“Sounds nice,” Ann said, even though right now she didn’t think it was possible to put what was going on out of her mind. But an evening of being held in Glen’s arms seemed just what she needed. “David’s going to Magic Mountain with a friend this weekend. We can get together then. I miss you. Glen. It’s been so long.”
“I know,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I miss you too. I think about you all the time. I’m crushed over what you’ve been through…all you’ve suffered. It’s absolutely awful.”
Ann started blinking back tears. She was fine as long as no one expressed sympathy. The moment people did, the moment she saw it in their eyes, her composure disintegrated. Just when she had started to put her life back together, it had all been ripped away. She hadn’t made love with Glen since the shooting. Her body yearned for him, the way he felt, the way he smelled, the way he made her feel.
That reminded her why she had come. “I have to tell you something. Look, I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, Glen, but that man last night…” She was about to tell him her suspicions about Hank when his phone rang, and a strange look appeared in his eyes.
At first Glen just ignored it. “Go on, Ann. I’m listening. What about the man last night?”
“Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” The phone stopped, but immediately, it began ringing again. “Listen, I’m sorry I came over here and bothered you when you’re so busy. This can wait. Go on, answer it. It could be something important.”
“No, Ann, really,” he said anxiously. “Whatever it is can wait.”
A feeling of warmth washed over her, seeing how much he really cared. Finally the phone stopped ringing. Ann had opened her mouth to speak when it started ringing again. “Shit,” she said, the moment gone. “Answer it or they’ll just keep calling back. I’ve got a headache.” She rubbed her forehead as another ring sounded. “I can’t sit here and talk with the damn phone ringing all the time.”
Glen reached out and tried to hit the hands-free button and missed. Infuriated, he quickly swiped at the receiver, almost knocking the phone to the floor. Once he heard who it was, he swiveled his chair around with his back to Ann. “No,” he barked into the phone, “I already disposed of that case myself. It’s right there in the file.”
Ann sat quietly, waiting. Then she stood, deciding to come back later.
Glen got up and closed the distance between them, taking Ann in his arms and leaning back against the door just in case someone tried to walk in. “We’re going to put the case together on Sawyer, Ann. Don’t worry. I’ll work night and day if I have to.”
For no good reason his closeness felt stifling. Ann felt herself breathing in jerky pants, the night before flashing in her mind. The way the man had smelled, the disgusting way he had touched her. Her hands were stiff at her sides, the muscles in her back like concrete. Even though it was Glen, she couldn’t help recoiling from a man’s touch.
“Trust me,” Glen whispered, trying to pull her closer to his body. Ann ducked and slipped away, taking a few steps back. “Oh, and Ann, I’m finishing up on Delvecchio today. Drop by if you can, okay?”
“I will.”
Ann rushed out the door, heading down the corridor to the elevators with her head down, not looking where she was going. She was so addled, she thought, she hadn’t even told Glen about Hank. She walked right into Ian McIntosh, a D.A. she knew well. A reed-thin redhead, McIntosh was a marathon runner. To Ann, he looked as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks.
“Ann,” he said, embarrassed. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”
“No,” she said, dropping her eyes. “I think it was my fault.”
She had started to walk off when he said, “I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been meaning to call you ever since I heard what happened. God, how awful. How are you feeling?”
“Good,” she said weakly. “Really, it wasn’t that bad an injury. It’s the fear more than anything.”
“I hear they caught the guy. That’s got to make you sleep easier.”
“Not exactly. He’s out on bail,” she said sardonically. “Last night someone broke into my house and attacked me again.”
“No,” he said, shocked. “You’ve got to be kidding. Was it the same guy?”
“I don’t really know, Ian,” Ann said, sucking one comer of her lip into her mouth.
He appeared to be playing something over in his mind. “Well, since you’re here, I guess I should tell you the bad news about Carl Simmons.”
“What bad news? He’s in prison.”
“The case was overturned on appeal.”
