Chapter 23
As
Southerlyn and McCoy rounded the corner and headed down the hallway toward the
individual conference rooms of Tier 3C at Riker's Island Penitentiary, they
spotted two familiar figures waiting outside one of the rooms.
“Counselors,” Briscoe greeted them as they reached him. “Great day for a
drive out to the
“Just
lovely,” McCoy retorted, looking past them to the two people sitting across the
table from each other inside the wire-enclosed room. He bristled inwardly when
he saw Fisher reaching to put his hand on Morgan’s arm.
“We’re
waiting for Fisher’s lawyer to finish with him,” Green explained. “She wanted
to make sure he understood what we expect of him.”
“How long
have they been in there?” Southerlyn queried.
“We don’t
know,” Green replied. “They were already together when we arrived.”
Before he
was finished speaking, Morgan got up and made her way to the door. After
opening it she announced, “We’re ready, now.”
She
returned to sit on the opposite side of the table next to Fisher as the rest
filed in and took seats. Her voice was flat and emotionless and she kept her
eyes focused on the papers in front of her as she said, “Eric asked me to bring
along several maps of various areas in order to pinpoint for you where to
search.”
Taking
one and unfolding it, she laid it in front of Fisher.
Pointing
to a spot on the map he began, “The first one was in
***“Six girls in six states,” Green mused as he
signed the check-out log and returned his visitor’s badge. “Makes you wonder
where he was headed next.”
“
“Thankfully, we’ll never know,” Southerlyn observed, returning her own
badge. “It’s just too bad he wasn’t caught sooner.”
“Considering
the way he picked up and moved every few months, it’s easy to see why he
wasn’t,” Green pointed out. “He never stuck around long enough to end up in an
investigation. By the time everyone figured out what had happened, he was in
another state.”
“The
longer he went on, the less likely the chances of anyone catching him,” McCoy
acknowledged. “Unlike some killers who begin to get sloppy or bold after a few
successes, Fisher was getting better and better at concealing his crimes. He
was also committing more frequently. It took him over a year to get up the
nerve to strike again after the first girl. The next five were never more than
nine months apart. I’d say it was only through a monumental stroke of good luck
that he landed in our jail.”
“A stroke
of good luck?” Briscoe echoed with feigned indignation. “How about the
countless hours of brilliant police work put in by two of
McCoy’s
eyes sparkled with amusement. “Well, maybe just a little.” His expression
turned somber and he let out a sigh. “Now I have the unpleasant task of calling
the parents of the dead girls. It isn’t going to be a fun afternoon. Are the
two of you going to get in touch with the law enforcement agencies in the
various cities?”
“Yes,”
Green agreed. “We’ll give each a call and relay to them what Fisher told us.
Let’s hope they’re able to find the bodies after all this time. I’m sure the
parents would like to try to put this all behind them.”
As the
others began to head for the exit, McCoy took his time signing out. He was just
about to pass through the security gate when he heard footsteps approaching.
Turning around, he saw Morgan enter the small room behind him. He stepped back
from the gate and waited while she signed out.
She had
been extremely subdued during the whole exchange with Fisher. McCoy had watched
her as she sat motionless beside her client while Briscoe and Green questioned
him and took notes. Hearing the details of the crimes hadn’t been pleasant for
any of them. But the way Morgan had sat with her fingers so tightly intertwined
that her knuckles had turned white convinced him it had been particularly
difficult for her.
As she
joined him he took note of her paleness and asked sympathetically, “Are you
all right?”
“I’m just
great,” she answered wearily. “Listening to a client explain how he disposed of his victims' bodies is such a cheerful way to start the day.”
“At least
the families will achieve some closure once the bodies are found and taken care
of properly.”
“Yeah,”
she agreed dejectedly. Walking beside him toward the building exit she added,
“To be honest, I don’t feel much like having lunch after that. I've sort of lost my appetite. You'd better give me another raincheck.”
“Are you
sure?” he asked, trying to hide his disappointment. “Wouldn’t you at least like
to sit down for a few minutes and have something to drink? There’s a little
place I wanted to take you to that’s on our way back into the city.”
Morgan
shook her head as he held the door leading outside open for her. “Thanks, but I
really feel the need for some time alone to regroup and clear my head before my
afternoon appointments begin. Maybe another day?”
He nodded
reluctantly. “All right. Let’s try to make it this week, though. Why don’t you
check your schedule when you get back to your office and give me a call so we
can make plans?”
