Sullivan’s Justice

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Sergeant Kirsh reached into one of the compartments, pulling out a pair of panty hose, then dangling them in front of her face. “Good thing I looked, just for your sake. I thought you were smart, Carolyn,” he said. “Moreno could strangle you with these things.” He dropped them into her hand. “Put them in a locker or toss them. You’re not taking them in with you.”

  “Thanks, Bobby,” she said, depositing the hose in the trash can. “I didn’t know I had them. I keep an extra set of nylons in case I get a run.”

  The sergeant put his meaty hands on his hips, tilting his head to one side. “Sure you still want a face-to-face?”

  Carolyn let her eyes answer for her.

  Twenty minutes later, Carolyn sat two feet away from a sadistic killer in an eight-by-eight room. Her palms were sweating and her mind was racing. She turned sideways in her seat and read through the incident report from the night before, wanting to give him a chance to get used to her. A pungent scent drifted past her nostrils. She assumed it was his body odor. Masking her true feelings, she kept her expression pleasant and nonjudgmental.

  Raphael Moreno sat perfectly still, his head held high, his back straight. Fifteen minutes passed as Carolyn studied him out of the corner of her eye. He might be small, but his body was well developed. His arms were laced with sinewy muscles, the kind you saw on farmworkers. His features were somewhat refined, almost handsome. He looked more like a native of South America than Mexico, possibly Argentina or Colombia. His skin was brown and thick. In several places, it appeared either badly chafed or discolored. He may have gotten the best of three inmates in last night’s fight, but he hadn’t walked away without injuries. His kidneys had been bruised and he had suffered a concussion. She suspected the three inmates had attempted to sodomize him. They had picked the wrong man. All three had been seriously injured.

  Although she was finished reading the report, Carolyn continued as if she were still preoccupied. It wasn’t time yet to make eye contact. This was something he would have to earn. And the only way he could score points in the dangerous game she was about to play was to start talking.

  Entering into a negotiated disposition must have been a difficult decision for the DA’s office, Carolyn thought. All things considered, she would have probably done the same. A diminutive twenty-year-old defendant who had never spoken and was depicted as mentally deficient by his attorney had the potential to generate sympathy in the eyes of the jury. Allowing him to plead guilty to seven counts of second-degree murder had saved the taxpayers a fortune. Even if they’d taken him to trial on first-degree murder charges, getting a conviction would have been difficult. They would have to prove premeditation and explosions of violence; even crimes as heinous as these were hard to portray as carefully planned acts. Other evidence could also surface during the trial. If the DA had taken him to trial and the case had ended in acquittal, Moreno could never be prosecuted again. Even prisoners who couldn’t read or write knew what double jeopardy meant.

  The DA had additional factors to consider. By refusing to testify or cooperate with his public defender, Moreno would have been declared incompetent to stand trial. When the state shrinks finally cleared him, the law still allowed him to plead not guilty by reason of insanity. The only period of consideration was the time and day the crimes occurred. It was a conundrum. As nonsensical as it sounded, a person had to be sane in order to stand before the court and plead insanity.

  Carolyn began to tap her heels on the yellowed linoleum flooring. The direction of his eyes shifted slightly, but he didn’t move. With some criminals she could flirt and extract information no one had ever heard. Moreno was not one of them. If she hit the right nerve, he would talk. A study had shown that most violent male criminals had high levels of testosterone that produced uncontrollable sexual desires and murderous levels of anger. This had to be the case with Moreno. Except for the three men from the night before, she knew everyone had approached him in a cautious manner. To get him to talk, she was going to make him mad, cause him to lose control, then pray he didn’t kill her. She’d successfully used this tactic with rapists and pedophiles, even ones who had killed their victims. If she could go up against scum like that, she could handle Moreno.

  Removing her cell phone from the pocket of her skirt, she called Neil. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk this morning,” she said. “Did you get your breakfast?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sitting across from an ugly deaf guy.”

  Neil gasped, “The man who killed all those people? Should you be talking on the phone? Aren’t you afraid he’ll hurt you?”

