The Crime Left Behind (Casey Summit Series, #1), page 13
Grant sighed and relaxed a little, sheepish. “Yeah – I know, I know. You’re right. I think this uniform just brings out the ‘Authoritarian Grant’, or something. And actually—” he paused, leaning back in the booth and folding his arms across his chest, “since he was acquitted, there can be no appeal. So, Sunshine Laws pretty much apply instantly. I can get you most of the file and it shouldn’t be too much trouble. It’ll be in the public domain soon enough, and anything that wouldn’t be available would be available through records requests. I’m just saving you the dollar per page fee.”
Casey and Alex both smiled at this. But suddenly, Alex’s smile disappeared and she turned to her sister. “I’m not going to have any room left on the Murder Board.”
“Murder board?” Grant asked, then turned to Casey. “Still claiming you aren’t investigators?”
She felt some blood rush to her cheeks, but thankfully, Grant just laughed.
“Don’t ever change, Case. Don’t ever change.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Casey asked, trying to sound offended but cracking a smile at the same time.
“Nothing—here, let me get this.” Grant turned around and raised his hand in the air to summon the waitress. When she looked up, he motioned writing with his hand, indicating that they would take the check.
“I’ve got to get back.” He was wrestling his wallet out of his back pocket. “So, Alex, what do I tell Officer Daniels? I think you singlehandedly made him question all his preconceptions about Down Syndrome today.”
Alex flashed a huge smile. “I think you might be right, Grant. But... the police force just isn’t for me. I don’t do guns.”
Grant laughed at this and seemed pleased with her answer.
Casey was thoroughly impressed by Grant’s treatment of Alex. Even people who managed to act normal around her sister still avoided saying those two words: Down Syndrome. As if Alex may not know what she had, and as if it wasn’t perfectly evident from looking at her. It often took a while for people to be able to name it in front of Casey, let alone in front of Alex, and it took them even longer to ask questions about it.
The check arrived and Grant fished a $20 and $5 bill out of his wallet and laid them down on the table. He got up and the two women followed suit.
“Thanks for lunch, Grant—and thank you for helping out the Summit Gals. How long do you think it will take for you to get the file?”
She didn’t want to seem ungrateful by rushing him but was unable to fully suppress her excitement about getting the information. The three of them walked to the stoplight, waiting for it to change, then continued across the street and stopped at the steps to the precinct.
“Um, good question. At least a few days, I think.” He said this and saw disappointment creep into Casey’s expression.
“But maybe less—I’ll text you,” he quickly added and looked down at his watch. “I have to get back. Alex, it was a pleasure to meet you and I hope to see you again soon.” He shook her hand, cupping his left hand over hers. He then trotted up the steps to the precinct, holding the door open for a woman and a young boy as they entered the building.
The two watched him and Alex said, “I like that guy,” as he went. She wasn’t a great judge of when someone was or was not in earshot, or when she was speaking a little too loudly; Casey was pretty sure Grant had heard that comment.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
Chapter 18
Alex had asked Casey about a dozen times if she could go to Sanford with her and Ty, but received a ‘no’ each time.
Casey was looking forward to spending some alone time with Ty. She felt that she hadn’t necessarily been getting the whole story from him and wanted to know why. Like, why had Grant said that most of the officers—including himself—felt that Ty was guilty? Was there more to the story than she knew?
Of course, if she was being honest with herself, there were other reasons she wanted to be alone with him. She was pretty sure there was some kind of spark and that he felt it too. Casey briefly wondered if that was some kind of conflict of interest, but then reminded herself that, again, she was not an actual private investigator. Just a girl helping a friend with some other friends. Besides, she was never very good at avoiding getting involved with guys just because it might not be a good idea. Twila would accuse her of doing just the opposite: getting involved because it was a bad idea.
Twila had explained this theory of hers. She felt that Casey did all that she could to avoid relationships that would have what she called ‘staying power.’ She said that she went in knowing exactly how the relationship would end.
