Everywhere That Tommy Goes (32 page)

“That’s what I’m saying. But he says it was Troyer that did all that shit—not me.”

“But if you’re Troyer, it still means that you did it.”

“I don’t get it either, but what am I supposed to do? He says it’s a lawyer tactic and that even if I don’t really believe it, it doesn’t matter, and that not believing it is just part of the whole defense.”

“That’s totally bizarre, Tommy.”

“So tell me, then, do you think I’m nuts? Do you think I’m Troyer and I did all the shit they’re saying?”

“Honestly, Tommy, there’s just no way. You could never do what they say you’ve done. I’m certain of it. During the time I was tied up in the shack with Troyer, I could feel his evil, and you’re not capable of that.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I was beginning to think that maybe I really am crazy.”

“You’re not, Tommy. I believe we all have an inner soul that we’re born with. We are who we are. People don’t change. You are a good guy, with a good heart.”

“Wow—I’m so glad you feel that way. But here’s the bottom line: Levy says that if I let him say I lost my mind, and that the pills made me create Troyer, he can make a deal where I get sent to some mental hospital for a while instead of jail. Then, when they see I’m not a nut job, they have to let me go. He thinks that if the effects of the pills haven’t worn off already, they should soon enough, and I’ll go back to normal. Then they’ll have to release me. He says that could be in, like, six months. Otherwise, if I take my chances at trial and lose, I’ll spend the rest of my life in jail.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” Aurora gives me a look like if I don’t take the deal I really must be nuts.

“I don’t want anyone thinking I’m crazy. That’s what.”

“Tommy, it’s the lesser of two evils. Let your lawyer work the system. You can’t take a chance with a trial. Make a deal, and I promise I’ll wait for you.”

“Would you, really?”

“Absolutely. I believe in fate, and there’s no doubt in my mind that you walked into my shop that day for a reason.”

Right then, the guard comes over and taps her on the shoulder. “Time’s up, miss.”

CHAPTER 90

As I walk back to my cell, it hits me out of nowhere. My legs become rubber and I miss a step. The guard grabs me by the elbow. “Cut it out, Sullivan.” He pulls me up and starts to drag me.

“Hold on a second. I’m dizzy. Something’s happening to me. I can’t see straight.”

“Quit screwing around, wise guy.”

“I’m not. This is real. I can tell that a massive headache is coming on. You’ve got to get me my medicine.”

“Go fuck yourself, kid.” he says with a laugh as he pushes me into the cell like I’m some sort of criminal.

It doesn’t take long—maybe ten minutes after he shuts me in—when the pain comes on full-force and I feel like my head’s being squeezed in a vise. I lie down and cover my face with the pillow trying to block out the light. I can’t stop the noise, though, and every little sound is like an explosion inside my brain. I roll off the bed, drop to my knees, and puke. For the first time, I’m not going to complain about the toilet being right next to the bed. I hurl my insides out, sweating and choking until finally this young guard comes up to the bars.

“You feeling okay, buddy?” he asks me.

I turn around. “Do I look like I’m okay, dude?” Slime drips from my chin.

“You want me to get you a doctor?”

I figure if I say no, he’ll just leave me here, but if I say yes, maybe he’ll take me to a hospital like they do on
CSI
and I can get some meds and a normal bed. “Actually, my head’s
gonna explode any second. I feel like I’m dying.” I cough extra-hard and make this disgusting choke/hack/vomit sound that even scares the piss out of me.

This guy has to be new at the job and real green because he actually looks worried. “Hold on, buddy,” he says. “I’ll get some help.” Then he rushes off.

Two minutes later, a couple of guys in white outfits come by with a stretcher. They open my cell and spread me out on the floor. Of course, I play it up much worse than I really am, hoping they’ll take me out of here for a while. And guess what? They do. Five minutes later, I’m in this ambulance handcuffed and strapped to a stretcher. They put a mask over my nose and mouth and stick a needle in my arm. Then they pull out the needle and connect me to a plastic tube attached to a bag of liquid hanging from a clip above my head. I start to feel all light-headed and shit and . . .

