CHAPTER 73
The New York County Supreme Court was an architecturally impressive building standing ominously on Center Street in lower Manhattan. Marble columns had greeted counsel and criminal alike for many decades, while the courtrooms echoed with the history of mobsters, murderers, and con artists who had met the firm hand of justice throughout the twentieth century and into the twenty-first.
Judge Norman Fairgrieve brought his courtroom to order for the call of a late afternoon calendar. The only case scheduled was the Thomas Sullivan matter. Sullivan sat at a table beside his attorney, Harold Levy. Prosecutor Joyce Galub sat at another, flanked by Detective Theresa Stone on one side and Detective Jake Watts on the other.
Judge Fairgrieve’s clerk proceeded. “Good afternoon. This will be a special call of the calendar. We have one case on for arraignment: the matter of the People versus Thomas Sullivan, docket number 02364/13.” He looked over to the prosecutor’s table. “Ms. Galub, are you ready to proceed?”
“I am, sir,” she answered, standing as she spoke.
“Very well, then,” Judge Fairgrieve interjected, looking over to Harold Levy. “We have a series of felony offenses, here. Mr. Sullivan is being charged with assault, kidnapping, aiding and abetting, attempted murder, conspiracy, and conspiracy to commit murder. . . .”
“Excuse me, Your Honor,” Levy said, interrupting as he stood. “We waive a public reading and plead not guilty.”
“I beg your pardon, Counselor,” Judge Fairgrieve said firmly. “But you are in my courtroom now and I do not appreciate being interrupted.”
“My apologies, Your Honor. I simply wanted to save the Court’s time with my waiver.”
“Very well, Counselor. Please introduce yourself. I haven’t seen you in my courtroom before.”
“I am a public defender with the City of Port Jervis. I’m here on special assignment, as this case originated in my jurisdiction.”
“I see, young man, and since you have never appeared before me, I will overlook your . . . inadvertence, but the next time you interrupt me while I am speaking will be your last.”
“Once again, Your Honor, I am very sorry. It was not my intention to disrespect the Court or these proceedings.”
“Understood, Counselor. I will accept your client’s plea, and now I would like to hear what the People have to say regarding bail.” Fairgrieve turned to the prosecutor. “Ms. Galub, what is your position?”
Galub cleared her throat. “Yes, Your Honor, these offenses all stem from a brutal assault on an innocent woman who is still missing. The accused has shown no remorse. He was tracked down while in hiding. He is a flight risk with little ties to the community and has refused to cooperate to assist in locating the victim. There is also some suspicion that he may be connected to the Gilgo Beach murder from last year. He should be held without bail.”
“Thank you, Ms. Galub. Now you, Counselor,” the Judge said, focusing on Harold Levy. “Your turn.”
Levy walked out from behind the table. “Thank you, Your Honor. I would request the defendant be released on a minimum bail. Contrary to Counsel’s rendition of the facts of this matter, Mr. Sullivan denies any involvement in the current matter. He has indicated to me that he is merely a witness who has no idea where the perpetrator is. He is desirous of helping the police to locate both the victim and the perpetrator, but his information is limited. He insists he is being framed. As to the Gilgo Beach incidents, my client denies this entirely. And further, the People haven’t a shred of evidence to connect Mr. Sullivan at all, it is sheer speculation and grandstanding by the prosecution in an attempt to misdirect the court and refocus the issues.”
Galub interjected. “Your Honor, the evidence in this matter is overwhelming. We have blood DNA from Mr. Sullivan’s car that matches our victim. There is compelling evidence he was involved in a murder in New Jersey. He has already admitted involvement in this matter, as an accomplice at the very least, although we believe he is directly responsible. In addition, evidence discovered in the defendant’s computer suggests direct involvement in the murders at Gilgo Beach.”
“Excuse me, Your Honor,” Levy said, “but any evidence the People have obtained through questioning my client and while searching his home is inadmissible, and I intend to make a motion in that regard as soon as we finish here. Detectives continued to question my client under duress after he was Mirandized.” Levy raised his voice. “Food and water were withheld, his prescribed medicine was withheld, and he was lied to, threatened, and subsequently over-medicated by the detective sitting right next to Ms. Galub.”
