Presumption of Guilt Read online

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2014 Marti Green

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  ISBN-13: 9781477825709

  ISBN-10: 1477825703

  Cover design by Cyanotype Book Architects

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014940449

  To Lenny, the wind beneath my wings

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER

  1

  Molly Singer didn’t know this would be the last night she’d ever make love to Finn Reynolds. She hurriedly kissed him good night, then exited his car, quietly closing the door behind her. She prayed her parents were asleep. It was well past her curfew and her mother had been on her back about everything lately. She didn’t need her scowl greeting her tonight. It would break the magic of the evening.

  Molly walked up the bluestone path to her house and, when she reached the front door, turned and waved to Finn. He blew her a kiss, then drove off. Molly put her key in the lock, rotated the latch, and opened the door.

  Nothing. No parent standing in the foyer demanding an explanation. Just silence. Molly smiled, slipped off her shoes, and tiptoed up the carpeted stairs.

  The upstairs hallway light was on, the signal she knew her mother depended on, when she stirred from her sleep, to tell her if Molly was back in the house. Light on meant she hadn’t returned from her date. Light off meant she had. Molly glanced toward her parents’ darkened bedroom, the door ajar just enough to let in the telltale hallway light, then switched off the light and slipped into her room.

  She closed the door behind her and flopped down on the bed. It was almost one a.m., an hour past her curfew, but she was wide-awake. Her body tingled with the memory of Finn’s hands, exploring, caressing.

  After a few moments, Molly got off the bed and pulled a tank top and shorts from her dresser drawer. She quickly changed into them, then headed into her bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

  When finished, she stared at the medicine cabinet. Should I? Inside was a stash of Ambien pills she’d secreted from her mother’s supply, a help for those nights she was too wired to fall asleep. She didn’t like the way they made her feel the next morning, but still—no school tomorrow meant she could sleep in. Probably the only way she’d get any sleep tonight, she thought as she reached inside the cabinet, shook two five-milligram pills from the bottle into her hand, and stared at them. One or two? One usually worked. Mostly, she’d needed it when she was overtired from studying too late into the night. A smile crept across her face as the image of Finn planted itself in her mind. She could still feel his lips on hers. The scent of his aftershave lingered on her. The promises they’d made to each other tonight, to love each other forever, reverberated through her. Definitely two. Otherwise, she’d never fall asleep.

  Molly popped the little pink pills into her mouth, took a swig of water to wash them down, and got into her bed. Ten minutes later she fell sound asleep.

  The sun streaming through her pink-and-green gingham curtains woke Molly. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand and jumped out of bed, startled that her parents had let her sleep past eleven. “There’s too much to enjoy in life to sleep it away,” her father always said.

  Sundays were supposed to be family day, although lately Molly had been pretty successful at finding excuses for avoiding time with her parents. It had been harder when Donna first left for college almost four years earlier. Then, her parents glommed on to her as though she were their intravenous fix. Their attention suffocated her, to the point that she called Donna late one night and begged her to return home. “They’re killing me,” she’d cried over the phone. “I can’t take it anymore. You’ve got to get them off my back or I’m going to do something drastic, I just know it.” Donna had laughed at her. “Give them time,” she’d said. “They’re just frightened at the thought of the empty nest. They’ll let up soon enough.”

  And they had. They’d let up so much that they’d stopped thinking that Molly walked on water and started complaining about everything she did. And everyone she saw.

  She knew they didn’t like Finn. Too bad. Molly loved him, so much so that her top college choice was no longer Harvard, but Columbia. That way she’d stay close to Finn. And it was still the all-important Ivy League her parents insisted she strive for. It wasn’t good enough for her parents, though. They claimed it was because she shouldn’t deprive herself of a traditional campus life—the setting of Columbia had its charms but couldn’t compare to the campuses of Yale, Harvard, or Princeton—but Molly knew the real reason. They wanted to get her away from Finn.

  Molly opened her bedroom door and peeked outside, expecting to hear the drone of the television tuned to the Sunday-morning news shows. Instead, silence greeted her. She looked toward her parents’ bedroom and saw a closed door. It was usually left wide open when they were up for the day. Could they have gone back to sleep? Molly wondered. She tiptoed over to their room and pressed her ear against the door. No sound.

  Molly bounded down the stairs and checked first the kitchen, then the family room. Empty. I bet they’ve gone out for brunch, she figured, then headed to the garage to check for a missing car. She opened the door that led to the garage and stood there, confused. All three cars were parked inside. For a moment she had the sickening thought that a carbon monoxide leak had wended its way through the house, rendering her parents unconscious. Then she laughed at her melodrama. It would have knocked her out as well, and she felt fine.