  “He’s in chains.” Carolyn tossed her head back and laughed. “Besides, this guy couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, let alone hurt anyone. He’s just a punk-ass kid. They say he’s twenty, but he looks fifteen. He’s a pretty boy, you know. He was sucking dicks for a living, then went nuts and started killing people. Did I tell you he sliced off his mother’s head? He’ll be dead twenty-four hours after he hits the joint. Cons hate creeps who kill kids.”

  Moreno wasn’t deaf, Carolyn decided. She could tell when someone was listening. Not only had he blinked several times, one corner of his mouth was curled in contempt. She knew it wasn’t a natural expression as the muscles had started to twitch. If he’d defended himself against three larger males in order not to be raped, her comments about him being a male prostitute must be making him furious. He couldn’t sit there like a statue forever, and pride was a big thing with Hispanic males. It was one thing to tune out the attorneys, doctors, or other inmates. Having an attractive woman ignore him had to be an insult to his masculinity. And she was ridiculing him to his face. If they’d been on the street, Carolyn was certain he would have either beaten her or killed her.

  “You’re doing something stupid, aren’t you?” Neil said, not accustomed to hearing his sister use such crude language. “Please don’t tell me you’re baiting a killer? I don’t want to be on the phone when some lunatic goes after my sister.”

  Carolyn said, “When nothing else works, you’ve got to use your mouth.”

  Neil rambled on about his problems. Twenty-nine minutes passed. One of the jailers’ faces appeared in the window. When Carolyn put her thumb up, he disappeared. Seeing a vein bulge in Moreno’s neck, she bent over and pretended she was rummaging in her briefcase so she could peek under the table and verify he was still safely restrained. His hands were tiny, she thought, almost smaller than her own. Satisfied everything was okay, she saw an old package of gum in the side pocket of her briefcase and removed a stick. She placed it on her tongue, then let it linger before she pulled it into her mouth. Moreno licked his lips. In jail, even a piece of gum was a coveted item. Unlike prison, the jail didn’t have a commissary. Unless a relative or friend supplied him, a prisoner had nothing other than what was issued to him when he was booked.

  “Look, hon,” she said, “I’m going to call you later like I said. I just had some time to kill and wanted to hear your voice. Have you been thinking about—”

  The phone suddenly popped out of Carolyn’s hands. Moreno had used his feet to lift her chair several inches off the ground. Grabbing onto the edges of the seat to keep from toppling over, she looked for the phone but didn’t see it. When she heard a crunching sound, she spun around, but by then, a tangled mess of metal and plastic was lying on the floor and Moreno was sitting exactly as he was before.

  His hands and feet were shackled, Carolyn thought, ready to bolt from the room. No one could move that fast, and it would take tremendous strength to crush a cell phone. Carolyn reached over to hit the button to call for help.

  No, she thought, pulling her hand back. She refused to give him the satisfaction. “Up against the wall!” she yelled, standing and kicking the table out of the way. “Do it now! Put your palms up where I can see them.”

  Blood dripped onto his orange jumpsuit. A flap of skin had been torn off on one side of his hand, near his right thumb. Carolyn assu
med it was from the handcuffs. His hint of a smile told her he was pleased with himself. Her eyes narrowed in anger. “I’ll talk to anyone I want whenever I want, shithead,” she snarled at him.

  Moreno looked up and smiled. He brushed up against her as he turned to the wall. He smelled clean, like Ivory soap or laundry detergent. The odor she had noticed when she’d first entered the room hadn’t been Moreno. The scent that had repelled her earlier had been her own fear. Had Moreno sensed it?

  She jerked her head around. He had whispered something in her ear, but his voice had been too low to hear. In an awkward and dangerous way, they had broken the barrier and made a connection.

  Having heard the commotion, a blond-haired young jailer flung open the door, his baton out of its sheath. Another deputy was right behind him.

