Sullivan's Law (31 page)

With the drapes closed, the house was a dungeon of darkness. She wished she'd taken the other gun with the flashlight instead of giving it to John. The house was too quiet. The killers were listening, trying to determine where their victims were hiding.

Carolyn felt the parquet floor under her feet. Every step she took would lead them to her. Should she remain where she was? They couldn't get up the stairs without her seeing them. She would kill them before they reached the children.

The minutes ticked off inside her head. She wiped the sweat off her face with the edge of her robe. What if they grew tired of waiting and began firing through the ceiling? Depending on what type of weapons they had, they might hit Rebecca or John.

Carolyn depressed the pad on the laser, pointing it down the hallway. The beam of red light wasn't strong enough to illuminate more than a small round circle. She had to take action. She had to know who was alive or dead. “Daniel,” she shouted.

“I shot a man,” he answered, his voice echoing throughout the house. “I can't find Isobel.”

“Is the man dead?”

“I'm not certain.”

“Shoot him again.”

A few moments later, Daniel called out to her. “He's not breathing.”

“Where's Isobel?”

“Not in her room.”

Carolyn realized the surviving intruder wouldn't go after Daniel as he knew he was armed. She bent down and placed the assault rifle on the floor. The gun felt cumbersome and was designed to be used in tactical situations at greater distances. She needed to be more agile, since it appeared that Isobel had either somehow escaped, was dead in another part of the house, or was being held as a hostage. Bringing the Pasadena police in without explicit knowledge of what they were walking into could end up in disaster.

Before descending the stairs, Carolyn tried to determine the location of the other intruder. Since Daniel had shot his partner, she assumed his was the first room they had entered. Daniel must have checked Isobel's room already, then returned to the guest room to make certain the man he'd shot was dead. She assumed he'd remained there. That meant the surviving suspect was either in the kitchen, the bathroom, or the living room. Logic told her he was lying in wait for her in the living room, the only place where he could see her coming down the stairs.

Carolyn felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a twenty-story building. Descending the stairs would be suicide. She dropped to the ground and crept to the opposite side of the stairway. She couldn't afford to communicate with Daniel again. Her voice would guide them to her.

They'd reached a standoff.

The killer couldn't come up the stairs for the same reason Carolyn could not go down them. As long as she remained where she was, she held the advantage. He wouldn't wait forever. Any second, she expected him to start firing through the ceiling.

She had two choices.

The window in Paul's office had an aluminum awning that slanted downward toward the yard. If she crawled out the window, she could slide down the awning and enter through the rear of the house, taking the suspect by surprise. All she would have to worry about with this plan was that Daniel might panic and shoot her when she came through the back door. He had her gun, and the probation department did not supply their officers with weapons with lasers and flashlights.

Her only option was to go down the stairs.

She remembered that the upstairs hall had a narrow carpet called a runner. Feeling around with her toes, she found the edge. Squatting down, she quietly grabbed the end of it, rolled it into a ball, then unfurled it down the stairs. She waited, fully expecting to hear gunfire. When nothing happened, she positioned herself on her stomach, the gun in her outstretched hands.

Carolyn inched her way down the wooden staircase, the carpet underneath her buffering the sound. She removed her finger from the pad that activated the laser. Darkness was now her best defense.

Time seemed suspended. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she crawled across the floor, then flattened herself on the wall outside the living room. Only a few feet away, she heard the sound of muffled breathing. She began to perspire even more profusely. She couldn't understand why the suspect didn't announce that he had a hostage, unless he was using poor Isobel as a human shield to deflect bullets. She prayed for God to help her, making the sign of the cross over her chest. She wasn't a marksman, and her familiarity with firearms was limited.

Carolyn couldn't wait any longer. For all she knew, there could have been more than two intruders. Isobel might already be dead and the men were positioned on opposite sides of the room. If this was the case, she wouldn't stand a chance. She couldn't shoot at two targets simultaneously.