  Quietly, she made her way upstairs again, then tiptoed across the floor to her parents’ bedro
om. Softly, she knocked on the door, then, after no response, knocked again, loudly. Finally, she turned the doorknob, entered the room, and stopped, rooted in place.

  At first, her brain only registered the blood. On the quilt, on the walls, on the bed’s headboard. Perhaps it was a trick of her mind to protect her from seeing her parents, but soon enough she saw their bodies.

  Her father nearest her, frozen in the bed, her mother on the other side, half fallen out.

  Her father’s head on his pillow, eyes opened in a fixed stare.

  Molly screamed, then screamed again, over and over.

  CHAPTER

  2

  TWELVE YEARS LATER

  Dani Trumball had just leaned back in her chair and let the sounds of the orchestra wash over her when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  Ignore it, she thought. Jonah’s violin concerto had already been performed, brilliantly composed, and expertly played, as attested to by the enthusiastic applause of the other mothers and fathers in the audience. Now she could relax, appreciate the warm evening breeze in her hair, and enjoy the remainder of the concert. The black sky was bursting with stars, and the full moon cast its light over the girls and boys on stage, huddled intently over their instruments.

  “Ms. Trumball?” The whisper, barely audible over the sound of the trumpets, came from behind her. “I’m sorry, but are you Dani Trumball?”

  How rude. The audience members had driven hours, maybe days, to hear their children perform in Camp Adagio’s end-of-summer concert, all of them bursting with pride over their children’s musical prowess. Every boy and girl was a Williams syndrome kid, so lacking in other areas of intellectual development, but gifted with this one unique talent. It was hard to imagine a more blissful moment, yet here was this woman, determined to spoil it.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but—can we go somewhere and talk?”

  Dani sat up and turned around and saw a woman leaning toward her. “Shh. Please. You’re disturbing the others. After the concert.” Dani turned back to the front and resumed her reclined position. The full orchestra was playing a symphony composed by one of Jonah’s bunk mates. In his letters home, Jonah had gushed about the musical expertise of his friend, and Dani knew he’d question her later about it.

  A few minutes passed, and then the annoying whisper returned. “You work for the Help Innocent Prisoners Project, don’t you?”

  Feeling her husband, Doug, stiffen beside her, Dani turned around again and practically hissed. “Look. Call my office next week and we can talk. I’m not here to discuss cases.” She turned back to the front, crossed her arms, and fervently hoped that would be the end of the intrusions. No such luck.

  “Please.” Her voice, still a whisper, had a note of desperation. Dani wanted to ignore her, knew Doug would be angry if she didn’t, yet couldn’t stop herself from standing up and moving to the aisle. Dani understood desperation. Quietly, she slipped out of the row of seats, then walked with the woman away from the music. They came to a grove of trees and stopped.

  “Thank you. I didn’t know who to turn to. I’m so confused.”

  “What’s your name?” The woman towered over Dani by at least five inches. She was stout, without being heavy, and was dressed in crisp linen pants and a flowered blouse. A sapphire pendant hung from her neck, and it was impossible to miss the large, square-cut diamond on her right hand.

  “Donna. Donna Garmond.”

  Dani held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Donna, but as I said, this isn’t the time or place. I’m here for my son, as I’m sure you are for your child.”

  “Yes, my daughter goes to this camp. Her first year.” Donna took in a deep breath. “I know this is an imposition, but I’ve read about you. I know how you help innocent prisoners and well—it just seemed that both of us here together must mean something. When the concert’s over, everyone will scatter, and you’ll want to be with your son. If I didn’t talk to you now, the moment will be lost. I just couldn’t let that happen.”

  “If you’ve read about me, you know where my office is. Just call me next week. I’ll be happy to speak to you then.”

  Donna reached out and touched Dani’s arm. “I’ve contacted your office before, asked for their help. They’ve turned me down.”

  Now Dani understood the woman’s urgency. The Help Innocent Prisoners Project—called HIPP by the staff—had limited resources. They were highly selective about the cases they agreed to handle. More were turned down than accepted.

  “Who is it that you believe is wrongly convicted?” Dani asked.

  “My sister. Her name is Molly. Molly Singer.”

  Dani again took in the woman’s clothes and jewelry. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but don’t you have the means to hire private counsel?”

  Donna shook her head vehemently, loosening wisps of her chestnut hair that had been pulled back and clasped at the nape of her neck. “My husband does well financially and so I haven’t had to work. I’m home with Sarah”—Donna gestured to the group of campers listening to the concert—“and we have a son as well, Jacob. I’ve begged my husband to let me hire an investigator, try to open Molly’s case again, but he’s adamantly opposed to it. He’s convinced Molly is guilty and our money should be used for our children’s future.”

