by Marti Green
Dani looked over at Jonah. He seemed relaxed in his seat, with a smile on his face. A moment later, the lights dimmed in the auditorium, and the murmured conversations in the room tapered off into silence. A slim, gray-haired man dressed in a tuxedo walked from behind the curtain onto the center of the stage, and the assemblage clapped. He was the conductor, Dani realized, when he faced the crowd and bowed. He turned to the music stand, picked up his baton, and began to wave it at the musicians.
Sounds filled the room that made Dani’s skin tingle. The first movement was thunderous, and she felt her heart beat faster as she was caught up in its majesty. It reminded her of the crashing of giant waves when they vacationed at Montauk Point, and Jonah’s exuberance playing in the surf. The second movement was melancholic, heartbreakingly so. She wondered from where Jonah drew that emotion. He was so happy at home and at school with his friends. The third movement was playful, and once again, she pictured Jonah as he took pleasure in the simplest activities: playing with their cat, Gracie; helping her plant flowers each spring; watching a baseball game on TV with Doug.
She was dazzled by the music, exhilarated that it was her son who’d created something so beautiful. Dani sneaked a look at Jonah and saw him looking intently at the musicians, his arm moving in time with the conductor’s baton. When the symphony ended almost thirty minutes later, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause. For the first time that evening, Dani felt her body relax. As the applause petered out, the conductor stepped forward and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re honored to have the composer with us tonight. Jonah, would you come up here?”
As Jonah made his way to the stage, the applause picked up again, and by the time he arrived next to the conductor and took a bow, it was booming. Tears ran down Dani’s cheeks. She could not have been more proud of her son.
On Monday morning, Dani showed up for work two hours later than usual, and as soon as she stepped into HIPP’s office, she heard a gasp from the receptionist.
“Your hair!” the startled young woman said.
Instinctively, Dani raised her hand to feel her locks, no longer reaching her shoulders but now just grazing her chin. Instead of thick waves, her hair was straight, turning under in a bob. Brownish-red highlights replaced the isolated gray strands that had previously sprouted from her head.
“I thought it was time for a change. How do you like it?”
The young woman looked Dani over before nodding her approval. “You look ten years younger.”
As Dani wound her way through the office, she was greeted with gasps followed by approval. She hoped Doug’s reaction would be the same.
Finally settled in her office, she buzzed Melanie. “How’s the appeal taking shape?”
“I’ve found some good case law. With the added evidence we’ve discovered that corroborates Sanders’s confession, I think the appeal will be granted.” Melanie caught herself. “Well, at least it should be granted. Who knows?”
Dani chuckled to herself. Melanie had been at HIPP long enough to become jaded by the judicial system. Like the others in the office, she’d started out with the bright-eyed assumption that the judicial system worked—and it did. Except when it didn’t.
“Need any help on the brief?”
“Nope. I’ve got it covered.”
“Okay. There are a couple of people on Win’s list who live in the city. I’ll track them down. When Tommy gets back, he can interview Win’s best friend in New Jersey.”
Dani hung up and sat back in her chair. The more they searched, the more the facts seemed to corroborate Sanders’s statement. It disturbed her that Ed Whiting was so unwilling to consider his confession. He’d been particularly hard-hitting in his brief to the circuit court, as though he were hell-bent to ensure that the only way Win left the jail was in a coffin. Of course, she’d run across rigid prosecutors before, men and women who seemed more concerned with preserving their wins than justice. Still, Whiting’s refusal to attend her deposition of Sanders, to form his own impression of Sanders’s veracity by questioning him in person, went beyond what even the most jaded prosecutors would do.
She picked up the phone once more and dialed Amelia Melton. The family matriarch had requested that Dani keep her apprised of their progress on a weekly basis. As usual, her personal assistant answered Dani’s call. Within a few minutes, Dani heard the standard greeting from Mrs. Melton.
“Yes, what news do you have for me?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Melton, how are you today?”
“Please, dispense with the pleasantries. You don’t really care how I’m doing, and I don’t care how you’re doing. I am interested only in Winston’s case. Have you made progress?”
“I believe we have. We’ve located a waitress who remembers Sanders being in her restaurant every morning during the same week Carly was murdered. That provides further evidence that Sanders’s confession is truthful.”
“And is it enough?”
Dani hesitated. How could she explain to this woman who was used to everyone following her commands, that the judicial system could be arbitrary? “Maybe, but I wish we had more.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I wish we had found someone who’d spotted Sanders near Carly. His MO was to stalk his victims for a few days.”
“Well, I assume you’ll keep looking.”
“Of course.”
There was silence on the other end for several moments. Finally, Mrs. Melton said, “I realize you weren’t keen on taking this case. I hope that it’s not keeping you from pursuing it as vigorously as you’ve handled your other cases.”
“Mrs. Melton, I work zealously for any client. I don’t give up easily. And I won’t with your grandson.” Dani hoped that was true. If she learned that Winston was, in fact, guilty, she didn’t know if she would fight as hard for his freedom. As long as it was just doubts she harbored, though, she’d push forward.
“Let’s see that you don’t. Remember, your organization only gets the bonus if you’re successful.”