*   *   *

I wake up on a soft, clean bed handcuffed to a metal rail. I’m in the hospital and I’m all alone in the room. There’s a thin plastic tube hooked into my arm, attached to the usual bag of shit, feeding some kind of medicine into me. I feel a lot better.

I look around, locate the TV remote, and click it on. I run the channels until, lo and behold, I find a
CSI
show. I stop and watch for a minute or so before I realize it’s a repeat. But you know what? I really don’t care. I settle in and relax for the first time in a while. Yeah, I’m styling now.

A couple hours later, my lawyer shows up with Aurora tagging along. She rushes over to my side and reaches for my hand.

“How are you, Tommy?” she asks, all red-eyed and frowning.

“I’m okay, gorgeous. Don’t worry. This place is much better than a jail cell.”

Levy is standing at the foot of the bed, and he gets right down to business. “Do you remember what happened, Tommy?” he asks, staring at me like my answer will solve world hunger or something.

“Yeah, I remember. I finished talking to Aurora, and they took me back to my cell. All of a sudden, I started feeling sick. So I asked the guard for some pills. He blew me off and threw me into the cell. My head pounded so bad, I threw up and started choking. Some other guard came by, and they took me away in an ambulance.”

“Do you remember anything else, Tommy? Because based upon the time frame, about three hours went by from the time Aurora left you and when the guard found you heaving by the toilet. He also says that he passed by your cell a few times and you were sleeping in bed and talking to yourself. From what you’re saying, all this happened right after Aurora left you early this afternoon.”

“I don’t know. The way I remember it, I started feeling sick right after we finished talking, and I was only in my cell for, like, ten or fifteen minutes before I threw up in the toilet.” I look over at Aurora, and we lock eyes.

“Are you sure, Tommy?” she asks me.

“Definitely.” I say to both of them, as a chill comes over me. I pull the covers up under my chin and start to wonder. “Is it possible that I blacked out? I mean, I haven’t had any of those pills in days.”

Levy walks around to the other side of my bed. “It sounds like you had another episode, Tommy. The report I looked at clearly shows a time lapse of at least three hours.”

“Well, that’s messed-up because only a few minutes went by. Are you sure the cops aren’t trying to screw with me?”

“I don’t think so, Tommy. They would have nothing to gain. In fact, it only helps to make our case.”

Aurora squeezes my hand tight, and I squeeze back. “Oh, yeah, so what was I saying, then?”

“The report says it was gibberish. The guard couldn’t make out anything intelligible.”

“Whatever. So what if I fell asleep and don’t remember? Big deal. The question is, what do we do from here?”

“That’s up to you, Tommy,” Levy says, looking at Aurora. “I need your permission to proceed along the lines you and I discussed earlier. And you need to make that decision fast, before the judge rules on my motion. You see, if he rules against us and allows the evidence in, we won’t stand a chance at trial and the DA won’t be willing to make a deal anymore. We will have lost our leverage. Our only hope is to try and plead out now, while the prosecutor is still fearful that the judge may grant my motion. Understand that while I made some good arguments, the videotape of your confession is quite damaging, and the judge may very well allow it into evidence. If he does, a jury will convict you.”

I turn back to Aurora. “You still think I should do this?”

She nods and squeezes my hand again.

I look back at Levy. “Okay, do your thing.”

CHAPTER 91

The next morning, Levy headed over to Center Street and caught up with D.A. Galub in the main rotunda on the first floor of the New York County Supreme Court building.

Galub caught his eye as he approached, and she stuck her palm out, signaling him to keep his distance while she finished up a conversation with another lawyer. Levy scanned the area, found an empty bench nearby, and sat down.

The hustle and bustle of the courthouse amazed Levy, who was much more accustomed to the small, laid-back Supreme Court in Sullivan County. He marveled at the line of regular people waiting to pass through the metal detectors. It reminded him of airport security. All in all, it did not intimidate him, and once again, he looked forward to the opportunity to appear before the court in such a grand and storied building.

Galub finished her discussion and sat down beside Levy. “Well, Counselor, this is quite unexpected.”

“Frankly, Ms. Galub, I didn’t plan to be here, either, but perhaps you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?”

“Yesterday afternoon, my client was rushed to the hospital after suffering an episode in his jail cell.”

