Killer Romances

by Dana Delamar, Talullah Grace, Sandy Loyd, Kristine Mason, Dale Mayer, Nina Pierce Chantel Rhondeau, K. T. Roberts, H. D. Thomson, Susan Vaughan

  Sawyer’s intentional sting aimed toward Zach’s relationship with his father sent a jolting stab to his stomach. Sawyer’s knowledge of their personal lives confirmed there was only one place he could have gotten that information—someone in the department was on the take.

  In that brief second, Detective Gerard vowed to see Sawyer and whoever was helping him behind bars. He’d leave nothing to chance, no stone unturned, and he was going to show he was just as good a detective as his father was an attorney.

  Sawyer cocked his head to the side. With his eyes shut tight, he released a disdained snort on his way out the door, and shouted to the two detectives. “You sons-of-bitches. You can add whatever you like to the charges, but I’m telling you, you won’t get away with this. You’re looking for a scapegoat, and I won’t be your patsy.”

  26

  “Docket number 08-N-629-014,” the Court Clerk bellowed in a strong New York accent, “People of the State of New York versus Patrick J. Sawyer.”

  Assistant District Attorney, Stephen Barringer watched the defendant, Patrick Sawyer, hobble across the floor toward the defendant’s stand, and steeled himself to present his case before the newly appointed Arraignment Judge, the Honorable Adam Kohl. Fresh out of law school, Barringer tapped his pen nervously on the file’s cover. This was his first appearance at an Arraignment since joining the District Attorney’s office, and he wanted to make a good impression. Sweat poured down the sides of his face. He pulled a hanky from his pocket and nonchalantly dried the sweat hoping no one would notice his nervousness.

  ADA Barringer was nervous about covering for Samantha Richards from the District Attorney’s office, hoping he wouldn’t screw up the Arraignment for the highly regarded ADA. Barringer inhaled deeply to alleviate the nausea attacking his insides, while standing to the left of defense counsel.

  Patrick Sawyer shuffled across the wood floor dressed in a prison-issued orange jumpsuit. The leg irons and wrist manacles attached to a belly chain around his waist jiggled like coins dropping onto a metal surface and constricted his stride to a slow deliberate walk. A guard on each side guided him to the defendant’s stand where his attorney, Alan Gerard, nodded an acknowledgement of his presence.

  Sawyer jerked his head toward his attorney, his face flushed with anger. “You get me the hell out of here.”

  Judge Kohl raised his head from the file he was reviewing. His quick movement jarred the small framed reading glasses he wore to slide further down the bridge of his nose. “Counsel, kindly remind your client he is in a court of law. Any more outbursts, and I’ll make my decision commensurate with his behavior.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor.” Alan shot a stern look toward his client, “it won’t happen again.”

  Sawyer twisted his mouth to the side and blinked his eyes shut. Alan elbowed his client, and leaned over to talk to him. “I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you. The more you challenge the judge, especially a newly appointed one, the worse it’s going to be for you. Let me do my job.”

  Judge Kohl lowered his eyes and resumed his review of the file. A few minutes later he addressed counsel. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Stephen Barringer, for the State of New York.”

  “Alan Gerard, for the defense.”

  The bridge officer stood in the well of the courtroom, directly in front of the Judge’s bench. “Will the defendant state his name for the record?”

  “Patrick James Sawyer,” he said, shifting from one leg to the other.

  “Do you waive the reading of the rights and charges, Mr. Gerard?” he asked.

  “Yes, we do.” Alan Gerard responded.

  “What do you mean?” Sawyer’s volume escalated. “I’m giving up my rights?”

  “No, Mr. Sawyer,” Alan said through gritted teeth. “I’ll explain it later.”

  “I might understand what’s going on if you had come to see me before —”

  “How do you plead Mr. Sawyer?” Judge Kohl asked impatiently.

  “Not guilty, Your Highness.”