  “What was Molly convicted of?”

  “Murder. They said she murdered our parents.”

  Dani stared at the woman before her. She’d suffered a double loss—the death of her parents and the incarceration of her sister. No wonder she wanted to believe Molly was innocent. A round of applause came from the stage. The concert was over. Dani reached over and touched Donna’s arm. Then, her previous annoyance gone, she said, “Call the office next week. I promise I’ll hear you out.”

  As they walked back together to their spouses and children, Dani knew her promise gave Donna more hope than was warranted. The gulf between hearing her out and taking on her sister’s case was wide and, most likely, impossible to bridge.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Dani breezed into HIPP’s office on West Fourteenth Street in New York City’s West Village at ten a.m., her usual arrival time. Unless she was arguing a case, or traveling, she always saw Jonah off on the school bus. Doing so served a dual purpose. It lessened her sense—mostly irrational, she understood—that she was abandoning Jonah by going to work, and it helped her avoid the worst of rush-hour traffic driving into Manhattan.

  She stopped at her secretary’s desk to pick up her messages, then flipped through them as she entered her windowless office. A message from Donna was in the pile. Just her name and phone number on a white slip of paper, with the words “You promised.”

  Before returning her call, Dani went to the file cabinets to search for any records of Molly Singer. There had to be a file on her if Donna had previously contacted HIPP. She found it quickly, then brought it back to her office.

  Inside the folder was a three-page letter from Donna, along with the notation of the HIPP attorney who had reviewed it: “No, with regrets.”

  Dani skimmed the letter quickly, noting that Molly had been convicted of the double murder twelve years earlier and sentenced to consecutive terms of twenty-five years to life. That in itself was odd. She had just turned eighteen at the time of her sentencing. Most judges would have imposed concurrent terms, leaving open the hope of some semblance of a life after prison.

  She stuffed the letter back into the folder, then strolled over to the office of Bruce Kantor, the director of HIPP. HIPP’s office space was small, the furnishings spartan, but it hummed with the energy of young people on a mission. At least, mostly young people. Dani could no longer consider herself in that category, but she’d come to HIPP later than most. After nine years at home with Jonah, Doug had practically pushed her out the door, admonishing her that she needed a life of her own and Jonah needed to become less de
pendent on her. He was right, of course. Both of them had thrived since she began working at HIPP four years ago.

  Dani stuck her head inside Bruce’s office and saw it was empty. Instead of waiting for him, she made her way over to the office of Melanie Quinn, the attorney who’d initially reviewed the request.

  Unlike Dani’s own cluttered desk, Melanie’s was pristine. Not even a stray paper clip disrupted the picture-perfect orderliness. Not unlike the image projected by Melanie herself.

  “Hey, Melanie.” Dani placed the folder down in front of her. “Do you remember at all the letter about Molly Singer? Convicted of murdering her parents when she was eighteen? Doing time up at Bedford Hills?”

  “Rings a bell. I think we turned her down.”

  “Right. Well, her sister actually. She’s the one who wrote. Do you remember what the thinking was on it?”

  Melanie opened the folder and skimmed the letter. When finished, she nodded her head slowly. “I talked this one over with Bruce. I felt sorry for the kid. Concurrent terms!” A look of disgust passed over her face. “What was that judge on? But Bruce remembered the case. It made the city papers even though the trial was upstate. I guess because she was such a pretty girl, you know how the media loves that. Apparently, the parents were well off. The house alone was worth over a million and that’s in the country, before real estate prices skyrocketed. Bruce felt they could pay for private attorneys and our resources were better spent elsewhere.” Melanie looked at Dani quizzically. “Why are you asking about her?”

  “I ran into her sister at Camp Adagio and she strong-armed me into agreeing to meet with her. It’ll just be a courtesy interview.”

  Melanie frowned. “Her child has Williams syndrome?”

  Dani nodded.

  “I know you, Dani. You’re going to identify with her and want to help—but you must realize Bruce won’t okay it. Do you want me to see her instead of you, so you’ll be off the hook?”

  Melanie’s offer tempted her. After all, they’d worked as a team ever since they’d taken on George Calhoun’s case together a year ago. And Melanie was right—Dani was a softy. She understood how hard it was raising a child with Williams syndrome, a condition that caused varying levels of retardation. Add to that the stress of dealing with a sister locked up for life. But rules were rules. They had to look at cases coldly and objectively, and the ability to pay for private attorneys was a big factor.