Chapter 17
Southerlyn met McCoy as he approached his office. “Good morning. You’re
a little later than normal today.”
“I
overslept,” McCoy mumbled as he entered his office and turned on the lights.
“It isn’t like I had much of a reason to jump out of bed this morning. I
already have a depressingly good idea of how my day is going to go.”
“I wanted
to talk to you about that.” As McCoy slumped into his chair, she sat down
beside his desk. “I did some reading last
night and I think I may have found a way to keep Fisher off of the streets.”
She handed him a newspaper clipping and explained, “This is an article about a
joint venture between the F.B.I., the U.S. Attorney’s Office, and various law
enforcement agencies at the local levels. They’ve formed the Internet Crimes
Against Children Task Force as a way to prosecute adults who try to entice
children they meet on the Internet into sexual situations. Since the Internet
has no geographic boundaries, the task force is trying to make it easier to
prosecute adults from one state if their victims live in another, but they’ll
investigate any case where a minor is enticed over the Web. Sometimes the cases
are tried at local levels, but they can be prosecuted in federal court. I was
thinking that we could turn Fisher over to them for investigation. The criteria
for admissible evidence is much less stringent in federal court so maybe his
previous arrest could be used against him and maybe the experts from the task
force can find a way to link him more closely with the girl.”
McCoy
handed the clipping he had been studying back to her. “She was raped and
murdered within our jurisdiction. If we can’t convict her killer, what does
that say about us?”
Arching
her eyebrows, Southerlyn noted, “I thought the goal was to keep Fisher from
harming anyone else. I wasn’t aware that ‘our’ ego was involved.”
“It isn’t
about ego. We have an obligation to the people of…”
He
stopped mid-sentence as Branch strode into the room waving a newspaper and
demanded, “Did either of you see the paper this morning?”
Shaking
his head, McCoy replied, “I got a late start. Why?”
“There’s
a little item here you might find particularly interesting.” Holding the paper
up, he read the headline, “‘Pressure from Officials Causes Police and
Prosecutors to Violate Innocent Man’s Rights.’” Tossing the paper in front of
McCoy he added, “You assured me that Fisher’s lawyer wasn’t a grandstander.
Now it seems she was just waiting until she had something really damaging to
slap us with before lining up an interview. Not only does she bring up the
problems between her client and the cops, but she also mentions your attempt to
conceal the alibi witness. I warned you last evening that little incident was
going to come back to bite you. She accuses you of prosecutorial misconduct and
she makes it sound like it was sanctioned by this office. The prosecution of
her client comes off sounding like a witch hunt.”
Staring
at a photo of Fisher’s handsome, smiling face printed above the article, McCoy
swore softly. “I can’t believe she did this.”
“Believe
it,” Branch ordered, pointing to the paper. “It’s all right there in black and
white.”
McCoy
began to quickly scan the article, reading half to himself, “‘Public outcry
over the rash of recent child abductions has put pressure on officials to track
down those responsible and come up with preventative solutions, at the expense
of innocent people’s rights.’”
Pointing
to spot further down the page, Branch suggested, “Read the part where she tells
why Fisher is going to be acquitted today.”
He did as
he was told, reading out loud, “‘Someone like Eric Fisher, who doesn’t have the
resources to hire a high-priced attorney, is a prime target for police investigation.
All they had when they set their sites on him was a handful of coincidences
that could have equally applied to hundreds of other people in this city. Mr.
Fisher is an average person making a below-average living. He resides in a
small apartment with meager possessions. The police searched that apartment and
all of his belongings thoroughly and found absolutely no evidence linking him
to the crime, nothing even hinting that he had taken part in the murder of
which he is accused. And although someone has been found who can provide him an
alibi for the time of the murder, not one person has come forward to say they
saw him at any time with, or even in the vicinity of, the victim.’ ”
“I’ve
already gotten phone calls from the mayor’s office and the police department,”
Branch interrupted. “Everyone wants to know what the hell is going on with this
case.”
Instead
of replying, McCoy touched the buzzing intercom sitting on his desk. “Yes?” he
snapped.
“Mr.
McCoy, there’s a woman named Candace Sawyer here who says she needs to speak
with you…” the receptionist began.