Casey didn’t like the psychoanalysis, of course, but she also didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when Twila made this argument.
There had been Colin, the guy who was not only too young for her, but had absolutely none of the same interests, including his goal of winning an X-Games medal for skateboarding. Then there was Brad, the guy she started seeing three months before he was to spend his junior and senior years of college in Italy. And John, the older guy who was separated from his wife, but they were still living together because neither one of them could move out due to the COVID lockdown. Casey shook her head thinking about that relationship, and how it had ended when John met up with her in the park to awkwardly explain that he and his separated wife were now expecting a baby.
Maybe Twila had a point. After all, Ty was younger, and he had a much different focus than Casey. Plus, if he did clear his name, who knows where he would end up? The NFL was a real possibility. The more she thought about it, the surer she was—they were not going to hook up. They needed to keep things professional.
Casey was thinking about all of this as she got ready for her day out with Ty. She chose a light, fitted, brown button-up shirt that she knew brought out her eyes and showed a bit of cleavage. She paired it with a tight pair of dark blue jeans.
Then she looked around her bedroom and realized that Alex hadn’t reached it when she was in her cleaning frenzy. Not that it mattered, Ty wasn’t going to see it, but she might as well tidy it up to match the newly-cleaned rest of her apartment. And change the sheets—it had probably been a couple of weeks since she’d done so. No harm in that.
Casey was just finishing making the bed when she heard the intercom buzzer by her door sound off. She rushed over and hit the ‘enter’ button. Less than a minute later, there was a knock at her door. Ty was there, wearing a fitted black t-shirt with sneakers, and had that great big smile on that she was getting used to seeing.
“Hey Ty,” she greeted him awkwardly with neither one knowing exactly what to do—hug or shake hands. They ended up doing both. Shaking hands, and then hugging quickly.
“Come in.”
“Thanks. You look great... I mean, it’s great to see you again,” Ty stammered as he entered the apartment.
Casey just smiled. “Did you want anything to eat or drink or did you just want to get going?”
“I’m good to get going if you are. I’ve set up a couple of stops for us and I can fill you in on the way.”
She grabbed her bag and keys and followed him out the door. He led her across the road and stopped half a block down, in front of a new Ford Bronco. It was black, with some stylish chrome finishes, and Casey was impressed. She silently chided herself—she hated the stereotype of girls getting all weak in the knees because a boy drives a nice car, but... damn, she appreciated a nice car.
“Wow, pretty nice for a college boy,” she said as he unlocked the vehicle and opened the passenger door for her to climb in. Or rather, climb up and then in.
“Ha—yeah, thanks. I guess I’m in a video game or something,” Ty said.
Casey was confused for a minute then nodded as she remembered that the new laws allowed college athletes to be able to make money off their names.
“I only made enough to be able to secure the lease on this thing for a few years, but I’m making the most of it.” He closed Casey’s door and ran around the front to the driver’s side.
After starting the car, heavy bass rap music started blaring. Casey jumped a bit and then laughed at herself for startling. Ty turned it off immediately.
“Sorry! Sorry!”
“No, no—I like the music. I just got startled. Please... play it. Seriously.”
Ty smiled and turned the music back on, but at a much lower volume. “Okay. Let me know if that’s still too much.”
“So, where are we headed?” She fastened her seatbelt.
“Well, I was able to reach out to Eric’s sister,” he said as he put on his turn signal and pulled into traffic. “She said she was willing to talk to us. I was kind of surprised, but actually, she said that me being ‘the guy’ never really sat right with her. She said, ‘The Ty I know couldn’t hurt a fly. At least, off the gridiron.’”
He smiled and Casey could see that this meant something to him. But she was a little surprised after the run-in that she had with Eric’s mother and sister post-verdict. Myrna hadn’t seemed pleased about the case outcome.
