He walked the couple of blocks back to the courthouse and went directly to Emily's office. “Got a minute?” he asked.
Emily looked up and smiled. Luke was one of the best public defenders in the courthouse. Six foot five, with carrot-red hair and an easygoing manner, he did his level best for his clients, but was al?ways professionally cordial to the prosecutors.
“Come on in, Luke. How are you?” As she spoke she slid her hand over the name on the file she had been reviewing.
“Well, Emily, actually, I could be better. I just saw your star witness at the jail and I'm afraid he is in a foul mood, to put it mildly. He thinks I sold him out with the four-year deal. I'm supposed to deliver a message to you that he wants probation and he wants to get out today.”
“Are you kidding?” Emily asked, her voice rising.
“I wish I were. And there's more. He's threatening that if he doesn't get what he wants, he'll have more to say and it will some?how hurt you. He didn't give me any more details than that.”
Luke Byrne could see that Emily was both shocked and upset.
“Luke, I appreciate the heads-up. He can say whatever he wants, then he'll get his four years. And be out of my sight.”
“And mine,” Luke said smiling. “See you later.”
At one thirty, Jimmy Easton, shackled and dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, was led from the holding cell into the courtroom. After the attorneys had entered their appearances, Judge Stevens asked Luke Byrne to speak.
“Your Honor, Jimmy Easton's testimony was critical to obtaining a conviction of Gregg Aldrich for the brutal murder of his wife. The jury obviously accepted his testimony as credible. The state agreed that his maximum sentence would be four years. Your Honor, he has already spent eight months in jail, and it has been very difficult for him. Many of the other inmates ostracized him because he cooper?ated with the prosecutor and he is always in fear of being harmed because of that.”
Byrne paused and then continued, “Your Honor, I am asking that Mr. Easton be sentenced to probation and time served. He is willing to be very closely supervised and he is willing to do community ser?vice. Thank you.”
“Mr. Easton, you have a right to speak on your own behalf,” Judge Stevens said. “Is there anything you want to say?”
His face flushed, Jimmy Easton drew in a deep breath. “Your Honor, I'm being railroaded. My lawyer didn't do nothin' for me. If he had called their bluff and kept fighting, they would have given me probation. They needed me for their case. I did what I was sup?posed to do and now they just want to dump me in the garbage.”
Judge Stevens nodded to Emily. “Prosecutor, I'll hear you.”
“Your Honor, it is absurd for Mr. Easton to claim that he is being railroaded. Our first plea offer was six years, and after much negotia?tion, we lowered it to four years. We believe that Mr. Easton, who has a long criminal record, must be sentenced to prison. There was nothing more his attorney could have done to persuade us to offer probation. It was never going to happen.”
Judge Stevens turned to Jimmy Easton. “Mr. Easton, your case was assigned to me from the beginning. The proofs against you on this burglary charge were very strong. Your attorney vigorously nego?tiated with the prosecutor. You received and accepted a plea offer that was much lower than you would have gotten under any other circumstances. The state undoubtedly received a substantial benefit from your testimony and you will now receive a substantial benefit for your cooperation. But under no circumstances can I accept that you are an appropriate candidate for probation. You will be commit?ted to the Department of Corrections for a period of four years. You have a right to appeal if you are dissatisfied with your sentence.”
As the sheriff's officer took his arm to lead him away, Jimmy Eas?ton started screaming, "Dissatisfied? Dissatisfied? I'll show everybody what it means to be dissatisfied. Just wait! You'll all hear from me soon.
“And you won't like it.”
Just Take My Heart
57
On Monday morning, Phil Bracken, the foreman at the Pine Electronics warehouse on Route 46, was sorry to hear from Zach Lanning that it was necessary for him to leave the job ahead of time because his mother was dying.
“Zach, I couldn't be sorrier, both for your trouble, and because you do such a good job. Anytime you want to come back, you've got a job here.”
It was absolutely the truth, Phil thought, as he replaced the phone in his office. Zach never goofed off, never ran out for cigarette breaks, always put the merchandise where it belonged, not on the wrong shelves like some of these dopes who only worked here until they could get a better job.
On the other hand, there was something about Zach that made me uncomfortable, Phil admitted to himself. Maybe it was because he seemed way too smart for the job. I always felt that about him. And he never shot the breeze at the end of his shift or went out for a beer with the other guys. Zach had told him he was divorced and had no kids so it wasn't as though he was rushing home to a family.
Betty Tepper, a forty-something divorcee, worked in the account?ing office. When she had learned that Zach was single, she had in?vited him to a couple of parties but he'd always made some excuse not to go. He just didn't seem interested in having any friends.
What are you going to do? Phil asked himself. In this economy, there are dozens of guys who'll jump at the chance for a steady job here with good benefits.