Her decision made, she placed one foot forward for balance. When nothing happened, she depressed the pad on the laser and pointed it toward the living room. She was about to open fire when a pinpoint of red light illuminated a portion of Isobel's face. Moving the gun around, she saw the housekeeper sitting on top of a body, her nightclothes soaked in blood.

Isobel raised her hands over her head and cried out, “Sweet Jesus, don't shoot me!”

Sweat had dripped down into Carolyn's eyes. She blinked several times, trying to focus. “Are you injured?”

“I'm alive,” the woman answered. “I'm not so certain about this guy. I think I killed him.”

Isobel was close to the front of the house. Carolyn moved the gun from side to side, searching for another possible intruder. Ninety percent sure no one else was in the room, she rushed over and yanked the drapes open. The light from the street allowed her to see a person with long hair lying face-down on the floor. When she saw the fancy silver tennis shoes, she knew she was looking at David Reynolds. She dropped down beside him and put her finger on his neck to check for a pulse.

“He's got a heartbeat,” Carolyn said. “Did you shoot him? Where's the gun?”

Isobel lifted her right arm, displaying a bloody butcher knife. “I stabbed the sucker,” she said. “Since they killed my Otis, I always sleep with a knife under the mattress. The bastard got me around the neck and dragged me in here. He didn't see the knife in my hand.”

“Stay here,” Carolyn told her, seeing a gun a few feet away on the floor. “I'm going to call the police and an ambulance.”

Isobel jerked her head around. “I'm not going to no hospital. Nothing wrong with me.”

“Maybe not,” she said, “but the man you stabbed needs medical treatment.”

“I've been sick as a dog all day,” Isobel said. “Man come in my room in the middle of the night wanting to kill me deserves to be stabbed. I should sit on this rotten piece of meat until he bleeds to death.”

Carolyn's stomach was still churning. She bent over, fearful she was going to throw up. When the nausea subsided, she straightened up. “Why didn't you let us know you were alive, Isobel?”

“I'm not stupid,” the woman told her. “Could have been five murdering thugs in here for all I know. I got mine, then decided if the others wanted to kill me, they'd have to find me.”

“You did good,” Carolyn told her, still reeling from the fact that her handsome classmate from law school was a hired killer. “I need to check on the others. Just sit tight until the ambulance gets here.”

Carolyn raced to the foot of the stairs. “John, Rebecca, it's safe now. Are you both okay?”

“Yeah,” John called down.

“We're going to call the police. Just stay in your room until I come and get you.”

Carolyn located the switch box and threw the breaker, turning the electricity back on. Entering the guest room, she saw Fast Eddie on the floor at the foot of the bed, a large brackish hole in his forehead and a pool of blood beneath him. “Did you call the police yet?” she asked Daniel, confirming that Downly was dead. “We're going to need an ambulance for the man in the living room. Isobel stabbed him. Tell them it's a stomach wound. I don't think it's fatal, but he's lost a lot of blood.”

“I couldn't find the phone in the dark,” Daniel explained, the gun still dangling from his hand. “Do you think our problems are over now?”

“Yes, I do,” Carolyn said. “I'll bring you the phone so you can make the calls. I need to go upstairs and take care of my children.”

Finding her cell phone on the kitchen table where she'd left it, she returned and handed it to Daniel.

“I've never called the police before,” he said. “They aren't going to put me in jail again, are they?”

“No,” Carolyn told him. “Liam Armstrong confessed today. You're going to be cleared, Daniel.”

When she passed through the living room on her way upstairs, Isobel was still perched on top of David Reynolds, her elbows braced on her knees. “Told you everything would be fine, didn't I? When you're with the right people, the devil may set the boat to rocking, but Jesus won't never let you sink.”

A
t two o'clock Monday afternoon, Carolyn, Daniel, Isobel, John, and Rebecca were seated at the long conference table at the Ventura Police Department. Brad Preston, Hank Sawyer, District Attorney Kevin Thomas, Captain Gary Holmes, and several other investigators were also present.

