Sullivan's Law (32 page)

Hank said, “Cut the man some slack, Carolyn. None of the other DAs would give us the time of day.”

“Fine,” she said, linking eyes with the district attorney. “I apologize.” As soon as the district attorney sat back down, she picked up where she'd left off. “The evidence was suppressed. The obvious person is Charles Harrison. He was chief then, and since his son was killed, I'm sure most of the law enforcement community sympathized with him enough to do whatever he asked.”

Kevin Thomas glanced at his watch. “I have to go,” he said. “My son has a baseball game at four.”

“What are you going to do regarding Armstrong and Houston?”

“Prosecute them,” he said. “Get Dr. Weiss to prepare a psych report on Metroix. His testimony will be vital.”

“What charges are you going to file?” Carolyn asked, sorry she'd lashed out at him.

“We haven't made a firm decision,” Thomas advised. “I'm shooting for attempted murder, since that's the charge Metroix was convicted under. The perjury counts won't fly due to the statute of limitations.”

“Daniel deserves a full pardon,” Carolyn said. “What can we do to get the ball rolling?”

“Judge Shoeffel has taken on that responsibility,” Kevin Thomas said. “These things take time. Under the circumstances, I doubt if there will be a problem.” He walked over and shook Daniel's hand. “You couldn't have a better person in your corner. When Shoeffel wants something, she generally gets it.”

“Were there other victims?” Carolyn asked. “Did anyone respond to the bulletin regarding Downly?”

“Yes,” Hank said, saddened by the atrocities they suspected Eddie Downly had committed. “We're sending out DNA samples to four other agencies. The girls' bodies were recovered, but their killers were never brought to justice. Their ages range between six and ten. Two were found in Arizona, one in Las Vegas, and the fourth girl disappeared from Los Angeles five years ago. LAPD only recently located her body.”

“How do we know it was Downly?” Brad asked.

“The girls were all snatched off the street, taken to a remote location where they were raped, then their bodies were either tossed out of a moving car or buried in a shallow grave. The killer wore a condom. Downly wore a condom when he raped Luisa Cortez. The only exception was the girl from Los Angeles.” He glanced through his notes. “The other similarities were that all four girls were wearing dresses and they all had on white cotton underpants.”

Brad looked over at Carolyn. “You pegged Downly as a pedophile from the beginning. He certainly didn't fit the standard profile. Most of the time they're middle-aged men. Downly was only nineteen. How did you know there were other victims?”

“He got sloppy, remember?” Carolyn said. “He dumped Luisa Cortez out of the car thinking she was dead. The girl from L.A. must have been his first victim. If she disappeared five years ago, Downly would have been fourteen. That's when he told John he'd committed his first murder.”

Without saying anything, Carolyn got up and left the room. Brad went out to check on her. She was standing in the hall crying. “I had him, don't you see? He was already a murderer when the court placed him on probation. I should have seen it. He was never engaged. Everything he told me was a lie. He was purposely trying to deceive me. Except for the girl from L.A., he must have killed the other three during the time I was actively supervising him.”

“Listen to me,” Brad said, taking hold of her shoulders. “None of this would have turned out the way it did without you. You've cleared an innocent man that no one else cared about. You served as bait to reel in Downly and Mills. The jail accidentally set him free. He might still be out there if it wasn't for you. When everything went to hell in that house in Pasadena, you handled the situation like a champ. You're not a failure. You're a hero.”

“Then why do I feel so lousy?” Carolyn asked, removing a tissue from her purse and blowing her nose.

“Because like all of us, you want to put an end to the worst kind of violence there is, crimes committed against innocent children. We can't stop it, Carolyn. All we can do is fight it. And that's just what you did.”

“Thanks,” Carolyn said, linking eyes with him.

“There's only one thing I want.”

Carolyn wondered if he was going to ask her to marry him. She'd already made her decision, at least as far as the immediate future was concerned. She liked Brad better as a friend than a lover. The aspects of his personality that made him exciting would probably make her miserable if they were married.