“I’ll do
that,” Morgan agreed. Stopping on the sidewalk she noted, “I’m sure you’ll
probably be getting calls about the other cases from the prosecutors in the
various cities within the next few days.”
“Most
likely. Since so much time has passed it may take several days for the bodies
to be recovered, if they are at all, even with the details your client
supplied.”
She
chewed her lip for a moment before asking, “What do you think the chances are
of my getting them to hold off on extradition for a few weeks, until the 60 day
appeal period is up? If he doesn’t change his mind about that, extradition to
face formal sentencing for his other crimes will be moot. I think I can talk
him into writing out statements admitting responsibility in order for the
other prosecutors to be able to close their files.”
“I think
that would satisfy them,” he agreed. “No one wants to waste time on a trial unnecessarily.
I could call each of them and suggest it, if you’d like. Coming from another
prosecutor instead of a defense attorney, they may be more inclined to agree.”
“That
would be great. I’d really appreciate it,” she acknowledged sincerely. “Thank you.”
“So he
hasn’t changed his mind on the appeal?”
“No, he
hasn’t. I talked to him about it again today. He’s sticking to his original
decision, so far. I’m hoping he’ll change his mind once he gets to
Glancing
over to where Southerlyn was conversing with Briscoe and Green a short distance
away, McCoy questioned quietly, “Did he ask you again about being there when
his sentence is carried out?”
Morgan
studied the sidewalk for a moment before replying equally quietly, “I really
don’t want to talk about that right now, Jack. It isn’t something I even want
to think about yet. I’ll make that decision when the time comes.”
He gave
her a half-hearted smile. “All right.”
Gesturing
toward the others she noted, “It looks like they’re waiting for you. And I
should be going, too.”
“Don’t
forget to call me about lunch,” he reminded her. “If you keep turning me down,
I’m going to start taking it personally.”
Morgan
gave him a slight smile. “I wouldn’t want you to do that. I’ll see how things
look for the rest of the week. I’m sure I can work something out.”
“You’d
better,” he warned teasingly.
“Have a
good afternoon, Jack.”
***He was already in the hallway outside his
office when he heard his phone ring. After hesitating for a moment while he considered
ignoring it, he finally returned to his desk to snatch up the receiver.
“McCoy.”
“Mr.
McCoy, this is Craig Larsen. I’m sorry I missed your call on Monday. I assume
you were calling in regards to my daughter, Angela,” a deep male voice responded.
“Yes, Mr.
Larsen, I was,” he concurred, sitting down in his chair. “Have the local police
been in touch with you?”
After a
brief pause, the man answered somewhat unsteadily, “Yes, they have. I spent the
last day and a half with them while they searched for my little girl’s body. I've
just returned home after watching them put what little was left of her into a
plastic bag.”
Noting
the grief in the other man’s voice, McCoy offered sincerely, “I’m sorry for your
loss. I know how difficult that must have been.”
The man’s
voice rose an octave. “Difficult? That doesn’t even begin to describe what I
went through today, or the hell my wife and I have been through for the last
twenty-six months and five days. It hasn’t been difficult. It’s been
devastating. Life as we knew it has ended. Nothing is ever going to be the same
again.”
“You have
my sympathy,” McCoy replied quietly, knowing nothing he said would make a bit
of difference.
“I want
to know when the bastard that did this to her is going to die. And if he’s going to die. The cops told me
how he almost got away with the murder in New York and how his low-life lawyer
claimed at his sentencing that he was crazy. Is he going to be able to play the
system and end up out on parole in a few years?”
“That isn’t
going to happen,” McCoy assured him. “Even if he should appeal and succeed in
getting his sentence reduced, the least he will get out of it is life in prison
without the possibility of parole. He isn’t going to be back on the streets
again, ever.”
“Yeah,
that’s what they all say,” Larsen countered bitterly. “He could drag this out
for years, until his lawyer finds some little loophole to pull him through.”
“As a
matter of fact, no notice of appeal has been filed yet on Mr. Fisher’s behalf.
If nothing is filed within 60 days of his being sentenced, a date will be set
for the original sentence handed down by the jury to be carried out.”
Sounding
only slightly calmer the man asked, “But he will appeal, right? I mean, they
all do, don’t they?”
“Not necessarily.
I do know of cases where the defendant didn’t fight a death sentence. It’s up
to Mr. Fisher whether or not to pursue the matter. He could instruct his
attorney to take no further action on his behalf.”
“How can
I find out what he’s going to do?”