  Judge Kohl’s mouth tightened in a thin line, his bushy eyebrows rose in warning. “Mr. Sawyer, I don’t know who you think you are, but I own this courtroom, and what I say in here is law. Do you get that?” Patrick glared back defiantly but remained silent. “That’s what I thought.” The judge turned his attention to the Assistant District Attorney. “Mr. Barringer, you may proceed.”

  He stepped forward. “Your Honor, the State is filing a Seven-Ten-Thirty-One-A—the defendant has made statements on several occasions that supports this arrest.”

  Judge Kohl looked over the rim of his glasses again, and smiled, apparently amused by the ‘rookie’ attorney’s first appearance. “I should hope so, Mr. Barringer. And by the way, I know what the notice means.”

  “I meant no disrespect, sir . . . I mean, Your Honor,” he stammered.

  “So noted. Mr. Barringer, would you like to make a statement regarding bail?”

  “I would, Your Honor. The State is asking that the defendant be remanded until such time as a court date for trial has been set. We believe Mr. Sawyer is a threat to society, and the State sees him as a flight risk.”

  The judge nodded. “Defense counsel?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Sawyer is an upstanding citizen in this city. He owns a large car dealership on Broadway, a home on W 87th Street. He’s dedicated to his church and he’s passionate about helping the less fortunate by making large contributions, as well as donating used cars to the Catholic Charities organization. He has no prior criminal record, and I see no reason why bail should not be set at a reasonable amount. I ask the court to reconsider the prosecution’s request.”

  Judge Kohl pursed his lips and glared at the defendant. “I hereby remand the defendant to be held without bail in the City jail until a date has been set for trial.” He hammered his gavel against the sound block. “Next case.”

  “Fucking good job, counselor,” Sawyer said as he was escorted away by one of the court officers.

  “Docket number 08-N-341-924, People v. Fernando Rodriquez,” the Court Clerk bellowed.

  Alan Gerard stormed out of the courtroom and drove to the jail where Sawyer was being held to meet with his client for the first time. An officer escorted him to a conference room. The room hadn’t changed much since the last time Alan had visited the jail many years ago when he was a young hungry attorney. The Formica tabletop was chipped along the edges. The two vinyl covered chairs, one on each side, were in dire need of repair. He chose the chair with the least amount of damage to avoid ruining his silk Versace suit and pulled Sawyer’s file from his briefcase. Placing the file folder on the table in front of him, he waited for his client to arrive. Outraged by Patrick’s disrespectful behavior, he was increasing his fees. The buzzer sounded and Sawyer entered, free of restraints.

  “Oh, real nice job for a high profile attorney,” Sawyer hissed.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Sawyer. I have neither the time nor the patience for your outlandish behavior. You called me for representa—”

  Sawyer interrupted the man. “Yeah, I did, Mr. Gerard, but you couldn’t be bothered getting here before my arraignment, and I don’t have a clue as to what went on in that courtroom this morning,” his words seethed with arrogance.

  The attorney picked up the file folder, shoved it inside his briefcase and headed for the door, pressing the button to alert the guard the meeting had ended. “Find yourself another attorney, Mr. Sawyer,” he said over his shoulder.

  Sawyer huffed out a deep sigh. “No, wait – Alan, please — don’t go.” The attorney stopped and faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his head to his hands. “I didn’t mean to be so arrogant. This whole thing has me reeling with disbelief. Please don’t leave. I really need your help.”

  “Fine, Mr. Sawyer. On my terms, or not at all.” He waited for Sawyer to agree. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes. We have a deal.” He shook his h
ead. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Good, then here are my terms. I want a retainer of fifteen thousand dollars up front, and my fees are two thousand an hour. There will be no more outbursts . . . not with me, nor in the courtroom. Is that understood?”

  “Yes. But, I can’t promise I won’t get upset.”

  “There are no ‘buts’, Mr. Sawyer. I do not represent two-bit criminals off the street. Either you agree, or we don’t have a deal. You know my reputation, otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me.” He paused. “Or did you hire me to get back at my son for arresting you?”

  “No,” Sawyer lied. “I know you’re the best.”

  “Do we have an agreement?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “No. You need to do better than that.”