“Drop out of law school,” Brad told her. “If you insist on continuing, promise me you'll take a job with the DA's office. I couldn't stand to see you representing criminals.”

Carolyn smiled. “You've got yourself a deal.”

 

Carolyn sent John and Rebecca home with Isobel. Now that everyone was clamoring for a chance to speak to Daniel, Brad Preston was suddenly his best friend. They were in the hall outside the conference room. A gang of reporters were camped out on the front lawn of the police station.

Brad suggested a corporate apartment complex located not far from the government center as a temporary solution to Daniel's housing problem. Using his cell phone, he called and made an appointment for them to come over in thirty minutes. Daniel was recovering nicely from the gunshot wound, but he looked tired and somewhat disoriented.

“The way things are shaping up,” Brad told him, draping an arm over Daniel's shoulder, “you're going to have more money than God. This multiscreen monitoring device should support you for the rest of your life. Now, if the exoskeleton works right, the sky's the limit.” He held up a palm. “I know freeing up the big money will take some time. I understand you have an inheritance which should hold you over for at least a month. I'm certain we won't have a problem getting a loan if you need money.”

“A loan?” Daniel asked, perplexed. “Why would I need a loan?”

“Scratch that,” Brad said, realizing that dealing with Daniel was not going to be as easy as he'd thought. “The first thing on the agenda is to get you a driver's license. Then I'll take you car shopping. A Ferrari might be too ostentatious. A used Porsche would make a nice statement. We could also consider a Jag. What's your favorite color?”

“I need books and paper.”

Carolyn and Hank Sawyer were standing in the doorway to the detective bay, eavesdropping on the conversation. She leaned over and whispered in Hank's ear, “Looks like Daniel has an agent.”

“We'll get you all the books and paper you need,” Brad told him. “We need to work on your appearance.
People
may put you on the cover. There's a men's shop close to the apartment. We'll stop by later and get you some decent clothes. You need dress shirts, a few pairs of decent slacks, a nice sports jacket, and at least one or two ties. The representatives from Mitsubishi want to take you to lunch tomorrow. Your attorney should probably go with you. Just remember that lawyers charge by the hour. They may act like your buddy, but they're not. If you feel the need to talk, I'll be glad to oblige you.”

“Preston is a case,” Hank said, moving his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Aren't you going to rescue your man?”

“No,” Carolyn told him, smiling. “Brad might do him some good. Daniel needs to become more worldly. They're kind of cute together.”

“I don't need all those things,” Daniel told him, looking down at his feet. “All I need is a new pair of shoelaces. These have blood on them from the day I got shot. I guess I could wash them.”

“Your time's too valuable to spend it washing shoelaces,” Brad told him, steering him by the elbow. “Oh, I almost forget. You'll need a cell phone.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone has one. It's great. You can take care of things while you're sitting on the john.”

Carolyn laughed, waving good-bye to Daniel.

 

Seated at an empty desk in the detective bay, Carolyn was picking through the boxes of evidence the police had removed from Charles Harrison's residence. She pulled out a thick stack of phone bills and began going through them page by page. One number kept reappearing. In each instance, the call lasted only a minute. She walked over to Hank's desk. The workstations were separated by partitions. “Did you check out this number?”

“Yeah,” the detective said, adjusting his reading glasses. “Trevor White called it, I believe. The woman who answered didn't speak English. Must have been one of the maid's friends.”

“Usually when you see calls of this duration, it's a code of some kind. I used to call my mother collect from college. I'd ask to speak to a fictitious, prearranged person. Mother would refuse to accept the call, then call me back on the pay phone in the dorm.”

“That's defrauding the phone company,” Hank said, staring at his computer screen.

“I know,” Carolyn said. “But collect calls were almost twice as much as regular calls. Trust me, Hank, something's going on here.”

“Don't they need you back at the probation department?” he asked, typing out a report on the death of Eddie Downly and the stabbing of Percy Mills. The Pasadena Police Department held jurisdiction, but Ventura had to submit reports outlining their involvement with the two subjects.