“He’s out?” Ann was thunderstruck, unable to believe what she was hearing. Carl Simmons had butchered two little girls, a case she had investigated. “What happened? It wasn’t anything I did, was it?”
“No,” McIntosh said. “The appellate court was mainly concerned with the expert testimony. Seems our Dr. Adams is a real whore. He contradicted his own statements.”
“Fuck,” Ann said, ready to explode. “I knew you shouldn’t have used that bastard.” Benjamin Adams was a prominent psychiatrist who earned a sizable percentage of his income from acting as an expert witness in court hearings. The only problem was that he would sell out to the highest bidder. The doctor had evidently impeached his own testimony, and his testimony had gone a long way toward convicting Carl Simmons. Hence, the appeal. “Are you going to refile?”
“Of course, but we want to make certain our case is solid this time. We’re collecting new evidence now.” He paused and ran his hands through his hair, more concerned now than before. “You know, Ann, when I heard about you being shot, I immediately thought of Simmons and the scene he made in the courtroom. He thinks you railroaded him. Remember? He was hurling threats at you when they hauled him off that day. I didn’t say anything before, because I assumed he was still in prison. We were just notified the other day about the appeal.”
“I did railroad him,” Ann said, more thinking out loud than anything. “I didn’t say that,” she said quickly. “You didn’t hear me say that.”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” McIntosh said, laughing.
Ann didn’t think it was funny, and she gave the attorney a stem look before walking off. They were all hot and heavy when she came to them with the goods, but now that her life was on the line, it was something to laugh about. Shuffling off down the hall, jarred by what she’d just heard, Ann tried to bring Carl Simmons’s face into focus.
He was a big man, like the person who had attacked her last night. He hated her. There was no doubt about that. Ann had been sent to interview Simmons for a routine bail review. Bail was a moot issue in a case as serious as his, a double homicide involving children, but the court followed procedure. A bail review was another way to gain information from the probation department while the other proceedings were under way. The officer handling the bail review would run rap sheets and check criminal histories, as well as accumulate other pertinent facts about the defendant.
Simmons had been responsive. Ann had played him like a violin. Before she’d walked out of the room, he had claimed that there was no way he could have committed the crime. Both the young victims were raped, and Simmons swore he was impotent and had medical records to prove it. The man mistakenly thought the investigators had not learned the truth. Although the cases had been listed in the newspapers as rapes and homicides, they were technical rapes, the penetration made with a foreign object. They’d found no sperm. A man in the prime of his life unable to engage in sex, as Simmons had just stated he was, fit the psychological profile for this type of perversity. With Dr. Adams’s expert opinion and other physical evidence linking him to the homicides, Simmons had been convicted on both counts.
How could they release him? Two little girls were dead, and Carl Simmons was walking the streets again. Ann felt sick to her stomach, angry at the entire disgusting system that allowed something like this to happen. How could the parents of these children sleep at night? What wo
uld she do if it had been David who had been violated and murdered?
With all the legislation over criminals’ rights, Ann thought, the system had become a maze of technicalities and poorly constructed statutes. Prisoners got their sentences reduced for good behavior, received early releases for one reason or another, and all the time evidentiary rules were increasing. The injustice was simple: the system provided more protection to the individuals who perpetrated crime than to the people they victimized.
When she got back to her office, Ann got a call from Tommy Reed asking if she would like to go along when he interviewed Sawyer’s father. With this new attack, they wanted to pick up Sawyer, take him back to court, and attempt to get his bail revoked. The father might be cooperative and provide them with information about his son’s whereabouts.
When they arrived, Ann took out her county ID and flashed it at the receptionist. “We’re here to see Dr. Sawyer.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Ann said. “We’re police officers. Can you please tell him we’re here?”
The young woman stared at Ann as if she’d seen a ghost. Then she disappeared. In no time the door opened, and she said the doctor would see them.
