Chapter 24
“I am so
glad that trial is over,” Southerlyn complained as she and McCoy stopped at the
receptionist’s desk to collect their mail. “Eight weeks for one defendant is at
least four weeks too long.”
“It
would’ve gone a lot quicker if Mildred Kaskel hadn’t tied us up with so
many witnesses giving totally irrelevant testimony. I’m surprised Judge Richter
didn’t put a stop to it a lot sooner.”
As they
continued toward their offices, Southerlyn asked, “Care to take a guess as to how
long the jury will be out?”
He tucked
his briefcase under one arm and tore open a letter as he asked casually, “Is
there money or at least a free lunch involved?”
Southerlyn shook her head and smiled. “I am not falling for that again! You’ve been doing this far longer than
I have. I’ve only been right about a handful of our cases to date. I’m not
going to give you any more of my hard earned money.”
Grinning
he noted, “I was hoping it would take you a little longer to catch on.” He
shrugged and added, “I think this one will be a fairly short deliberation
despite the amount of testimony to consider, say, no more than six hours.” As
he turned his attention to the paper in his hand, a frown appeared on his face
and his footsteps slowed. He came to a complete stop just outside the door to
his office.
Taking
note of his expression Southerlyn queried, “What is it? Bad news?”
Giving
her a quick look, he shook his head. “It’s nothing. But I may have to cancel
our lunch plans.”
“All
right,” she responded. “Let me know once you’re sure.”
He nodded
absent-mindedly and opened his door, then closed it practically in Southerlyn’s
face, leaving her standing outside and wondering what had caused his abrupt
change of mood.
***“Hello, Melissa. This is Jack McCoy. Is Calea
in?”
“Yes, she
is, Mr. McCoy.”
“What did
I tell you about calling me ‘Mr. McCoy’?” he asked, trying to sound stern.
He heard
the receptionist giggle into his ear. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember next
time, Jack. Would you like me to put you through to Calea?”
“Yes,
thank you,” he replied.
Moments
later, Morgan’s voice queried, “Jack? What’s up?”
“I was
wondering if you could make time to meet me for lunch today,” he answered. “I
need to discuss something with you.”
Morgan
sighed into the phone. “Today is really not a good day. It’s been a mad-house
here all morning. Can we do it another time, maybe tomorrow?”
“It’s
important,” he replied simply.
Morgan sighed
again. “Let me check my schedule.” After a few seconds she continued, “I have
one more appointment in a few minutes and then I have a little free time. If we
can we meet about
“That’ll
work for me. How does Chinese sound?”
***As McCoy parked the city-owned sedan he was
driving, he saw Morgan pull into the parking lot behind him. He walked over and
met her as she was getting out of her car.
“I
appreciate your choosing a restaurant on my side of town,” she noted. “This
way I won’t have to gulp and run.”
“It was
the least I could do after asking you on such short notice,” he said as he led
the way to the restaurant’s entrance. “And they have a really good buffet here
so that should also save us some time.”
A short
time later, when they were both seated at a table with plates of steaming food,
Morgan poured them each a cup of green tea from a ceramic pot. “So how long are
you going to keep me in suspense?”
Keeping
his tone light he responded, “How about until after dessert?”
Giving
him a scrutinizing look, she questioned, “Is it that bad?”
McCoy
sighed and pulled a folded paper from the breast pocket of his jacket. “Judge
for yourself,” he suggested, handing it to her. “Mine came this morning. I knew
you wouldn’t get your mail until this afternoon so I thought I would soften
the blow.”
Morgan
looked at him curiously and took the letter from him. After unfolding it, she
read it silently, then looked up in surprise. “Six months?! That’s all he has
left? I thought you said he would have at least nine, if not a year or more!”
“I also
said that the Department of Corrections was steadily shortening the time
prisoners waited on death row,” he reminded her. “Besides, I thought that’s
what your client wanted, to not drag things out. I thought that was the whole
point of your asking me on his behalf to file my recommendation to speed things
along.”
