burke has made an excellent start … we’ll be watching for the return of Samantha Kincaid.”

  —Toronto Globe and Mail

  “Burke comes out of the gate flying … this has all the makings of a successful series, and we’re looking forward to the next.”

  —New Mystery Reader

  “An accomplished and thrilling tale of her own … she writes in her own style, at her own pace, and the result is an engrossing novel that compares to the best of the genre.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  “Burke definitely stands on her own merits as she delivers a debut that immediately springs to life … tightly plotted, Judgment Calls is a personal story wrapped around a realistic, likeable heroine … [It] would be an engrossing read no matter whose name was on the cover.”

  —South Florida Sun Sentinel

  First published in the United States by Henry Holt and Company.

  JUDGMENT CALLS

  Copyright © 2003 by Alafair Burke.

  Excerpt from Missing Justice copyright © 2004 by Alafair Burke.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Henry Holt and Company, LLC, 115 West 18th Street, New York, New York 10011.

  ISBN: 978-0-312-99720-5

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  eISBN 9781429902496

  First eBook edition: February 2014