Dr. Sawyer was an attractive older man. His skin was smooth and taut, his body as fit as that of any athlete, and he had dark hair and penetrating eyes like his son’s. He looked as if he spent more time on the tennis court than in surgery. Reed introduced himself, then Ann shook his hand. “I’m your son’s probation officer. Dr. Sawyer. Ann Carlisle.”
Her eyes took in the room. The drapes were drawn and only a small lamp on the surgeon’s desk provided light, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Once they were seated in front of his desk, Jimmy’s father faced them, composed and in no way alarmed. The top of his mahogany desk was covered with a sheet of spotless glass. Other than a few decorative items like a crystal letter opener, a crystal pyramid clock, a framed photograph of Jimmy and another of his wife, the surface was completely clean: no stacks of papers, no messy cups of coffee. Dr. Sawyer was a neat, organized man. He peered out at them with clear, intelligent blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. “I don’t have a great deal of time, officers. What can I do for you?”
They had to find support here, Ann thought, taking in the various diplomas and framed certificates on the walls. The man was a surgeon, a respected member of the community. Right behind his desk Ann saw a large plaque with a picture of Dr. and Mrs. Sawyer standing next to a smiling Ronald Reagan. He might be reluctant to believe his son was involved in any wrongdoing after only hearing Jimmy’s side of the story, Ann told herself, but surely they could obtain his cooperation.
She took control of the conversation, leaning forward in her seat. “Do you know what I saw in the refrigerator at your son’s house? I saw human fingers, Dr. Sawyer. Five human fingers. I saw a thumb and a little finger and three additional fingers. From that, I’m assuming they were from one hand.”
Dr. Sawyer turned his chair sideways so they could only view him in profile. “Yes,” he said flatly, “I’m aware of what you said you found. I’m also aware the police responded and found nothing.” He removed his glasses and wiped them with a tissue retrieved from somewhere inside his desk. Once he had placed them back on his nose, he turned his chair to face Reed and Ann again. “Our attorney has been looking into this situation, Ms. Carlisle. He suggested we hire a private investigator, and we followed his advice. This investigator has arrived at some astonishing conclusions that I believe will support my son’s statements.” Dr. Sawyer leaned back in his chair and stared at Ann. As soon as she looked back, his voice dropped to a monotonous, clinical level. “Ms. Carlisle, isn’t it true that your husband disappeared under very suspicious and troublesome circumstances, that you’ve been quite distraught over the past four years?”
Ann sat perfectly still in her seat, unsure why this had come up. “Yes, he did, but I don’t know what that has to do with your son.”
“Could you please allow me to continue?”
“Certainly,” Ann said, crossing her legs and then a second later uncrossing them again.
“Obviously, having your husband disappear as he did was a very traumatic thing, Ms. Carlisle. Can I call you Ann?”
“That’s fine.”
“All right,” he said, smiling warmly as if he’d known her for years. “I’m no stranger to this type of trauma, Ann. I’ve had both close acquaintances and patients whose husbands or sons have been missing in action. Servicemen, of course. They tell me it’s the waiting, the not knowing, that eventually wears them down. Is that the way it has been for you?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
He didn’t stop. “I’ll only take a few minutes of your time, and then you can ask me anything you want. My friends say the unanswered questions are the worst. They can’t sleep, can’t rest, can’t find peace because they just don’t know the answers. How did he die? Is he dead at all? Did he suffer? And then they tell me it’s the loneliness, the complete and utter loneliness. It’s entirely different from a natural death. In a natural death, Ann, the circumstances are known, the situation final. A person can recover, go on with life.”
Ann was impressed with his insight—she had felt all of this and more—but why was he talking about this stuff? “Dr. Sawyer—”
He held up a hand imperiously. “These women, women who have been in circumstances similar to yours, say they can’t let go, can’t have normal relationships. They want to date, want to resume normal sexual relationships, but they simply cannot. Not when they don’t know, Ann. Not when their poor husband could still be alive somewhere pitifully suffering, waiting and praying for the day—”
“Please,” Ann said, interrupting him. “What we came to talk about is urgent.”