“Tell her
to make an appointment,” he interrupted curtly. “I’m due to leave for court
shortly.”
“But
that’s the case she wants to speak with you about. She says she has some information
about the man on trial.”
McCoy
looked from Branch to Southerlyn in surprise. “Send her back, Susan,” he
quickly answered, scrambling to his feet.
As he saw
a woman walking down the hallway toward his office, he stepped outside of the
door. “Ms. Sawyer? I’m Jack McCoy. I understand you’re looking for me.”
The woman
nodded as he showed her into his office. “The receptionist told me you’re the
person I need to speak with.” She unfolded a newspaper she had been clutching.
“It’s about this man,” she informed him, pointing to the photo of Fisher.
Indicating the sofa, McCoy suggested, “Please, have a seat.”
When she
had done so and McCoy had sat down beside her, she continued, “I don’t take the
newspaper and I don’t watch the news on television because it’s too depressing,
but this morning I found this underneath the door of my apartment. I guess it
was intended for one of my neighbors and was delivered to me by mistake.
Anyway, when I picked it up I saw this picture of Eric and read the article about
him.”
“Do you
know him?” McCoy questioned.
“Yes.
Well, sort of,” she amended. “You see, I work at Manhattan Mini Storage on
“He has a
storage space?” McCoy asked eagerly. At her nod, he stood up and turned to
Southerlyn. “Call the 27th and have Briscoe and Green meet us there.
I’ll call Ianello and get a warrant.”
“No, I’ll get the warrant,” Branch corrected,
stepping forward from the spot behind McCoy’s desk where he had been observing.
“I want to make sure there are no screw-ups this time.”
When the
others had left the office, the woman addressed McCoy. “Look, I don’t want to
get Eric in any trouble. He’s always been really nice when we’ve talked. The
only reason I’m doing this is because I have a daughter who’s going to be
fifteen in a another year and I know how I would feel if something happened to
her. If he did kill that girl, I don’t want him loose in the same city as my
daughter.”
“We
appreciate that you’ve come forward, Ms. Sawyer. What you’re doing takes a lot
of courage,” McCoy noted.
“You
aren’t going to let him know I came to you, are you?”
Shaking
his head, McCoy sat down beside her again. “We won’t tell him a thing. But
would you be willing to go with us to show us exactly which space is his? He’s
in jail right now so there’s no chance that he will happen by.”
After
contemplating for a moment, she slowly replied, “Sure. I’ve come this far, I
may as well see it through. But I have to tell you that I really hope you’re
wrong about him.”
***As soon as Briscoe heard the popping sound of
the bolt cutters biting through the lock on Fisher’s storage space, he reached
past Green for the latch.
Behind
the detectives, McCoy turned to the woman standing beside him. “Thank you, Ms.
Sawyer, for all of your help. We’ll take it from here. We never know what we’re
going to find in these situations, so maybe it would be best if you waited at
the front office.”
She nodded
and left to comply while McCoy followed Southerlyn and the detectives into the
small compartment.
“What are
we looking for?” Southerlyn asked.
“Clothes
or the backpack that belonged to the victim,” Green answered. “Corinna’s
parents said she also had a math book in her backpack that no one has been able
to account for. You might keep an eye out for another piece of the cording he
used to strangle her, too.”
“All I’ve
found so far are old bank statements and plastic milk crates,” Briscoe offered
moments later from the back of the unit.
“Here’s a
collection of match books,” McCoy added after peering into a box sitting on a
shelf.
“This
looks like some winter clothes,” Southerlyn noted, holding up a coat. “But it’s
all men’s stuff. I don’t see anything that looks like it might belong to a
girl.”
After a
few more minutes of searching, Green called out, “I found something.” He took a
snapshot from a shoe box and held it up for the others to see. “Does she look
familiar?”
Briscoe
winced slightly at the smiling face in the photograph.
Southerlyn stepped forward and carefully took the photo from Green,
making sure not to smudge any fingerprints that might be on it. “The s.o.b. took a picture of
her before he killed her.”