  “Yes, for chrissake,” His hand flew in the air. “Yes, we have an agreement,” Sawyer said with resignation.

  “Good, then sign your name on the dotted line and let’s get down to business.”

  27

  Lieutenant Harwell walked down the hall and greeted his two detectives. Jessie gave a casual wave and crossed the room to her desk.

  “Chalk one up for the prosecution,” Zach said, catching up with his boss, his face covered in a wide grin.

  “I heard,” Harwell said, returning the grin. “Josh Galveston, one of the reporters from the New York Recorder, called a while ago and filled in the details while asking for my comments.” Harwell shook his head. “Sawyer’s taken his arrogance as far as it can go. He’s gotten away with so much in the past, the people of this city are ready to see him pay the consequences for his actions.”

  “Did Vito show?” Harwell asked.

  “Yes sir.” Jessie had a huge grin on her face. “He gave us everything we need to put Sawyer away.”

  “Good job, Detective. Thank you.” She shut the door for him, and waved. He relaxed his shoulders, relieved to be going home. He rehearsed his speech to his son one more time. Although he was happy they had damaging evidence against Sawyer, Max needed to understand there were consequences for his actions, just like the criminals. He worried his excitement over the recording may have sent the boy a mixed message. Yet disciplining Max too harshly might stifle his desire to become part of law enforcement.

  Jack Harwell pulled into his driveway. The house was dark except for the lights in Max’s room. He unlocked the front door and entered, flipped on the light switch, and called out to his wife. “Ginny, I’m home.” There was no answer.

  Max barreled down the stairs. “Hey, Dad. Is Mom with you?”

  “No, son.” He raised his brows. “I guess that means she’s not here.”

  “You got that right, Dad. But that’s no big surprise.”

  Harwell’s stomach tightened. “What do you mean, it’s no big surprise?”

  “I mean Mom’s hardly ever home when I get here. But she’s really late tonight. Did she tell you she was going somewhere?”

  “No. But she must have left a note, son.” He placed his briefcase on the counter, then removed his jacket and laid it over the back of the chair.

  “No. I checked everywhere.” Max shrugged. “She used to leave notes, but she stopped a while ago,” he said, rummaging through the refrigerator for something to eat.

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked.

  He shrugged again. “She doesn’t care about us anymore.”

  “Don’t say that, Max. That’s not true. Your mother loves you.” He watched Max pull a cold piece of fried chicken from the refrigerator and bite into it. “Your mother is going to be upset if you spoil your appetite.”

  Max strode toward the steps, his expression resigned. “Okay,” he said, taking another bite and mounted the steps.

  “Whoa, not so fast, young man. We have a little matter that needs to be discussed.”

  He motioned to the sofa, being careful to keep his own excitement buried about having Sawyer in custody. “Have a seat, son.”

  Max plopped down on the sofa next to his father. “I’m really sorry, Dad, but helping you catch the killer . . . that was a good thing, wasn’t it?” he said with anticipation in his voice.

  “That’s a matter of opinion. If you’re going to be a police officer, Max, you need to be accountable for your actions, and lying is a grievous offense.” Jack looked directly into Max’s eyes. “And I’m even more disappointed that you disobeyed me. Your disregard for someone’s privacy, son, regardless of whether or not you helped us capture a killer, is the issue here. Lying and breaking the rules has consequences.” Jack paused. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “You’re right, Dad, and like I said, I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Okay, apology accepted. Now, you get to choose your punishment.”

  “Dad, is the wife dead?”

  “Max, your punishment!”

  Max sighed. “No television for a month?”

  “You need to do better than that, Max. You don’t watch much television.” Jack said. “Son, I don’t think you understand the seriousness of your behavior. You put your life and Ritchie’s at risk recording a killer’s confession, you lied to me, and disobeyed a direct order.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know what I had recorded . . . not until I listened to it the day I came to the station.”

  “Regardless.”

  Max sighed again, and lowered his head. “All right, Dad, take my computer away for a month. I probably deserve worse than that.”