Judge Fairgrieve banged his gavel. “Enough, Mr. Levy! This is an arraignment, not a hearing, and these are serious allegations. You better have some solid evidence of this if you intend to proceed in my courtroom.”
“Yes, Your Honor, I understand. But this is all relevant to the prosecutor’s no-bail demand. And I have firsthand knowledge about the allegations I am making here with respect to over-medication. I am seriously concerned about leaving Mr. Sullivan under the control of the very people who would use his own medication to violate his rights, while putting him at serious medical risk.”
“Very well, Counselor. I will give you some latitude here. Please tell me about this, and it better be good.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Galub shouted as she rose from her seat. “This is the first the People are hearing of this, and I’d like an opportunity to discuss this with the detectives.”
“I’m sure you do, Ms. Galub, but I’d like to hear this right now. There’s no jury, and no prejudice, so we will simply go off the record while I hear what Counsel has to say.”
“Thank you, Judge,” Levy said. “May I continue?”
“Off the record now,” Judge Fairgrieve said to the court reporter. Then he looked back at Levy. “Yes, please proceed.”
“Your Honor, when I first arrived at the Third Precinct, I had a brief conversation with Detective Stone. Subsequently, she brought me to the cell where my client was being held. We found him unconscious and foaming at the mouth. He was rushed to the infirmary, and when he awakened a few hours later, I had the opportunity to question him. He informed me that he was in severe pain and begged Detective Stone for his pills. Apparently, Detective Stone withheld his prescribed medication and then used it to elicit information. He also told me that Detective Stone then gave him additional higher doses of his medication on the advice of Mr. Sullivan’s physician. As it turns out, I had occasion to meet with my client’s physician yesterday afternoon, and he completely denied giving Detective Stone such advice. In fact, he told her to first make sure Mr. Sullivan hadn’t taken any pills in the last twelve hours and then to administer only two pills in the next twelve hours. Instead, Detective Stone gave him four pills, and then only six hours later, she gave him another four pills, even though he didn’t have the need for them. The end result: Mr. Sullivan blacked out, could not remember what happened to him, and wound up in the infirmary.”
Judge Fairgrieve turned to the Prosecutor’s table. “Detective Stone, what do you have to say about this?”
Stone stood up. “This is ludicrous, Your Honor. The Defendant is making this up.”
Sullivan jumped up and shouted. “That’s a lie. She totally said that and put the pills right into my mouth. . . .”
The judge banged his gavel. “Quiet, Mr. Sullivan! You’re out of order! Counsel, restrain your client from any further outbursts.”
Levy grabbed Sullivan by the wrist, pulled him down, and whispered in his ear. “Calm down and allow me to handle this. You don’t want to upset the judge.”
Judge Fairgrieve continued. “Go ahead, Detective. Finish what you were saying.”
“Yes, Your Honor. It is true that Mr. Sullivan asked for his pills. I didn’t want to administer them until after I spoke with his doctor, so I made the call, received his advice, and gave Mr. Sullivan two pills. He asked me for more, but I refused. That’s it—plain and simple. This is
a ploy Mr. Sullivan and his counsel have concocted to discredit our investigation. I believe Mr. Sullivan has psychiatric problems and needs to be evaluated. We cannot allow someone like him to roam the streets.”
Levy stood up. “May I respond, Your Honor?”
“Please do.”
“I have no problem with a psychological evaluation. In fact, under the circumstances, I am reserving my right to plead a defense of mental impairment. With the little information I have gathered about the medication Mr. Sullivan has been taking, I have serious concerns about his mental capacity over these past few months. The pills we have been discussing are part of an experimental study being conducted by a private research group. The drug has not been approved yet by the FDA, and it seems to have a direct effect on the brain. Additionally, I am now asking the Court to order the People to turn over a few of these pills so I can have them analyzed. This is a material aspect of my intended defense, and I will be unable to proceed further without such an analysis.”
