First Offense (17 page)

Glen quickly exited through the back door of the court and headed down the corridor to the judge’s chambers. Hillstorm’s secretary, a middle-aged woman with red hair, waved him in.

“Sit down,” Hillstorm said, looking out over a large maple desk that had seen better days. The surface was marred and scratched, and most of the desk was buried under stacks of papers and periodicals. Hillstorm collected western bronzes and odd artifacts, and his office looked more like a musty attic than a judge’s chambers. On one side of his desk was a stuffed owl on a podium. Set on his credenza were several bronze sculptures of rearing horses and riders. Because of their shared love of horses, Hillstorm and Hopkins were quite chummy.

Once the D.A. was seated, Hillstorm picked up a newspaper and glanced at it. “Is this the same man we’re arraigning today for attempted murder?” He tossed the paper across the desk at Hopkins.

“Yes,” Glen said, looking at the paper and then placing it back on the judge’s desk. “You sentenced this man yourself on the narcotics case. Don’t you remember him?”

Sunlight streaked in from an overhead window, and Hillstorm’s white hair sparkled. But his eyes were narrow and his voice sharp. “Of course I remember him. Counselor. They even contacted me when they did this newspaper piece. It was a nice story for a change. Man comes before the court, then saves the life of his probation officer.” Hillstorm chuckled and rested his arms over his stomach. “Thought I made an impression on this young fellow and he cleaned up his act. Made me feel kind of special, you know?”

Hillstorm was eyeing him steadily, and Hopkins became uncomfortable. Was the old judge serious or just playing with his head? They were all hams, loved to get good publicity, particularly since most of their publicity was negative. Every day some group blasted a judge for leniency or some impropriety. “Is this what you wanted to discuss?” he said.

“What did you think I called you in here for?”

This time Hopkins kept his mouth shut and listened.

“Bob Fielder sent over a transcript of this man’s statement. Seems his parents are decent people and he has some reservations about this case in general. Think there’s any truth to this man’s statements about Ms. Carlisle?”

“He shot the woman,” Hopkins exclaimed, leaning forward. “If you listened to his statement, then you know he placed himself in the parking lot prior to the shooting, exactly where we feel the assailant was hiding when he fired. He must have positioned himself behind a parked car. Ann Carlisle’s car was disabled. That means he flushed her out in the open so he could get a clear shot and was lying in wait for her. This was a premeditated, vicious attack. Not only that, Ms. Carlisle saw human fingers in his refrigerator. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. We could be dealing with a serial killer for all we know.”

“You didn’t find these alleged fingers, though. Isn’t that correct?” Judge Hillstorm swiveled his chair around and faced the window, not waiting for Hopkins’s response. He already knew the answer. “That will be all,” he said.

Once the bailiff had called the court to order, Hillstorm peered out over the courtroom. “Do you have a copy of the Information, Mr. Duke?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” the short attorney said, standing. “I also have a discovery order I would like to file.” Duke walked over and handed it to the clerk for dispersal.

When the judge received his copy, he simply set it aside. To file discovery, requesting all evidence and information the other side had on the case, was routine procedure. As the case continued, more discovery orders would be filed by both parties, along with dozens of motions and petitions.

The courtroom fell silent, except for the rustling of papers by the clerk as she prepared the file. Finally Hillstorm spoke, his gaze fixed on the defendant. “It saddens me to see your face, Mr. Sawyer. You’re a young man with a good family behind you, I hear. These are serious allegations you’re facing.” Hillstorm shook his head and looked down at the Information, slowly sliding on his glasses before he began the arraignment. “How does your client plead to count one, a violation of section 664/187 of the California Penal Code, attempted murder?”

“My client pleads not guilty. Your Honor,” Duke said.

“As to count two, a violation of section 12022(a) of the penal code, using a firearm in the commission of the above crime?”

“Not guilty,” Duke said again.

“As to count three, a violation of section 245(d) (1), assault with a deadly weapon on a peace officer?”

“Not guilty,” the defense attorney said, leaning over and whispering something to Sawyer, then glancing back over his shoulder at Sawyer’s mother. The woman was dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

“All right,” Hillstorm said, “as to count four, a violation of section 1203 of the penal code, violation of probation in case A5349837?”