  “I’m very proud of your decision, Max. Taking your computer away is a major step in the right direction. I’d like you to go upstairs now and disconnect the cables. Call me when you’re finished and I’ll help you bring it down to my office.” Jack’s heart ached for Max, but he was proud the boy gave up something he loved. “I will be locking it away until you’ve completed your punishment. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Okay, son, you’re excused.”

  Max mounted the steps slowly, his head down, shoulders sagging like he was going to the guillotine. Jack forced himself to remain objective. He checked the clock on the wall, noted it was six thirty and became concerned his wife hadn’t returned. Upset, but trying to think positively, he dialed her cell phone number and left a message when she didn’t answer. Maybe she’d been in an accident and didn’t have identification on her. The thought made him shudder. Surely, he would have heard something by now. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a container of turkey soup. He removed a pot from the lower cabinet, emptied the contents of the container into the pan and placed it on the stove to heat.

  Walking around the kitchen, he again rummaged around on the counter for a note thinking Max may have been too hasty when he searched. It was unusual for her not to leave a note. Had he been so caught up in his own little world, he hadn’t realized she’d been going out on a regular basis? Maybe she’d found a boyfriend. He shook off the thought. Was Ginny’s lack of attention to Max the catalyst that drove the boy to seek out revenge by disobeying?

  He turned the dial to heat the oven and tossed in a loaf of bread from the freezer, and set the table while the Grandfather clock chimed seven times. A knot formed in his stomach, tightening like a noose around his intestines. His mind went over the list of friends Ginny might be with, until he suddenly realized, she hadn’t mentioned any of her friends lately. It was no secret Ginny was a difficult person to get along with, always starting fights because of her insecurities. Maybe her friends had abandoned her. Was Ginny depressed and he hadn’t noticed?

  A torrent of nervous energy made him feel panicked. He removed the personal phone directory from the drawer and dialed Nancy Stone’s number.

  “Hi, Nancy,” he said when she answered. “Jack Harwell. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing great, Jack. How about you?”

  “For the most part, I’m doing fine, but I’m concerned about my wife. Is Ginny with you?”

  “No, Jack. I guess you hav
en’t heard.”

  His heart pounded inside his chest. “What haven’t I heard?”

  “Ginny and I haven’t seen each other in months.”

  “No. I didn’t know that, Nancy. I’m very sorry to hear that. Dare I ask what happened?”

  “Well . . .” Nancy’s heavy sigh told him she wasn’t sure if she should tell him.

  “Tell me, please?”

  “I don’t want to rehash it, but Ginny’s been acting odd these last few months. I was trying to help her by suggesting she seek medical attention or counseling, but she became upset and told me she didn’t need help.”

  “Oh, Nancy. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

  “Do you want me to call around for you?”

  “No, thanks. I’m probably overreacting. You know, it’s my law enforcement mentality working overtime. She’s probably out shopping and just forgot to leave a note.” He chuckled, and began to place the phone back on the cradle when he heard Nancy’s voice.

  “Jack,” she shouted.

  “Yes?”

  “Please let me know . . . discreetly . . . when she returns home. Even though we don’t see each other, I’m very concerned about her.”

  “Will do, Nancy. Thanks for your concern.” Jack walked back into the kitchen and pulled two salad bowls from the cabinet and filled them with the precut lettuce from the plastic container in the refrigerator. He’d been so self-absorbed about his own needs he’d neglected to notice his wife was struggling. How had he allowed himself to get so caught up trying to show his superiors he was the best lieutenant they’d ever had, that he hadn’t even noticed what she was going through? Regret filled him, and he exhaled a breath of frustration. He promised himself as soon as she walked in the door, he’d sit down with a glass of wine and have a discussion—just the two of them.

  Max walked back down the stairs carrying the monitor from his computer, the cables draped over his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Dad,” he asked, apparently noticing his father’s discord.

  “I’m worried about your mother, son.”

  “Why?” he asked, placing the monitor and cables on the floor next to the stairs. “Do you think something happened to her?”