Carolyn wandered back to the desk. She decided to check it out herself. With this big a case, things sometimes fell through the cracks. She instantly recognized the voice of Madeline Harrison. Instead of speaking, she listened.

“Is that you, Charles? Did a liver come in?”

Carolyn covered her mouth, then mumbled something in a deep voice.

“I'll call you back at the hospital,” Madeline said. “We must have a bad connection.”

Carolyn hung up, shouting over the partition, “She has a private line!”

“Who?”

“Madeline Harrison,” she told him. “She has a private phone line in her room at Fairview. And guess who she thought was calling her? Her dead husband. He's in a hospital somewhere waiting for a liver transplant.”

Hank stood up. “Is this some kind of a prank?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, her veins pumping with adrenaline. “If we hurry, we might be able to catch Arline Shoeffel before she leaves for the day. We'll need a court order to get her phone records released. As we speak, she's calling Chief Harrison. We have to get the name of the hospital.”

“Give me the damn number,” Hank barked, shaking his head in disbelief. “It's a good thing Trevor White's in the hospital. That guy could mess up a wet dream. You call the judge. She can authorize it over the phone, then make it official later.”

Hank got a supervisor on the line at Sprint, giving her the number and asking her to trace the call. “Boston Memorial,” he called out to one of the other detectives a few minutes later. “Get the Boston PD on the line. We'll e-mail them everything we've got on Harrison. He must have been admitted under an alias. They'll have to move fast.”

“Can't they tell what room number she called?” Carolyn asked when Hank disconnected.

“No,” the detective told her, whipping his tie off and tossing it on his desk. “They can only trace it to the hospital. They can't trace it internally. I was planning to take a few days off. Looks like I'll be flying to Boston.”

 

Carolyn was snuggled next to Paul Leighton Tuesday evening. They were seated in a canvas swing in his backyard, sipping wine as they gazed up at the night sky. Daniel, Lucy, Rebecca, John, and Isobel had gone out to dinner and a movie.

“So Madeline Harrison was running the show from the start?” Paul said. “Does it look like they'll be able to get a conviction?”

“Absolutely,” she told him. “The DA is filing three counts of attempted first degree murder. Madeline and Charles Harrison are facing three life sentences. If they had succeeded, they would have been executed.”

“What defines first and second degree?”

“A willful, deliberate, and premeditated act.”

“Will they ever get out?”

“Doubtful,” Carolyn told him. “Not when there are multiple victims, explosives, kidnapping, numerous firearms violations. I'm referring to Madeline. Her husband will more than likely die before the case ever gets to trial. Boyd Chandler cut a deal. As soon as Charles Harrison heard about it, he confessed. They don't expect him to live more than a few days if he doesn't get a liver. He's got three hundred people above him on the transplant list. If I was in his shoes, I'd confess too. Who wants to carry something like that to their grave?”

“From the way it sounds, he was pressured into all this by his wife,” Paul said. “Can't he reclaim his former position on the list?”

“Nope,” Carolyn said. “I'm sure there are far more deserving people. Harrison was a deputy chief. He and his diabolical wife plotted a murder that we managed to stop. I thought we weren't going to talk about my work tonight.”

“It's dark,” Paul said, smiling. “The kids won't be home for at least another two hours.”

“Oh, really?” she said coyly. “Are you making a suggestion that we go inside?”

“Something like that,” he said. “Of course, there's always the recliner.”

Carolyn straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the mouth. The swing began moving, yet it didn't topple. She was wearing a white linen blouse that was held together at the top with laces. He undid the laces, then cupped one of her breasts in his hand. “Do you know how much progress I've made on my book?”

“No,” she said, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“None,” Paul said. “You're on my mind when I get up, when I go to bed. I think about you incessantly. I can't work. I can't sleep. The only thing I can do is eat. I weighed myself the other day. I've gained five pounds.”