Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) Page 11

I looked up, mouth agape. “Are you serious?”

  “He didn't do it, Sarah. He was wrongfully accused and now he's going to spend the rest of his life in prison unless someone can prove his innocence.”

  “I figured he might have embezzled money or refused to pay taxes, but murder?”

  Sammy bowed his head and nodded. “I'll understand if you don't want to get involved. This is a lot for you to process right now.”

  “Wait a minute. You told Andrew to write me that letter, didn't you? You've been expecting a call from me about this.”

  He didn't even try to hide the sheepish look on his face. “Okay, so I did; but it was better this way. Although you have every right to be upset with me, I wouldn't have done it any differently. Now you have a choice to make and, either way, I will respect whatever you decide to do.”

  However, there really was no choice to make. Sammy knew that I wouldn't be able to turn away my own flesh and blood. “How do you even know for sure that he didn't kill his girlfriend?”

  “Because he is your mother’s son,” he said, as if that were the only explanation needed.

  “Where did this murder take place?”

  “At their house in Larksville, Connecticut. On the morning it happened, he went to the gym and then to get coffee. When he got home an hour later, there was blood everywhere and Rachel was gone. He called 911 immediately. Two days later they arrested him for her murder.”

  “Where did they find the body?”

  “That's just it; they still haven't found her. The amount of blood inside the apartment was enough to declare her dead. According to the blood spatter analysis, she was stabbed repeatedly, a crime of passion. Plus, the shower curtain was missing, so they figured the killer wrapped the body up and disposed of it.”

  “Someone must’ve seen a person dragging a body out of the house that morning, right?”

  “No, and nobody saw an unfamiliar car parked in the neighborhood either which is all the more reason for them to suspect Andrew.”

  The visual of all that blood made me shiver. “Did he have a motive to kill her?”

  Sammy mashed his lips together in consternation. After a few seconds, he said, “There was a domestic dispute that happened a few weeks before her death. The neighbor called the police. Nobody was arrested because it was all a misunderstanding. The neighbor had overreacted. This same neighbor testified at Andrew’s trial, making him out to be a woman beater.”

  “Were there any other suspects?”

  “Yes. Rachel, being a psychiatrist, had a patient who had become obsessed with her. Pablo Catalino had an alibi, though. He’d been arrested the morning before her murder.”

  “I had no idea they could convict someone of murder without an actual body,” I said. “What about a murder weapon?”

  “No murder weapon was found at the house. They didn’t even find a drop of Rachel’s blood in Andrew’s car to prove that he’d moved the body. If you ask me, his lawyer didn’t do his job. He advised Andrew not to testify, even though he wanted to tell the jurors he was innocent.”

  “How do you know so much about the case?” I asked. “Was Andrew in communication with you during all of this?”

  “As much as he could. I also went online and read everything available. It angered me to see how the media crucified him, already assuming he was guilty.”

  “I can’t believe you never shared this with me. Maybe I couldn’t have done anything then, but at least you’d have had someone to talk to about it.”

  He shook his head in regret. “I almost did, Sarah. Many times but, remember, I wanted to honor your mother’s wishes. It wasn’t until Andrew was convicted that I realized it was wrong to keep the lie going, especially when Andrew needs you now more than ever.”

  “Before I decide to do anything, I’d like to meet him in person. I’ll drive to Connecticut tomorrow.”

  “I think that’s a great idea.” Sammy took my hand and squeezed gently. “Sarah, if you decide to help him, I insist on paying you for your time and expenses.”

  It didn’t surprise me that he was willing to help Andrew in this way. He was always lending people money, or doing favors. He had a hard time saying no to anyone. “We'll discuss that later,’ I said. “If I don't think there's a chance that I can help, I won't waste anyone's time or money.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I understand.”

  “I should go home and discuss this with Carter.”

  Sammy followed me back into the apartment. He seemed lost and a little confused about what to say or do next. “No matter what you decide, I'm glad you know the truth now, Sarah. You have no idea how heavy it's been for me to keep this from you.”