Looking
over her shoulder, McCoy declared triumphantly, “We’ve got him! Let him try to explain his
way out of this one!” As Southerlyn slipped the photograph into a plastic bag
that Briscoe was holding open for her, McCoy began to move toward the door and
told her, “I’ll call Ianello’s clerk to get a continuance for today. You notify
Calea. I want her and Fisher in my office…”
“Wait a
minute,” Green interrupted. “I think there’s something else you’re going to
want to see.”
Turning
around to face him, McCoy asked, “What is it?”
“More
pictures…” Green held the box out as McCoy reached him. “…Of more girls.”
***The small conference room smelled of coffee
and furniture polish as Morgan and Fisher entered and took seats at the table.
“I don’t
know what you’re trying to pull now, Mr. McCoy,” Morgan noted, “but I’m really
not in the mood for any more of your antics. We should've already given
closing statements and been handed the ‘not guilty’ verdict by now. Why the
continuance? You’re only postponing the inevitable.”
“We’ll be
ready to resume with the trial shortly,” he assured her as he sat down beside
Southerlyn and placed a shoe box on the table. When he did, he noticed with
satisfaction that Fisher’s face paled considerably upon spotting it. “But
first, I thought you might be interested to see what was found in a storage
unit the police searched this morning.” He pushed the box across the table to
Morgan, all the while watching Fisher’s expression. “It turns out that your
client had belongings in more than just his apartment.”
Morgan
reached for the box and slowly moved the lid slightly to one side. She reached
in to pick up the photo of Corinna Braden and studied it for a few seconds
before laying it aside. “I assume you know for a fact that this belongs to Mr.
Fisher?”
“He
signed the lease form for the storage unit two years ago. His fingerprints were
all over the unit, the box, and the photographs,” Southerlyn confirmed.
After a
slight nod, Morgan asked in a quiet voice, “May I have a moment alone with my
client?”
Tearing
his eyes from the growing look of fear on Fisher’s face, McCoy focused on
Morgan. Although she was looking at him, waiting for his reply, her eyes and
face were expressionless. And something about her lack of emotion made him
furious.
He reached
and knocked the lid from where it was perched on top of the box onto the table.
“There’s more!” he exclaimed irately. “Your client didn’t only kill Corinna
Braden. There are photographs of five other girls in there! The police have
already matched two of the photos to those of girls reported missing in other
states and are in the process of tracking down the others. The man sitting
beside you is a serial killer!”
Morgan
kept her eyes focused on McCoy as she picked up the lid and placed it back on the
box, then pushed it toward him. “I need a moment with my client,” she repeated.
“Aren’t
you even going to look at the others?” he demanded. “Don’t you want to see the
faces of your client’s other victims?” He opened the box, picked up another
photo, and held it out to Morgan. “This is Angela Larsen. She was twelve when
her parents reported her missing two years ago!”
Without
looking at the photo, Morgan stated deliberately and more forcefully, “Mr.
McCoy, I need a moment.”
Southerlyn stood up and touched McCoy’s shoulder. “We’ll be right
outside.” She waited for several seconds while his eyes remained locked with
Morgan’s. It wasn’t until he finally
dropped the photo onto the table and stood up that she moved to the door.
Once it
was closed behind them, McCoy stalked to the cooler across from the conference
room and filled a paper cup with water.
Coming up
behind him, Southerlyn asked, “Are you all right?”
He took a
long drink and nodded. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t
know. I’ve just never seen you lose your cool like you did back there. We now
have enough to put Fisher away for good. Why are you still letting him get to
you?”
Turning
to face her, he snapped, “He kills young girls. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Yes, it
does,” Southerlyn agreed. “But no more so than the people who let their dog rip
a jogger to shreds, or the girl who pushed her father’s new wife from a roof.
They all bother me, Jack, but I try not to let them get to me. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night and I
wouldn’t be able to get out of bed every morning.”
McCoy
shook his head. “She didn’t even look at the other photos. She won’t even
acknowledge that she’s representing a monster.”
Southerlyn studied him carefully as he paced the small area. “So this
isn’t all about Fisher. You’re upset with his lawyer.” When he continued pacing
without denying the statement, she asked, “Why? She’s only doing her job. It
isn’t as if she helped him commit any of those murders.”
Whirling
to face her, he exclaimed, “Didn’t you see her expression? She wasn’t even
surprised at what we found. She had to have known all along that Fisher was
guilty. And knowing that, she should’ve pleaded him out in the beginning.