Dani didn’t need that reminder. She was acutely aware that the financial health of HIPP rested on her shoulders. She finished her report to Mrs. Melton, then hung up, relieved that she wouldn’t have to speak to her for another week.
CHAPTER
18
For once, the Holland Tunnel wasn’t massively clogged. Tommy hated driving in Manhattan. The traffic snarls drove him crazy. He lacked patience—that’s what his wife, Patty, always said. He supposed she was right. He thrived when he was doing something productive—tracking down leads, figuring out angles, putting bad guys away, and clearing the innocent ones. He came out of the tunnel into New Jersey and followed his car’s navigator to Washington Boulevard in Jersey City, where Maxwell Dolan worked.
He found a parking spot not far from Dolan’s building and went inside. Just like in New York City and every other big city in the country, he had to pass through security first. He took out his ID, got a badge with his name on it, then rode the elevator to the twenty-second floor. The investment firm of Dolan and Mahoney was straight ahead when he exited the elevator. Inside their doors, he gave the receptionist his name.
“He’s expecting you, Mr. Noorland. Just take a seat, and he’ll be with you in a moment.”
She was right. He’d barely sat when a young man with a linebacker’s build, dressed formally in a suit and tie, walked over to him and held out his hand.
“I’m Max Dolan. You must be Tom Noorland.”
Tommy nodded, then followed him to his office. Once settled, he said, “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.”
“Yeah, well, Win and I go back a long way. We’d been best buds since elementary school. Went to Princeton together. Would still be tight if he weren’t . . . he weren’t . . . you know.”
“Facing execution?”
Max nodded. “I c
an’t bring myself to say it. It’s just so surreal.”
Tommy looked around the immaculate office, with windows overlooking the Hudson River. He suspected that Max, like Win, had grown up with wealth. Everything about him reeked of money. “Well, my office is trying to clear him. What can you tell me about him and Carly?”
“Nothing to tell. She was just someone to date. I don’t think he ever thought it’d be a long-term relationship.”
“Win said he’d broken up with her before leaving for college.”
“I suppose that’s true. He didn’t want to keep seeing her on breaks from school.”
Tommy wrinkled his forehead. “Then why’d he go see her at the school dance?”
“Look, he knew a bunch of kids that went there. We both did. He wasn’t going for Carly.”
“Did you spend time in Palm Beach as well?
“Sure, my folks have a winter home there.”
Just then, Max’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Yes? I’ll be out shortly. Just stall him.” He hung up the phone, then looked sheepishly at Tommy. “Sorry, it’s a last-minute appointment I had to squeeze in. Will we be finished soon?”
Tommy nodded, then reached into his briefcase and pulled out a picture of Earl Sanders. “You ever see him in Palm Beach?”
Max took the picture and stared at it. He placed the picture on his desk, started to shake his head, then picked it up again. “Wait a minute. He does look familiar. I saw him outside the high school the night of the dance. The night Carly was murdered.”
Tommy leaned forward in his chair. “Are you certain?”
Max glanced once more at the picture, then set it down on the table. “Yeah. Pretty sure. It was a long time ago.”
“You were at that dance?”
“Me and Win went together. You know, to catch up with some local friends.”
“Start from the beginning. Tell me what you saw and heard that night.”
“Well, it was semester break, our families were down in Florida, and we joined them there. We had nothing special to do that night, and Win suggested we crash the dance. When we got there, I saw a girl I knew and went over to talk to her. After a bit, I caught a glimpse of Win leaving the gym with Carly. I didn’t know what he was planning, and he was my ride, so I made my way over to that door and went outside. I didn’t see either of them, but this guy—the one in the picture—was standing maybe ten, fifteen feet away. I remember him because he seemed a little older than everyone else. And he wasn’t dressed like he was attending a dance. It just seemed like he didn’t belong there. I looked around for Win some more, went back into the gym for a while, then decided to wait by his car. When I got to it, Win was already there. We left, drove around a bit, stopped for a bite to eat at a diner, then he drove me home.”
“How did he seem to you when you saw him by the car?”
“Seemed just like he always did. Smooth as silk.”
Tommy tried to recall Dani’s summary of the trial record. He didn’t remember her saying anything about Max’s testimony. “Did you testify at his trial?”
“I wanted to. We talked about it a lot—me and his lawyer, I mean. He went back and forth on it, but he finally decided it could be more damaging than helpful.”
“How?”
“Well, like I said, when Win came back, he didn’t seem at all ruffled. His lawyer thought the jury might think—you know, if he had killed Carly—that he was some sort of sociopath, that he murdered casually, instead of in the heat of an argument. So, he decided not to use me.”
“Did you tell him about this guy?” Tommy said, pointing to the picture of Sanders.
“No, but he never asked me whether I saw any other guy outside. And he didn’t have any picture to show me.”
After another five minutes of questioning, Tommy stood up to leave. He’d hit the jackpot with Max Dolan—finally, he’d found someone who placed Sanders at the scene. As soon as he left the building, he called Dani to relay the news. Before heading back to the office, he strolled over to the restaurant he’d spotted on the corner. He’d earned a good lunch—Dolan’s recognition of Sanders should be the missing key to unlocking the steel doors of Winston Melton’s prison cell.