And Zach Lanning had been kind of weird, he thought. He never looked me in the eye when I talked to him. It was like he was always checking to see if anyone else was coming near him.
Ralph Cousins, one of the newer guys, stopped in the office after he punched out at four o’clock. Phil, got a minute?
“Sure. What's up?” Not another one quitting, Phil hoped. Ralph, a twenty-three-year-old African-American, worked the day shift and was going to college at night. He was smart and dependable.
“Phil, something's been bothering me. It's about that guy Lan?ning.”
“If it's about Lanning, relax. He quit this morning.”
“He quit!” Cousins repeated, excitement in his voice.
Surprised at Ralph's reaction, Phil said, “He was planning to leave at the end of the month. Didn't you know that? He was going to move to Florida to take care of his mother. But now she's dying, so he left this morning.”
“I knew I should have played my hunch. I hope it's not too late.”
“What hunch?”
“I was watching Fugitive Hunt the other night and I told my wife that the composite of the guy who's a serial killer looked a lot like Lanning.”
“Oh, come on, Ralph, that guy is no more a serial killer than you or me.”
“Phil, last May when Mother's Day was coming up, I asked him about his mother. He told me that he never knew her, he'd been raised in a bunch of foster homes. He was lying to you. I bet he's out of here because he's afraid somebody who saw that program will identify him.”
“I've seen that program a couple of times myself. I think you're crazy, but if you are right, why didn't you call right away? They're always offering rewards for tips.”
“I didn't call because I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to make a fool of myself. And I wanted to talk to you. Because if the police came here to question him and it turned out not to be him, I thought maybe you could be sued if I had given the tip. But I'm going to call them now. I wrote down the number Saturday night.”
As Ralph Cousins was dialing his cell phone, Betty Tepper came into Phil's office. “What's this I hear?” she asked. “Is it true that Zach Lanning quit?”
“This morning,” Phil snapped. Although trying to digest the mind-boggling fact that he may have been rubbing elbows with a se?rial killer for two years, he was still able to be irritated that Betty-could never learn to knock before she barged into his office.
She did not try to hide her disappointment. “I thought I was wear?ing him down and he was going to ask me out. He was a plain-look?ing guy, but I always felt th
ere was something mysterious and exciting about him.”
“You may be right, Betty, you may be right,” Phil responded, as Ralph Cousins dialed the number of Fugitive Hunt.
After his call went through, Ralph began by saying, “I know you get plenty of tips, but I honestly believe that my coworker here is Charley Muir, the serial killer.”
Just Take My Heart
58
It was Monday morning in Yonkers. Reeney Sling was arguing with her husband, Rudy, a not uncommon situation. She had been the one who had phoned in the inquiry to the Courtside office on Friday night. Rudy had hit the ceiling later when she told him what she had done.
“Sal is my friend,” he fumed. “Look at the break he gave us. Mov?ing us up here at a discount and letting us pay two months later. How many people do you think would do that? And this is how you say 'Thank you, Sal'?”
Reeney had heatedly pointed out that Sal had a number of guys working for him off the books who might also remember Jimmy. “Any one of them could pass on the same information, and if there is a reward, they'll be the ones to collect. So if there is one, why shouldn't we get it?”
Rudy took a swig of beer. “I'll tell you why. I'll say it again. Sal is my friend. And I'm not going to be the one to get him in trouble. And neither are you.”
The tension between them had lasted over the weekend. Then on Sunday night, Reeney had checked the Courtside Web site and learned that Michael Gordon intended to announce on Monday-night's show a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward. It would be paid for information leading to proof that Jimmy Easton had ever had access to Gregg Aldrich's apartment when Aldrich was not present and before Natalie Raines was murdered.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” Reeney had screamed. “Open your eyes and look around this place. Everything is falling apart. How long have I had to live like this? I'm embarrassed to have our friends come here. Think how nice we could fix it up with that kind of money. And maybe have enough to take a trip like you've been promising me forever.”
“Reeney, if we tell them Jimmy Easton worked for Sal, they'll ask to see his books. I doubt if Sal even remembers how much he used him. He only has one full-time guy. The others he pays in cash when he needs them on a job. Sal never delivered to the Aldrich apart?ment. He told me that himself only last week.”
“What did you expect him to say? That he would love to have the IRS all over him?”
On Sunday night they had gone to bed furious at each other. On Monday morning, Rudy's resistance was starting to falter. “I couldn't sleep much last night, Reeney,” he said.
“Yes, you did,” Reeney snapped. “You were snoring all night. With all the beer you drank, you were out cold.”
