Page 118 of Return of the Spider

Both Sampson and I hung our heads. “We know,” John said.

“He was innocent, just like he always said.”

“Hewasinnocent of the white-van killings,” I said, hearing my own voice shake. “And we’re never going to get over that, Mr. Beech. Never. We know our work helped lead to his wrongful imprisonment, which led to his murder. It’s crushing to us.”

“Beyond crushing,” Sampson said. “Like buckshot in our hearts.”

I said, “Soneji has been dead for years now, but it turns out he still has the power to inflict pain and suffering. And we want to end your pain and suffering by helping you get free.”

Beech sat quietly for a moment, seemingly lost in thoughts of a different world.

“I been in a long time,” he said hoarsely, emotion in his voice. “Spent more of my life behind bars than out.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“How do I learn to live outside prison?” he asked. “I’m too old and broken to work in a granite quarry. And I got nothing else to give.”

Davis said, “You’ve given enough, Harry. Which is why Dr.Cross and Detective Sampson contacted me. I haven’t worked as a criminal defense lawyer in decades. I’m a private litigator in Philadelphia, a very good one. If you agree, I intend to sue in multiple states and jurisdictions on your behalf for wrongful imprisonment and demand reparations for all the years you have served unjustly.”

I said, “We will testify for you. Explain how Soneji framed you, the whole thing, and show them the evidence, including a journal written in his own hand.”

“And because of that, you will likely get millions,” the attorney said.

“What?” Beech said, stunned.

“True,” Sampson said. “You’ll be taken care of for the rest of your life, Mr. Beech.”

CHAPTER

100

On the five-hour drivehome, John and I felt a lot better than we had coming down that morning. It was terrible that Harold Beech had spent decades behind bars for crimes he didn’t commit. But we were putting an end to his incarceration.

We decided that, while we could never forgive ourselves for our role in Eamon Diggs’s imprisonment and violent death, we would be men enough to travel to Pittsburgh, see Diggs’s family, explain what had happened, and recommend they sue as well.

As we neared my home, Sampson said, “It does make you wonder, though.”

“Wonder what?”

“How things would have been different if Soneji had beencaught at the beginning, after Joyce Adams and before Conrad Talbot.”

“Whole lot fewer people dying needlessly,” I said, sighing and feeling the guilt of that. “Soneji was a rabid dog, and he was in front of us from early on. I mean, he was right there in the Charles School faculty meeting the day after he shot Conrad Talbot.”

“And at Washington Day after the computer science teacher and her husband and baby died on the Beltway after he sabotaged the brake linkage.”

“Cold,” I said, shaking my head. “And he was right there the whole time when Maggie Rose and Shrimpie were taken. Right under our nose for so long. He was so ordinary, so unremarkable, he was invisible, just like he always wanted to be.”

“Remember his wife? Missy?”

“It was years before she knew that he was working part-time at Washington Day. Mr. Secrets, she called him, and she was right.”

All of it nagged at me as I trudged up the steps to our house after Sampson dropped me off. Bree wasn’t home from work yet. Ali was in his room studying.

I found Nana Mama in the kitchen, getting a leftover casserole out of the refrigerator. “You made good time,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, taking a seat at the kitchen island.

“How’d Harold Beech take it?”