“Well,” Hank said, his eyes drifting from one person to the other, “as you all know by now, there's no doubt whatsoever that Eddie Downly was killed in an act of self-defense. If Daniel hadn't shot him, the state would have eventually executed him.” He directed his next statement to Daniel. “I spoke to Luisa Cortez's parents this morning and they wanted me to personally thank you.”

“How's the little girl?” Daniel asked timidly. Although he was relieved that things had turned out the way they had, all the attention he'd been receiving was making him nervous. He'd already given interviews to two newspaper reporters.
People
magazine had approached him, along with several science and technical periodicals.

“She's doing fine, considering what she's been through,” Hank told him. “Knowing Downly isn't around anymore should help in her recovery.” He turned to address the rest of the room again. “Unfortunately, we have a number of significant problems. Percy Mills, AKA David Reynolds, will recover from the stab wound. He's not going anywhere, though, outside of the jail.”

Carolyn presented the question everyone wanted answered: “Who hired Eddie Downly?”

“Mills doesn't know,” the detective said. “He admitted that Fast Eddie told him he'd been hired to kill Daniel Metroix. Problem is, Mills claims he has no idea who hired him. Downly was shrewd. He knew better than to trust a guy like Percy Mills. From the way things went down at Professor Leighton's house, Mills was a robber, not a killer.” The detective took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. Everyone involved was reaching the point of exhaustion. “Mills didn't have the cunning or the balls to pull off a homicide.”

Isobel scowled in disgust. “At least that evil man who raped that little girl is dead. We don't have to worry that he'll hurt any more children.”

“Wait,” Carolyn said, holding up a palm to silence her. “Mills was armed. Why didn't he shoot Isobel instead of taking her into the living room?”

“Who knows?” the detective said, shrugging. “By then, Downly was dead. Mills probably thought the police had the house surrounded, so he decided to take Isobel as a hostage.”

“Why did he enroll in law school under an assumed name?”

“To get close to you,” Hank told Carolyn. “Mills stole the records from a UCLA law student who'd died of leukemia. Because the real David Reynolds was an outstanding student, Ventura accepted the transfer.”

“But that doesn't make sense,” Carolyn said, perplexed. “He transferred in several weeks before I was even assigned to supervise Daniel.”

“Yeah, but Metroix had already been paroled.”

Daniel confirmed the detective's statement. “I got out of prison on February twenty-fifth. I didn't come straight to Ventura. I spent a couple of weeks in Los Angeles.”

“When you came to Ventura,” Kevin Thomas interjected, “you checked into the Seagull Motel. The man on the bus told you it was the best place to stay. Isn't that what you told Detective Sawyer?”

“Yes,” Daniel said, nodding.

Hank slid a photograph across the table. “Does this look like the man on the bus?”

“That's him,” Daniel said, staring at the image. “I'm almost certain. He even had the same mole on his left cheek. He was older than he is in this picture, though.”

“Do we have an ID on this person?” Carolyn asked, peering over Daniel's shoulder.

“He's a former police officer named Boyd Chandler,” Captain Holmes said, a gray-haired man in his mid-fifties. “Harrison's housekeeper identified him as well. He and another man we suspect was Pete Cordova, also a former officer and known associate of Chandler's, made frequent visits to Charles Harrison's residence. Their most recent visit was after Metroix had been released and already assigned as your parolee. The bail bondsman also identified Chandler as the man who gave him the three grand.”

“This means Harrison contracted the hit,” Carolyn surmised. “Have we confirmed his death yet?”

Hank pulled out a toothpick. “No,” he said. “Harrison hasn't surfaced anywhere. We managed to track down a brokerage account. He had over two hundred thousand stashed under his son's name. The money's gone. He moved it a week before his alleged death. Took payment in cash and cashier's checks. We've notified the banks and given them the numbers on the checks. These things are hard to track down. To a bank, a cashier's check is almost the same as cash.” He thought a few moments, then added, “And don't forget, Harrison was a deputy chief. With those credentials, people tend not to ask questions.”

