The Curse of Tenth Grave

I shoved open his door. It banged against a bookcase, and I tried not to cringe. I straightened my shoulders and hiked my chin up a notch. “I want answers,” I said for the third and hopefully last time. He was looking out the window of a much smaller office than I’d expected.

Without even turning to see who’d barged in, he held up an index finger to put me on hold.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parker,” the receptionist said. Just like in the movies.

He held up a finger to her as well.

I snorted. “Looks like we both got the finger.”

She glared.

“Sorry. I saw it in a movie once and wanted to do it.”

“If I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me. I swear there is something in the water here.” She turned and left us alone, closing the door behind her.

“Davidson,” he said, turning to me at last.

“Parker.”

“How’s it going with the case?”

“Peachy keen, Parker. Thanks so much for asking.”

He motioned for me to sit down. I ignored him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Fiske’s priors?”

“Prior,” he said, raising a brow. “Singular. Please sit down.”

I walked around a black leather chair and sat. He joined me. Not on my chair, but he sat in his.

Parker could have been good looking if he didn’t have such a rigid stick up his ass. He was so uptight, it actually made others around him uncomfortable. A trait like that probably came in handy during a trial.

“Why did you leave it out of the folder you gave me?”

“You act like I did that on purpose.”

I did my best deadpan in which I channeled a sarcastic Christopher Walken.

“I didn’t think you’d take the case if you knew about that.”

“No shit.”

“But I can explain.”

“Let’s hear it.”

He leaned forward and started shuffling and straightening papers, unconsciously forming a barrier between us. The guilt I’d felt before came cascading down around him.

“He was one of those people everyone loved, you know? The girls chased him nonstop. The guys couldn’t help but like him. He was that rare combination of nice guy and killer looks that everyone wanted to be around. To absorb.”

I could see that. The guy was probably a doll when he wasn’t being accused of murder. Especially one he didn’t commit.

“He had offers from schools all over the country. Could have gone to graduate school anywhere. He had his whole life ahead of him.”

“So did that kid, I suspect.”

He nodded, the guilt like fire roiling out of him. “It was rush week, and a hazing went bad. The kid went into anaphylactic shock. El did everything to save him—”

“El?”

“Lyle. It’s what we called him. Anyway, the kid died. El took the fall. Did three years for negligent homicide.” He shifted in his chair, the guilt eating him alive. “It was my idea, but because he was the president, he took the fall. He took the fall for all of us.”

“A kid died during a hazing at a fraternity of which he was the president. He was ultimately responsible.”

“Yeah,” he said, pasting on a sour smile. “That’s what he said. But he wasn’t responsible. I was.”

“Directly?”

“Yes.” He coughed into a fist and then left it pressed to his mouth as the memory of what must have been a horrible night overcame him. “We would kidnap our pledges, put sacks over their heads, put them in a van, take them to the seedier side of Central, and kick them out. They were all in their underwear at the time, of course. But Lyle said it would be too dangerous to leave them there like that, so we did doughnuts awhile and then drove onto the middle of campus to drop them off there.”

“Sounds like standard operating procedure.”

“It would have been if I’d just done my fucking job. I was supposed to check the medical records of the pledges, but I’d had a big exam that day and didn’t get around to it.”

“This can’t be good.”

“One of the pledges was allergic to peanuts, and the bags we used were from a peanut plant.”

“Damn,” I said.

“I didn’t know someone could have an allergic reaction like that. I mean, I thought you had to actually ingest whatever you were allergic to.”

“That’s a hard way to find out.”

“They told us later his throat swelled shut so fast, he couldn’t even call out for help.” He turned to look out the window. “I killed him, but because Lyle was the president and the media was all over the DA’s ass, he was convicted of negligent homicide.”

And here I thought the guy had no conscience.

“Okay, you feel guilty. I can certainly see why, but what does that have to do with this case?”

He gave me a fierce look, one of utter determination with jaw clenched and lids narrowed, and said, “He will not go down for something else he didn’t do, Davidson. That ain’t happening.”

“The evidence is pretty compelling.” Then again, the evidence is always compelling. That’s why people came to me. I was their last hope. Their last-ditch effort. Not that I was going to tell Parker that.

He leaned forward. “Trust me, you do not want this to go to trial. Either you un-compel the fuck out of the evidence, or I’ll cop to the murder myself.”

I sat back in my chair, almost wishing he would cop to it. It would ease the guilt he felt for the guy. Allow him to move forward with his own life.

“What if I can’t?”

He slammed a hand on his desk. “He didn’t do it, Davidson, and you damned well know it. You have a sixth sense about these things.”

“I know he didn’t do it, but how did you know? The evidence says otherwise.”

“I know. I’m the one sifting through it to make sure we have enough to prosecute, remember?”

“Ah yes. The smoke and mirrors.”

“Pretty much. So, the case?”

I shook my head. “No. Let’s get back to me. What exactly do you have on me? I’m not fond of being blackmailed.”

“Extorted, actually. What I’m doing is extortion.”

“Either way, what is it?”

He narrowed his eyes, as though trying to decide if he should trust me or not, then he reached over and grabbed an evidence bag with a bloody knife in it. “This was found in a wall at a cold case crime scene a few weeks ago. It was used to murder a woman in the South Valley.”