The Crime Left Behind (Casey Summit Series, #1), page 24
There was one thought she couldn’t ignore. If the prosecution had the phone, would Ty have been acquitted?
Eventually, she got out of bed and headed to her kitchen to make some coffee; she needed to have a clear head to think things over. Changing her mind, she grabbed a cold brew bottle from her fridge, took two big swigs, and then put her running clothes on. Nothing cleared her mind better than a run.
An hour later, returning to her apartment, she moved with purpose. She kicked off her running shoes and jumped in the shower. After a quick rinse, she grabbed her iPhone and searched through contacts, clicking on a name. She put the phone up to her ear and listened to the ringing. Eventually, she got voicemail.
“Look—I know you’re mad at me. I get that. But you need to call me back. It’s really important.” She hit ‘end’ and headed to her room to get dressed. Before she could, the phone rang.
“This better be good, Casey,” Grant said from the other end of the call. “I’m not in the mood to help you and your little gang out anymore, so if you are looking for another favor, you can just forget it.”
“No. No. It’s not that. I... Well, first let me say that I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to look out for me... and I have a tendency—sometimes—to maybe speak first and think second.”
“Sometimes? Just sometimes?”
“Okay, fair. Most of the time. But, Grant, I think we need to talk about... about what you said about Ty yesterday.” Casey then went silent, waiting for him to respond. When he didn’t, she continued. “I found something. Something related to the case. And... I’m not so sure about things... anymore.” She couldn’t put it into words. Not yet.
Grant was still silent. She wondered if the call had dropped. She hoped to God that wasn’t the case because she didn’t know if she could say what she just said for a second time.
“Grant?”
“Sorry, yeah. I heard you. Is this for real?” he asked.
“Yes. Could I maybe meet you somewhere? I don’t feel like going back to the station and seeing Captain Said again.”
“Of course. How about the coffee shop down the street from the station? You know the one?”
“Yeah, yeah. I do. Also...” Was she going to go through with this? Casey took a deep breath and said, “could you bring Detective Ronaldo with you? Would that be possible?”
“He’s here today. Let me see what I can do. I’ll text you back.”
Casey hung up and waited for what felt like an eternity. She paced back and forth in her apartment until her phone buzzed again.
After the Grind. Half an hour.
She gave it a ‘thumbs up’ and went to get dressed. There was no going back now.
TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES later, Casey was walking into the After the Grind coffee shop. She looked around and, failing to see Grant, got in line at the counter and ordered herself a plain black coffee.
Grabbing the drink as the barista called her name, Casey made her way over to a table in the corner of the café, far from the counter and the waiting line of people. She had a seat and waited, tensing up every time the door opened. After ten minutes (which felt like an hour), she saw him walk in with Detective Mike Ronaldo.
She recognized Ronaldo from the trial, but what surprised her was his size. She had only seen him from a distance, or in the witness stand—standing next to Grant, she figured he must be well over six feet tall, and very, very solid. She lifted her hand to wave but saw that Grant was already pointing in her direction and was leading the detective over to the corner of the room where she was seated. Casey stood as they approached and offered her hand to Ronaldo. He glanced down at her hand then plopped down across the table from her.
“Thanks for meeting—” she started.
“What have you got? The kid here says this will be worth my time.” As if to prove just how valuable his time was, he glanced down at his watch.
Casey eyed Grant. He shrugged, taking the seat beside her. Ronaldo had moved his seat closer to the center of the table, ensuring that Grant would not be sitting next to him. Casey turned around to rifle through her bag, slung over the back of her chair.
“Okay. Well, I do. Have something for you, that is,” she said, seemingly unable to string together a coherent sentence. She placed the file down in front of her and without hesitating, Ronaldo grabbed it, spun it around, and opened it up in front of himself.
“Phone records. That it? These are ours. What’s new about this?”
“If you’ll let me explain,” she pulled the folder back to her side of the table, spinning it around again, “I don’t know how much Grant has told you, but I have—had—a personal relationship with Tyrell Burnesh.”
Ronaldo paused for a second, looking back and forth between Casey and Grant.
“Yeah, the kid said something about that.”
“Right.” Casey paused and took a deep breath. “I was at Ty’s house yesterday and I was in his mother’s car—”
“In his mother’s car?” Ronaldo asked.
“Yes. Ty drives his mother’s car more often than he drives his own.”
Ronaldo sat back and folded his arms, unimpressed.
“As I’m sure you remember, the only vehicle searched was Ty’s Bronco...” Casey had expected that would get some sort of reaction from him. It did not. She nodded her head and continued.
“I was in the driver’s seat, and I had to move the seat closer. Only, I couldn’t. There was an object in the way.” She turned around again and fished in her bag, hearing Ronaldo’s audible sigh as she did so.
Grant sat up straighter when she placed the disposable phone onto the table.
“What’s this?” Ronaldo asked, still not budging from his position of visible obstinance. Casey turned the phone records around and pointed to ‘7’ on the list of burner phones.
“That,” she nodded her head towards the phone, “is this.”