“I’m quite interested in this type of trauma. I did my internship in the Marines during Vietnam. Sometimes the men would crack under the pressure of waiting, just waiting for the enemy to attack, never knowing when it would happen.”
Was the doc going to keep this up all day? Ann cut her eyes to Reed as if to say. What’s with this guy?
Tommy spoke up. “Dr. Sawyer, we didn’t come here to discuss Ms. Carlisle. We came here to discuss your son.”
“Please allow me to finish my line of thought,” Dr. Sawyer said to Tommy, immediately turning his attention back to Ann. “These people I’ve been speaking of, Ann, these women whose husbands have been missing in action, well, some of these women tell me they seek out physical relationships that don’t demand anything from them emotionally…such as commitment. Have you experienced this phenomenon?”
“Don’t answer that,” Reed said, glancing over at Ann. “Dr. Sawyer, I’m not sure Officer Carlisle understands where you are going with this conversation, but I do.”
“Oh, really?” Dr. Sawyer said, an eyebrow shooting up. “How astute. Detective Reed.”
Reed’s face flushed, and his hands locked on the arms of the chair. This son of a bitch was no better than his lousy son. He was going after Ann’s state of mind, trying to discredit her. “What were you in ‘Nam anyway? A member of the Special Forces?” Reed sneered and then spat out the rest. “What was your specialty? Mind control?”
Reed was only an inch from flying off the handle. Turning to Ann, he said, “Don’t you realize what this prick is saying? What he’s trying to imply? You’re so naive, so incredibly naive. He’s saying that you slept with his son because you can’t handle a relationship. Isn’t that right. Dr. Sawyer?”
“True,” the doctor said, his voice still carefully modulated. “Am I correct in my assessment, Ann? You see, these women I was speaking of a few minutes ago, they tell me they can’t handle rejection, that rejection is similar to their husbands’ failing to return to them following the war.”
Reed jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s get out of here, Ann. You don’t have to listen to this shit. He’s not going to give us any information.”
Dr. Sawyer’s face shifted into hard lines. “Isn’t that why you framed my son, made up this absurd story about fingers in a pickle jar, because you couldn’t handle him rejecting you? My son saved your life. You should be grateful, appreciative, but instead you’re trying to destroy him.” By now Dr. Sawyer was yelling. “Why don’t you just admit that you slept with my son? Why must you lie?”
“I didn’t make up anything,” Ann yelled back, for the first time seeing him for what he was: an angry, devious man who would do anything to protect his flesh and blood, not to mention his reputation in the community. “And I certainly didn’t sleep with your son.” She took a deep breath and pushed ahead. “If your son doesn’t appear in court in three weeks for the preliminary hearing, a bench warrant will be issued for his arrest. In addition to being a suspect in my shooting, there are indications that Jimmy was involved in manufacturing and distributing narcotics.” Ann pinned him with a knowing look. “All of these are serious charges. Your son will be sentenced to prison if he’s convicted. Prison, Dr. Sawyer, is a very different environment from the county jail.”
“Come on,” Tommy said again, “let’s get out of here.”
“No, Tommy,” Ann insisted, “we came for answers and I want answers. Dr. Sawyer, do you know anything about the body parts I saw in your son’s refrigerator?”
He looked away, refusing to answer.
Ann stood and stepped up to his desk, placing her hands purposely on the glass. “Then listen to this. If your son resists arrest or is armed at the time we pick him up, he may die or be seriously injured.”
His eyes misted over and his face contorted with anguish. “You mean, the police will shoot him?”
So, Ann thought, the man was human.
“Exactly,” she said. “Can you help us?”
“Police officers like this man?”
Ann looked over at Tommy. “Yes, Dr. Sawyer, police officers like this man. And let me tell you something else. If we apprehend Jimmy actually distributing drugs, he’ll be charged with each and every instance. Then he will be tried on each one of these instances as a separate and distinct crime. In a courtroom, they refer to these as counts. Do you understand?”
First Offense Page 18
