Chapter 5

Radcliffe practically skidded to a stop outside the doors that led into Judge Colin Fraser’s arraignment court. She had cut it pretty close, but was reasonably sure her client hadn’t been called yet. As she finger-combed her short blond hair into place, her pale blue eyes quickly scanned several small groups of people. The majority were men, so she narrowed her search down to the handful of waiting women. It took a second more to spot a somewhat familiar woman dressed in a business suit standing alone, whose slightly slept-in appearance indicated that she had most likely spent the night in a holding cell.

She approached the woman. “Sara?”

Grayson turned to look at her. “Yes?”

The attorney took a deep breath. “I’m Brenda Radcliffe, the public defender assigned to represent you. We only have a minute, so I need you to listen carefully. When we go in and the bailiff calls your name, you and I will walk up together and stand before Judge Fraser. After the charges are read, the judge will ask you for a plea. You will answer, ‘not guilty’. The judge will then ask the prosecution for a bail recommendation. The A.D.A. assigned to this case will either ask for ridiculously high bail or for remand, which means you will be held at Riker’s. Our goal is to get the bail down to a reasonable amount so you can go home to your kids tonight. Any questions?”

“No,” Grayson answered slowly. “But I had intended to plead guilty. I didn’t think I had a choice; I already told the police that I killed my husband.”

“What you told the police doesn’t matter. Right now, it’s important that you plead ‘not guilty’. Otherwise, getting released on bail will be out of the question. You will remain in custody until you are sentenced for second degree murder. We need to get those charges reduced, which means sitting down and working out a plea bargain with the D.A. Pleading guilty will eliminate our options.” Putting her hand on the shoulder of the shorter woman, Radcliffe began to steer her toward the door as the bailiff appeared to call the next group of defendants into the courtroom. “I’m your lawyer and I’m here to look out for your interests. You have to trust me. Take my advice and plead ‘not guilty’. It will all work out, I assure you.”

Grayson entered the courtroom with her attorney as her name was read along with a list of others. She watched apprehensively as one after another defendant took their turn in front of the judge. Thankfully, the wait was relatively short as hers was the fourth name called.

She stood beside Radcliffe and listened to the charge.

“Murder in the second degree.”

“How do you plead?” the judge asked without looking up.

With a quick glance and a nod from Radcliffe, she answered, “Not guilty.”

“Bail?” Judge Fraser asked.

“Your Honor,” Carmichael responded from their left, “Mrs. Grayson stabbed her husband to death, cleared all of their personal belongings out of their home, and fled with their children. It took the police several days just to identify the body, and several more to track Mrs. Grayson down. The People believe she poses a significant flight risk and ask that she be remanded.”

“My client isn’t going anywhere. The police found her at her place of employment. She is the sole financial provider for her three children,” Radcliffe argued. “She should be released in order to be with them at this difficult time in their lives.”

“Her children are presently in the care of a capable friend, and the only reason this is a difficult time in their lives is because their mother murdered their father,” Carmichael countered, glaring at Radcliffe and Grayson. Turning her attention back to the judge, she continued, “She fled once and the People feel that given the opportunity, she’ll do so again.”

“Your Honor…”

“I’ve heard enough, Ms. Radcliffe,” Fraser decided, picking up his gavel. “The defendant is remanded. Next case.”

Radcliffe turned to her client and spoke quickly, as the waiting officer came forward to escort Grayson out. “I’m sorry, Sara. Sometimes these things don’t work out the way we want. I’ll gather all of the police and forensics reports and meet you out at Riker’s tomorrow. We’ll sit down and decide how to approach the D.A., then settle things as quickly as possible. Try not to worry,” she added reassuringly.

Sara Grayson looked at her with tired eyes and nodded in resignation.

***“I was really hoping you would return my call last night,” Sandy Hamilton said as she led the way into her living room.

“We were tied up with an investigation until pretty late,” Green explained. “We thought we should wait and call this morning.”

“Please sit down,” she invited. After the detectives had done so, she continued, “Sara called after she was arrested yesterday to check on the children and let me know she wouldn’t be coming home. If I had known you were going to arrest her, I wouldn’t have told you where to find her until after I had a chance to talk with you about her husband.”