Thinking back, she remembered stealing a glance in the women’s direction when the verdict was read—as did most of the courtroom—and both had their heads down. Mary sobbed and Myrna had her hands on her mother’s shoulders. If Myrna believed it was the correct verdict, would she have seemed so sullen? Apparently so, if she was willing to see Ty again so soon after.
“That’s great,” Casey said. “I don’t suppose her mother feels the same?”
Ty sighed. “Doesn’t sound like it. Myrna said that her mom was still too raw over the whole ordeal. She didn’t say that her mom thought I killed Eric, but...”
“But what?”
“I dunno. I guess she talked about how her mom got close to the cops and how the prosecutor kept calling her. Sounds like her mom is the real ‘law and order’ type.”
“How is that even possible with a son who kept getting himself arrested?”
“Yeah. It’s not normal for where she lives, you know? That neighborhood, the cops aren’t exactly a welcome sight. But maybe all that changes when your son is murdered and you need the cops’ help, you know? Maybe it would have been different if Eric was killed in some drug deal in Sanford instead of in front of some white tourists outside a 7-Eleven in Orlando.”
Casey looked at him, not saying anything. At Trial Tactics, she and her team had talked a lot about the extra publicity that the case had received, but in their minds, this was because of the alleged perpetrator. They focused on the fact that Ty was a hometown football hero and a rising star, believing that was what made the newspapers interested. Still, they hadn’t considered the other side, that perhaps this whole incident would have been downplayed if it hadn’t involved tourists. In that world, with less pressure to solve the case, Casey wondered if the investigating police would’ve even pursued Ty’s possible involvement with Eric.
“But before Myrna, I want to go see one of Eric’s friends. I think he might be able to help us figure out the kind of shit Eric was into.” Ty hesitated for a second. “And, uh, he might be into some sketchy stuff, too...”
“What? Like, is he doing some of the same stuff Eric was? Is he working with the same guys?” Casey was suddenly realizing that she might be doing exactly what she had promised Grant she was not doing.
“No, he isn’t wrapped up in drugs—I do know that. And... whatever he is doing, it’s, uh, like, well hidden? You’ll see. Just trust me.”
Casey nodded. She did trust him. For the rest of the ride, Casey filled him in on her and Alex’s meeting with Grant, and her optimism that Grant was going to get them something good. She told him she hadn’t heard from Miranda and Jack yet, save for Miranda’s cryptic text, and asked if Jack had reached out to him. He said Jack had texted about the Speedy Lube trip getting him some info and that he’d fill in the team later.
Half an hour later, the Bronco was driving through Sanford toward the ‘Historic Downtown District.’ Casey hadn’t lived in any other state aside from Florida, but one thing she knew for sure was that absolutely every town seemed to have a historic area. Even if that ‘district’ consisted of a city hall and two coffee shops, somehow that seemed to check the box.
Right before they hit the downtown, Ty turned left into a subdivision. The entrance was bordered by two large, white stucco walls with ‘Manatee Cove’ written in a stylistic font, presumably to denote elegance. It wasn’t a gated community, but it appeared to be more upscale than most they had driven by when coming into Sanford. They stopped outside a yellow house set back from the sidewalk about twenty feet with a two-car garage on the far-right side.
They exited the Bronco and started up the driveway. The sidewalk to the front door acted as a barrier for one of the front flower beds, showcasing small palm trees and other colorful plants.
Ty reached his hand up and pressed the doorbell—one of those video doorbells, she noted. Scanning the house, she saw this was not the only camera. Two large motion sensor lights had small cameras attached, one on each side of the house. There also appeared to be a second camera beside the front door, getting a different view of those approaching.
The security sign staked in the flower bed indicated that the premises were surveilled by a professional company. It seemed to be a great deal of security for what appeared to be a very safe neighborhood.
After about twenty seconds, a very attractive man, about the same age as Ty, opened the door and broke into a huge smile.
“Hey, man!” He gave Ty a half handshake, half hug. “Good to see you. How long’s it been? Since before the trial, at least?”