  “Get out!” Carolyn shouted, her voice booming out into the quadrant. Seeing the distress on the officers’ faces, she said calmly, “I’m in charge here. Everything is fine. The prisoner and I are having a discussion. I accidentally knocked the table over. Leave us alone now, please.”

  “But he’s bleeding,” the blond deputy said, pointing to the spots of blood on Moreno’s jumpsuit. “What happened? Are you okay? Sergeant Kirsh…”

  “Tell Bobby not to worry,” she said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder to nudge him out of the room. “If I need help, I’ll let you know.”

  The man shook his head and then retreated, locking the door behind him. Moreno was standing against the wall. Carolyn kicked her open briefcase toward him. “Now get on your hands and knees and pick up my damn phone before I make you eat every last piece of it,” she said. “Put the pieces in there.”

  She knew the risk she was taking, but she couldn’t turn tail and run. The situation had turned into a battle of wills. If she allowed him to get the best of her, word would get out inside the jail. The next time she came inside to interview an offender, she might be challenged again. The prisoners called her “the Angel of Death.” Over the years, she had become something of a folk hero. The rumor was the pretty probation officer came to see you and a week or so later you disappeared. The men were too stupid to realize that the inmates she visited were scheduled to be sentenced, and the only thing that happened to them was they were shipped off to prison.

  Moreno scooped up the broken cell phone and dumped the debris in her briefcase. Carolyn picked it up and placed it by the door.

  She slid the plastic chair in front of him and righted the table. “Now we’re going to sit down and talk like two civilized people. If you don’t talk, I’m going to charge you with assaulting a police officer and drag your ass back in court. Then I’m going to tell the judge that you’re not deaf, insane, or retarded. They’ll revoke your plea agreement and retry you. This time, you’ll receive the death penalty.”

  “You can’t throw that shit at me, ho,” Moreno said, the voice that no one had heard finally surfacing.

  His voice was low and he slurred his words. Carolyn heard a slight Spanish accent. “Your life is a pretty big thing to gamble with, Raphael,” she told him, softening her tactics now that he was talking. “All I’m asking you to do is to answer a few questions.”

  “It’s over, man.” He smirked. “Where you been? DA too chicken to try and get me killed. They can’t change my deal. I ain’t no idiot. A deal’s a deal.”

  “Why did you murder those people?” Carolyn asked, thinking round two had gone to Moreno. He was smart. He had called her bluff accurately. Once a plea agreement had been negotiated and accepted, it could not be overturned. No matter what she learned, he could not be sentenced to more time in prison or put to death. “An explanation could go a long way when your case comes up for parole.”

  “At least I ain’t fuckin’ my brother,” Moreno said, smiling. “Te bato, que de aquella ramfla traes.”

  Carolyn knew what he’d said—that she had a nice car. How did he know what her car looked like?

  “I thought some homey was gonna jump you this mornin’ in the parkin’ lot. Then I seen you rubbin’ up against him. Get down and suck my dick, ho. If you suck your brother off, you can suck me. Do that and I tell you anything you want to know.”

  The color drained from Carolyn’s face. How had he known about Neil? His eyes were locked on her and she couldn’t look away. His lids were hooded, and his pupils were dark and murky, as if she were staring into a frozen pool of dirty water.

  Hold the line, she told herself, pressing her back against the chair. He must have heard the other side of the conversation, then somehow put it together. There were no windows in solitary. Then she remembered that he’d spent the night in the infirmary, which had windows overlooking the parking lot, as did at least 50 percent of the cells. Whoever had designed the complex had never given thought to the safety of the people who worked there. Ever since they had moved from the old courthouse on Poli Street, Carolyn had been expecting something to happen. Now the most vile criminal she had ever met knew what kind of car she drove, and could share that information with his friends on the street or other inmates, both in jail and in prison. Had he memorized her license plate as well? Of course he had. His alertness and attention to detail were remarkable. She would have to get a new plate as soon as possible. He knew her, though, and would find her even if she came to work in a different car. Scores of violent offenders were serving lengthy prison sentences as a result of her investigations and recommendations. Everyone eventually got out. She’d only handled one offender who had been executed.