“Talk to us about what?” Briscoe asked. “Yesterday you said you had only met him once. Are you now saying that isn’t true?”

“No, I’m not,” Hamilton insisted. “We did only meet the one time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about him.”

“So what do you want to tell us?” Green asked. “You said on the phone that you had some information that pertained to the case.”

“What did Sara tell you about the situation with Mitchell?” she asked.

Green shrugged. “Very little. Only that she wanted out of the marriage and her husband didn’t believe in divorce.”

Hamilton nodded. “That’s what I thought. Sara told me she had confessed to killing him. I told her to explain why she did it, that she had a good reason, but I couldn’t get her to listen. She doesn’t want anyone to know what kind of person her husband really was. She has some sort of twisted loyalty to him that I don’t understand. But I can’t stand by and do nothing. You have to know what she was living with. You have to help her.”

“What do we need to know?” Green asked.

“First of all, it’s important for you to know the kind of person she is.” Hamilton looked at the floor for a minute before continuing. “We met five years ago. We used to eat our sack lunches together on the days she worked with me. We both talked about our husbands and she talked about her kids. She was proud of her children and always had good things to say about Mitchell. About a year and a half ago, I got pregnant, but had a miscarriage in my sixth month. As a result of complications with the miscarriage, I was told I couldn’t have kids and went into a deep depression. I couldn’t work and finally had to quit my job. Through it all, Sara was there for me. She came to see me at least once a week. She put up with my crying spells and with my rages. Without her, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

“That’s all very interesting, but what does any of it have to do with our case?” Briscoe interrupted impatiently.

Hamilton continued, undeterred, “On one of her visits, when I broke down, Sara put her arm around me. When I returned the hug, she groaned like she was in pain. When I asked her what was wrong, she said she had fallen. In the years I had known her she often had bruises and minor injuries. She used to joke about how accident prone she was and I never gave it a second thought. But how many times can you fall down the steps or walk into a door? That day she came to visit me, I finally realized that something wasn’t right.”

“You think her husband was abusing her?” Green asked.

With a nod, Hamilton said, “When I questioned her, she became defensive and practically yelled at me to mind my own business. This from a woman who I couldn’t picture raising her voice under any circumstance. When I started feeling better, I called their home to invite Sara and Mitchell to have dinner with my husband and me, as a way to show my gratitude for all she had done. Mitchell answered and accepted the invitation. When they got here, he was very gracious and polite but Sara was like a different person. She hardly spoke and just hovered beside him. At one point I mentioned how much all of Sara’s visits had meant to me. Mitchell gave her this accusing look and said, ‘You mean, you weren’t working late after all?’ Sara turned white as a ghost. The rest of the evening was quiet, but I couldn’t get the look he had given her out of my mind. I went to see her at work the next day. She had a bruise on her cheek that she had tried to cover with make-up and that’s when I knew for sure. When I confronted her with my suspicions she denied it, but I knew Mitchell had hit her.”

When she finished, the detectives regarded her silently for a moment. She seemed earnest enough, but Briscoe wasn’t convinced.

“Did Sara ever tell you that her husband had hit her?” he asked.

“No, she never admitted it.”

“What did she tell you about what happened last week?”

“Only what I’ve already told you, that she and the children needed a place to stay. I had no idea what had happened until she called from the police station yesterday.”

Green shook his head in disbelief. “You had no idea? If you were friends for five years, it seems to me you would’ve noticed that something was wrong. Wasn’t she upset? Didn’t she seem nervous?”

“Not really. I just thought she had finally had enough and left him. But we hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk about it. She was trying to keep up with work, get the kids settled into their new schools, and spend as much time as possible with them. I didn’t see her much. There was one odd thing, though. The morning after they arrived to stay with us, she asked me to go with her to see a lawyer and sign an agreement to become the children’s legal guardian if something were to happen to her and Mitchell. I thought it was because she was afraid of him, but when I asked her, she said the paper was only a formality so she could leave my name with their schools in case of emergency.”

“Do you have a copy of the agreement?” Green asked.

“Yes.”

“Could we could look at it?”

“I don’t know,” Hamilton answered hesitantly. “I don’t want to make things worse for Sara.”