“Who gets the money from the sale of his house?” Carolyn asked. “And is the insurance company going to pay the million dollars to Madeline Harrison? Why would he leave the money to her? From what she said, she hadn't seen her husband in years.”

“No other heirs,” Hank tossed out. “The insurance company has to settle the claim. They can't hold back unless there's definitive proof of a hoax, which we don't have right now. Mrs. Harrison's attorney has already contacted them. Guess she needs the money to pay the bills at Fairview. The house hasn't sold yet, but the wife gets that money as well.”

Carolyn gave them a rundown of the information she'd learned in reference to Madeline Harrison's past. Hank didn't believe it had much bearing on the case. All it did was explain why Harrison's widow had possessed the funds to remain in an expensive facility such as Fairview for such an extended period of time. Charles Harrison would never have been able to amass the two hundred grand in his brokerage account if he'd been saddled with his wife's hospital expenses.

“Great,” Carolyn said facetiously. “For all we know, Harrison is alive and may try to kill Daniel again.”

“The man had a serious liver condition,” Hank said. “If he's not already dead, he could die any day. Eddie Downly is dead, Percy Mills will go to prison for attempted murder, robbery, burglary, and God knows how many other outstanding cases that might surface. I wouldn't spend much time worrying about Charles Harrison.”

Carolyn asked John and Rebecca to step out of the room, handing them some bills and telling them to get sodas from the vending machine down the hall.

“Harrison needs a liver,” she said, as soon as the children had left the room. “Once he gets one, he could live as long as anyone else. We know he has enough money to pay for the operation. We have to find him.”

“Consider him dead,” Hank said, not knowing what else to tell her.

“Not without proof,” Carolyn said, shaking her head. “And you have no proof. By arranging his own cremation, Harrison made certain of that.”

Daniel had a dismal look on his face. “I thought everything was over.”

“You're being an alarmist,” Captain Holmes said. “More than likely, Charles Harrison is dead. A person staging their own death is highly unusual. Not only that, Liam Armstrong has all but cleared Metroix. Once Harrison becomes aware that Metroix didn't cause his son's death, why would he want to harm him? His anger should be redirected toward the men responsible, Nolan Houston and Liam Armstrong.”

“What if Harrison refuses to believe they're guilty,” Carolyn said. “And the trial could take months, even years. Even if they are convicted, you know Armstrong and Houston will file an appeal. In the meantime, Daniel's on the verge of becoming a public figure. His notoriety may infuriate Harrison enough to hire another person to kill him.”

“Let me ask you something,” Daniel said, the events of that night playing over in his mind. “Did Liam Armstrong say Houston pushed Tim in front of the car?”

“Sure did,” Hank said. “We talked to Houston and his two attorneys this morning. Houston is using the exact tactic we thought he would. He swears Liam Armstrong pushed Tim Harrison to his death, then coerced him into withholding the truth from the authorities.”

“He's right,” Daniel said, staring at the detective.

A tense silence fell over the room.

“I'm not sure I understood you,” Hank said, shocked at what he was hearing. “Why don't you tell us what you believe really happened?”

Daniel became animated, gesturing with his hands. “Most of what you said is true. At least, how everything went down. All you have to do is reverse a few things. I remember Liam Armstrong talking to the man who ran over Tim, claiming I had attacked them and shoved the boy in front of his car. He tried to tell the man that I had a knife, which was also a lie.” He face blanched. “I did own a knife,” he admitted. “I didn't have it on me that night, though. I swear, I never intended to hurt anyone with it. I was going to kill myself. I tried but I didn't have the guts to do it.”

