Chapters (89)
“Russell, we’re not in downtown Miami or Compton. This is rural Utah. The cops here are treated like saints, and everything they say is scripture. That jury’s gonna want to fry him the second I rest my case.”
“Manslaughter, five to fifteen.”
“Get outa here. I’m not giving him manslaughter. He tortured and murdered a seventeen-year-old girl.”
“Now don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten the use of the word allegedly, Tatum. You gotta prove that before you start throwing it around. And you’re right. We’re in rural, pro-police, pro-prosecution Utah, which means the jury’s already going to be against us before my client even sits down in that chair. But it also means these detectives botched this homicide investigation, your coroner doesn’t have a medical degree, and I’m just willing to bet there were tidbits the detectives left out of the report or overlooked. And when I find them, I’m going to tear you and this case apart.”
One of his associates opened the door and held it for him. “See you in court.”
He left, and I clicked my tongue against my teeth.
“He’s right you know,” Jia said. “We got a botched case. If I were to bet—”
“If you were to bet, always bet on me.”
I texted Will. Anything?
Yes. Texting you an address now. Get down here, and get that forensic team here.
39
39
The forensic unit had been put up in the only motel in town by the taxpayers of Ute County. They reached the scene in about half an hour: an apartment complex in the nearby town of Glassdale, about twenty miles south of River Falls, over the Nevada border. A detective from the local sheriff’s office had come out, but he was sipping coffee with some of the other cops and didn’t seem to care about what was happening.
As Jia and I stepped out of my car, Will came up to us and said, “Bebe Stewart, her real name, dated Anderson for four months. He’d bring her here most nights because he said his dad would beat the sheesh out of him if he brought, in his words, white trash to the house.”
“Would beat the what out of him?”
He glanced at Jia and said, “I, um, don’t use profanity. Just a personal choice.”
I shook my head. “Utah, man. Okay, where’s Bebe?”
“At her house. Told her we would be stopping by.”
I looked toward the complex. Didn’t appear especially upscale. They were three-story townhomes for sale, and on a purchase sign up front, I saw what I needed to see: one of the bullet points said they had large basements.