Ronaldo looked up at her, sizing her up. Then he slowly leaned forward and looked at the phone and the phone records. Now that she had his attention, she kept speaking.
“Also, as I’m sure you heard from your Captain, we have good reason to doubt the eyewitness identification was correct. But there was something else that showed up on the depositions of the eyewitnesses. Something that may not have been followed up on, since the focus was on a perpetrator supposedly running from the scene.” Worried Ronaldo’s attention would soon wane again, she hurried on.
“Witnesses saw a dark SUV pulling out from behind the abandoned building across from the 7-Eleven.” Casey took out the depositions and laid them out on the table. “This, of course, matches the Bronco that Ty drives.”
“Thought you just said he drove his mother’s car all the time,” Ronaldo said, his tone sarcastic, but he picked up the witness reports and scanned them nonetheless. Then he picked up the phone records again and thumbed through them. Casey assumed he was checking to make sure that the calls to and from ‘7’ had the timing and frequency to support the blackmail theory.
Everyone was quiet while he studied the documents. Casey was holding her breath, and, looking over at Grant, he was too.
Ronaldo finally set the papers down and leaned back. He looked at Casey, expressionless. Then he looked at Grant, then back to Casey. He smirked at her and gave a small laugh.
“I don’t think this is funny, Detective.” Casey was alarmed at his response. It made her angry; she was providing evidence that someone she had gotten close to might be a murderer. And this guy has the nerve to laugh?
Ronaldo immediately stopped and a cloud formed over his face.
“Do I think this is funny? Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He leaned forward towards her and slammed his hands on the table. Casey sat up straighter, moving her chair back slightly.
“I spent almost a year trying to put this fucker away. You spend the same amount of time doing everything you could to get him off.” Ronaldo was banging his index finger down on the table. Casey saw some of the other patrons looking in their direction. Ronaldo noticed too and took a deep breath.
“And now you... have the nerve...” he looked as if he could explode. “To tell me I was right? I fucking KNOW I was right. Everyone knows I was right. Who are you to come here with this shit to help me prove it, now?”
“I... I... thought you’d want to know this information. It’s new evidence—”
“What is new evidence? What, exactly is new evidence?” Ronaldo lunged across the table at her, and Casey jerked backwards. He grabbed the phone.
“This? This, this, phone that some civilian says was found in some car belonging to someone other than Tyrell? Hmm? Is that the new evidence? Or is it that the eyewitness identification was wrong but there was some dark-colored SUV seen somewhere nearby? Is that the new evidence?” His face was turning red.
“Hey, Mike. Calm down. She’s just trying—” Grant started.
“Trying to what? Help? If that’s what you think kid, then you are just as delusional as her. Or you’re a shit police officer and know nothing about the job.”
Casey was the one getting angry now. “HE has no idea? If you had done your investigation properly in the first place, I wouldn’t be here. He is the only one willing to listen. The only one of you who has cared about actual justice for Eric Jackson.”
“I don’t care about justice for Eric? Go to hell.” Ronaldo punctuated the end of his sentence by standing up and pushing his chair out.
“And if you geniuses haven’t figured it out already, this shit means nothing. Even if it was something we could introduce into court—which we can’t because you fucking killed any sort of chain of evidence we’d need to establish—he can’t be retried. Double Jeopardy. Even you two pieces of shit should know that.”
He started to walk away, then turned around. “All this did—” he waved his hand over the material on the table “—was make me pissed off again that we couldn’t string this fucker up.”
Ronaldo looked at both of them, opened his mouth again, and lifted his hand. He stopped and thought better of it before storming out of the coffee shop.
Casey and Grant sat silent for a moment, both staring at the door.
“Grant, I—”
“Save it, Casey. I don’t want to hear it.” He was looking down and shaking his head. “Yes, actually, I do. Why? Why did you call me?”
“What do you mean? This is new evidence. It points to Ty...” She looked down at the table.
“Yeah, Case. Because he’s guilty. And why did you take the phone? You had to know what that would mean for the chain of evidence. Why didn’t you call me then? See the phone, leave it alone, call Grant. Whatever you think, you are NOT a cop or an investigator or whatever the hell you are pretending to be. You are a trial consultant... a suspended trial consultant.” Now Grant rose and started to walk away, but not before looking back at her.
“You know, I was excited to see you that day at Publix—excited to reconnect with you. But now...” He pulled open the exit door. “Just forget my number. Okay?”
“Grant!” Casey called after him, but he was already at the door of the café. The room had become silent with all eyes staring in her direction.
She slumped in her seat and stared down at the pile on the table—the mess, that she had made.
Chapter 34
Casey opened the door to her apartment and threw down her bag and keys. She slumped to the floor, back against the apartment door, with no idea where to go from here. She needed a fresh perspective.
She leaned forward and picked up her bag, placing it onto her lap and digging around inside for her phone. Twila picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Case—what’s up?”
As soon as she heard Twila’s voice, Casey started to cry. Through her sobs, she tried to tell her what was going on.
“Okay, wait. I’m already downtown, how about I come over? I can be there in ten minutes.”
Casey was able to eke out a pathetic, “Yes, please.”