Refolding
the letter, she handed it back to him, avoiding his eyes. “It was. I just
thought we’d have more time.”
McCoy
silently watched her stab at her plate of vegetables with her chopsticks while
making no attempt to actually eat anything. And though he tried to enjoy his
own food, he found it difficult to do so. He had spent the drive over trying to
predict what her reaction would be to the news. Now that he knew, he wished it
had gone better. He also wished she didn’t appear to still care so much about a
man who had been convicted of murder.
“Would
you like more tea?” he asked, reaching to pour himself another cup.
“No,
thank you,” she answered, glancing up at him long enough to catch his troubled
expression. Concentrating on her food again she noted, “You know, you don’t
have to read anything into my reaction. It isn’t in human nature to simply
accept death – not anyone’s. In Eric’s case, I know it’s inevitable. I just
didn’t expect it quite so soon.”
“I wasn’t
reading anything into your reaction,” he quietly pointed out. “I didn’t think
this was going to be good news for you. That’s why I wanted to tell you myself
instead of merely letting you find out when you opened your mail.”
Morgan’s
eyes met his briefly and she nodded. “I appreciate that.” With a sigh she
added with annoyance, “It just took me by surprise. I was hoping I wouldn’t
have to deal with this for a while yet.”
“I would
think you’d want to get it over with,” he noted.
Anger
immediately flashed in her eyes and she snapped, “Getting it over with, as you
put it, means my client is going to die. Forgive me if I’m not in a hurry to
see that happen.”
“I didn’t
mean to imply that you should be.” He studied her briefly, wondering if meeting
with her had been such a good idea. “It sounds like maybe you think the
sentence handed down for him was a mistake.”
“I don’t
know what to think,” she retorted, dropping her chopsticks. Rubbing her temple,
she added only a bit more amenably, “I guess I have mixed emotions about the
whole thing.”
“I
suppose I can understand that,” he acknowledged. “My job causes me plenty of
moments of inner conflict, too.”
She
reached abruptly to refill her tea cup, suggesting curtly, “Spare me, Jack. You
don’t have a clue what it feels like to sit on my side of the table.”
Slightly
taken aback, he regarded her for a moment, trying to decipher her mood. Shaking
his head, he finally asked, “Don’t you think I have my share of sleepless
nights over some of the decisions handed down? Don’t you think I have my own
moral dilemmas, especially where a capital offense is involved? I don’t take
any of my cases lightly. I’m well aware that a person’s future hangs in the
balance. And sometimes I can even understand why a person committed the crime
they did. My world isn’t strictly black and white any more than yours is.”
Leaning
toward him, she stated intently, “The difference is, when it’s all over, you
get to be everyone’s hero. You have the pats on the back to assure you that you
did the right thing. All I’m left with is watching a person who trusted me
carted off to jail. They come to me for help when they’ve made a mistake, and
they share a part of themselves with me in the process. It isn’t always easy
for me to separate the person from the crime they’ve committed.”
He
crossed his arms and rested them on the table. “You know, if I didn’t know you
better, I’d say you were trying to pick a fight simply for the sake of
fighting.”
Morgan
regarded him sullenly for a few seconds before closing her eyes and sighing
deeply. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out on
you.” Shaking her head she explained, “I’ve had a rough week at the office and
now this. I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed.”
“What’s
going on at your office? I thought you wrapped up your tough case last week.”
“I did,”
she agreed. Concentrating on the table, she said, “It’s the whole thing with
Eric. It has me tied in knots. I’m having a hard time concentrating on my other
work. And it follows me home, too. I keep having these dreams where I see him
smiling, telling me he knows I’m going to save him.” Shaking her head again,
she added quietly, “If he only knew the truth.”
McCoy sat
contemplating for a moment, then suggested, “That’s what’s really bothering you,
isn’t it? You’re upset because you feel responsible in some way for what’s
going to happen to him.” He bent forward. “He made his own choices. You didn’t
do anything wrong.”