“We need all the facts if we’re going to help her,” Green said persusively.

Hamilton contemplated his request for a moment and then got up. “If you think it will help her, I’ll let you look at it.”

She returned a few moments later with the document. Handing it to Green, she said, “This is what I signed.”

Briscoe stood up and walked across the room to look over Green’s shoulder as he studied the form. “Have the children said anything, or acted upset in any way?”

“They’ve been quiet, but not upset. All three have been perfectly well-behaved since they arrived. When I told them their mother wasn’t coming home yesterday, they were a little concerned. She told me not to tell them she was in jail, so I didn’t. I said she had to stay at work. Alissa is fifteen, though. I don’t think she bought it. I don’t know what I’m going to tell them if Sara doesn’t come home tonight.”

“We’d like to talk with them,” Green said. “If they can confirm your suspicions of abuse, that could really help Sara.”

Hamilton shook her head. “The one thing Sara made me swear was that I wouldn't allow anyone to question her children about any of this. She said that since I was their legal guardian, I had the right to say ‘no’.”

“You said you wanted to help her,” Briscoe reminded her. “We need to be able to prove that what you say about her husband is true. If she won’t tell us, and the children aren’t allowed to, then it’s only your word. We need proof.”

“Unless Sara tells me otherwise, I won’t let you talk with the children.”

“Then how are we going to know if you’re telling us the truth?” Briscoe asked. “How do we know you aren’t saying what Sara told you to? You could just be trying to help a friend out of trouble.”

“If you need proof, why don’t you look into the religious group that Mitchell belonged to? I mentioned the name of it to some of my friends and one of them said the Fellowship of the Harvest was a cult. She said they feel women were put on this earth to serve men. It sounded pretty strange to me.”

Green looked up at her sharply. “Are you sure it was Fellowship of the Harvest?”

“Positive,” Hamilton answered. “I remember Sara mentioning them. We were complaining about how tough it is to stick to a budget and she made the comment that it would be easier for them if they weren’t required to tithe so much of their earnings to their church. I didn’t know people still did that.”

Green stood up. “We’d like to hold on to this agreement you signed for the time being. If you need a copy for any reason, you can call our precinct and we’ll fax it to you. And we’ll do what we can to help Sara.”

“Thank you. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Once they were outside, Briscoe turned to Green. “So, you want to tell me what the deal is with the Harvest people?”

“When I was at the 34^th, I heard about a case where a woman was beaten to death by her husband. They were members of the Fellowship of the Harvest, too.”

“What happened with the investigation?” Briscoe asked as they continued to the car.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t my case and I was transferred before it got very far. But I know someone at the 34^th who can tell us.”

As Green drove toward his old precinct, Briscoe said, “You know, I’ve been at this a long time and I’ve seen more than my share of abused wives who have taken matters into their own hands, and I don’t think Sara Grayson fits the bill in any respect. In most of the cases, the women came in on their own and they were basket cases. They couldn’t tell you enough how sorry they were for what they had done. This woman showed no regret. I think we should pay a visit to some of her other coworkers and old neighbors. Maybe she needed to get rid of her husband to make room for someone else. It wouldn’t be the first time a spouse offed their other half because they had someone waiting in the wings.”

“Could be,” Green agreed. “But what Sandy Hamilton said has to make you wonder. I’m sure not every woman who is abused fits into the same pigeon hole. When we found her, Sara did confess right off the bat and she did say she was expecting us. If she really had been running, I don’t think she would have gone back to the same job she’s held for several years. She would have put some distance between herself and the life she had before she killed her husband. Maybe it’s like she said; maybe she only wanted to make sure her kids were taken care of.”

“Killing your husband doesn’t win you ‘mother-of-the-year’ in my book,” Briscoe argued. “She seemed cold and calculating to me. I think Sandy Hamilton’s story was concocted to save Sara Grayson’s hide.”

***Radcliffe chased the last bite of cheese burger down with a swallow of root beer, then gathered her trash and deposited it on the way to the ladies room on the second floor of the criminal courts building. After washing up, she found an empty bench near the elevator and sat down. She had a few more minutes before she was due to appear before Judge Driesser for the long-awaited sentencing of one of her clients, and took the opportunity to pull out her cell phone and make a call.

