“Yes, crazy S and M stuff from what I’ve read. Plus betrayal.”
“Lots of that.”
“And now, the identification of Victoria Ford’s remains twenty years after 9/11.”
Walt raised his glass of rum. “Shit, I’d tune in for that.”
Avery laughed. “Thanks, I’ll count you as a devoted fan if I ever get this project off the ground. But honestly, I’m looking to do more than just retell the case.”
“Yeah? What do you have in mind?”
She paused to take a sip of vodka, knowing her next comment would not be well received. “I’m looking to tell a different story. One that’s less focused on the wealthy writer who was killed and more dedicated to the woman accused of killing him.”
“In what way?”
Avery paused for another moment.
“Is there any way . . . the BCI could have gotten it wrong about Victoria Ford?”
She watched Walt Jenkins consider the question while he spun his glass in the thin puddle of condensation that had formed on the mahogany bar. He lifted the tumbler and took a sip, then looked at her with a straight face.
“No.”
Avery squinted her eyes. “Just like that? No way there could be another theory? The crime happened twenty years ago. Do you remember all the details from so long ago?”
“Of course not. But since you called, I’ve taken some time to review the case and refresh my memory. The case against Victoria Ford was airtight. It had to be, due to the media coverage at the time. It wasn’t circumstantial. It wasn’t speculative. It was based on physical evidence collected from the scene—DNA, fingerprints, a really damning video, and much more. It was a slam-dunk. If you sift back through the details of the case, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”
“Okay,” Avery said, nodding her head. “That’s what I was hoping to do. Would you be willing to sift through those details with me? Take a deep dive back into the case so I can piece together how you came to suspect Victoria Ford as Cameron Young’s killer?”
Walt pouted his lower lip and nodded. “That’s why I’m here. I still know people at the BCI, and I took the last couple of days to review the case. Crime scene photos, logged evidence, interview transcripts, recordings and videos of the intake interviews and follow-ups. There are thousands of pages of reports, warrants, phone records, e-mails. Plus, all the evidence collected.”
“That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
“I’d have to check with the bureaucrats to make sure they don’t mind a journalist viewing the file, but this many years later I don’t think it’ll be an issue. If I get the okay, I’d be happy to share it all with you.”
Now Walt paused.
“But to what end? So you can twist things around and convince a few skeptics that Victoria Ford might have been innocent? Turn her into the victim, falsely accused and all the crap true-crime documentaries push these days? Then tie that speculation in with her remains having just been ID’d?”
Avery took another sip of vodka, buying time to collect her thoughts and organize a pitch.
“I originally came out here from LA because I wanted to do a story on the latest 9/11 victim whose remains had been identified. That victim turned out to be Victoria Ford. I wanted to come out here and learn about the new technique used in the identification process, and maybe speak with Victoria’s family, which I did. I met her sister, and she tells a pretty compelling story about Victoria.”
“Let me guess. She believes her sister was innocent and there’s no way she could have killed someone.”
Avery nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Do you have siblings?”
Avery paused, glancing at the cubes in her vodka briefly before looking back at Walt Jenkins. This, right here, was why it was so difficult to meet new people—figuring out how much of the truth to reveal about herself, and how much to hide. Every detail she offered was a trail to her past.
“I had a brother,” she finally said. “He died.”
“Sorry. Not a great example.”
“No, that came out the wrong way. God, I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean to be so blunt about it.”
There was a short pause that reset the conversation.
“Let me try again,” Walt said. “Think of your best friend. If she were convicted of murder, would you believe she was guilty?”
“Absolutely. She can be a vindictive bitch.”
Walt laughed. “You’re not making this easy for me.”
“I understand your point. No sibling is willing to believe their sister killed someone.”
At first, Avery hadn’t believed her father was one of the biggest white-collar criminals in American history. But in the face of overwhelming evidence, she had no choice. Yet, there was still some part of her that held on to the ideal perception of her father, back from before he detonated his family and collapsed all of their lives.
“Most family members respond with denial,” Walt said. “Even when presented with undeniable evidence. There are killers on death row whose mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers believe are innocent. They believe this despite the guy’s own confession. Despite the guy’s remorse. Family members have an impossible time imagining their loved ones as killers. So I have no doubt that Victoria Ford’s sister believes she’s innocent. But a review of the case will prove otherwise. In the end, evidence doesn’t care about your feelings.”
Avery was tempted to mention the recording she had heard of Victoria Ford pleading for Emma to clear her name after she realized her fate in the North Tower. Avery believed the earnest tone to Victoria’s appeal would be a worthy adversary if pitted against even the most overwhelming evidence. If not in an actual courtroom, then at least in the court of public opinion. And that arena was all Avery cared about as she considered the Victoria Ford project and how it pertained to American Events.
There would be a time to share the recording on Emma Kind’s answering machine. There would be time to develop the narrative of the story she hoped to tell. But Avery needed information first. She was on the hunt for material, foraging for the long winter—the metaphor she and her team used to describe the process of building a story. Gather all the information you can find and then pare it down to the essentials. She was uncertain exactly what that story would look like, if it would work, and whether Walt Jenkins would play a significant role in building the story or be the wrecking ball that toppled it. Until she knew, Avery would keep Emma Kind’s answering machine to herself.
“Let’s start there,” Avery said. “With the evidence. I’d love to review the case with you so you can show me where that evidence led you.”
“It led me straight to Victoria Ford. But fair enough. Give me a day to make some calls and get my notes organized?”
“Absolutely. You still have my number?”
“Yeah,” Walt said.
Avery reached into her purse to pay her bar tab.
“It’s on me,” Walt said.
“I made you come all the way from Jamaica. The least I can do is buy you a drink.”
Avery dropped money next to her glass and slipped off her stool before heading out of the bar.