“We both
know that isn’t true,” she argued dejectedly.
“There’s
nothing for you to regret. You know he belongs exactly where he is. Setting
aside the punishment aspect, you know it’s the only way to stop him from going
after another girl.”
Morgan
sighed again. “On the one hand, I agree with you that what he did warrants the
maximum punishment allowed by law, which the people of this state have decided
is death. But on the other, I wish things had turned out differently. It just
seems like such a waste.” Shrugging, she admitted, “Like I said, I have mixed
feelings.”
“You have
to let it go, Calea,” he advised gently. “Otherwise, it will eat you up.”
Looking
into his eyes, her own full of conflict, she noted, “That’s easier said than
done.”
He
considered asking again if she had made a decision on whether or not to attend
the execution. Knowing how she felt about Fisher, he was absolutely sure that
doing so would be a huge mistake on her part. But she had told him she didn’t
want to discuss it, so he decided to leave well enough alone for the time
being.
“At least
the threat of extradition will no longer be looming over you. Now that the date
to carry out the sentence has been set, your client can admit his guilt for the
other murders in writing and the prosecutors in the other cities can go ahead
and close their files. Even though they all agreed to hold off on extradition
for the 60 days, they kept it as an option in case he filed and won an appeal
here. I’m sure they’d like to wrap things up.”
“I’m glad
I don’t have to think about that. I really appreciate your help. I don’t know
what I would’ve done without it.”
“No
problem,” he said with a hint of a smile. “I didn’t want to see you have to go
through that. Besides, who would I find to watch old movies with me if you had
to go on the road?”
Morgan’s
expression softened. “I’m sure you have another woman or two waiting in the
wings for just such an occasion.”
“Oh, at
least,” he claimed teasingly. “Speaking of movies, what’s on your agenda for
this weekend? Painting more duplexes, or are you going to get a break?”
“We should
finish up our last one on Saturday. There was a hold-up with a building permit
for the next project, so we’ll have a couple of weekends off after this.”
“That’s
good news. After you stood me up last weekend, I was beginning to think you
were making that your second career. I thought I might have to buy a paintbrush
and join in just to be able to talk with you.”
“Come on,
now, it isn’t that bad. Last weekend was a fluke. I rarely spend more than half
a day per week volunteering. And I keep telling you, it’s rewarding work. I
know you’d enjoy it too, if you’d only give it a try.”
“I know,
I know,” he nodded. “I’ll surprise you one day and show up.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” he agreed with a smile. “So are we on for Saturday
afternoon?”
“Sure.
And since I stood you up, I’ll make dinner this week. You can come over anytime
after about
“All
right. Have you decided on a movie yet?”
“Not
really,” she replied. “I haven’t had much time to think about it. Any
suggestions?”
He shook
his head. “You aren’t getting any help from me. It’s your week to pick and I’m
leaving it strictly up to you.”
“Thanks a
lot,” she retorted. Giving him a smile she suggested, “I guess it’ll be a
surprise for both of us, then.”
***“I’m not willing to drop it down that far,”
McCoy argued as he and Southerlyn approached the receptionist’s desk. “I might
consider presenting a jury with the option for a lesser count, but if Dreason
wants to keep his client out of a courtroom, he’ll have to talk him into
accepting man one.”
“I’ll let
him know,” Southerlyn promised, accepting the message slips handed to her.
“Jack,
you have a call on line one,” the receptionist informed him.
“Thanks,
Susan.” Picking up his pace, he continued toward his office, adding to
Southerlyn, “Tell Dreason I need his decision by end of business today. I’m not
going to let him drag this out any longer than necessary. He has an annoying
habit of procrastinating until the last possible moment.”
When he
reached his desk he picked up the phone and punched the blinking light.
“McCoy.”
