Holden's brow knitted with confusion. "Wesley is dead. He's not saying anything."
I handed him the copy. "It looks like he’s speaking from beyond the grave. It's funny how the dead have a habit of doing that sometimes."
Holden's eyes rounded as he began reading. He tried to contain his emotions, but a mix of rage and panic filled his eyes.
JD and I shared a look. Holden's involuntary reaction had confirmed everything Wesley had said. That alone didn’t mean anything in a court of law, but it was enough for me to know the truth.
The page fluttered in his hand as he neared the end. The wheels turned behind his eyes. He stared at the page for a moment, trying to formulate his story. Holden was quick on his feet, as most sociopaths are. He had an answer for just about everything. He handed the page back to me. "This is absolute nonsense. Wesley has rotted his brain with drugs and alcohol over the last 15 years. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with this, but it's a complete fabrication. You can't take this seriously."
"Don't you find it odd that he sends this confession, then dies of an overdose a day later?"
"Proof that he was using and out of his mind. Wesley had mental issues. He suffered from depression for years. He was paranoid and had delusions. You can't possibly buy into this?"
“I think someone helped Wesley overdose. Someone who knew he was going to go to the cops. Someone who didn’t know about this letter.” I stared him down as my words hung in the air.
Holden swallowed hard.
I continued, “New evidence has come to light that corroborates Wesley's account."
Panic filled his face again. “What new evidence?”
45
“How about giving us a DNA sample? It would let us rule you out.”
Holden scoffed. “Why would you need that?”
“There are two distinct sets of DNA in Sarah’s panties. Neither matched Darrell York.”
“So? Maybe she had consensual sex prior to being assaulted by Darrell.”
“Come on,” I said. “Your friend admitted to it.”
“Wesley was clearly out of his mind when he wrote that!”
This is where I stretched the truth a bit. “If it’s a fallacy, then why does Landon’s DNA match?”
That hung there for a moment, and Holden’s face grew even paler. “If you have any more questions, you can talk to my attorney.”
Holden stepped back, closed the door, and latched the deadbolt.
We walked back down the hallway toward the elevator.
JD muttered, "I do believe that guy is shitting in his pants right about now."
I called Brenda and asked her to test Landon's DNA against the DNA evidence in the Sarah Sweet case. There was a good chance my bluff wasn't a bluff at all.
The evidence would have to be transferred to the crime lab. I asked for a rush job.
We took the elevator down to the lobby, stepped outside, and the valet pulled around the Porsche.
Storm clouds brewed on the horizon. It was about to get ugly.
We hopped in and sped over to the law offices of Sterling, Hartwell, and Harrison, LLP. The firm was located in Stratton Plaza. JD parked the car. We climbed out and strolled through the lobby, then took the elevator up to the third floor.
We stepped through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors into a small lobby that had a comfortable couch, a flatscreen display, a coffeemaker, and a mini fridge with bottled water.
The receptionist greeted us with a smile. "How can I help you, gentlemen, today?"