Carolyn reached over and placed her hand on top of Daniel's. Even before he'd been falsely accused, he'd been so severely tormented, he'd wanted to take his own life. Not only had he survived twenty-three years in prison, but he'd attained some remarkable accomplishments. The attorney general's office had discovered that Warden Lackner had patented a number of Daniel's inventions under his brother-in-law's name. The multiscreen monitoring and recording system had generated millions. The best news was that the bulk of the money was recoverable. Lackner had deposited the earnings in a brokerage account, pocketing only a few hundred thousand per year, most of it interest or gains from investments. The AG was preparing to prosecute him as well as his brother-in-law. The warden had already been relieved of his duties at the prison. In addition, several major research and development companies were interested in recruiting Daniel, and Mitsubishi Corporation had offered him a six-figure sum as an enticement. Whether he liked it or not, Daniel Metroix was on the road to becoming rich and famous.

“Go on,” Hank said. “We'd like to know what you remember about Tim Harrison's death.”

“Nolan didn't say much,” Daniel continued. “Liam did all the talking. I remember Liam saying several times, ‘Isn't that right, Nolan?' You know, the way a person talks when they're trying to get another person to agree with them.”

All eyes were on him now.

Daniel waited a few more moments before speaking again, staring down at the table. “I wasn't certain if I was guilty or innocent during the time I was in prison. I didn't give it a lot of thought, to be honest. When a jury says you did something terrible, a person with an illness like mine tends to believe it.” He paused and looked up. “Since we've gone over this so many times, things are starting to come back to me.”

“How can you be sure it was Liam Armstrong instead of Houston?” Kevin Thomas said, taking a drink of water as his case took another unexpected turn.

“Liam's the white guy, right?”

“Yes,” Thomas said.

“Well, it was the white guy who pushed Tim in front of the car.”

“Humph,” Isobel said, crossing her arms over her chest. “That's one for the record.”

“The boys were fighting,” Daniel said, speaking softly. “Tim was angry because he knew they were going to get in trouble. Nolan told him to shut up, then started hitting him. Liam was several feet away. He started running toward Nolan, but Nolan made this funny move, almost like a dance step. I guess football players learn to do that type of thing. Instead of slamming into Nolan, Liam hit Tim. That's when Tim went flying through the air and the car hit him.”

Hank leaned forward. “Are you certain?” he asked. “When you testify, they'll bring up the fact that you were psychotic that night. And if you were, how do we know what you're telling us is the truth?”

Daniel gave them an innocent look. “Because it is,” he said, rubbing the side of his face. “I'm certain. I remember almost everything that happened that night now. Even when I had my first breakdown and they sent me to Camarillo State Hospital, I remembered everything that went on. At least from my own experience, being psychotic and having delusions aren't the same thing. During the times when I've been psychotic, I do and say strange things, but I know what's going on around me. In that state, everything is magnified. When you're delusional, you're more or less in a dream world.”

“And you were psychotic the night of the crime?”

“I must have been,” Daniel said. “If I'd been suffering delusions, nothing that happened would have been real. We know that isn't true.”

Carolyn recalled the lab's analysis of the medication found on Daniel's person the night of the crime. They couldn't reproduce the pills, but the information was in the computer files. “He was given the wrong medication,” she told them. “My assumption is the pharmacy gave it to him by mistake. The drug was called Levodopa. It's used to treat Parkinson's disease. According to Dr. Weiss, one of our expert witnesses on psychiatric matters, this particular drug would have caused an acute psychotic episode if administered to a schizophrenic.”

“Why didn't this come out at the trial?” Kevin Thomas asked. “This is the perfect foundation for a diminished capacity defense.”

Carolyn gave the attorney a dirty look. “Didn't you even read the damn trial transcripts?” she snapped, leaning forward over the table. “Nothing regarding Daniel's illness was introduced during the trial. He fought for over ten years just to get the prison to administer medication. It wasn't just Charles Harrison or a few football players out for a good time who ruined this man's life. The entire system is responsible. Is the same thing going to happen again?”

“I don't have to listen to this, Sullivan,” Kevin Thomas shot back, standing up and yanking off his tie. “I was only brought on board last week. I have five other cases I'm preparing for trial. I'm not the one who screwed this case up. Why are you ripping into me?”