“There is
no way to find out until the actual appeal is filed or until the 60 day period
is up.”
“His
lawyer would know,” Larsen suggested. “Who’s representing him?”
McCoy
paused, feeling that sudden uncomfortable prickle at the back of his neck that
he had learned long ago not to ignore. It wouldn’t be the first time a defense
attorney was confronted by a victim’s incensed family member or other
interested party. Thinking of Danielle Melnick and deciding to listen to the
little warning voice inside his head, he finally answered, “I’m not at liberty
to give out that information.”
“Why the
hell not?” Larsen queried, his voice taking on a volatile edge.
“Because doing so would serve no useful purpose. Fisher’s attorney has
nothing to do with the decision of whether or not to file an appeal, and
whatever was discussed by the two of them is confidential. The attorney is
under obligation not to disclose that
information to anyone else.”
“I have
the right to know and the right to voice my opinion! I want Fisher and his
lawyer to know exactly how I feel about both of them!”
“That
isn’t a good idea, Mr. Larsen. There are proper channels for that. If Fisher
allocutes to the murder of your daughter, you will have the opportunity to
voice your opinion for the court record.”
“It isn’t
enough!” Larsen insisted loudly. “In the mean time, this lawyer is going to
turn around and represent another piece of scum like Fisher, maybe getting the
next one off. Somebody needs to make these people realize how what they do
affects the rest of us. Someone needs to force them take some accountability
for putting the dregs of society back where they can attack more innocent
people, like my little girl!”
“Everyone
is entitled to legal representation, even criminals. Things have to be done
fairly in order for the system to work.”
“Work?
This system doesn’t work!” Larsen argued irately. “This system puts people like
Fisher back on the streets to kill again. This system ties the hands of cops
trying to get to the truth and allows criminals to get off on technicalities.
And it lets lawyers, who know their clients are guilty, to lie their way into
getting them off anyway. I don’t call that working!”
Taking a
deep breath and hoping the man on the other end of the line would do the same,
McCoy said calmly, “I’m truly sorry for your family’s loss, Mr. Larsen. But at
present, my sympathy is all I have to offer. I sincerely hope you will take my
advice and simply wait for your day in court, as it were. Anything further
could result in charges being brought against you. After everything else you
and your family have been through, I would hate to see that happen.”
***McCoy hurried down the sidewalk, taking long,
quick strides. He checked his watch again and swore under his breath. He hated
being late.
Once he
reached his destination, he opened the door and entered the small
establishment. The wonderful aroma of basil and oregano immediately confronted
him and his stomach grumbled in response. Coming to a stop, he smiled at the
figure waiting on a bench just inside the door.
“You
don’t have to tell me, I know I’m late,” he confessed. “I got tied up with a
phone call at the last minute and then I got stuck in traffic.”
“A likely
story,” Morgan replied, trying to sound indignant but with her eyes revealing
her amusement. “You beg me to meet you and then you show up twenty minutes
late. I should’ve left ten minutes ago.”
He put a
hand on her back and guided her to where the hostess was waiting. “Well, I’m
glad you didn’t. I’ll make it up to you by paying, even though it is
technically your turn.”
“I guess
I can let you off the hook, then.” Giving him a warning look she added, “Just
don’t ever let it happen again.”
McCoy
grinned and addressed the hostess. “Two, please, and we’ll take anything you
have. My friend here gets grumpy when she hasn’t eaten.”
Once they
had been seated and their orders taken, McCoy leaned his arms on the table. His
voice took on a more serious tone as he said, “The phone call I received just
before leaving was from the father of one of Fisher’s victims.”
Quickly
looking down at the table, Morgan offered quietly, “I’m sorry. That couldn’t
have been pleasant.”
“It wasn't. It’s
never easy to speak with a victim’s family members,” he agreed. “Most are
angry but some are downright irrational. They want the person responsible to
pay for his or her crimes, legally or otherwise. Where children are involved
the emotions run especially high. Most of the people I deal with calm down to
at least a certain extent once I’ve assured them that their loved one is going
to receive justice. They may rant and rave, but they understand that taking the
law into their own hands is not an option. Unfortunately, Mr. Larsen didn’t strike
me as one of those people.”
“Why is
that?” Morgan queried after taking a sip of iced tea.
“Mr.
Larsen left me with the impression that he would have no problem at all
personally making sure that justice is carried out to his satisfaction, one way
or another. He’s also not too fond of the lawyers who represent people like
your client. He wanted me to tell him who was representing Fisher so he could
voice his ‘opinion’ on the matter.”