  He leaned over to give me a hug and, as we embraced, I got this feeling. Light a lightbulb turning on in my brain. I let go of Sammy and stood back to look him in the eyes. “Oh my God!”

  “What?” he asked.

  “It’s you! You’re Andrew’s father, aren’t you?”

  He stood very still but his eyes wandered past me. “What makes you think that?”

  “You stayed in touch with him for all these years for a reason - because he’s your son and because you were in love with my mom. I know you two had dated before she met my dad, but you never fell out of love with her. Isn’t that true?”

  His eyes finally locked with mine. “I guess you’re a better detective than I thought.”

  “Does Andrew know that you’re his real dad?”

  “I think so. I never told him that but I’m fairly certain that he knows.”

  The way Sammy kept his chin up, ready to face the music, made me less angry with him. Not that I would have stayed mad for long. “Well, at least now it makes sense why you’re willing to dip into your savings to hire me and why you’re so sure he’s innocent.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry I lied to you. If it’s any consolation, I’ve felt horrible about it.”

  “It’s not a consolation,” I said, but a part of me did appreciate that he acknowledged my feelings of betrayal. Yet, there was no point in harboring resentment against him or my mother. What's done is done. The only thing to do was to move forward and focus on the task at hand.

  “Anyway,” he said, straightening. “I know you and Carter will do whatever it takes to get Andrew out of jail. He won't survive in there with all those rapists and murderers.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. The visual was too much. “I understand but I haven't decided to take the case yet.”

  “Sure, you have,” he said as he walked me to the door. “I know you, Sarah. You won’t be able to say no. When you meet Andrew in person, you’ll realize how similar you are. I’m quite certain.”

  * * *

  By the time I got home, Carter had already printed out a dozen newspaper articles online about the trial of Andrew McCarthy. They were spread across the kitchen table in no discernible order.

  “Well,” I said to him. “You're not going to believe how Andrew and I are related.”

  He stood there, hands on hips, awaiting an answer. “Well?”

  “He's my half-brother.”

  Carter blinked loudly.

  Despite my somber mood, I laughed. “…and Sammy is the father.”

  “Come here.” He took my hand and the next thing I knew, his arms were wrapped around me tightly. “Tell me everything Sammy told you.”

  “My mom gave him up for adoption when I was five. She lied to me and my father, said she had to attend a nurse's training in Washington D.C. She gave him up for adoption without ever seeing his face. Fourteen years later, Andrew had written to my mother but she never responded. Sammy found out and felt badly for the kid, so they began a correspondence when Andrew was just fourteen - more than twenty years ago. I can’t believe I never knew.”

  “Your body is shaking,” he said, sitting me down at the kitchen table. “I'm making you toast with peanut butter. You need to eat.”

  The last thing I wanted was food, but I didn't argue. “Sammy
wants to hire us. To get proof that Andrew is innocent.”

  “Did you say yes?”

  “Not yet.” I gestured to the papers on the table. “Did you read all this stuff?”

  “I skimmed through it.”

  “Sammy wholeheartedly believes he didn't do it.”

  “Well, twelve jurors believe that he did.” Carter prepared the toast on a plate and set it in front of me with a glass of water. “You'll feel better once you have something in your stomach.”

  I forced the crusty bread down my throat with a painful swallow as I gazed upon a picture of Rachel Manning in one of the articles. She was an attractive, thirty-something brunette with sparkling green eyes. She seemed so full of life. I wondered where her body was laid to rest. In a shallow grave on the side of a highway somewhere?

  “I want to visit him in prison tomorrow. Will you go with me?”

  Carter occupied the chair opposite me and said, “Of course I'll go with you.” He made a face, like something had just occurred to him. “Sarah, are you sure that he's really your brother?”