“Carmichael,” the raspy voice answered.

“Abbie, this is Brenda Radcliffe. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to speak with you after the arraignment, but I had to rush to meet another client.”

“No problem,” Carmichael said. “I assume you’re calling about discussing a plea for Mrs. Grayson.”

“I’m going to meet with Sara out at Riker’s tomorrow to go over all the evidence. You know, you could’ve agreed to bail and saved us both the trip out there. It would have been a lot easier to work things out at your office.”

“And if I had, I might now be preparing an arrest warrant as a result of your client trying to skip town,” Carmichael reminded her. “When do you want to meet?”

“If there are no snags, we should be ready to talk by tomorrow afternoon. I have some time free around 3:30.”

“That sounds fine. I’ll put you down on my schedule.”

Radcliffe glanced at her watch. “I’ll call if anything comes up between now and then. Otherwise, I’ll see you at Riker’s tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll be there,” Carmichael agreed.

***Green approached a man with jet black hair and crinkled brown eyes, sitting at one of more than a dozen desks occupying the 34^th precinct’s squad room. When the man looked up and spotted him, he broke out in a broad grin and stood up, coming toward him with outstretched hand.

“Ed Green, as I live and breathe. What on earth brings you across town? I thought we had seen the last of you two years ago.”

As he shook the other man’s hand warmly, Green answered, “Sorry to disappoint you, Nick, but you should’ve figured I’d come back to haunt you. I’m not that easy to get rid of.” Turning slightly, he added, “Nick Russell, this is my partner at the 27^th, Lennie Briscoe.”

Russell nodded toward Green as he gripped Briscoe’s hand. “You must have done something unforgiveable to be forced to ride shotgun with this guy. You have my sympathies.”

“Oh it’s not all bad,” Briscoe insisted. “He does have a knack for sniffing out the best prime rib in town.”

“Yeah, he always did know his beef,” Russell agreed. Motioning to a couple of near-by chairs, he said, “So what does bring you to our neck of the woods?”

“We’re investigating a homicide,” Green explained. “A woman stabbed her husband to death. It’s been mentioned that they were members of the Fellowship of the Harvest. I remembered that case you took on right before my transfer where the man beat his wife to death. Weren’t they part of the same group?”

With a nod, Russell opened a filing drawer and began riffling through it. “They sure were. And what group they are.” He pulled a file folder out and laid it on his desk. “I’ve never seen a bunch of people with more warped notions. As far as I’m concerned, they all belong in Bellevue.” He opened the file and handed a paper to Green. “These people believe strongly in corporal punishment. At least the men do. And it doesn’t matter if it’s their children or their wives, everyone is equal in the eyes of the Harvesters. Unfortunately, despite what I knew to be the truth, I couldn’t conclusively prove that the man in our case was the one responsible for killing his wife. There were indications that someone else could’ve been responsible, or so the D.A. said. But in the course of my investigation, I found out some pretty disturbing facts about this religious group.”

“So why didn’t you shut them down?” Green asked, looking up from the report in his hand.

“Ever heard of the First Amendment? As long as they hide behind freedom of religion, and as long as none of the members come forward, there’s not a thing we can do about them. And if there’s one thing you can say about the members of their group, it’s that they’re loyal. My partner and I couldn’t get anyone to speak out against the others. I’m sure a lot of it was out of fear, but we never found any proof we could use to put them out of business. It was a frustrating case.”

“How do you know all of the women were abused?” Briscoe asked. “Maybe it was only one isolated incident.”

Russell shook his head. “It’s group policy. I had a couple of run-ins with the head honcho over there. He tried to show me in the Bible where men were given permission to treat their wives in any way they saw fit, if you can believe that. This guy was a nut case, and he drew other nut cases as followers. They use physical force and humiliation to keep their families in line. Granted, they seem like regular people and their strong family values are even commendable, but don’t let that fool you. These men rule their roosts with an iron fist. Smacking their wives around is all part of the program. And either the wives are too afraid or too brain-washed to do anything about it.”

“Well it looks like one of the wives started a new program,” Green stated. Indicating the report, he added, “I’d like to make a copy for our files.”

“You can keep that one,” Russell offered. “I have another. I hope you can use it to nail those psychos.”