“This is
Craig Larsen,” the voice responded curtly. “I just got off the phone from
talking with someone in the district attorney’s office here in Indianapolis.
She said they weren’t going to pursue the case against Fisher, that since he
had been sentenced to death and had confessed to the other murders, there was
no point in putting him on trial for the rest of them, including my
daughter’s.”
“That is common
procedure in a case like this,” McCoy explained, stretching the phone cord as
he rounded his desk and eased into his chair. “Mr. Fisher can only pay with his
life one time. Since he has chosen not to appeal the sentence handed down, the
date for his execution has already been set.”
“That’s
not good enough! You told me I would have the opportunity to face him, to speak
my piece for the record. I shouldn’t be denied that. I want to hear him admit
with his own mouth what he did to my little girl. I want him to acknowledge in
my presence that he’s responsible for taking our child from us. And I want him
to hear from me that I hope he rots in hell!”
“I can
understand your feelings, but you have to understand that going through the
formality of a trial for the rest of the murders would be a waste of time and
taxpayers’ money. In this particular case, since it involves multiple
locations, extradition would be costly as well as unnecessary. The court
systems are already overloaded. We can’t expend resources trying someone who’s
already confessed and is sentenced to die.”
“So what
are the families supposed to do? When do we get justice?” he asked bitterly.
“You get
justice when Eric Fisher ceases breathing, Mr. Larsen, the same as all the
other families of all the other victims. It may be hollow, but at this point
there’s nothing else anyone can offer you.”
***McCoy set a basket of rolls covered with a
cloth on the coffee table, then tossed a couple of pillows from the sofa onto
the floor. He was becoming increasingly comfortable with the familiar routine
and had begun to look forward with even more anticipation than usual to the
weekends. Although he and Morgan continued to trade off hosting and cooking
each week, he preferred that they have dinner at her place rather than his own.
It wasn’t only Morgan’s cooking that appealed to him. He also enjoyed her
spacious, albeit sparsely furnished, apartment over his own. Somehow, sitting
on the floor around her coffee table seemed much cozier and more intimate than
when they were huddled over his. He had also come to realize that his apartment
seemed unbearably empty after she had been there and left.
“If you
will carry our plates, I’ll get the tea,” Morgan called from the kitchen.
He padded
silently across the room to join her. “The chicken smells wonderful. Why
doesn’t my cooking ever smell this good?”
“It does
to me,” she assured him, leading the way to the coffee table. “I think food
always smells and tastes better when someone else makes it.” Setting down the
glasses she asked, “So does it smell good enough to make up for my being so
late getting home?”
He gave
her a look of skepticism. “I’ll reserve my judgment on that until after I’ve
tasted it.”
“Fair
enough,” Morgan grinned.
As they
both settled on the floor he asked, “What movie did you rent?”
“I found
the one you were looking for a couple of weekends ago, the one the video store
was out of. I also rented a really old one called ‘Lost Horizon’. I read the
book in high school. It was one of those stories that you don’t want to ever
end. I’m hoping the movie is as good as the book.”
“I can’t
wait. Add the old movie to how good the chicken is and you might’ve just gotten
yourself off the hook for being late,” he noted, his eyes sparkling teasingly.
“Whew!”
Morgan exclaimed, feigning a look of immense relief. Returning the teasing
look, she added, “I was worried there for about… a whole minute.”
McCoy
chuckled and then grew quiet for a moment, his expression turning more serious.
After debating with himself about whether or not to broach the contentious
subject, he finally said, “I got a phone call from Craig Larsen again today.
He’s pretty upset that your client isn’t going to be dragged to Indiana to face
the murder charge there. He was looking forward to facing Fisher in a
courtroom in order to speak his piece. He isn’t too happy with the way things
have turned out.”
Morgan
regarded him silently for a moment before replying quietly, “Eric is paying
with his life for the crimes he’s committed. What more does Mr. Larsen want?”
