Tunnel Vision Page 7

  Betty was home ten minutes later, and she parked the car behind Ophelia’s and then walked in the house. Ignoring the loud techno coming from the basement, Betty grabbed a water and headed upstairs and got to work on the part of the website labeled “The Trial.”

  The Duke Barnes trial started going sideways before it began. For starters, the court had a very hard time appointing an attorney for Duke. Not only was he furious and recanting his testimony to the police, but he’d beaten up two men in the county lockup he thought were jailhouse snitches. Worse still, he was suffering from extreme withdrawals from heroin. By the time he finally did have a lawyer, the man could do little but attempt to slow the trial, but to no avail. Six months after Mandy Reasoner was found dead, Duke’s trial began.

  Betty didn’t even feel like she needed to research the matter to know that three days is an impossibly short span of time for a murder trial to take place, but in The People v. Duke Barnes, that was all that was necessary. Duke not only sounded guilty, he looked guilty. He was covered in tattoos, with the pinched and worn face of a junkie to boot. He was unpleasant, had to be threatened with being gagged, and was generally disagreeable with everyone he came into contact with. Duke’s lawyer did the best he could under the circumstances, explaining that Duke had so many opiate metabolites in his system at the time he confessed that there was no way the confession should be legally binding, but the judge allowed it to stand. Duke was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years to life in the Michigan penal system.

  At the time of his conviction, it didn’t sound as if Duke had a friend in the world, and for the next few years, nothing about that appeared to change. Interestingly, five years after his conviction and now stone-cold sober, Duke made his way back into the culture that he’d loved so much through a series of letters with the magazine Maximum Rocknroll, letters that eventually turned into a column that was still running. According to the website, the majority of the articles penned by Duke, a.k.a. Prison Punk, were about prisoner rights and how easy it can be for normal people to be railroaded by the legal system if they aren’t careful. The columns were what set things in motion. Even though Duke tried to remain anonymous, someone finally figured out who he was and the snowball began to grow.

  Eight years after his trial, the Free Duke Barnes campaign was in full swing, and while it lacked A-list celebrities, it had a fervent grassroots following. The efforts of the group seemed to be focused mostly on getting Duke a retrial, but as she read the words on the screen, Betty found herself even more interested in the other side of the coin. If Duke really didn’t do it, then who did? If the person who had killed Mandy was still free, was he still in Grand Rapids? Had he killed again?

  Betty took a long drink of water and leaned back in her chair, then gave a look to the clock. Impossibly, the five minutes or so that she’d been home had actually stretched to a little more than an hour. Standing to relieve the growing ache in her back, Betty decided to hop downstairs to see if Ophelia had made her way out of the basement yet.

  The electronic music had been shut off, so Betty was unsurprised to see Ophelia standing in the kitchen with her nose in a cookbook. “This should not be so hard,” said Ophelia without looking up. “It makes me think there’s something wrong with me.”

  “Well don’t look at me,” Betty said. “I’m worse than either one of you. I think when I look for a husband, his ability to cook a decent meal is going to be pretty high on my list of necessary attributes.”

  “Can Jake cook?” Now Ophelia was looking at her.

  “I have no idea, but probably not. Doesn’t really matter, though. I think Jake and I are about done.”

  “I can’t say that I’m very upset over that,” said Ophelia. “I won’t go off on an Andrea-style rant on the subject, but I will tell you that you can do better than a boy who sees only your body. You have a good head on your shoulders, Betty, and it would be a shame if you got pregnant or did something else to mess up your life. Do what I didn’t: enjoy your childhood, and don’t rush it.”

  “I know all that, Mom,” said Betty. “Jake’s a good guy, and I know it’s hard for you to believe, but he really was joking. He knows I’m not the kind of person to sext him or send him pictures like that, and that’s why my response was to send him a picture that he himself had taken. I mean, I get that it was a little risqué because I was in a two-piece, but it really was just a joke between us.”

  Ophelia gave a tiny, unconvinced shrug and sank back down into her cookbook.

  “Look,” Betty said, “I’m sorry. I know we’ve been over this and I’m not trying to start a fight.”

  “It’s fine,” said Ophelia. “So what were you headed down here for?”

  “I wanted to ask you and Mom a question.” Ophelia looked up again and nodded. “I have a paper due next week, the suffrage one that I told you about, but June and I decided to work on another bigger project instead. Mr. Evans said that he was fine with it. He even agreed to give us more time so that we could properly research everything, but I wasn’t really thinking about my grounding when I said I could do it. Is there any way we could lift my grounding so that she can come over and we could work on the project together?”

  “Well, I liked the idea of the paper on suffrage,” said Ophelia. “I think it’s a more relevant subject than people your age, hell, people my age, give it credit for. The fact that a hundred years ago half of this country wasn’t allowed to vote is a fascinating thing.” She sighed. “That said, I have a feeling I know what the subject of this new project is going to be, though I’m not sure I want to confirm it.”