“Much as I’d like to see that happen, I don’t think this case is going to help do that,” Green said. “Sara Grayson killed her husband while he was asleep. She’s not even trying to claim self-defense.” He held out his hand. “Thanks, Nick. I owe you one.”

“I’ll remember that,” Russell agreed. “Come around sometime when you can stay a while, Ed. You too, Lennie.”

“Nice to meet you, Nick,” Briscoe said, shaking his hand. “If you ever get over our way, drop in and say ‘hello’. We owe you lunch at least.”

“Will do,” Russell promised.

Once on their way back across the city, Green admitted, “I think Sandy Hamilton was right. I think Mitchell Grayson was abusing his wife.”

“Then why didn’t Sara tell us?” Briscoe asked. “If he was, it would give her an excuse for acting as she did. I can’t imagine that she would pass up the opportunity to claim self-defense or mental distress to get herself off the hook. It doesn't make any sense. The only thing that does make sense is exactly what Sara said: She killed her husband because she didn’t want to be married anymore.”

“The things Nick said about the members of their religion being closed-mouthed and the women being possibly brain-washed could explain why she didn’t say anything. What was it Sandy said? That Sara had a kind of twisted loyalty to Mitchell? Maybe it was all tied together.”

“I’m still not convinced,” Briscoe stated resolutely. “Before I’ll buy it, I need to hear it from an eyewitness.”

“Well, besides Sara, there are three other people we could talk to who would know for sure.”

“Her kids,” Briscoe supplied. “But how do we get past Hamilton? She was pretty adamant about us not speaking with them.”

“The oldest daughter is fifteen. We question kids her age and younger regarding cases all the time without parental consent. Why should this time be any different? She’s old enough to make up her own mind whether or not to talk to us.”

“But when we’re told flat out that we can’t talk with a minor, that changes things,” Briscoe argued. “Without a parent’s or guardian’s consent, we could find ourselves in hot water up to our necks. And I don’t want to lose some evidence we might get from this girl on a technicality.”

“If the kids had witnessed the murder or knew anything about it, I think Hamilton would’ve seen some signs from them. As for the lack of consent, it depends on how we aproach the situation. Right now, we’re not trying to get evidence to convict the mother. In fact, we’re doing what we promised, trying to help Sara out. I don’t see how anyone can call us on it.” Green checked the clock in the dashboard. “It’s almost time for high school to be letting out for the day. If we just happen to run into Alissa, and she happens to volunteer information, no one can fault us for that.”

Briscoe studied him thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Let’s do it.”

Green grew silent for a few moments, then sighed loudly. “If the kids don’t know anything, this is going to be a pretty big shock. I’m not looking forward to us being the ones to break the news about her father’s death to Alissa.”

“Sara was arraigned this morning. By tomorrow morning, the story will be in the papers. Her kids are going to find out one way or another. Better her daughter hears it from two of New York’s finest,” Briscoe insisted. “And maybe she can help soften the blow for her siblings.”

***As students began to fill the hallway where they were waiting, the detectives approached a pretty young girl that another student pointed out to them.

“Alissa Grayson?” Green asked.

When she turned to face them, they found themselves looking at a younger version of Sara Grayson. “Yes.”

“We’re police detectives. Could we have a word with you?”

Fear and apprehension immediately lept into her deep blue eyes as she answered shakily, “I guess so.”

They led the way to an empty classroom and Briscoe closed the door behind them. Before either of them could speak, she asked, “Is this about my mother? She didn’t come home last night. Has she been in an accident? Please tell me what’s happened to her.”

“She hasn’t been injured,” Green assured her. “But I’m afraid we do have some bad news.” He gestured toward a desk. “Why don’t you sit down?” After she had done so, he sat facing her and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Alissa, your father was killed the Sunday before last. We found his body in the house where you used to live.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Your mother has told us that she’s responsible for his death.”

The girl let out a breath as if the wind had been knocked from her, and looked at the floor. Briscoe and Green watched her closely. The all too familiar disbelief and confusion crossed her face as the news sank in.

After a few seconds, Green continued, “We’re trying to do everything we can to help her. That’s why we’re here. We want to ask you something.”