The two hung up and Casey waited where she was, trying to calm herself and stop crying. It wasn’t working.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock at her door, and she heard Twila using the spare key she had been given. Only when the door pressed against her back did she realize she needed to move.
She scooched forward on her bum without getting off the floor; just enough so that Twila could open the door.
Twila looked down at her. “Dear God, woman! Let’s get you to the couch.”
She allowed her to help her up. Twila grabbed a box of tissues on the way and placed them on the table. She then went to the kitchen, and between her sobs, Casey could hear the running water and the sound of a kettle being put on the stove.
Twila returned with a big glass of ice water and Casey gulped the whole glass down. She breathed out and composed herself.
“So Case, I have seen you through a lot of breakups. Like, a lot of breakups—but if these are breakup tears, they are at a whole new level. The only words I could make out over the phone were ‘Ty’ and ‘Grant’ and something like... ‘Harold?’ Can you start over?”
“Ronaldo,” Casey said.
“A what?”
“Ronaldo. Not Harold.”
Casey opened her mouth to speak again, but just then, the kettle started to whistle. Twila put up her index finger as if saying to ‘hold that thought.’ Casey nodded and was thankful for the reprieve, even if just for another minute or two.
Twila returned a moment later with two mugs, handing one over—she had added milk, just how Casey liked it. She blew into the cup and took a small sip, warmth radiating through her body. Twila took a seat on the coffee table in front of the couch so that she could face Casey.
She closed her eyes, set down the cup on the side table, and told Twila the whole story. She started with the runner, Shawn James, and ended with the meet-up in the coffee shop with Grant and Detective Ronaldo.
It seemed to take forever, especially with Casey stopping to blow her nose or wipe her eyes every couple of minutes, but Twila sat and listened without interrupting. When she got to the part about finding the cell phone in the car, Twila gasped.
Casey had told her about looking up the number and realizing the possible significance, but Twila only cocked her head to the side and looked more thoughtful than convinced.
After she was finally done, she took a few more sips of tea and watched a silent Twila. Then, Twila got up and started to walk around the small living room. She stopped, sat down on the couch beside Casey, hesitated for a second, then started to speak.
“Case—Ty didn’t do it. He just didn’t. That’s not who he is, and I thought that you’d know that better than anyone. The whole team is behind him for a reason. These... things that you’ve found... it doesn’t change my mind. And, honestly, I can’t believe it changes yours.”
Casey just stared at her. “What are you insinuating? I’ve been one of Ty’s biggest champions. I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.” She paused. “Do you even get what this would mean if a prosecutor had this information for the trial? Maybe you just don’t have enough experience in this area.”
Twila cocked her head. “I get it, Casey. You don’t need a goddamn Ph.D. to understand.”
The two girls stared at each other.
“You know what, Case? You’re too damn self-absorbed to see what’s happening here, so let me spell it out. It’s you, once again, pushing away any guy who gets close. It’s you freaking out about feeling something deeper than just good sex and deciding to flee. Only this time, you’re taking someone down as you go. This is someone’s life you’re playing with.”
Casey stared at Twila, stunned, then turned her eyes downward. “I think you better go.”
Twila let out one laugh. “Gladly. I’ve seen this fucked-up pattern with you way too many times, and I can’t watch it anymore. But this? This is a new low.”
She got up and moved to the door. She picked up her bag, glanced over her shoulder, opened the door, and then stopped.
“You know what? Part of me hopes that you are right about Ty because... because it’s you, and you’re hurting, and you’re so sure about this.”
Twila hung her head and slowly shook it. She let out a short laugh.
“And I think that’s what pisses me off. I hate you for making me think that. That he might be guilty.” Twila looked up at Casey, then turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.
Casey was so angry that she could hardly see straight. How dare Twila not take her side on this? She wasn’t feeling this way because she wanted to sabotage the relationship. It killed her to think this about Ty.
Didn’t it?
Before she could think about it anymore, her phone rang. ‘Trial Tactics’ came up on the screen. Taking a deep breath, she swiped to answer.
“Hello?”
“Casey. It’s Al.”
“Al. Hi. How... how are you?” she asked.
Her troubles at Trial Tactics had been the furthest thing from her mind. Hearing Al’s voice, it all flooded back.
“Listen, do you have some time to come by the office and talk? It should only take a few minutes.”
“Yeah, of course, Al. Anything you need,” Casey said. “I can be there in half an hour.”
“Perfect. See you then.”
“No prob—” Casey stopped; Al had already hung up.
WHEN CASEY HAD SAID ‘half an hour,’ she hadn’t realized just how late in the day it was. With rush hour traffic, the half-hour turned into forty-five minutes. Pulling into the parking garage, she drove up the levels a little faster than usual, making Gladys’s tires squeal around a few of the corners.
She found a space next to the elevators, jetted out of the car, and hurried to push the button repeatedly until the elevator arrived.
When she arrived on the ninth floor, she noticed that most workers had already gone home for the day. Was this a bad sign? Did Al want to talk to her with no one around? That sure would make it easier to fire her.
