Wild Justice

CHAPTER 32

“Caffeine and sugar,” Jack said ten minutes later, as he set two coffees and a bag of candy on the nightstand beside me.

I smiled and let that last bit of annoyance slide away. The moment had passed. It would come again and maybe we’d do better. For now, if he was bringing me candy, all was fine.

I grabbed my snack, and we went into the other room. I took up position on the sofa. He sat next to me, closer this time, though not as close as earlier. Which I wasn’t going to think about.

“I’m not ready for that file yet,” I said. “But I thought baby steps might help. I’m looking up references to the case. There’s not a lot because it happened pre-Internet. With Aldrich’s death and confession, there’s some regional media attention, but it doesn’t delve very far into Amy’s case. For that, what I’m finding is mostly secondary references. So I’m following this trail of bread crumbs, which lead me to . . .” I clicked a link, skimmed the first few lines, and grinned. “A primary source. Thanks to the library system and the power of technology.”

It was a series of scanned local articles from the time of the trial. I was still skimming them. There were pieces on Amy’s death, on the arrest, on the pretrial hearings, and then, finally, on the trial itself where—

I stopped. Stared.

“Fuck,” Jack murmured.

I glanced over. “So I’m not seeing things?”

“If you are? I am, too.” He glanced around. “Where’s your camera?”

I dug it out of the equipment bag, turned it on, and flipped through until the viewer showed the photo I wanted. The best shot of the guy who’d presumably killed Drew Aldrich. Then I turned back to my laptop. The black-and-white photo was grainy, the scanned resolution less than ideal, but there was little doubt of what we were seeing. A photograph of Aldrich’s killer . . . in an article on Aldrich’s court case.

It was a group shot. Three men, one woman. Two of the men strode along in front. Older men, in their forties or fifties. The other two—a guy and a woman—looked in their early twenties and hung back. All four were dressed in suits and carried briefcases.

My gaze dropped to the caption under the picture: “The defense team arrives at the courthouse.”

Aldrich’s killer had been part of his defense team. Did that make any sense? No. Add the fact that the guy had been driving a car rented by the Contrapasso Fellowship, and I was completely flummoxed.

“Makes no fucking sense,” Jack said. “Aldrich spots you. Calls his old lawyer. Could see that. Long time, but whatever. Except he’s not Drew Aldrich anymore. And this guy? A Canadian lawyer? Shows up within hours. Acts like they’re old friends. Kills him. Pins the crime on him. The crime he helped get him off of. What the fuck?”

“I can see some logic in the last part,” I said. “Maybe he felt guilty, having played a role in letting a killer walk?”

“Fucking lot to lose if he’s caught. Considering he killed him.”

“There’s the rub. And the Contrapasso connection doesn’t fit at all.”

“Unless Evelyn’s wrong about that.”

“Maybe.” I saved the photo from the article. “No sense trying to figure it out until we have more information.”

I searched for details on Aldrich’s defense. Finally, I discovered that he’d been represented by Ellis, Silva, and Webb, which surprised the hell out of me. It was one of the top defense firms in Toronto. How had a guy like Aldrich gotten them? I’d have to ask Neil about that.

Lawrence Webb had been Aldrich’s main lawyer—he was one of the older two guys in the photo. So not only had Aldrich hired a top firm, but a founding partner led his team. No wonder he’d gotten off.

I dug deeper for the names of the other attorneys. I got the second older guy—a partner. But even going over the firm’s website photos, I found no sign of the mystery man. He could have been an expert witness, a private eye, or just a guy in a suit walking near Aldrich’s lawyers.

“I’m going to send this to Neil, see if he remembers who he was.”

I e-mailed the photo to Neil and called to explain.

“He was part of the defense team,” Neil said. “I remember seeing him at their table. Can’t recall his name, though. Him and the girl were interns, if I remember right. They took notes and fetched for the big guys.”

“And they were big guys,” I said. “Ellis, Silva, and Webb? Shit.”

“You didn’t know they represented Aldrich? Strike one against us.”

“How did Aldrich get them?”

“Pro bono. Someone apparently convinced them it would be good for PR. Hapless kid railroaded by small-town cops. Big-city firm swoops in to the rescue. It happens. Just our piss-poor luck that it happened here.”

“Do you remember anything about the young defense lawyer?”

“Mmm, no. I remember the woman. You didn’t see a lot of them in those days. She seemed to be there to handle the parts about Amy. The character attacks. They must have figured they’d seem less hostile and more believable coming from an attractive young woman, rather than a middle-aged lawyer. They also had her dealing with Aldrich.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Obvious ploy. Get the cute girl to handle the accused, the message being that if she wasn’t afraid of him, clearly he wasn’t a murdering rapist. The problem was that Aldrich didn’t respond. He was polite, but there wasn’t any flirtation. He just didn’t reciprocate.”

“She needed to be about ten years younger for that to work.”

Neil gave an awkward laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So when the intern girl didn’t work out, did they try the guy? See if Aldrich got along better with him?”

“Nah. It wouldn’t have had any impact, and there wasn’t friction with the girl, so they left her as his handler. The guy was pretty much a nonentity, from what I remember. But let me make a few calls. Someone’s sure to remember him.”

The next morning we went for an early jog. Kind of. It was a process of negotiation. I agreed I’d sleep until seven. Jack agreed he’d get up at seven. Then he drove me to the country, let me off, parked down the road, and leaned against the car, waiting until I caught up, before repeating the process.