“Not guilty.”

Suddenly, Ann realized that this was not another routine hearing, like so many others she had attended in the past. Two lives were on the line here. Not just Sawyer’s but hers as well. By going to his house that day and making her grisly discovery, Ann had set this machine in motion. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t stop it now. She felt herself vacillating, thinking like a mother. Sawyer was so young, she thought, staring at his back. Maybe one of his roommates was the butcher, the one who had sliced off the fingers. As unjust as he was to accuse her of seducing him, could he have done it in retaliation? No, she thought, she couldn’t allow herself to think this way.

Simply by closing her eyes, she could relive the night of the shooting, the bullet ripping into her flesh, the blood, the panic and terror. Now she knew how victims felt, sitting only a few feet away from the very person who had attacked them.

Ann knew that by law. Sawyer could be convicted of only one crime involving the shooting, plus the second count, which was considered an enhancement for the use of a firearm. If he was convicted of attempted murder, he could not be convicted of assault with a deadly weapon, basically the same crime but with nonspecific intent. Overfiling charges gave the jury an option. If the prosecution did not prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Sawyer’s intent had been to kill Ann, the jury could still bring in a conviction under the lesser offense of assault with a deadly weapon. In addition, pleading multiple counts was a tactic used to provide options should the case be plea-bargained. If Sawyer was receptive to entering a plea of guilty for a prenegotiated term of imprisonment, the first count would more than likely be dismissed.

“Fine,” Judge Hillstorm said, proceeding with the arraignment. He selected a date for the preliminary hearing in three weeks and explained to the defendant what would occur then. In essence, the prosecution would have to establish only that a crime had in fact occurred and that there was probable cause to believe the defendant had perpetrated this crime. During the trial, on the other hand, the burden of proof would be more specific, and the prosecution would be charged with proving its case within a reasonable doubt.

Harold Duke stood again. “Could we address the issue of bail at this time. Your Honor?”

“Mr. Duke,” Hillstorm said sternly, “if you’ll give me just a moment here, I was about to order the probation officer to conduct a bail review. That’s the way we do it.”

“I object,” Duke said quickly. “I realize this is standard procedure, but surely you can see there is a conflict of interest here. The victim is a probation officer, and it’s highly unlikely that my client will receive impartial treatment from the probation department. We feel the court should determine bail for my client independent of any other recommendation.”

Glen Hopkins was quick to object. “Why should Mr.

Sawyer receive special consideration, Your Honor? Mr. Duke’s allegations that the probation department would act in an unethical fashion are inflammatory and downright offensive.”

Judge Hillstorm removed his glasses, wiped them with a tissue, and then slipped them back on his nose. “I concur with Mr. Duke,” he said slowly. “I’ll settle the issue of bail. Mr. Hopkins, state your position.”

“The people are asking that the defendant be held without bail,” Hopkins said firmly, still irritated that Sawyer was receiving special treatment. “He was on probation at the time of this offense, and there are circumstances to suggest he’s clearly a danger to the community. Further, Ms. Carlisle has been traumatized by this crime and should not be placed at further risk. Don’t forget, this poor woman was shot right here. Your Honor, right outside this courtroom and only a short time after the defendant was sentenced. How can she continue her work, walk to that parking lot every night, with the knowledge that this man is back on the street?”

“Mr. Duke,” Hillstorm said.

“My client has only one prior offense, a misdemeanor. He has no history of violence and has resided in the community all his life. In considering bail, the criterion is basically to address the likelihood of the defendant fleeing. There is absolutely no reason to believe my client would not return to this court as instructed.”

“Your Honor, that isn’t the case at all,” Hopkins protested. “There’s concrete proof that the defendant was preparing to abscond at the time of his arrest. He rented a U-Haul van, and he moved all the furniture out of the house he was leasing. If that’s not an indication he was attempting to flee, I don’t know what is. He doesn’t have a job or own real estate, and he’s facing serious felony charges.”

“Is this true, Mr. Duke?” Hillstorm said, shuffling papers but unable to find the arrest report. “Was your client attempting to flee when arrested?”