  Her safety and that of her family had been compromised.

  If Moreno managed to escape or the jail released him by mistake, which had occurred on numerous occasions, he would come after her. What else had he learned from her call to Neil? She’d once had a probationer who’d trained himself to recognize numbers through the tones in the phone.

  Carolyn had finally met a criminal who truly frightened her.

  “Shit, man,” Moreno said, “everyone wants me dead. Instead, I’m gonna be taking a nap on the state’s dime. What’s that about, huh?”

  This wasn’t the kind of comment you’d expect from a man who’d gone crazy and went on a killing spree, Carolyn thought. Was he playing with her, or did he mean it?

  “Cops scared of me,” he continued, his chains rattling under the table. “Cons scared of me. Everybody ’fraid. Next thing you know, they’ll put one of those masks on me like that guy in the movie who ate people.”

  “Let’s talk about the people you murdered,” she said. “I’m a probation officer. I’m here to prepare a report for the court.”

  She exhaled as understanding struck her. Had Moreno slaughtered the Hartfield family to make certain he ended up in prison? She forced herself to detach emotionally and analyze the case with the cool eye of a mathematician.

  Raphael Moreno may have traded certain death on the streets in exchange for the sanitized death he might meet after years on death row. Unless a killer was mentally deficient, which Moreno was assuredly not, he would have made some attempt to avoid apprehension. According to the arresting officer, Moreno had locked himself inside the trunk of Darren Hartfield’s white Cadillac CTS parked inside the closed garage. An officer found him when he heard him kicking the trunk lid. By the time the other units arrived for backup, Moreno was cuffed and sitting quietly in the backseat of a squad car. The frenzy of violence had occurred only thirty minutes prior to his capture.

  “Who are you running from?” Carolyn asked him, forging ahead on her hunch.

  His jaw locked in anger. She watched as he contemplated whether to respond to her statement, or simply clam up again. He closed his eyes, but she could see them moving beneath his lids as if he were reading or watching a tennis match.

  “Do I look like I’m fuckin’ runnin’ from someone?”

  Carolyn jumped. Moreno’s voice seemed several octaves deeper. Her fascination evaporated and her fear intensified. Something didn’t add up. Killers generally followed a pattern, particular
ly when it came to weapons and manner of death. The pathologist believed the mother had been decapitated with a scalpel, although they had failed to locate it on the property or on Moreno’s person at the time he was apprehended.

  After murdering his mother, he had bound and gagged his sister, then later returned to crush her skull with a hammer. They believed the sister had been murdered the same day as the Hartfield family, who were killed execution-style with an AR-15 assault rifle on November 18. This weapon, too, had never been located. Rarely did they see a killer use such a diverse set of weapons and modes of death. At the onset of the investigation, the police had assumed there was more than one killer. Outside of the Hartfield family’s, the only fingerprints located inside both premises were Moreno’s.

  Several psychologists had analyzed the facts of the case. Their conclusion was that Moreno’s mind had disintegrated after years of caring for his disabled mother and sister. After killing his own family, he had vented his rage at another family, who seemed to be living the American dream. Carolyn was certain they were wrong.

  She couldn’t begin dictating the interview portion of the report until she forced Moreno to reveal himself. To achieve her goal, she would have to leave and return later.

  The one thing a person like Raphael Moreno couldn’t stand was being controlled. She hoped what she was about to do next would enrage him. Getting a prisoner to talk was her greatest skill. Moreno had talked, even led her in a new direction, but he had failed to tell her anything about the murders. A question was circling in her mind, one that demanded an answer. She knew the police had agonized over the same thing. The difference was Moreno now knew he had nothing to lose. Carolyn just might walk away with a full confession.

  Standing, she pushed the buzzer to be released. She didn’t speak, nor did she look at Moreno. When the door opened, she saw a sea of uniformed officers. Glancing back at Moreno, she saw the look of shock register on his face. He couldn’t understand why she was walking out on him. He opened his mouth, then closed it.