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  Once we arrived at the prison and passed through security, we were led by a guard to a large open area and directed to take a seat at a long metal table. We were the only ones there. The guard said he would fetch Todd, then excused himself, and departed. Obviously, he had been made aware of whom we were there to interview.

  Sitting there, I realized I had no idea what Todd looked like. I did know Steve was about five-nine, but did that really mean anything? Perhaps someone on Mary Sue’s side of the family was extremely tall, and that’s who Todd took after. I suppose I would find out shortly.

  I was startled by Todd’s appearance when the guard led him into the room. He looked nothing like I had imagined. He was slightly shorter than Steve, very thin, had close-cut brown hair and alert dark eyes. His facial bone structure was exquisite. There was a gentle, almost-feline quality to his youthful face. Had he been female, he would have been described as beautiful. Todd Brown resembled a cherub, not a hard-core killer.

  He sat across from Anne and me. We all remained silent until the guard shackled Todd’s right handcuff to a steel ring on the table. He moved away, eventually sitting at a table several feet from ours. His hard eyes never left us the entire time we were with Todd.

  Anne broke the silence. “Todd, this is the writer I told you about. His name is Nick Gabriel.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Todd,” I said.

  “What have you written?”

  “I did some writing for the movies. I also wrote a play.”

  “Any movies I might have seen?”

  I rattled off four or five that came quickly to mind.

  Todd nodded, said, “Yeah, I have seen a couple of them. The one about war was really good. I liked it a lot.”

  “That’s probably the best one I was involved with,” I said.

  “Anne tells me you may write a book about my case. Is that true?”

  “Depends on what I learn today.”

  “What is it about me, my sorry situation, that interests you enough to write a book?”

  “I knew Steve when I was growing up here. I always had a lot of respect for him. He’s a good guy.”

  “Then why not write a book about him?”

  “Because he’s not in prison for murder,” I said, perhaps more bluntly than I intended. “And because I also knew Luke Felton.”

  “Did you consider him a good guy?”

  I dug into my bag and extracted the tape recorder. Placing it on the table, I said, “Are you willing to answer a few questions? If you say no, I’ll pack up and leave right now. And there will be no hard feelings.”

  “Didn’t Miss Bishop explain to you that I can’t remember anything about what happened that night?”

  “She did. But if you’re willing, I’d like to take a stab at finding out what you do remember. How about it?”

  “Sure, give it your best shot.”

  I turned the tape recorder on and eased it to the center of the table. Then I went back into the bag and took out the legal pad and a pen. “Okay, Todd, let’s assume that I believe you are experiencing a total memory blackout about that night. What I—”

  “Are you saying you don’t believe me?” Todd asked.

  “No. What I am saying is we set the blackout period aside for now. What I want to know is the last thing you do remember that day.”

  “I went to see a friend… who shall remain nameless… to score some pot.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Four, four-thirty that afternoon.”

  “Did you get the pot from your friend?”

  “Not from him…he wasn’t home. I got it from his wife.”

  “Had you taken any drugs earlier in the day?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about alcohol?”

  “No, I had nothing to drink.”

  “Did you drive to your friend’s house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was anyone with you that afternoon?”

  “No, I was alone.”

  “Okay, so how well did you know Luke Felton?” I asked.

  “I saw him around, but I didn’t really know him,” Todd replied.

  “Did he ever sell you drugs?”

  “Are you kidding? I’d never buy drugs from a stranger. Why? Did he deal drugs?”

  “There’s no evidence that he did. But I had to ask.” I paused for a moment before continuing. “When did you hook up with Luke?”

  “I don’t remember hooking up with him. And there’s no reason why I would. That makes no sense to me. Like I told you, I barely knew the dude.”

  It suddenly dawned on me that there was one detail no one had ever discussed. I turned to Anne, and said, “Where was Todd’s vehicle located?”

  “In the American Legion parking area,” she answered.

  “Do you belong to the American Legion, Todd?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Were you at the American Legion that night?”

  “Yeah, I was.”

  “Had you ever been there before?”

  “No, it was my first time.”

  “You’re too young to be a member, so how’d you get in?”

  “I went with a friend of mine. He vouched for me.”

  “What’s this friend’s name?”

  “Rodney Adcock.”

  “Rabbit?”

  “Yeah, Rabbit,” Todd said. “How do you know him?”

  “We’re the same age. We grew up together. How did you connect with Rabbit?”

  “Purely by accident.”

  “Explain that for me.”

  “I was in Speedway buying a bottle of Ale 8. Rabbit came in, saw me, and we started talking.”

  Anne opened her briefcase, removed a pad and a pen, and began taking notes. It was obvious she was hearing this was information for the first time.

  I said, “Do you often spend time with Rabbit?”

  “Depends on how you define often, I guess. Rabbit’s a fun guy to hang around with. I like him because he doesn’t always abide by the rules. He tends to do what he wants to do, regardless of rules, or the law. He’s kind of dangerous…a renegade, you know?”