“Not at all,” Duke rebutted. “He was only moving back into his parents’ home. There’s no proof whatsoever that he intended to leave the state or even the city.” The attorney glanced back at Rosemary Sawyer, and his voice rose in indignation. “These charges are a sham anyway. What evidence do they have linking my client to this crime? In my eyes it’s unconscionable to incarcerate an innocent man when you know very well you’ll never convict him.”

“I object,” Hopkins said, leaping to his feet. “That was uncalled-for.”

“Bail is set at a hundred thousand dollars,” Hillstorm said, pounding his gavel. “This court is hereby adjourned.”

Once the judge had left the bench, Hopkins seized his file and rushed over to Ann. “It’s a start, Ann,” he said quickly. “The preliminary hearing’s in three weeks. If he’s held to answer, they’ll probably revoke his bail.” Seeing she was not comforted, he lightened his tone. “Hey, at least Hillstorm set it at a hundred G’s. That’s a pretty hefty amount. Sawyer might not be able to make it.”

“He’ll make it,” Ann snapped, locking eyes with him. “His father’s a surgeon, remember?”

As people poured out of the courtroom. Glen said a few words to Harold Duke. Then he rushed out to return to the Delvecchio trial in another courtroom. Sawyer’s family had to come up with merely ten percent, not the entire amount. Ann knew they’d never let their son sit in jail.

As she and Reed started walking out of the courtroom, she had a sudden flash of the severed fingers in the house on Henderson. Instantly she forced it away. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on it and making herself crazy. No matter what Sawyer had done, whom he had butchered, or how many narcotics he had peddled on the streets, he would soon be on the loose again.

“Look, Ann,” Reed said, “I’ll put a tail on him. If he gets anywhere close to your house, we’ll blow his fucking head off.”

“That would help,” she answered, and then laughed nervously, trying to mask her fear. “I mean, the surveillance.”

“We only have three weeks to put this together,” the detective told her. “I’m going to pull every man I can and put him on this case. We’ve got to move fast.”

Ann nodded without speaking, deciding she would never make a recommendation for bail again, no matter what the case involved. Now she knew. She knew how they felt: the victims.

In many ways it was worse than before Sawyer had been arrested. Even though the pleadings had been filed under the name of the state of California, Sawyer knew it was Ann who was his accuser. And Ann had a face to insert behind the gun that shot her. Ironically, it was the same face she had thought was so beautiful that night on the sidewalk. Sawyer had to be deranged, twisted, the worst possible adversary. A man who would shoot you, she thought, and then stop to save you had to be a sociopath, a person with no conscience, no understanding of basic values.

What would he do now? she wondered, a sliver of fear slipping its way up her spine. If only Hank were alive, she thought sadly. But he wasn’t, and Ann knew she must do what she’d been trained to do, years before her husband had entered her life. She had to protect herself. In a few short hours Jimmy Sawyer would walk out the doors of the jail, and Ann would not be safe until he walked back in again. Only three weeks, Glen had said. To Ann, three weeks sounded like a lifetime.

Chapter
9

A
nn drove to her house in a driving rainstorm at nine o’clock that evening after having dinner with Claudette and her husband. She’d given David permission to stay at his friend’s house. She was so exhausted and emotionally drained that she headed straight to the bedroom and peeled off her clothes, turning off the lights and crawling under the covers. Heavy rain was pelting the roof and the wind was blowing, making the old house rattle and creak. Pulling the covers over her head to shut out the noise, Ann quickly fell asleep.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, a loud clap of thunder rang out, and Ann bolted upright in her bed. Looking out over the dark room, she saw her own image quickly flash in the mirror, lit by a bolt of lightning. Yesterday she’d moved Glen’s floral arrangement to the top of the safe under the window directly across from the bed, but she could smell the too-sweet odor of wilting flowers, intermingled now with the damp scent of rain.

Hearing a loud dripping sound, Ann finally forced herself to get out of bed and reached for her robe. When she couldn’t find it, she decided to forget it and headed down the hall naked. No one could see into the house, and David wasn’t around. When she reached the kitchen, she flipped on the overhead light. As she suspected, water was dripping from a leak in the ceiling onto the kitchen floor and collecting in a large puddle. Ann removed a metal pot and placed it under the drip, wondering how much a new roof would cost. Then she got several more pots and carried them to various locations throughout the house where she knew there were existing problems. Last year she had patched. This year she was looking at a new roof.