The judge turned to the prosecutor’s table. “Counsel?”
“Your Honor, these proceedings are going far beyond the scope of an arraignment, and I would once again request a recess to further investigate.”
“I appreciate the People’s position, Ms. Galub, so let’s do this: I’ve heard enough about the side issues for now. I’m prepared to wrap up the arraignment.” The Judge turned to the court reporter. “Back on the record, please.” Then he turned to the defendant’s table. “Mr. Sullivan, please rise.”
Sullivan and Levy stood and faced the bench.
Judge Fairgrieve continued. “The Court sets bail at five-hundred thousand dollars. Further, I want an immediate evaluation of the defendant’s mental condition by a psychiatrist to be chosen by the People. The defendant may engage his own experts as the law provides. Lastly, the People will deliver four of the defendant’s pills to Mr. Levy immediately. I suggest that the People do their own analysis of these pills, as well. I would like a report before the next scheduled court date, which will be in two weeks. Until that time, no further pills shall be administered to the defendant.”
Sullivan grabbed Levy’s arm. “But I need those pills. Without them, my headaches get so bad I can’t even think straight.”
“I’m sorry, Tommy, but the judge is right, and I’m worried about what they might be doing to you. Also, if I’m ever going to mount a defense based on these pills, I can’t be asking the judge to allow you to have them.”
“But the pills aren’t doing anything to me. You know this is all because of Troyer. He’s the one responsible.”
“Tommy, we can talk about this later. I still have a lot of investigating to do, and in cases like this, we have to keep all our options open. I can’t give up a mental incapacity defense under these circumstances. Just trust me. I know what I’m doing. Go back to your cell, don’t talk with anyone, and if your headaches return, ask for an over-the-counter migraine medication for the time being. I will make sure they have some available.”
“So where you going now?”
“I need to do some digging, and I’m going to ask a psychiatrist friend of mine from Port Jervis to come down here and meet with you. I’m also going to send some of your pills up there to a lab I know for analysis. I’ve got a lot to do. Oh, and by the way, I met with your father. I’m sure you didn’t know this, but he is in the hospital. He suffered alcohol poisoning last week and was in a coma for a few days. He’s doing okay now, though.”
“Dear ol’ Dad. Like I could give a shit, the drunk bastard.”
“Actually, Tommy, he was concerned about you and asked that I tell you he intends to come and see you when they let him out of the hospital.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound like him.”
“All I can say is he appeared remorseful about a lot of things that happened between you two over the years.”
“Yeah, right. Why, all of a sudden?”
“If you ask me, I think almost dying had a lot to do with it. Perhaps it made him reflect on how his life has gone. You may want to give him another chance.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
CHAPTER 74
Parker looked up from his desk as Scottler entered his office. “What have you got for me, Fess?”
“We’re at a dead end, Captain. It’s been hours and the roadblocks have turned up nothing. We’ve been patrolling the roads in and out of town and questioning everyone we can.”
“So this guy just disappeared into thin air?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he made it through before we set up the roadblocks.”
“Not good news.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’ve got another idea, Captain. We should get in touch with Gordy at Camp Lakewood.”
“What for?”
“Well, something doesn’t add up.”
“Go on.”
“Think about it. The waterfront was completely set up for summer, yet no one was around. That doesn’t happen by itself, so who did it, and when? Better yet, where is he?”
“Very good point, Fess. Make the call and find out.”
Fess located the contact information and called Gordy Branson, the owner of Camp Lakewood. They had known each other for a long time, and while you couldn’t quite say they were friends, their paths had crossed in friendly encounters over the years.
“Gordy, it’s Fess over at Port Jervis Police. Seems we’ve had an incident at your camp, and I need some information.”
“What do you mean ‘an incident’? What happened? Has anyone been hurt?”
“Calm down, Gordy. Let me explain.”
“Okay, but you’ve got me worried. What’s going on?” He pulled a cigarette from the pack of Newports that lay on his desk, placed it between his lips, struck a match and drew in deeply.