  “In other words, Rabbit hasn’t changed over the years,” I said. “Do you buy drugs from Rabbit?”

  “Rabbit is an alcoholic but he never touches drugs.”

  “Okay, you’re standing in Speedway. What happens next?”

  “He suggested we go to the American Legion and have a drink. And that’s what we did.”

  “What time was this?”

  “I don’t know, six-thirty, seven, maybe. It was just before dark.”

  “Was the place crowded?”

  “No, not really.”

  “What did you have to drink?”

  “Rabbit ordered us both a bottle of beer. When we finished with those, he ordered a second round. Only this time he also ordered us each a shot of bourbon.”

  “How much did you end up drinking?”

  “I had one more beer and another shot, and that’s the last thing I remember. Between then and when the cops woke me up the next day is a total blank.”

  I thought for a second, then said, “At any time while you were at the American Legion did you leave the bar?”

  “Yeah, I went to the restroom after that second round.”

  “Before the third round, which is the last thing you remember, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Think back, Todd. Do you recall how Rabbit got to Speedway? You say he came inside. Did you see anyone drop him off? See a car pull away?”

  “No, I was buying the Ale 8, so I had my back to the front entrance,” Todd said. “Why? What difference does that make?”

  “Maybe no difference at all. But Rabbit had to get there some way, and I doubt he walked. If someone drove him, I would love to know who the driver was.”

  “I didn’t ask and he didn’t say.”

  “Are you gay, Todd?”

  “Hell no.”

  “For a guy your age,
you seem to hang around a lot with older men. I can’t help but wonder why.”

  “Well, it’s damn sure not because I’m gay, that I can promise you. And for the record, I spend very little time with older dudes.”

  “Todd, is there anything else, anything at all, no matter how insignificant you think it might be, that you recall about that day or night?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “One final question, Todd. In your heart of hearts, do you truly believe you murdered Luke Felton?”

  “I don’t know, but…the evidence says I did. I mean, I had his ring, his blood was on my clothes, and my driver’s license was in his car. What other conclusion could I possibly have?”

  “You’ve regurgitated details I already know, Todd. What you failed to do was answer my question. Do you think you killed Luke Felton?”

  Todd shrugged but didn’t say anything.

  I said, “You know, Todd, the evidence against you is awfully strong. Overwhelming, I have to say. Which leads me to conclude that you are guilty, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I agree. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I can’t imagine why I did it.”

  Eleven

  “The way you manipulated Todd into agreeing that he’s guilty was virtually an exact replica of how Perry Jackson did it,” Anne said, as we drove back to town. “He managed to get Todd to agree three or four times that he killed Luke Felton.”

  “I’d like to watch the tape of that interview, if possible.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Were Todd’s fingerprints found in Luke’s car?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure Luke’s car was ever dusted for prints. If it was, I never heard about it.”

  “I have to tell you, Anne, I’d have to give this investigation a failing grade. I understand Todd confessed. But still, he deserved better than he got.” I had no desire to pile on, but I wasn’t finished venting. “A soft-spoken eighteen-year-old kid with no history of violence suddenly becomes a murderous butcher and no attempt was made to find out why? That’s well beyond incompetent, that’s criminal.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Nick. The system failed Todd. Hell, I failed Todd. Everything about the investigation was sloppy.”

  “No, calling it sloppy gives it too much credit. Sloppy indicates the investigation took place but it was poorly executed. This investigation wasn’t sloppy, it was non-existent.”

  There was no further conversation during the remainder of the ride into town. Under the circumstances, which had become somewhat tense, silence seemed the wisest option. And that’s the one we chose. There was nothing to be gained by treading into areas we didn’t need to go.

  Timing is rarely perfect, but in this instance it was. Angel was checking into the motel when I walked in. Seeing her, it was all I could do to keep from running up and giving her a big hug. But I wasn’t sure how she would react, so I restrained myself. No need to get things off to an uncomfortable start.

  “What room are you in?” I asked after she finished registering.

  “I requested one across the hall from yours,” she replied. “If I’m to be your ‘eyes and ears,’ I thought it best if we were close together. Lucky for me, the room was available.”

  “How was your flight?”

  “Boring.”

  “Was the Louisville airport busy?”

  “Aren’t they all these days?”

  “Any trouble finding your way here?”

  “No, that’s what GPS is for.”

  Inside the room, I stood around while she unpacked her clothes. When she had everything in its proper place, I said, “I know you’re probably hungry, but if you can hold off for a while, there’s a place I’d like for us to visit.”

  “Does it involve the book you’re working on?” she asked.

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  ~ * ~

  Although I had grown up in this town, I had never once set foot inside the American Legion. That’s because neither of my parents were members, so I had no reason to be there. I had also never been able to understand why the Legion was allowed to sell alcohol when the rest of town was still dry. Even to a kid that seemed hypocritical. There is no shortage of stories about wild things that occurred there, but my favorite was one that involved my uncle, who, after coaching the American Legion baseball team to a victory, celebrated by taking the players to the Legion for a few beers. This was in the late forties, and those players were still in their teens. Can you imagine the outrage that would cause today? Parents would have had my uncle all but executed. Of course, those players worshipped the guy.

