"What's with all these albums? More pictures?"
"Not exactly. I added more shelf space so I could organize these. He had them everywhere. I've always wished one of his old police buddies would write a book and use them—they all say they're going to write a book, you know."
I smiled. "I have a detective friend. He tells me that half the force say they have a book in them."
"Frank kept information about every case, though
I'm not sure he was supposed to do that. I'm hoping one day, because of him, a wrong can be righted." She set the album on the table.
We took folding chairs side by side and Joelle began turning the pages. Not only were there pictures and newspaper clippings, but Frank Simpson had kept notes about each case. Amanda Mason had been murdered in April, and Joelle pointed out a photo of Frank standing between a middle-aged couple. The picture was nowhere near the quality I'd seen hanging on the walls.
"Who took this?" I asked.
"Randall."
"Randall?" I said.
"Frank's partner, Randall Dugan. He took some of the pictures for the books."
This seemed so strange, the families posing like that, but kindness and compassion can open almost any door, and from what I'd seen of Frank's photos, he had been filled with both.
"These people are related to Amanda Mason?" I asked, pointing at the picture.
"Her parents." She turned the page. "And here's Lawrence Washington's parents. Frank considered them victims, too. They were as devastated by their loss as the Masons."
Frank was standing next to a porch swing where Washington's parents sat. Mrs. Washington wore a bandanna around her head, a scarf that had slipped, revealing her baldness. Mr. Washington seemed like a giant next to her, his belly spilling over his belt and his long legs stretching so far his feet weren't even in the photo. Their anguished expressions showed how devastated they were. I'd never thought about those left behind, those who suffered when a child they loved was sent to prison.
"He didn't often take pictures of the suspect's family, but these people touched Frank. He talked often with Mr. Washington, kept in contact until Frank dropped dead. Now I'm the one who visits. Mr. Washington's not well. Diabetes. I need to get over to his place this week, as a matter of fact. Check up on him."
"And Mrs. Washington?" I asked.
"Cancer took her after Lawrence's trial. Double tragedy for Thaddeus."
"Thaddeus?"
"I'm sorry. Lawrence's father."
"Mind if I take more time with the book?" I asked.
"Sure. Don't remove the cellophane coverings, though. When Frank put later books together, he learned not to use cellophane. You might tear something if you peeled it back now."
"No problem," I said, my eyes on the notes I was eager to read.
She stood, and I looked up. Her slumped shoulders and concerned expression made me think of a new mother leaving her baby in the hands of a stranger— a rather ironic comparison.
"You don't have to leave. Help me with this," I said.
"I-I thought you might want privacy. Sure you don't mind?"
"Of course not."
She reclaimed her chair, smiling.
The notes were neatly typed on what appeared to be thin paper and the black ink had already faded— might totally fade with time. I began to read.
Amanda Mason. 20-year-old WF. Found in Worthington Bank parking lot at 21:00, 4/24/87, after tip phoned in to precinct. Bullet wound to back of head. Pronounced at scene by ME. Morello and Kent processed. Dugan and I went to interview Thaddeus and Clara Washington, parents of suspect Lawrence Washington. Anonymous tipster said evidence linking LW to the murder was at the home. LW was with parents watching TV. Suspect stated he spent evening at a church youth meeting. Victim's wallet with fifty dollars and jewelry found in LW's room. Window unlocked. Fur ther investigation indicated LW would have had time to commit the murder after church function, since he did not arrive home until 90 minutes after the event ended. Came home on foot. Claimed he had been out selling his car. Refused to give name of buyer. Dugan theorized LW dumped vehicle, maybe because it contained evidence or suspect feared it had been spotted at the scene. He may have come in through window, hid evidence from parents before going back out window and entering house through the front door so as not to arouse parents' suspicion. Ground outside bedroom window disturbed but no usable footprint impressions. LW's shoes dirt-free. Dugan dismissed this. Said LW had time to clean them. Only fingerprints on the dresser drawer where victim's personal items found belonged to suspect and suspect's mother. Leads on tipster all dead ends. Call came from pay phone near suspect's church. No relationship between LW and victim uncovered. LW's family with medical bills. Mrs. Washington has breast cancer that spread to bone. Dugan considered financial need the motive. Deputy DA Foster handled case. LW refused to help with his defense. Convicted in four days. Sentenced twenty to life.
I sat back. All this circumstantial evidence pointed to Lawrence Washington, even as laid out by Frank Simpson. I turned to Joelle. "Aside from intuition, why did Frank believe Lawrence was innocent?"
"Frank told me Lawrence's polygraph indicated no deception, but since Frank knew psychopaths can beat a polygraph every time, that was only part of it." Joelle rested a hand on the page, her gaze on Frank's typed words. "It was more the boy himself. From the interviews, Frank believed he was protecting someone. Protecting the person he might have been with during those missing ninety minutes."
"Protecting the killer? Or someone else?" I was thinking about the mother of his unborn child, wondering how taking the fall for this murder would protect her. I didn't know.
"I don't know," said Joelle, echoing my thoughts.
"Frank never learned who could be so important that Washington would give up his own freedom and future to protect?"
"No. He was so frustrated that Lawrence wouldn't talk."
"Was Lawrence protecting his father, maybe?" I asked. After all, he might have been the one desperate to find money to help his sick wife.
"Thaddeus? A killer? Absolutely not. You'd be just as certain if you ever met him."
"A brother or sister, then?"
"Lawrence was an only child. I think that's why Clara went downhill so fast after Lawrence was sentenced. She just didn't have the will to fight the cancer."
"Is there more?" I asked, turning the page. But what followed were pictures and notes from another case in May of that year. My stomach sank with disappointment. This wasn't as much as I'd hoped to learn. Frank's gut feelings weren't enough to help me. I mean, the chaplain had those, too, but faith in a convicted man's innocence was about as useful as a handful of dust.
"There is more," Joelle said quietly. "Just not here. These were books Frank showed to the families, to his police friends, but... he did things on his own, looking for answers, you know? The department might not have been happy if they'd known, and he never wanted to let the brass down, have them think he was some kind of... 'rogue' is the word he used."
Joelle pushed away from the table. A filing cabinet stood in one corner, and she walked to the shelf beside it, took a key from behind a book and opened the cabinet. After removing a folder stuffed to overflowing, she came back and handed it to me. "Take this. After meeting you, I know he'd want you to have it."
15
I saw no sign of the red Lexus on my way back from Joelle's, maybe because I kept glancing at the file sitting on the passenger seat rather than in the rearview mirror. I couldn't wait to read Frank Simpson's notes. Maybe a dead cop's dedication to his job would yield some solid clues.
On the drive home I encountered the same stopand-go traffic, giving me time to think about other avenues I hadn't explored on this case. Verna Mae hadn't lived in a vacuum. Who were her friends or, better yet, her enemies? Who did she talk to and what did they discuss? And who had she left out of that will? Surely one relative had to have been lurking in the background thinking they'd inherit.