  Betty nodded. “This is pretty much the most exciting thing that we’ve ever been close to, and we want to know everything about it, but especially the part about why people think the guy convicted of killing June’s aunt is innocent.” Betty knew she was choosing to leave out the other part, about trying to figure out who really had done it, but figured there was no percentage in doing so. Either her moms would rear up at the prospect of them putting themselves in danger, or roll their eyes at how childish it sounded. Instead, she closed with, “I think if we work hard on it we could end up with something really special, something that could even look good on a college application.”

  “Don’t push too hard,” said Ophelia. “I’m already pretty well convinced, and I don’t want to feel like I’m dealing with a used car salesman. Let me talk to Andrea, but I think between the two of us we can come up with something.” Ophelia’s eyes narrowed. “You were serious about this Jake business, though, right?”

  “I’ll dump him right now if you want me to,” said Betty. “I think it’s a little cold to do it over the phone, but if it’s going to happen either way, then the sooner the better.”

  Ophelia laughed, shook her head, and said, “No, you can do better than that. Don’t be so rotten! Let him down easy. He would have done that for you, I bet.”

  “So you think I can tell June she can come over tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” said Ophelia, “but let me deal with the discussion. You just be a quiet little lamb in your room until I give you the all clear, all right?”

  “Baaa,” said Betty.

  FOURTEEN

  I have a rule of thumb. If something sticks out, it’s worth looking at. Hidden basements, attics with secret accessibility, or in Jack’s case, a pair of toolsheds out back. One toolshed? I would have looked, sure. But two? I need to know.

  I walk swiftly to the leftmost one, making sure to check Jack’s fenced-in rear yard for anyone hiding out or peering in, and then get my kit back out. This lock is harder than the ones on the front of Jack’s house. Still doable, but I’m eating time like a bowl of potato chips.

  The first lock clicks open after a few minutes of frustration, and as the door swings open I’m hit with a chemical smell. Letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see something that I never would have expected to be here.

  I’d been ready for Jack to
be a monster, but either he’s one that will be remembered for a long time, or I’m way off the mark. This first shed, perfectly waterproofed and climate controlled, contains an amazing woodworking setup.

  I know what you’re thinking: So what?

  But seriously, Jack has everything, to the point that it’s hard for me to imagine the man having time for another obsession in his life. There’s barely even room to move for all the equipment. Which begs the question of how he even uses the stuff within that little space.

  Then I know the answer’s next door.

  I secure the first shed, walk to the second, and fiddle the lock open. Swinging the door wide, I know there’s no reason to give it much more than a glance, but I can’t help myself. Shed one was for storage, but shed two is where Jack puts in work.

  Right now he’s in the middle of stripping an old hope chest, but the walls are lined with pictures of other projects. The man knows his stuff. Why this fastidious dedication to his craft doesn’t transfer to the rest of the house is beyond me, but Jack is off the list, at least for me. The only thing that stands out is an old press for loading bullets, but there’s no ammo stacked on it, just a few cartons of powder underneath of it, along with a few boxes of empty shotgun shells. None of it matters, though, not even the equipment for reloading. Jack might have known the victim, might’ve been in the right place at the right time, but nothing else fits with my profile.

  He had to have been discussed by the cops working this case. Still, it’s hard to imagine even a really good detective being able to turn away for long from the smoking gun that was Duke Barnes, especially since Duke confessed. And now, all these years later, I certainly don’t hear anything shouting otherwise at me. It looks like Duke Barnes has a few more days in jail ahead of him.

  So why then, walking away from the house to my bike, do I feel like I missed something, like I should be trying harder to find some sign of Jack’s possible secret life? Maybe it’s because I can only name half a dozen humans on the planet I completely trust. Some people see things in shades of gray, and some in black and white. I see mainly black, and while I have my reasons for that, it doesn’t mean it’s an accurate view of the world.

  So I keep walking, letting Jack’s lonely home fade in the distance. Claire hired me to watch June, so now it’s time to find her and see if there’s anything that her mother doesn’t know about.

  FIFTEEN

  Betty shared the good news with June as the two of them walked into school the next morning, but Betty could tell that the reality of the situation was sinking in for June. She wasn’t talking much and seemed detached when she did speak. Betty frowned at the second of these oddly flat exchanges—something was bothering her friend—but they had to split up for class.

  When fourth period finally rolled around, Betty felt as if she’d spent a week inside Northview High, instead of just a few hours. Seeing June waiting for her by the door made her smile, though. June was smiling, too, and they began walking without a word.

  “I seriously considered asking my mom last night, Betty,” said June after they’d walked awhile. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but I felt bad for even thinking about it. There’s no way my mom would let me do this project if she knew what it was about, and I really want to learn more about Mandy.”

  “June, listen to me,” Betty said. “If getting answers from your mom is what you want to do, then go for it. There’s school, and then there’s life.”

  June threw an arm around Betty at that, a gesture that almost saw the pair of them face-plant to the concrete before correcting their footing, and then unleashing a spray of laughter that sent birds flying from the budding trees.