“What do you want to know?” she asked in a barely audible voice.

“Your mother’s friend, Sandy, told us she thought your father had abused your mother. Is that true?”

Her expression became instantly guarded and her eyes began to dart nervously from Green to Briscoe. “Why would Sandy say something like that? She hardly knew my father.”

Briscoe’s voice was patient. “She knows your mother pretty well. They’ve been friends for a long time. She feels she has good reason for her suspicions.”

She jumped up from her seat and walked a few paces away from the two, then turned back to face them. “My mother would never hurt anyone. I don’t believe that she killed my father.”

“She confessed on her own,” Briscoe assured her. “She told us the reason she did it was because she didn’t want to be married anymore and your father didn’t believe in divorce. We were hoping you could shed some light on the situation.”

She slowly returned to the desk and sat down. “Is that all my mother said about it?”

“That’s it,” Green answered. “We know your parents were part of a strict religious group and we’ve heard that some of their members believe in physically punishing their wives. Anything you can tell us about that would be helpful.”

“I can’t tell you anything about the Fellowship,” she answered quickly, clearly agitated. “What goes on there is private. People have the right to worship the way they want.”

Green nodded. “We understand. But for a man to hit a woman isn’t right, even if it is his wife, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her agitation grew and she looked as though she might cry. “I guess.”

“If that’s something the Fellowship is promoting, then it’s our job to try and stop them before any more women are hurt,” Green reasoned. “And if that’s why your mother took the action she did, it would help her if we knew that for sure. I know you want to do whatever you can for your mother. If your father was hurting her, you have to tell us.”

A tear trickled down her cheek. “I can’t. I can’t tell anyone. If someone at the Fellowship finds out, it will be bad for all of us, especially my mother.”

“Going to prison for second degree murder will be even worse for your mother,” Green insisted. “And that’s exactly what’s going to happen unless we find out what was really going on with your parents. If your mother was being abused by your father, she would probably receive a lesser sentence.” He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “This is just between us. No one at the Fellowship will find out. But if we’re going to help your mother, we need to know the truth.”

Through the tears in her eyes he could see that she desperately wanted to believe him. But she shook her head and pleaded with him, “Please don’t ask me to tell you anything about that. And please don’t take my mother from us. What happened to my dad is my fault, not hers.”

“What do you mean?” Briscoe asked.

“There’s a man at our church who told my father he wanted to marry me as soon as I graduate from high school. My mother told my father I was too young to get married and that I should be allowed to choose for myself. She never said things like that to him, but she stood up to him about it a few weeks ago. She said she wasn’t going to let anything happen to me or my brother and sister.” She paused for a second and tears began to stream down her face. “She took us over to Sandy’s Sunday night. If I had known what she was going to do, I would have tried to stop her. She shouldn’t have to go to prison for what she did. It wasn’t her fault. She was only trying to protect us.”

“Protect you from the man who wanted to marry you, or protect you from your father?” Briscoe asked quietly.

The girl covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Briscoe exchanged a look with his partner and shook his head slightly.

Green patted her shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay. We’re going to do everything we can to help your mother. You did the right thing in telling us what you did. Thank you, Alissa.”

***Even though it was late and raining again, Green had opted to drive. He wasn’t anxious for a repeat performance of the previous day’s trip with Briscoe behind the wheel. The stop-and-go traffic was giving him a headache, but at least he didn’t fear for his life.

“You sure are quiet, Partner,” he noted.

Briscoe continued staring out of the car window. “I was just sitting here wondering what crow tastes like.” He turned to look at Green. “Looks like I was wrong about Sara Grayson. I guess she did have a reason for stabbing her husband. Alissa didn’t have to come right out and say it. I was convinced as soon as she said her mother didn’t usually stand up to her father. I’ll bet he beat Sara black and blue when she did, too.”

“Yeah. My guess is Sara didn’t want her daughter to end up in the same situation as she was. Sounds like Nick was right; those people are all sick.”

Briscoe nodded. “Now all we have to do is make sure Sara’s lawyer knows what was going on. When we get back to the station, I’ll try to catch the P.D. who’s been assigned to the case and pass along what we heard today. She should be happy; it isn’t often that we make the defense’s case for them.”

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