There’s a difference between providing competent representation and flat out
lying to get someone off when you know for a fact that person is guilty. In the
interest of justice and for the safety of other young girls, Fisher needs to be
put where he can’t cause any more harm. She swore to uphold the same laws that
we did and she should’ve done what was best for everyone concerned, not only
for her client.”
Before
Southerlyn could reply, the door of the conference room opened.
“We’re
ready,” Morgan informed them.
When they
entered the room they found Fisher sitting back in his chair, regarding them
nervously. After everyone was seated, Morgan addressed McCoy. “I’ve talked it
over with my client. He’s willing to plead guilty to the murder of Corinna
Braden and tell you about the other girls in exchange for a recommended
sentence of twenty to life.”
He looked
at her incredulously. “You’re joking! He’s already facing three counts of
murder one and will most likely be facing three more once our investigation is
complete. Why should I offer him any kind of a deal?”
“Because
he’s willing to cooperate, to bring closure to six grieving families. That has
to be worth something,” Morgan insisted.
Shaking
his head, McCoy stood up. “It’s too little, too late, Counselor. We’re not
interested.”
After
first glancing at Fisher, Morgan suggested, “Then how about thirty to life? If
we go to trial and I convince a jury that he has mental problems, they could
hand down a lesser sentence than that to cover all counts.”
McCoy
walked slowly to the door, then stopped and turned back to face her. “You’re
forgetting that he’s currently on trial for one
murder, that of Corinna Braden. We intend to see that trial through with the
jury that has already heard the evidence presented to date, after showing them
what’s just been discovered as a rebuttal to your witnesses’ testimony that
he’s incapable of committing such a crime. Changing your position on your
client’s mental state to explain his behavior isn’t going to work. You’ve
already done an excellent job of portraying him as nothing more than an
innocent bystander.”
As McCoy
walked from the room, Southerlyn got up and prepared to follow, taking note as
she did of the worried look on Morgan’s face and the way she was chewing her
lip.
Before
she reached the door, Morgan sat forward. “Ms. Southerlyn?”
Turning
back, she responded, “Yes?”
“Could
you see to it that the guard is informed that my client is ready to be escorted
out? I need to have a word with Mr. McCoy, alone.”
Southerlyn nodded. “Sure. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank
you.” Turning to Fisher, Morgan said, “I’ll be in touch later today, Eric. Try
not to worry.”
Signaling
the guard, Southerlyn stepped to the side to allow Morgan to exit and then
watched as she made her way toward McCoy’s office.
***McCoy sat at his desk, staring at a file
without seeing a word of what was written on the form before him. It was
another of those times that he wished it were later in the day in order to
justify the Scotch he felt he sorely needed. He was so lost in thought that he
was slightly startled at the knock on his door. But when he looked up to find
Morgan waiting on the other side, he straightened and picked up a pencil as if
he had been working before calling, “Come in.”
He
watched her enter and close the door quietly behind her.
“Do you
have a minute?” she asked simply.
Nodding,
he regarded her cautiously, wondering at her polite tone and change of
demeanor. “What’s on your mind?”
Coming to
a stop in front of his desk, she replied, “You have to know that I’m going to
ask for a new trial once you present the material discovered today for
Ianello’s consideration. My defense has been based on the premise that my
client didn’t commit the crime. I’m not prepared to change strategies at this
late date to defend him against the new evidence.”
“Maybe
you should’ve thought of that before agreeing to take the case. You can ask for
a new trial but we will oppose. And I seriously doubt if your request will be
granted. There are no grounds for it. There’s nothing to suggest that your
client can’t receive a fair trial with the current jury. New evidence doesn’t
equate to reversible error.”
“I think
there are grounds. We both know how this jury is going to react to the new
evidence. Besides that, only two days ago you did everything you could to push
me into a new trial,” she reminded him.
He
shrugged and stated flatly, “That is no longer in the People’s best interest.”
Morgan
bit her lip, studying him briefly before saying, “If Ianello doesn’t grant us a
new trial, it has to be understood that right now, as you said a few minutes
ago, we’re trying this case and this case only. The current jury will see and
hear about nothing from that box but the picture of Corinna Braden. That’s the
only evidence that applies to this trial. Nothing else is admissible on the
grounds of prior bad acts.”