  “Jesus, you’re going to kill somebody if you’re not careful,” said Betty, which only made June laugh even harder.

  “I think I want to meet him,” said June as the laughter faded. “Duke, I mean. Do you think your mom could set that up?”

  “Probably.” She’d had the idea herself, but she wasn’t all that sure she really wanted to meet Duke Barnes face-to-face. The old photos made him look cold, almost as if he was willing whoever was holding the camera into a fight, or was perhaps sizing up the camera itself. Even in the earliest, prearrest photos Duke had a look about him, a hard look, and Betty doubted that a false imprisonment would have done much for his demeanor.

  “It was just a thought,” said June. “I don’t really know how far any of this can go, anyway. We’re at, like, the worst possible age for this sort of thing. We’re smart enough to know what’s going on, but no one is going to take us very seriously because we’re still just a couple of kids.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to see,” said Betty. “We’re still a long way from even being well educated on the case. I mean, there are tons of people that have spent a lot of time working on this, and they’re no closer to getting any real answers than we are. The advantage that we have is it sounds like a lot of the research has already been done for us, but everyone is reaching the same conclusion. All we need to do is find a different finish line, and then we’ll really have something.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “I have some ideas,” said Betty as they made the doors across the campus. Betty swung the heavy door open, and they returned to the bustle of a living and breathing high school. “I’ll go over it once we get some privacy,” she said. “Maybe Mr. Evans will let us work in the library.” And then she and June were splitting the crowd so they could get to Mr. Evans’s room on time.

  As it turned out, Mr. Evans suggested the library idea before they could even bring it up. They left the quiet class behind them, the eyes of their classmates locked on their backs, the others wondering if those two had fucked up or were getting special treatment for some reason.

  When Betty and June got to the library, they walked immediately to the row of desktop computers at the back of the room. Younger kids gave them a wide berth as they passed through the rows of books, the smell of the aged hardbacks as welcome as the blissful hour away from Mr. Evans’s classroom. Finally they had privacy, and as Betty got to work on Google, June grabbed a chair to sit next to her.

  The website loaded slower than it did at home, but soon enough it was up and the two of them were staring at stylized blood spatter, Duke Barnes, and the pretty and impossibly familiar face of Mandy Reasoner.

  “God,” June said. “Seeing her face is . . .”

  “Unnerving?”

  June nodded, still lost in contemplation of her tragic mirror image on the screen. Finally she broke away and turned to Betty. “So,” she said, “spill.”

  “All right,” said Betty. “I think we need to task ourselves with the things that aren’t on the website.” She tapped the monitor with her fingertips. “For example, whoever set this page up can tell you thirty different ways that Duke’s trial was unfair. What they don’t do is explain how Duke was really innocent, and not just a victim of a poorly run court. I don’t see even one theory as to who the killer could really be.”

  “Do you?” June asked hopefully, and Betty shook her head.

  “Not really. I mean, there’s some pretty interesting stuff here, but nothing to really go off of. For example, the site basically accepts it as fact that Duke was working as a hooker that day, and Mandy was probably out doing the same thing.”

  “He looks like a fucking creep,” said June, her voice raised well above a library whisper. “Seriously, just look at him. I mean, I usually think hard-looking guys like that are cute, but this guy . . . He might be innocent, but you can tell he still did bad things.” She shuddered. “He’s not cute, not even a little. He looks like he’s been angry his whole life.”

  “So what is our goal going to be?” Betty asked. “Mr. Evans said college grading, and I don’t even really know what that means, other than that he is going to be really hard on us. I feel like he gave us this challenge for a reason, but I can’t really tell if he wants us to fail or succeed. It’s not that I don’t think we
can do it, but if all we do is spit back what we found on a website, Mr. Evans is going to kick our asses, and he’ll probably smile while he’s doing it.”

  “Well, shit,” June said. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’ll keep it simple to start with. We’re going to spend the rest of the hour reading that website, and then we can move on from there. Also, I’m sure they’re boring, but I bet we can get our hands on an actual court transcript.

  “As for a goal for the whole project, that seems pretty simple, too. Our aim shouldn’t be to try and prove that Duke is innocent, but to try and find out who else could have done it. If I’m right and Mandy was hooking, then we should look into anyone with an arrest for hiring a prostitute back then. I think that information’s all public. And we also look into who was living with Duke and Mandy at the time.”

  “Damn, Detective Martinez,” June said. Betty couldn’t quite figure out if she sounded impressed or was mocking her. “OK, then. How do we find out who was living with them?”

  Betty answered with a pair of mouse clicks and some scrolling before pointing her index finger at the screen.

  “Look at what it says right here,” said Betty, and June crowded back in. “This says that Duke and Mandy had roommates, that their house was basically a place for homeless people to stay illegally, and that lots of other people stayed there, too.”

  “So this is going to be impossible, basically,” said June. “That’s just great. My mom already hates me enough. A failing grade on this project should infuriate her in ways I didn’t even know existed yet.”