  I showed him the photo that Sammy had given me. “He looks just like my mom. The brown hair, the blue eyes, the space between his teeth. I had the same space before I got braces.”

  “So?” he said, scrutinizing the photo. “Lots of people have brown hair, blue eyes and a space between their front teeth.”

  “I can't explain how but I just know Andrew is my brother.”

  “Or maybe you just want to believe it.”

  Always the devil's advocate, Carter had a good point. “Is there any way you can work your magic and find out for certain?”

  “I'll see what I can do. Do you know the name of the adoption agency?”

  Sammy had given me pertinent information about Andrew before I left his apartment. I found the folded piece of paper in my pocket and read it out loud. “Bright Futures Adoption Agency is located in Hartford, Connecticut. I have no idea if they are still in business. Andrew’s birthdate is September 18, 1974. His adoptive parents were Carl and Susan McCarthy, both deceased.”

  “Well, that’s a good start.” Carter went to the counter and prepared the coffee maker for another round. “While I confirm that Andrew is your half-brother, why don’t you go through the pages I’ve printed out here? I’ll warn you, the media has made Andrew out to be an animal.”

  Chapter 3

  One of the articles Carter had printed out showed a photo of Andrew sitting with his lawyer in the courtroom, apparently right after he’d been sentenced to life in prison. The stunned look on Andrew’s face said it all. He couldn’t believe they delivered a guilty verdict.

  The murder took place on the morning of February 5th, inside Andrew and Rachel’s home on 237 White Chapel Road in Hartford. Andrew claimed he left the house early while Rachel was still in bed sleeping. He got to the gym around 7:15 for a forty minute workout then headed home around 8:10am, stopping at the Starbuck’s drive-thru. He arrived home around 8:20 to find Rachel’s blood all over the bed where she was sleeping when he left her. He called 911 at 8:24am.

  The prosecution claimed that Andrew had killed Rachel earlier that morning, wrapped her body in the shower curtain, and left the house to dispose of her body. Then, in order to appear to have an alibi, he went to the gym and performed his usual work-out.

  The media portrayed Andrew as a cold-hearted, calculated murderer who killed Rachel in a jealous rage. The so-called domestic dispute call to 911 two weeks prior certainly sealed the deal in many minds.

  And yet, Andrew had no history of violence. He had never been arrested. His friends held him in the highest esteem.

  Andrew and Rachel had lived together for about three years. Andrew was an accountant and had worked for the same firm for over a decade. Rachel was a holistic psychiatrist, with a thriving practice in downtown Hartford. In the weeks prior to her death, their relationship had become tense. Andrew even admitted that they’d been arguing about the fact that she was borderline obsessed about her work, spending over sixty hours a week at her office. She had become distant and distracted and Andrew had feared that she was having an affair. The perfect motive, apparently.

  The trial lasted six weeks. Andrew never testified on his own behalf - which I found to be disturbing. Why didn’t he want to tell those jurors himself that he didn’t kill his girlfriend?

  I didn’t have all the facts, of course. I would have to call Andrew’s attorney and see if he’d be gracious enough to let me see the file on his client. Police reports, testimony, depositions, anything and everything pertaining to Rachel Manning’s murder case.

  According to my research, convicting a suspect of murder without an actual body was becoming more frequent thanks to DNA and modern science in general but, in this case, there was no weapon. No hair fibers or blood found in the suspect’s car. No blood spatter found on any of the suspect’s clothing. No witness who saw him dragging a body out of the house. The only damning piece of evidence seemed to be the 911 call from the next door neighbor two weeks prior to the murder.

  By 6:00pm, my eyes were burning from being on the laptop too long. I hadn’t eaten anything since the peanut butter sandwich that Carter had made around lunchtime.

  I emerged from the bedroom to find Carter in the kitchen, staring at the take-out menu from of our favorite Thai restaurant. “I’m calling in for our dinner,” he said. “Unless you have a better idea.”

  “That sounds perfect. I’ll go out for a run and grab the food on my way home.”