Then he seemed to notice Casey and asked, “More importantly, who is this you’ve brought to see me today?” He reached down and grasped Casey’s hand between his two, and said, “Hi, I’m Reggie.”
Casey tried to turn the grasp of her hand into a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Reggie. I’m Casey.”
“Hey, Reg—great to see you, too. Casey’s a friend, actually helping me out with some stuff. She works for the trial consulting firm my defense lawyer used.”
“Oh, no shit!” Reggie exclaimed. “I love that show. What’s it called? About the trial consultants?”
“Bull,” Casey said.
“No, seriously. I seen it a bunch. Those guys are badass.”
“No, ‘Bull’. That’s the show.”
“Oh yeah! Right,” Reggie smiled and shook his head.
The show was well-known by any trial consultant. And despised just as widely. Kind of the same way that someone who works for the FBI can’t watch Criminal Minds, or how someone who works as a crime scene investigator can’t watch CSI. The liberties that are taken with their jobs in order to make an exciting, one-hour drama create a completely distorted view of the field.
But, like those other individuals employed in a career that had been widely fictionalized or glamorized, she was always ready for the inevitable questions.
“Is that shit real? Like, you guys do all that stuff?” Reggie asked.
Casey smiled. “Nope. We don’t sift through trash, hack into social media accounts, have high-tech surveillance setup to measure facial cues through the case, or, really, have anything besides the application of social science. The actual juror members are never our concern, just the demographics and personality types they represent.” Casey gave the spiel to Reggie, realizing that she likely said these exact sentences, word for word, nearly every time someone found out she was a trial consultant.
“Huh?” His brow furrowed a bit, trying to follow what she was saying and process it all.
Ty smiled at the exchange. “Reg, do you still have a couple of minutes to talk to us?”
Reggie shook his head and snapped his attention back to Ty. “Absolutely. Come on in guys.” He stepped back and opened the door wide.
They followed him into the house and were led through to the large living area, eventually sitting an L-shaped couch facing what looked to be a painting on the wall. Casey realized it must be one of those new flatscreen TVs that looks like a work of art when it is turned off.
Looking around, Casey was confused. The location of this house, the type of furniture inhabiting it—is this really how someone Reggie’s age, involved in criminal activities, would spend their money? Then she chided herself for invoking her stereotype of how a young man, possibly a criminal, might live. Why wouldn’t he secure himself the American dream? Or maybe Ty was wrong, and Reggie somehow came by all of this at—what, twenty-four? Twenty-five?—through non-illicit means.
“Can I get you guys something? Water or beer maybe? I have some new stuff from Sanford Brewing Company.”
“No, we’re—” Ty started.
“Sure! Sanford Brewing Company sounds great,” Casey replied, and their eyes landed on her. Ty didn’t know her weakness for craft beer yet. Plus, she wasn’t the one driving.
Reggie smiled. “Ty?”
“Just water for me, thanks.”
Reggie grabbed two bottles of beer and a bottle of water. He pried the top off, handed one to Casey, kept one beer for himself, and left the bottle of water for Ty. He went over to the large couch and sat down, inviting his guests to do the same.
This was one of the most comfortable couches Casey had ever sat in. She must have made a face or some kind of ‘ahhh’ noise without realizing because Reggie immediately looked at her and started to explain the origins of the couch. Not much for the provenance of living room furniture, she was only half listening. The other half of her was enjoying the beer—a Kolsch with a clever name, as seemed to be the rule with all small breweries, that was going down very smoothly.
When Reggie finished his couch story, Ty picked up the conversation. “Reggie, as I mentioned in my text, I was hoping to talk to you about Eric.”
Reggie looked at him. “Yeah man, when I got your text, I thought that was kind of strange. Like, why do you want to dig all that up? You got off. It’s over. I mean, I’ve beaten a few big raps in my day but an acquittal in a murder case? That’s like, unheard of, and I would’ve thought you’d be getting as far away from all this shit as possible.”