Galub was genuinely surprised. “I’m sorry, Counselor. I had no idea. How is he?”

“He’s fine for the time being, but it seems he had another blackout and cannot account for over three hours of time. In any event, that’s only a part of the reason why I came here to see you. I also wanted to follow up on our conversation from the other day and get your take on the
recording. I assume you’ve had enough time to review it with your expert and come to a conclusion.”

“Actually, Counselor, after discussing the case with our psychiatrist, as well as with my boss, we have decided that we cannot make a decision on a plea until after our psychiatrist has had his own session with Mr. Sullivan. Dr. Gabay was planning on meeting with him this afternoon. Is he well enough to be evaluated at the hospital?”

“Yes, I believe so. It is imperative that we resolve this case and get my client the help he needs at a psychiatric hospital.”

“Still pushing for that, Counselor?” Galub asked, condescendingly.

“It’s the right thing to do, and you know it. You heard the recording. What do you think?”

“What I think, Mr. Levy, is that your client is a sick individual. Sure, he may have suffered some trauma in his life—we all have—but that’s no excuse for what he’s done. As I said before, he needs to come clean about the whereabouts of Jamie Houston, and open up about his involvement in the other bodies found at Gilgo Beach.”

“Come on. You know he has no idea about any of this. I’m sure your expert explained DID to you. The two personalities are separate and distinct. In fact, they are, for all intents and purposes, two independent people. The experimental drug he’s been taking has done quite a number on him. And if it comes out on the record that Detective Stone intentionally and recklessly administered an overdose, not only will it further undermine an already weak case, but it will put her in very hot water. I am in the process of preparing a motion to obtain the videotape of the entire time my client was held in that interrogation room. And if there are any gaps . . .”

“You are free to make all the motions you want. I’m not convinced that Sullivan and Savage are one and the same. It’s too Hollywood for me. All I can say is I will leave open room for the possibility, pending an examination by my expert. Until then, I won’t even consider a plea.”

“Fair enough, Ms. Galub. My client will be made available this afternoon.”

CHAPTER 92

I’m kind of liking it at this hospital, I must say. The bed’s real comfortable, and the TV works great. They come and feed me three times a day, and there’s no one around to bug me. All I’ve got to do is keep acting like I’m sick and I can probably milk this for a few more days.

I just finish watching another episode of
CSI: Miami
when I look out the glass door and see my lawyer talking it up with the DA and some foreign-looking dude with really bad skin. I’ll bet he had the worst case of zits as a kid and probably spent a couple hours a day squeezing in front of a mirror.

My lawyer walks in alone. “How are you feeling, Tommy?”

“I could be better, especially if I was sitting on a beach in the Caribbean drinking a Corona.”

“Well, at least you still have your sense of humor,” he says, smiling. Then he leans in and gets real serious. “Listen, this is of vital importance. The gentleman outside is a psychiatrist who works for the District Attorney’s office. He has come here this afternoon to meet with you and evaluate you to determine your state of mind. His report will be the deciding factor as to whether the DA will consider the plea. Cooperate and just be yourself. He will be interviewing you alone; neither I nor the DA will be watching, or listening. You will be completely on your own.”

“Am I supposed to act crazy or something?”

“Tommy, I am not allowed to tell you what to say or how to act. It is all in your hands. All I can say is be honest. Just remember, he is not allowed to ask you any questions about the crimes you are charged with and you are not to discuss anything about any of that. He can only ask you about you.” He waves at them, and Crater Face comes in by himself.

“Tommy, this is Dr. Gabay. He is going to talk with you for a while. I’ll be back later.”

Levy walks out and leaves me alone with this guy. I have to say, I’m not feeling real comfortable around him. His face totally creeps me out.

“Good afternoon, Thomas. As your lawyer told you, my name is Dr. Gabay. I am a psychiatrist, and I work for the District Attorney’s office. How are you feeling today?”

“Actually, Doc, I feel pretty lousy. I’ve been throwing up since yesterday, my head feels like it’s been stepped on, and I’m handcuffed to a hospital bed. Not to mention I’ve been in a jail cell for the last bunch of days, everyone thinks I’m nuts, and I may spend the rest of my life in prison for shit I didn’t do.”