there.”
THIRTY-TWO
O’Brien looked over to Dave who raised his eyebrows. Detective Grant continued on the phone, “Normally I wouldn’t think twice about something like this, but under the circumstances—”
“What do you have, Dan?”
“The guard’s name is Lyle Johnson. Tried to reach him at the Department of Corrections. Supervisor said Johnson is on first shift—seven a.m. to three p.m. He didn’t report for work this morning. Super tells me that Johnson is always punctual. But today, no call. No nothing.”
“Did you try to reach Johnson’s home, his wife, maybe?”
“I called her. Didn’t get much.”
“What’d she say?”
“Not a lot. She sounded like she was on some strong medication or coming off a few drinks too many. But she said something odd, too.”
“What?”
“Said she was going to call in a missing person’s report…but she knew the department wouldn’t do anything until her husband had been missing for forty-eight hours. I told her she was correct. Then, out of the blue, she laughed. It was painful laugh, know what I mean? The kind that feels fake and all wrong.”
“I know what you mean.”
“She said she might as well skip the missing persons report and wait for them to find his body because she knew he wasn’t coming back home alive.”
“Did you ask her why?”
“She said it was just a feeling she had.”
“Was the call taped?”
“All our calls are taped. Why?”
“Because she may have incriminated herself in a murder.”
“We don’t have a body. And I doubt that she killed her husband.”
“I do, too,” O’Brien said. “But she’s obviously spoken with him…and he apparently told her something. If he managed to read Spelling’s letter or overhear the confession with Callahan, then he may know the perp’s name. He might have tried to contact him to cut a financial deal like Spelling had.”
“And if he did?”
“Then he might be dead as Spelling. You need to talk to her now. If she thinks she could be tied to her husband’s disappearance, she just might tell us everything he told her. Check phone records, bank accounts. See if Johnson had probable cause to contact the perp, then we’re one step closer to finding this guy.” O’Brien looked at his watch. “We have sixty-nine hours to stop the execution of an innocent man. When I was a detective like you, I’d work an investigation by the book, the gut and the mind. In this investigation we don’t have a lot of time to trace leads.”
“What are you saying, Sean?”
“I’m saying that unless we get something very fast, maybe a read on an imprint from the Sam Spelling paper, or a name that Lyle Johnson may have given to his wife…Charlie Williams is good as dead.” O’Brien paused. “Dan, I’m telling you this because we worked together. I trust you—trust your confidence. I’ll need your help.”
“No problem, but what do you mean?”
“I might have to force some people to talk. It’ll be the fastest way to the truth. I don’t like operating this way, but if I don’t, Williams will die. I can’t let that happen.”
Dan said, “I’m going to question Johnson’s wife. Where will you be?”
“In prison. It’s time I spoke with Charlie Williams.”
THIRTY-THREE
Starke, Florida, is one of America’s death capitals. Starke is the home of Florida State Prison, a place where the death penalty has been challenged and upheld more times than any prison in America. Some of the more notables listed on the roster of death include Ted Bundy and female serial killer Aileen Wuornos.
It took department of corrections guards about fifteen minutes to bring Charlie Williams to the meet O’Brien. He was escorted by three guards, one on either side and one behind him. Chains kept his stride to a minimum. His
THIRTY-TWO
O’Brien looked over to Dave who raised his eyebrows. Detective Grant continued on the phone, “Normally I wouldn’t think twice about something like this, but under the circumstances—”
“What do you have, Dan?”
“The guard’s name is Lyle Johnson. Tried to reach him at the Department of Corrections. Supervisor said Johnson is on first shift—seven a.m. to three p.m. He didn’t report for work this morning. Super tells me that Johnson is always punctual. But today, no call. No nothing.”
“Did you try to reach Johnson’s home, his wife, maybe?”
“I called her. Didn’t get much.”
“What’d she say?”
“Not a lot. She sounded like she was on some strong medication or coming off a few drinks too many. But she said something odd, too.”
“What?”
“Said she was going to call in a missing person’s report…but she knew the department wouldn’t do anything until her husband had been missing for forty-eight hours. I told her she was correct. Then, out of the blue, she laughed. It was painful laugh, know what I mean? The kind that feels fake and all wrong.”
“I know what you mean.”
“She said she might as well skip the missing persons report and wait for them to find his body because she knew he wasn’t coming back home alive.”
“Did you ask her why?”
“She said it was just a feeling she had.”
“Was the call taped?”
“All our calls are taped. Why?”
“Because she may have incriminated herself in a murder.”
“We don’t have a body. And I doubt that she killed her husband.”
“I do, too,” O’Brien said. “But she’s obviously spoken with him…and he apparently told her something. If he managed to read Spelling’s letter or overhear the confession with Callahan, then he may know the perp’s name. He might have tried to contact him to cut a financial deal like Spelling had.”
“And if he did?”
“Then he might be dead as Spelling. You need to talk to her now. If she thinks she could be tied to her husband’s disappearance, she just might tell us everything he told her. Check phone records, bank accounts. See if Johnson had probable cause to contact the perp, then we’re one step closer to finding this guy.” O’Brien looked at his watch. “We have sixty-nine hours to stop the execution of an innocent man. When I was a detective like you, I’d work an investigation by the book, the gut and the mind. In this investigation we don’t have a lot of time to trace leads.”
“What are you saying, Sean?”
“I’m saying that unless we get something very fast, maybe a read on an imprint from the Sam Spelling paper, or a name that Lyle Johnson may have given to his wife…Charlie Williams is good as dead.” O’Brien paused. “Dan, I’m telling you this because we worked together. I trust you—trust your confidence. I’ll need your help.”
“No problem, but what do you mean?”
“I might have to force some people to talk. It’ll be the fastest way to the truth. I don’t like operating this way, but if I don’t, Williams will die. I can’t let that happen.”
Dan said, “I’m going to question Johnson’s wife. Where will you be?”
“In prison. It’s time I spoke with Charlie Williams.”
THIRTY-THREE
Starke, Florida, is one of America’s death capitals. Starke is the home of Florida State Prison, a place where the death penalty has been challenged and upheld more times than any prison in America. Some of the more notables listed on the roster of death include Ted Bundy and female serial killer Aileen Wuornos.
It took department of corrections guards about fifteen minutes to bring Charlie Williams to the meet O’Brien. He was escorted by three guards, one on either side and one behind him. Chains kept his stride to a minimum. His
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