Dani hung up from her phone call with Tommy and could barely contain her excitement. With Max’s identification of Sanders, she finally started to allow herself to believe wholeheartedly in Win’s innocence. She walked into Melanie’s office, a wide grin on her face. “We have it! Max Dolan remembers seeing Sanders at the high school the night Carly was murdered.”
“That’s great. Now Whiting will have to agree to a new trial.”
“Let’s call him now.” Dani picked up the telephone, put it on speaker, and dialed Whiting’s office. When he came on the line, she said, “I think I have some information that will change your mind about Winston Melton.”
“I doubt it, but go ahead.”
“We’ve been able to confirm that Sanders was in the area when Carly Sobol was murdered. In addition to the motel where he stayed, a waitress remembers him coming into her restaurant during that period.”
“Ms. Trumball, it may well be that Sanders was in the area. It doesn’t mean he murdered that young woman.”
“There’s more. We found a witness who saw him at the high school that night.”
There was quiet on the other end of the phone.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m sure you believe it means something to have found a person who places him at the high school, but you don’t know the Melton family.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me guess. You got the name of this person from one of the Meltons, right?”
“Yes, I’d asked Winston for the names of his and Carly’s friends. How I got to him doesn’t negate what he saw. He hasn’t seen Winston since his conviction.”
Dani heard a chuckle on the other end of the line. “I wish I still had your naiveté. Must be nice.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s so amusing.”
Whiting’s voice grew darker. “No, you wouldn’t. You haven’t had the misfortune to cross paths with the Melton family. I have. And I can tell you, it doesn’t matter what you uncover. It won’t change my belief that Winston Melton raped and murdered that girl.”
Dani forced herself to remain calm when what she wanted was to reach through the phone and throttle Ed Whiting’s neck. “Do you have some vendetta against that family? Is that what this is about? Whatever your feelings may be, you shouldn’t be turning a blind eye to a miscarriage of justice.”
Dani heard a deep sigh. “Any exculpatory evidence you find will have been arranged by the family. That’s what they do. They are expert at covering up their sins.”
“Perhaps they’ve done that in the past. I don’t know. But our investigator has checked whether Sanders received any compensation from the Meltons for his confession and came up empty. A disturbed serial murderer wants to clear his conscience before he dies. That’s all this is.”
“No. If the Meltons are involved, it’s never that simple.”
As Dani hung up, the doubt she’d pushed aside so recently returned. Still, she couldn’t let it affect her advocacy. Whatever Amelia Melton might have done, Dani’s review of the trial record reinforced her belief that there had been insufficient evidence to establish Win’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, much less send him to death row. She knew, though, she wouldn’t change Whiting’s mind. She could only hope that the appellate court cared more about the facts and the law than long-held grudges.
CHAPTER
19
Dani sat in the small viewing room of the GDCP, awaiting the execution of Earl Sanders. She had struggled with the decision to attend. After all, Earl wasn’t her client. He wasn’t an innocent man. When she’d failed to exonerate one of her clients, she always watched
as the client was led into the execution chamber, strapped onto a gurney. She watched as the three drugs were administered—the first to put him to sleep, the next a muscle relaxant to paralyze his lungs and heart, the last to stop his heart. That’s the way it was supposed to work, only drug manufacturers had recently stopped providing the drugs needed for an execution. Many states had moved to a single-drug protocol, Georgia included, using a lethal dose of an anesthetic, usually Phenobarbital. But the overseas manufacturer of Phenobarbital had recently refused to sell that drug for use in executions. Georgia had sped up its executions to make sure it used up its dwindling supply of that drug before its expiration date. And so Earl Sanders would be executed only six years after his conviction, even though the average time spent on death rows throughout the country was much longer.
Dani had finally decided to make the trip to Georgia once again on the off chance that Sanders had any more information to substantiate his confession to the murder of Carly Sobol. She’d met with him earlier and had walked away without learning anything new. She glanced around the viewing room and saw a woman who fit Tommy’s description of Letitia Sanders two rows in front. She walked over to her. “Are you Earl’s mother?”
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m a colleague of Tom Noorland. You met him a few weeks ago.”
The woman looked her up and down. “You came here to see my son die?”
“I came here to speak to him one last time. Your son did a good thing by confessing to those crimes. I’m very sorry you have to go through this.”
“It’s not somethin’ any mother should ever have to do, no matter how bad behaved her child. But he wanted me here, and so I came.”
Dani saw tears well in her eyes.
“I know everyone thinks he’s a monster. But to me, he’s my son, and—” She pressed her fist over her heart. “I still love him.”
Dani nodded, squeezed Mrs. Sanders’s hand, then returned to her seat. She’d questioned why she’d chosen to stay for the execution. She didn’t owe Sanders the reassurance that someone watching cared about him—that was the reason she attended the execution of a client she’d failed. Now she understood her motivation. Sanders had committed a series of unspeakable acts, yet at the end, he had tried to do something good for a person he’d never met. If Win Melton walked out of prison, it would be because of this man. That’s why she stayed.
