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Detective Cooper had met the ambulance at the hospital. Hannah was rushed into the ER and immediately treated for hypothermia and ingesting water. Rachel had insisted that she didn’t need medical attention. All she wanted was a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes. Detective Cooper had driven her back to the hotel so she could get just that. She’d told him on the drive over what had happened and how she’d texted Pete surreptitiously when Dan Moore pulled out the gun. He told her grimly that it was lucky that Pete had been awake and called emergency services.
When Rachel was showered and dressed, she insisted on returning to check on Hannah. Detective Cooper had dropped Rachel back at the hospital and she’d spent what remained of the night sleeping under a blanket in the armchair next to Hannah’s bed.
Rachel opened her eyes to see Detective Cooper standing over her, holding out a large takeout coffee and a white paper bag. “I brought you some breakfast,” he said as Rachel pushed away the blanket and sat up. She rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn as she took the coffee cup.
“Has Dan Moore been arrested yet?” Rachel asked.
Hannah shifted slightly in her sleep but didn’t wake. The sedative the doctors had given her hadn’t worn off yet.
“His car was found abandoned. We went to the family house, but there was nobody there. A neighbor told us that Kelly and her mother left town the day that she was supposed to have testified again,” Detective Cooper said. “They’ve relocated to the West Coast. As for Dan, he’s on the run.”
His bloodshot eyes attested to the fact that he hadn’t slept at all since he’d been woken by a call from Rachel at the back of the ambulance, asking him to meet her at the hospital.
He pulled the blinds back slightly so he could see out into the bright sunshine of the morning. He turned around to look at Hannah, still fast asleep. Her skin was almost as white as the hospital sheets and her face looked innocent, and childlike, as she slept.
“You never forget your first death notification,” he said. “Jenny Stills was mine. I never imagined that I was being sent out to her mother’s house to deliver that terrible news because the police chief wanted me out of the way so he could get my partner to cover up Jenny’s rape and murder.”
“Didn’t you ask questions afterward, given how closely you were involved in the case, helping Hannah and giving the death notification to her mother?” Rachel asked.
He shook his head. “I was sent straight from Jenny’s house to work a roadblock near the car-accident scene. After that, I went home and slept. When I returned to work, my partner told me he had good news, that someone had dropped out of a police-training course that I’d applied for in Charlotte. There was a spot for me, but I had to leave right away. When I finished the course, I was immediately offered a junior detective job in Rhode Island,” he said.
“Was Russ Moore’s hand in that, too?” Rachel asked.
“Probably. The chief in Rhode Island was an old friend of Russ Moore. I’m sure he called in a favor,” he said, looking back out the window. “Mitch asked me to get hold of the autopsy report for Jenny Stills. I spoke to a friend. They found the file, but there was nothing in it. Russ did a thorough job of destroying any evidence she was murdered.”
Rachel poured a packet of brown sugar into her coffee and stirred it in the silence that followed. Russ Moore had owned the town when he was police chief. He’d had so much power that he was able to do whatever he wanted. He’d terrorized his wife andson, driving his wife to suicide. He’d framed Bobby Green as the perpetrator of the fatal car crash that had shocked Neapolis, even though his own son had been behind the wheel. And, perhaps most horrifyingly, he’d made sure his most loyal police officers covered up the rape and murder of Jenny Stills. Detective Cooper’s phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket and read the message.
“It’s from Mitch,” he said. “The jury has reached a verdict.”
53
Guilty or Not Guilty
Season 3, Episode 12: The Verdict
Today Scott Blair woke up in his bed. Maybe for the last time in a long time. He dressed in navy pants and a blue sweater. He brushed his teeth. He shaved. He probably had breakfast, despite what I’m sure were nervous butterflies in his stomach.
Before he left for court, maybe he stuck his head into his bedroom for a final look. I’m betting he wondered whether he’d sleep in his bed that night or he’d be in a cell in a prison-issue jumpsuit, serving the first night of a long prison sentence.
When Scott Blair arrived in court, surrounded by his lawyers, his parents nervously shuffling in behind him, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. He’d lost control of his life to twelve ordinary people from various walks of life who sat in judgment of him. Twelve strangers who would decide his fate.
He knew the power they had over him as he watched the jury file in with fixed expressions and gritted teeth. You could almost see himasking himself the question: “How did I screw up my life so badly that I ended up here?”
It took less than two days for the jury to reach a verdict. They sifted through the evidence methodically and patiently. They asked Judge Shaw for clarification on questions of law. They reviewed thick transcripts of testimony. The jury didn’t have K’s testimony to consider. That was struck from the record. They didn’t have Scott Blair’s testimony, either. He never took the stand. Yet they reached a unanimous verdict. By early afternoon, the courtroom was full as we waited to hear their decision.
Judge Shaw asked the defendant to stand. Scott stood and sort of puffed out his cheeks as if he was taking a huge lungful of oxygen as he waited for the verdict to be read out.
The jury foreman passed a slip of paper to the bailiff. Scott Blair’s parents tightened their grip on each other’s hands as the paper was handed to Judge Shaw. His mother flinched as the judge opened the folded sheet. All eyes were on the judge’s expression as he read the jury’s verdict. His face was inscrutable.
Then he put the paper down and cleared his throat. Cynthia Blair put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Her son’s fate was about to be sealed, one way or the other, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Scott Blair’s posture relaxed for an instant when the words “not guilty” rang out. But they were quickly followed by “guilty,” “guilty.” He flinched each time. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the courtroom.
The jury found Scott Blair “not guilty” of raping K. But it found him guilty on one count of sexual assault and two counts of sexual battery.
Many of you may agree with the verdict after listening to the testimony and reviewing the evidence that we’ve put on the podcast website. We’ve also uploaded an analysis from a law professor about whythe case might not have met the legal definition of rape in North Carolina, which requires threats, such as the use of a deadly weapon, for a sexual assault to be deemed rape in that state.
Some of you, no doubt, will say that it’s a travesty of justice. That Scott Blair should have been convicted on the most serious charge of rape. Others will say that he shouldn’t have been convicted at all. That there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him beyond a reasonable doubt.