  I slipped into a pair of sneakers and sweatpants and headed out. The temps had dropped back into the fifties, but the cool air felt invigorating on my skin.

  Running has become an important part of my daily routine. It helps to clear the mind, not to mention trimming the waistline. With my legendary sweet-tooth, it's imperative to burn calories every chance I get.

  An hour later, the sun was setting into a purple cloud, illuminating the sky with the color of grape cotton candy. I took in the beautiful view before walking in the front door with the brown take-out bag smelling of curry.

  Carter was on the phone when I walked through the kitchen, so I continued straight into our bedroom, stripped off my sweaty clothes and jumped into the shower.

  As I stepped into a comfortable pair of silk pajamas, Carter walked into the bedroom. There was a spark in his eye that told me he had interesting news.

  “I just spoke with a woman at the adoption agency in Hartford. Sammy was right. Your mother had a signed contract with them, giving up her rights to her child she gave birth to on September 18th, 1974; Andrew's birthday.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Wow. I figured those records would be sealed. What else could they tell you?”

  “That's as far as I got. They wouldn't give me the names of the adoptive parents but, because of the birthdate and location, there's a good chance that Andrew is your half-brother.”

  Chapter 4

  As soon as Carter and I walked into the formidable structure known as the Connecticut Correction Facility, I could almost smell the fear and loathing, so potent it stung my eyes. The guards march around the place like the Gestapo; even the visitors are regarded with suspicion.

  They almost wouldn't let me through security because I was wearing a metal barrette, which they confiscated and never returned. Not that I was particularly attached to the barrette - I just didn't appreciate being treated like a criminal.

  Airport security is a dream compared to this outfit!

  By the time we had reached the visitor's waiting room, I felt like I needed a shower but, hey, at least there was free coffee. I was about to go fetch myself a cup when Carter stopped me.

  “I wouldn't recommend it,” he muttered under his breath. “Trust me.”

  I suppose Carter would know better. As a cop in Boston for over a decade, he would occasionally visit inmates in prison to go over testimony or convince them to rat on one of their cohorts.

  After signing our names on a register
and showing our ID's, we were whisked into another waiting room and asked to have a seat.

  I was a nervous wreck the whole twenty minutes we sat there until a guard called my name.

  Carter stood up, but for some reason, I couldn't move.

  “C'mon Sarah.” He grasped my arm, gently. “Time for you to go see Andrew.”

  My heart was like a jackhammer in my chest. I tugged at the collar of my shirt and tried to breathe.

  I finally managed to get to my feet, and said, “Are you not coming with me?”

  “This is the first time you're meeting your brother. Maybe it's best that you do this on your own.”

  Carter’s tone was firm yet sincere, and I realized he was right.

  He caressed my cheek and said, “I'll be sitting right here when you get back, okay?”

  I nodded, took a deep breath, and followed the guard into the adjoining room.

  There were a row of windows, fully enclosed, with five seats.

  Behind window number 3, I saw a man in his early forties with sallow skin and brown hair in need of a trim. The dark circles under his eyes, along with the perma lines on his forehead, aged him considerably. However, the blue eyes were wide with hope.

  As I sat down and held the phone to my ear, Andrew looked up and stared at me, like he’d just witnessed a double rainbow. He grabbed his own phone, licked his lips, and made an effort to smile.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered. “It's really you?”

  His voice cracked like a pre-pubescent boy, and my heart melted.

  “Andrew, it's nice to meet you, finally.” My words came out more formally than I had intended.

  He choked out a laugh, eyes beginning to water. “I take it you read my letter and talked to Sammy.”

  I wanted to break through the glass and hug him; to tell him everything would be okay. He looked so frail in the orange jumpsuit. “Yes. Sammy told me about … our mom.”

  Never taking his eyes off my face, he said, “You're even prettier in person.”

  I only wish I could repay him the same compliment. “How are you doing in here? You feeling okay?”