“I don’t
believe he knows what he wants. I think he feels everything would be instantly
better if only he could hear, with his own ears, Fisher confess to killing his
daughter and then show some remorse. But if that’s what he thinks, he’s
mistaken. No simple confession is going to make that kind of pain go away.”
“I guess
not,” she agreed, avoiding his eyes.
He
studied her for a moment, then watched her carefully as he said, “Mr. Larsen
made it clear he would be there when the time came to carry out Fisher’s
sentence. I doubt he’ll simply be a silent observer. One more reason for you to
avoid the whole thing.”
She
looked up from her plate, meeting his gaze steadily. “What do you think about
the rolls? I tried a new recipe this time.”
After
regarding her for a moment more, he nodded, recognizing her signal that there
would be no further discussion of the subject of her attending Fisher’s
execution. “The rolls are great,” he replied simply.
***McCoy held his hand out and pulled Morgan to
her feet from her spot on the floor. Without releasing it, he led the way to
the elevator door. “I don’t remember when I read the book. I do remember having
much the same feeling that you did, of not wanting it to end. I guess we’d all
like to believe that there’s a Shangri-La out there somewhere.”
Disengaging her hand from his as he reached for his shoes, Morgan asked,
“Do you think you could be happy in that sort of utopia? Isolated from the rest
of the world?”
He grew thoughtful
as he slipped on his boots. “With good company and the right work, I think I
could be,” he finally answered. “What about you?”
Shrugging, she replied, “Maybe. As far as being isolated, that I
wouldn’t have a problem with. Some days I’d give anything for a little
isolation. But like you said, I would need to do something satisfying. We all
need a purpose in life.” Shaking her head she added, “Of course, in this day
and age, a place like Shangri-La wouldn’t last long. Sooner or later, someone would
feel compelled to check their e-mail and the secret would spread through
cyberspace like a wildfire.”
Grinning
he agreed, “Probably.” He stood up and looked down at her. “How does 11:00
sound for brunch tomorrow?”
Morgan
nodded and pressed the call button for the elevator, then handed him his helmet
after having retrieved it from the kitchen counter. “That’s fine. I’ll meet you
at your place since I have to pick up a few groceries afterwards.”
As the
elevator door opened, he turned and walked to the threshold. “Sounds like a
plan.” Turning back, he said, “Good-night, Calea. I had a great time, as
usual.”
Stuffing
her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she smiled. “So did I, Jack. I’ll see
you in the morning.”
***He took a longer route home that night,
searching out less traveled streets, even ducking through a couple of
alleyways. The cool night air was intoxicating and the motorcycle beneath him
felt particularly responsive. But no matter how fast he drove, he couldn’t
escape the unsettling thoughts pursuing him.
He was
eager to take his relationship with Morgan forward and was becoming less and
less content with the status quo between them. But he was forced by his own
words to wait for her to make a move. The problem was no move was forthcoming.
In the ten weeks prior, they had spent parts of seven weekends together and she
had given absolutely no sign that she was even thinking along those lines. He
had hoped that the more time they spent together, the more she would begin to
see how much they enjoyed each other’s company, and that the realization would
lead to a more intimate relationship. Now he was beginning to wonder if that
was ever going to happen, especially considering that she still barely allowed
him to as much as hold her hand. On the evenings they spent together, he had
taken to leading her to the door when it was time for one or the other to
leave, just for the simple pleasure of skin to skin contact. Even that was
steadily becoming more a point of frustration than one of pacification, though.
He longed for something more.
Not far
from his apartment, as he rolled to a stop in order to wait for a traffic
signal to change, he spotted the brightly lit sign of a familiar bar in the
block ahead, one he had frequented on many occasions. He allowed himself to
consider pulling over and entering the anonymously consoling atmosphere. But
when the signal changed, he roared past the establishment instead. He was
determined to face his frustrations head on rather than trying to drown them.
If he needed a short drink to help him get to sleep, he reasoned, he could get
that at home. The last thing he wanted to do was fall back into old habits.