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Alves had had enough of his quiet house. Late-night cups of coffee alone. No line for the bathroom. He wanted Marcy and the twins back home where they belonged. “Let’s flip a coin. Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked, knowing Mooney never refused anything free.
CHAPTER 63
The early morning sun shone through the windows of the catwalk at UMass Boston. Co
He’d come prepared with subpoenas for four professors. Zardino’s math teacher was dead, and his psychology and economics professors had nothing to add, as the classes were held in lecture halls with hundreds of students.
One old-timer left to talk to.
He took the elevator to the sixth floor and checked the office schedules on the wall outside the main office. He located the office he was looking for and took a seat at a small round table designed for students to meet with their tutors. On the table was a stack of school newspapers, the Mass Media. He thumbed through the pages full of safety tips: avoid being alone in the deserted spots like the library’s upper floors, and always walk to isolated parking spots with a friend. The school was implementing a Safe Escort program that would operate nights and Saturdays. It was his habit to read everything-from the front page to the sports reports.
He was almost finished when he saw the quarter-page a
Brown Bag Lecture Series
Learn how unjust our criminal justice system is. Meet Rich Zardino, a man who spent eight years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Hear, in his own words, about his nightmare. His is a story told with power and emotion. Don’t miss it.
Cookies and beverages provided by the Anarchists Club
Sponsored by the Philosophy Club
It seemed Richard Zardino was everywhere.
When she finally showed up, herbal tea in hand, Zardino’s silver-haired English professor held Co
Within a month, Kelly Adams and Eric Flowers were dead.
CHAPTER 64
No one would be in the office yet, not on a Saturday morning… except for one person.
It was a little after seven a.m. when Co
Every time he went near Jason’s office, Co
“Hey, Jay,” Co
“What’s up, Co
“I’m trying to draft an opposition to a motion for a new trial that’s due next week. Could you pull a file for me? It has some good motions and oppositions that I can use as samples.”
“Case name, buddy?”
“It’s an old one, but the motions were just heard within the last few years. I’m hoping you haven’t sent it off to the state archives. Defendant’s name is Richard Zardino.”
“I remember that one. He got a new trial.”
Co
“No hurry. Keep it as long as you want. Let me see if I still have it.”
“Jason,” Co
“You’re the man, Co
CHAPTER 65
Alves lay in bed listening to the comforting sound of the shower ru
Even with all the pleasant distractions, Alves couldn’t keep his mind off work. After his conversation with John Bland, he understood that it was at least a possibility that Mitch Beaulieu was not the Blood Bath Killer. That meant that someone else was. Because his old friend from the neighborhood, Robyn Stokes, was one of that killer’s victims, he couldn’t talk to Marcy about his doubts. Robyn had been one of Marcy’s best friends growing up, and Marcy was already nerved up enough about the Prom Night killings, never mind rehashing cases they all considered closed.
The last person he could talk to was Wayne Mooney. Mooney hated the feds. His last face-to-face meeting with John Bland and his partner had ended in a dustup of epic proportions. He’d basically thrown the feds off the case and gotten himself launched to Evidence Management. Besides, the Blood Bath case was closed. Solved. Why open up all the grief for the victims’ families and friends? For the Department? Still…
It bothered Alves not to tell Marcy. Despite their recent problems, they had a strong marriage. They trusted each other and kept no secrets. He couldn’t think of any other way to put it. They knew each other at the core.
The shower stopped and he could hear Marcy singing “Winter Wonderland.” Down the hall, he could hear the twins giggling. Slowly, things would return to normal. It would be great to sit in the stuffy church, go through the paces-up-down-kneel-stand. Great to offer a silent prayer that his family seemed to be coming through the horror of the past few weeks. His wife was humming, his children were outside the bedroom door, arguing over which one of them got to turn the doorknob. In that peaceful moment of thankfulness, a thought came to him.
How do you find out who a man really is?
Simple enough.
You go talk to the woman.