“I know
the law, Counselor,” he assured her. “And unlike what you seem to think, I
follow it and the rules of evidence during every case I try.”
“My point
is,” she said deliberately, “the jury can’t hear about anything else found in
the storage unit from you, from any other person in your office, or from the
police department. Despite instructions to the contrary, we both know that
whatever is presented in the media can and usually does find its way into the
jury room. Everything but the one picture has to be kept strictly under wraps
until the final verdict is handed down for this case.”
Shaking
his head slightly in confusion he asked, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because
I’m asking you not to see how close you can come to the line without stepping
over it, Jack. I don’t want to stand in front of a judge and have you shrug and
say it wasn’t your fault that someone else leaked information. I’m asking you
to make sure that everyone who knows what was found today understands that they
have to keep it to themselves until this trial is over.”
“If
you’re so worried, why don’t you simply get gag orders for the police and the
D.A.’s office?” he suggested.
“Because
I shouldn’t have to. I should be able to trust that you will do your job. It’s
your responsibility as lead prosecutor to see to it that this trial is not
tainted in any way.”
“But I
guess those rules don’t apply to the defense,” he noted pointedly.
Giving him
a questioning look, she asked, “What are you talking about?”
He
reached down and pulled the newspaper from his trash can, then tossed it onto
his desk toward her. “You don’t seem to have a problem tainting the trial with
information that could persuade the jury to vote in your favor. I seem to
remember a time when you told me you didn’t try cases in the press. But I
suppose when the chips are down, exceptions can be made.”
Morgan
closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. When she opened them, McCoy felt only
the mildest twinge when he realized how exhausted she looked.
“Let’s
try this another way,” she suggested patiently. “My question requires only a
simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. Do I need to see a judge about restraining orders
for your office and the police department to insure that no information is
leaked to the press?”
McCoy
took his time answering, wondering again why she wasn’t blasting him. He
finally replied, “No, you don’t. I’ll see to it that everyone concerned
understands what’s expected of them.”
With a
slight nod, Morgan said, “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She then turned and
walked from his office, closing the door almost soundlessly behind her.
McCoy
frowned in confusion and watched through the window until she disappeared down
the hallway.
***
“I see
you made it today,” she observed as they slipped through the gate and headed to
the interior grounds. “What happened to you yesterday? I called you all
afternoon and into the evening.”
“Something came up,” Morgan answered simply.
“Something, like giving an interview to the newspapers?”
Morgan
glanced at her. “You read that, huh?”
“It was
hard to miss. How did Jack take it? Did he glare daggers across the aisle at
you all day or did he just yell and get it over with?”
“The
trial was postponed for the day. And Jack took things as well as could be expected,
I guess,” Morgan answered quietly.
“Oh, I
know better than that. You questioned his integrity. He takes things like that
very personally. In his world, you’re either for him or against him and he sees
himself as being on the side of justice. There is no middle ground. Knowing him
the way I do, I’m sure he had plenty to say.”
With a
shrug Morgan admitted, “He made a comment or two.”
“I have
to admit, when you get even, you do it right,”
Morgan
stopped walking and turned to face her. “What do you mean ‘get even’?”
“It was
all about Jack, wasn’t it? About getting back at him for what he did with your
alibi witness? Some of the statements you made to the press were aimed directly
at him. I’m sure that raised plenty of questions concerning him with Branch,
among others. After we talked on Monday, I thought you were going to let it
drop.”
“Not
everything is about Jack,” Morgan snapped. “Getting back at him had nothing to
do with the interview I gave.”
“Then why
would you even talk to the press? I thought you hated having the media dog
you.”
Shaking
her head, Morgan replied with annoyance, “I really don’t want to talk about
this now, Abbie. It’s been a rotten day. We resume trial tomorrow morning after
a meeting with Ianello and I still have to work on my closing. All I want to do
is run a few laps so maybe I can sleep tonight, unlike last night. Do you think
we could possibly have this discussion some other time? Or, how about not at
all?”
“Fine,”
Carmichael responded indignantly, turning to continue toward their paths. “At
least I know ahead of time not to let you set the pace today.”