Morgan
studied her glass, avoiding his eyes. “He’s entitled to do that. I can’t say I
blame him. Representing Eric wasn’t exactly the
“You
don’t understand,” he insisted, leaning closer to her over the table. “This guy
is out for blood. When I wouldn’t supply him with the information he asked for,
to say he wasn’t happy would be an understatement. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem
to be aware of the fact that the name of a defendant’s lawyer is a matter of
public record. He also lives two states away, which I’m hoping will be enough
to keep him from finding out who you are and showing up on your doorstep.”
Shaking
her head she said, “I appreciate your concern but if Mr. Larsen wants to talk
to me, I have no objection. It isn’t like this is the first time I’ve
represented someone accused of a serious crime. I’ve dealt with irate family
members before. It goes with the territory. Once you assure them you’re as
outraged over the crime as they are, they usually leave you alone. And if they
don’t…” Morgan shrugged. “Well, that’s what receptionists are for, to screen
calls.”
“Don’t
take this so lightly,” McCoy admonished sternly. “Two defense attorneys were
shot not long ago, one of them to death, simply because of their choice of
clients. One happened to be a good friend of mine. There are a lot of nuts
running around out there, Calea, ready to take up arms for any cause. Mr.
Larsen could be one of those nuts. He certainly sounded like he fit the part to
me. He also sounded like the kind of person who doesn’t give up easily. If he
pursues it, he will find out who you are and where to find you. Don’t allow
your sympathy for the victims’ families to blind you to what some people are
capable of doing.”
She grew
thoughtful for a moment, studying his intense eyes, then finally replied, “I’m
well aware of what people are capable of doing, Jack. But I can’t allow fear of
what might happen to run my life. You
know I take safety precautions. I refuse to live being afraid of my own shadow,
though.”
“I’m not
suggesting you should. I’m only asking that you take what I’m saying seriously
and be careful. There might be people out there who feel the world would be a
better place without someone whose name has been associated with a killer of
young girls. Mr. Larsen could even organize the other parents involved and
encourage their outrage. We’re talking about a lot people whose lives have been
devastated by the actions of your client.”
“Okay,
okay, I get the point,” Morgan consented. “I’ll be careful. Just don’t expect
me to go into hiding. I can take care of myself, you know.”
He leaned
back, only somewhat appeased, and regarded her with a frown. “I seem to
remember having this same conversation with you once before. You didn’t
convince me then, either.”
With an
amused look she noted, “Well, you should’ve at least learned that it’s pointless
to argue with me about it. You know I’m going to do as I please anyway.”
A slow
smile lit his face and he shook his head. “You’d think I would’ve learned that
by now.” After taking a couple of gulps of his drink he asked, “What are your
plans for the weekend? I was thinking you could come over Friday night or
Saturday so I can make you that dinner I promised. Afterwards, we could watch a
movie together.”
“I have
sort of a late appointment Friday evening and then I’m going to meet Abbie for
a run, so Friday won’t work for me. Saturday morning I have some volunteer work
to do that will tie me up until
“Good.
Saturday would be best for me, too. That’ll give me more time to prepare
dinner.” He added thoughtfully, “Unless you’d like to go out. Is there
someplace you’d like to go or something you would rather do?”
“Oh, no,
not at all,” she assured him. “A quiet dinner and a movie sound great to me.”
“Is there
a particular movie you’d like me to pick up?”
“No, almost anything is fine with me. You already know my criteria for
what I won’t watch.”
“Oh,
right,” he nodded, adding teasingly, “No ‘Night of the Living Dead’. Got it.”
“And no
trying to sneak something in, thinking I’ll change my mind once I start
watching,” she warned. “Nothing scary, period.”
“Nothing
scary,” he repeated patronizingly.
Ignoring
his obvious amusement she asked, “What time would you like for me to come
over?”
“Whenever
you finish at the office is fine with me. I’ll be home all afternoon.”
“I’m sure
I’ll need a shower first to wash the paint out of my hair. Should I call to let
you know I’m on my way?”
“You can
if you want but it isn’t necessary. I’ll just expect you some time in the
afternoon.”
“Do you
want me to bring anything?”
“Only
your appetite,” he responded. “If I need you to pick up anything, I’ll leave a
message for you.”
“Sounds
good.” She checked her watch and looked around the restaurant. “Speaking of
food, I wonder where ours is. If they don’t hurry up, I’m going to pass out
from hunger.”