“Well, it seems that you’ve had some trespassers on your property, and they were using it to harbor a kidnap victim.”
Gordy coughed out a smoky breath. “Holy shit!”
“Take it easy. We’ve recovered the victim, and she’s okay. We’ve also arrested someone in connection with all this, but we still have some loose ends.”
Still wheezing, he managed to say, “Thank God.” Then he sucked in another breath, swallowed hard, and jammed the cigarette into the ashtray, reminding himself of his vow to quit the habit. “So how can I help?”
“Okay. I need to know if you’ve got anyone working at the camp right now. The waterfront has already been set up and all the boats are tied up and ready for the season.”
“Yeah, that’s right. We hired a new maintenance guy this year. We’re getting started early. You see, we’re introducing an advanced water program that will require interviewing and testing potential candidates. In fact, my brother and I are headed up at the end of the week to start the process.”
“So you have someone at the camp right now?” Fess asked.
“I’m not sure if he’s there as we speak. His job was to get the waterfront ready before the weekend. If he’s finished, he may have already left. I haven’t spoken with him, so I don’t know.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not that well. I only met him once.”
“And that was enough to hire him?”
“Sure, Fess. He’s just a local handyman, and he doesn’t work with the kids, so we don’t do a full background check.” He eyeballed the cigarette still smoldering in the ashtray.
“I see. Can you at least describe him for me? What’s his name? What does he look like? How old is he? Where does he live?”
“Hold on. Gimme a second to open his file, I’ve got it in the computer.” Gordy sat down and palmed the mouse that sat on his desk. “I met him at the end of last summer and don’t remember all that off the top of my head.”
“Fine, just hurry up. This is urgent. We’re trying to piece this all together, and if your handyman was there, he may have seen something.”
“Of course, anything I can do to help.” Gordy fingered th
e keyboard. “It’s loading now . . . Ahh, okay—here it is. His name is Bart Randolph. He’s thirty-one, five-ten, has long blond hair, and lives in Greenville.”
“Greenville. That’s only a couple of miles from here. Give me his address.”
“No problem, Fess. Four twenty-three Dover Road.”
CHAPTER 75
I’ve never been in a jail cell before all this shit, and it really blows. The mattress sucks, and the toilet is out in the open. I can’t believe I have to crap right here where people can see.
I’m bored as hell sitting on the bed, so my mind starts racing. But you know what, the thing I least expect to be thinking about is what I can’t stop thinking about. That’s right: my dad. The prick—what the hell is he thinking telling my lawyer that he wants to see me? Where does he get off? The old man never wanted to talk to me before. And like I could give a shit that he’s in the hospital and almost died. Probably should have, the bastard.
So what’d Levy say? Dad started thinking about his life and where he screwed up. Well, I’ve got a clue. The thing I remember most about the old man is his ratty gray sweatshirt and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Yeah, every night after Mom cut out, he’d be laid out on the couch slugging down the shit without even pouring it in a glass. Right from the bottle, man, every damn night. Didn’t give a crap about what I was up to. I mean, there were times when I’d just go out back with my pals, a case a beer, and a bag a weed. For hours, we’d hang out there and just get wasted. Every now and then, we’d look in the window to see what he was up to. Most of the time, he was passed out, piss-drunk, with no clue what we were up to.
Back then, we thought it was cool because everyone else’s folks never let us get away with shit like that. But at my house, it was always a party. Then I start thinking about my mom for like the first time in years. I don’t remember much because she cut out when I was around ten. Who knows—maybe that’s what screwed me up? I mean, it sure did do a number on dear old dad. One thing I do remember, though, she was tough. There’s no way we could have gotten away with drinking and smoking in the yard if she was there. She would have taken a strap to all of us, and if any of my friend’s folks went up on her, she probably would have smacked them around, too. Yeah, she was mean and always messed-up on something. You know, booze, pills, coke. That’s what Dad said, anyway. Whatever. I haven’t thought about any of that shit for a long time. And now Dad wants to reminisce? Screw him.
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