  There was nothing fancy about American Legion Post 61. The building was one-story, brick, and square. Inside was about what I expected. There was a bar, several long tables, a pool table, dart board, and a stage that had been set up to accommodate local musical acts that regularly performed there. A large U.S. flag dominated one wall, while other walls were covered with hundreds of photos. No more than a dozen people were inside when Angel and I arrived.

  The bartender was a burly guy with short blond hair, a Fu Manchu mustache, and tattoos on both forearms. He was standing at the far end of the bar when we entered but he slowly began moving in our direction once he noticed us. There was what could best be described as a wicked grin on his face as he surveyed us.

  “Well, you’re not a member here,” he said, pointing at me. “And she’s obviously underage. So, unless you can prove otherwise, you’ll not be drinking here.”

  “Correct on both counts,” I said, adding, “but we’re not here to drink.”

  “What are you here for?”

  “I’m looking for a guy and I was told he might be here.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Rabbit.”

  The bartender chuckled, said, “You don’t look like a cop, so you must be with the IRS. Those are the folks Rabbit is usually dodging.”

  “No, I’m just an old friend of his. I’m in town for a few days, thought I would look him up and shoot the breeze for a while.”

  “Well, chief, your information is better than your timing. Rabbit practically lives here. It’s not too far-fetched to say this place is his second home. Truth is, I’m surprised he’s not here tonight. But it’s still early. He’ll probably show up later.” He picked up a rag and wiped off the bar. “If you come back in a couple of hours, you’ll likely bump into him. He don’t miss many nights.”

  “Any chance you could give me his address or a phone number?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t feel very comfortable handing out information like that to a stranger. Sorry.”

  “Fair enough. I may check in later this evening, see if he’s here.”

  “If you do, don’t bring her with you,” he said, nodding at Angel. “I won’t get hassled for having a non-member on the premises, but an underage kid? That’s asking for trouble I don’t want or need.”

  Angel was breathing fire as we headed to the car. “How does he know I’m underage?” she barked. “He didn’t bother to ask for my ID. And if he had, I would have showed him a fake one that says I’m twenty-three.”

  “You have a fake ID?”

  “Get real, Dad, I’m in college. Of course I have a fake ID. Several, in fact.”

  What could I say? My daughter, the budding criminal.

  ~ * ~

  Back in the car I took out my cell phone and called Mike Tucker’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. I left Mike a message asking him to contact me at his earliest convenience.

  “Who’s Mike Tucker and why are you calling him?” Angel wanted to know.

  “Mike is one of my oldest and best friends. I’m calling to see if he knows where Rabbit lives. If he does, that will save me from having to pay another visit to the Legion.”

  “Why do they call him Rabbit?”

  “You’ll know why when you see him.” I started the car a
nd drove away. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “There’s not exactly a plethora of eating places to choose from, so don’t set your sights too high. McDonald’s, Wendy’s, Mexican, pizza, barbecue…that’s about the extent of your options.”

  “I vote for getting something from Mickey D’s and taking it back to the motel,” she said. “We can chat while we eat. Does that sound okay to you?”

  “Better than okay,” I replied.

  We picked up our order at the McDonald’s drive-thru window, then drove straight to the Best Western. I was also famished; I’d had little to eat all day. But it was the prospect of sharing this meal and speaking with Angel that I was truly looking forward to.

  As we entered the motel lobby, a young woman rose from a chair and rapidly approached us. She was plump but not overly so, had brown hair, and wore cut-off jeans, a blouse, and white tennis shoes. She had a very worried look on her face.

  “Are you Nick Gabriel?” she asked. “The writer?”

  “Yes, I’m Nick Gabriel,” I said, thinking she might ask for my autograph. “And you are—?”

  “Heather Anderson.”

  “What can I do for you, Heather?”

  “You’re in town to investigate the Todd Brown case, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not investigating anything. I’m seeking material in hopes of writing a book about what happened. Who told you I was here to investigate the Brown case?”

  “Karen Tucker. I’m in her weekend Lit class at the community college. She told me.”

  “Karen was mistaken. She shouldn’t have given you that information.”

  Heather lowered her head. Tears dripped from her eyes. I could sense that there was more to her story than the Todd Brown case.

  “Is there a particular reason why Karen told you about me?” I asked.

  “She thought you might be able to help me,” Sharon said, fighting back a new wave of tears.

  “Help you how?”

  “My older sister Sharon was murdered almost three years ago and her case has never been solved. I guess Professor Tucker thought you could look into the case, maybe get lucky and uncover some new evidence.”

  “Your sister’s body was found in a car partially submerged in a pond, right?”

  “Yes. How did you know about that? Did Professor Tucker tell you?”