I was on my last stretch when my cell phone rang. It was Neil.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked when I answered.

“Nope, just out for a run.”

A short laugh. “I told myself you wouldn’t do that on vacation, but I should have known better. I’ve got a name on your mystery lawyer. A very interesting name.”

Jack was heading toward me at a brisk walk.

“Sebastian Koss,” Neil said.

I stopped walking. “The Sebastian Koss?”

“The only one I’m aware of. I’m going to guess you know who he is?”

Oh, yes, I knew who he was.

Back at the hotel, I called Emma for a lodge check before doing some research on Koss.

“The guy is Sebastian Koss,” I said to Jack once I had what I needed. “A big name in Toronto legal circles. He was a Crown attorney.”

“Crown . . . That’s prosecution, right?” Jack said.

I nodded. “Americans call them district or state attorneys. I had never even heard that Koss had once been a defense lawyer. Neil hadn’t, either, and had no idea Koss worked on the Aldrich case. For a guy who went on to make such a reputation for himself, he got off to a poor start—he was completely forgettable on that case.”

“So he’s got a rep. Tough on crime?”

“Yes, but here’s where it gets interesting. Koss’s ‘thing’ is victim advocacy, particularly in cases involving women and sexual abuse.”

“Huh.”

“Huh indeed. If you were a defense lawyer with a client accused of rape, you’d do everything in your power to keep it away from Sebastian Koss.”

“You admire him.”

“I do. Victims’ rights. Women’s rights. Hard-line justice. Everything I believe in, he did. With a vengeance.”

“Sounds like a good guy.” He paused. “As long as he stays in Canada. Away from me.”

“No shit, huh?” I gave a short laugh. “Actually, though, he hasn’t lived in Canada in years. He quit law almost a decade ago and went into full-scale advocacy. Consultant. Lecturer. He started in Ontario, but he’s been in Chicago for the last five. That’s part of the reason I didn’t recognize him at Aldrich’s. I’m sure I’ve seen photos, but it would have been a long time ago. Plus he wasn’t exactly dressed like a successful lawyer.”

“Never had any contact with him? As a cop?”

“I didn’t as a cop, but I did have contact of a sort, after the Wayne Franco shooting. He’d quit law by then, but he sent me a letter, extending his support and offering to help me find an attorney. I called him. We talked for a bit. I wasn’t pursuing any legal avenues, but I appreciated the offer. I remember being surprised he contacted me. I guess now I know why.”

“Remembered you. Amy, at least. Knew who you were.”

“He didn’t mention that, but from what I just saw online, that’s not surprising. I found an interview where he talked about making the switch from defense to prosecution. He did it very early in his career, apparently after a case that really bothered him and made him decide he’d prefer the other side of the courtroom.”

“Aldrich’s case.”

I nodded. “The timing is right. He saw Aldrich get off, and he didn’t like it. He switched sides. Years later, he contacts me to offer his help because he remembers that, maybe feels guilty for being part of the defense team.”

“So now he’s with Contrapasso.”

I looked over as I reached for my coffee.

Jack continued, “Law-and-order guy. Big on justice. Victims’ advocate. Former lawyer. Played both sides. Canadian connections. Now consulting. Useful stuff.”

“You mean he’s someone the Contrapasso Fellowship would find uniquely beneficial to their organization. Which may explain his move to the States. So then . . .” I paused and considered. “Maybe Koss brought Aldrich to them. Aldrich was living under an assumed name, so Koss couldn’t just call him up. He probably had to arrange to bump into him, recognize him, and then convince him he’s not a threat. He says he’s on Aldrich’s side. Doesn’t blame him for needing to change his name, given the notoriety.”

“Possible. Somehow he made contact with Aldrich. We know that. Aldrich thinks he spots you? Calls Koss for advice.”

“Thus providing Koss with exactly the opportunity he’s been waiting for. The chance to end Drew Aldrich’s life. In the meantime, though, he has to tell the Contrapasso Fellowship, including the fact that Aldrich may have spotted me. Someone at Contrapasso decides I need to go. The question is whether Koss knew. I’d like to think he didn’t but . . . Roland said whoever took out that hit had an accent like mine, only less noticeable. That fits a guy who lived in the same region and moved to the States five years ago. Sending the package from Philly doesn’t fit, if he’s in Chicago, but that’s a tenuous bit of proof to hold out on.”

“Needs investigating.” Jack checked his watch. “Quinn’s meeting is this morning. Wait for his call. See what he can add. Then we go check out Koss.”

When Quinn called, he was hyper-chatty, excited, and flying high. The meeting had been everything he’d hoped for, and I was happy for him.

Did I miss him a little when I heard him that way? I won’t deny it. But there was no niggling voice that said I’d made a mistake. I was just happy he was happy, and glad we were able to carry on a normal conversation again. Right now, he was working on gaining their trust. With the information we had on Koss, he could nudge things in that direction. He’d say he did a lot of business in Chicago, and he’d express a particular interest in sexual abuse cases. He’d also ask about recent work they’d done, barring any details, of course, but he’d like to get an idea of the type of cases they handled. Take that and add his professed interests, and he might get us enough to confirm Koss’s membership and the Aldrich hit.

It was going to take a while to pan out and longer still to determine who’d put the hit on me . . . and whether the threat had ended. That’s why, when Quinn called, Jack and I were already in the car, heading for Chicago to see Sebastian Koss.