They were having breakfast in the small dining area off the kitchen. Rudy was using his last piece of toast to mop up the remain?der of the fried eggs he had eaten. “What I'm trying to say, if you'll let me talk, is that you've got a point. Anyone who ever worked for Sal and met Easton and hears about this reward will be speed-dialing the tip in to Courtside. If Sal is going to get in trouble anyway, why should we miss out on the money? If it turns out that Easton never delivered anything there, then Courtside doesn't pay and we don't buy any new furniture.”
Reeney jumped up and ran to the phone. “I have the tip number written down.”
She snatched up a piece of paper and began to dial.
Just Take My Heart
59
As a convicted murderer, Gregg Aldrich was considered a high security risk and was housed in a tiny cell by himself. The awful real?ity of what had happened to him did not sink in immediately.
When he had arrived at the jail after the verdict, he was photo?graphed and fingerprinted. He had exchanged his Paul Stuart jacket and slacks for the pale green jumpsuit that was issued to all inmates. His watch and his wallet had been documented in his newly opened file and taken from him.
He was allowed to keep his reading glasses.
He was interviewed by a nurse who questioned him about any mental or physical health issues he might have, or any medications he was taking.
It was about two o'clock on Friday afternoon when, still protected by shock from the full impact of the verdict, he had been taken to his cell. Knowing he had missed lunch, a guard had brought him a baloney sandwich and a soda.
“Thank you, Officer. I appreciate it,” he said courteously.
On Monday morning, Gregg awoke at dawn to the realization that he simply could not remember a single moment since he'd started to eat that sandwich on Friday. It was all a complete blur. He stared at his bleak surroundings. How could this happen? Why am I here? Natalie, Natalie, why have you let this happen to me? You know I didn't kill you. You know I understood you better than anyone else.
You know I just wanted you to be happy.
I wish you had wanted that for me.
He stood up, stretched, and now keenly aware that he would probably never again jog in Central Park or, for that matter, jog any?where, sat down again on the bunk bed and wondered how he could ever survive this. He buried his face in his hands. Wrenching sobs racked his body for several minutes until, sapped of all energy, he lay down on the bed again.
I've got to pull myself together, he thought. If I have any prayer of getting out of this, I have to somehow prove that Easton is a liar. I cannot believe he is housed somewhere in this building. He deserves to be here. I don't, he thought bitterly.
After the verdict Richard Moore had spoken to him while he was still in the holding cell adjacent to Judge Stevens's courtroom. Rich?ard tried to console him by promising he would file the appeal im?mediately after he was sentenced.
“In the meantime will I be under the same roof with that scum?” Gregg remembered asking.
Richard replied that Judge Stevens had just issued a “keep sepa?rate” order so that he would have no contact with Easton at the jail.
“Not that he will be there too long,” Richard had assured him. “The judge is going to sentence Jimmy Easton on Monday after?noon. Within a couple of weeks he'll be out of the county jail and assigned to a state prison.”
It's a good thing, Gregg thought to himself, enraged at what Eas?ton had taken from him. If I had the chance, I think I would kill him.
He heard the noise of the lock turning. “I've got your breakfast, Aldrich,” the guard was saying. “I'm bringing it in.”
At two thirty that afternoon, Richard Moore, accompanied by a sher?iff's officer, appeared at the door of Gregg's cell. Gregg looked up, surprised. He had not expected to see Richard today. It was immedi?ately evident to him that something positive had happened.
Richard got right to the point. “Gregg, I just got out of watching Easton's sentencing. As I told you, I expected it to be fairly low key. Other than some remarks from his attorney and Emily Wallace, and then inevitably a phony speech from him about how he was going to change his life, I thought it would be pretty routine. It sure didn't turn out that way.”
As Gregg listened, almost afraid to allow himself to feel any hope, Richard described what had happened. “Gregg, I have no doubt that Emily Wallace was very shaken up. When Easton was spouting that he would have a lot more to say, I think I know what was going through her mind. She understands that Easton is despicable and a complete loose cannon. And all the reporters who were there now know that, too. This will be all over the papers tomorrow. If Wallace didn't intend to investigate this further herself, the press coverage will make her do it.”
Then, seeing the suffering in Gregg's eyes, he decided to tell him now about the reward Michael Gordon had put on his Web site and the phoned-in tip that had prompted it.
As he watched Richard Moore leave his cell, a transformed Gregg Aldrich was fiercely believing that before too long he might be walk?ing out with him.
Just Take My Heart
60
Ted Wesley was clearly unhappy to witness Jimmy Easton's out?burst. When he learned Emily knew in advance that he was demand?ing probation
, he exploded. “What is going on here? Didn't you make it clear to him that he was going to prison? And why didn't you tell me before he was in court?”
“Ted,” Emily said quietly. “I made it abundantly clear to him that probation was out of the question. I just learned about it a little while ago and I don't think it's that unusual for a defendant to want a bet?ter deal at the last minute.”
Her tone became resolute. “But I will tell you one thing. I intend to go back through this case as if it had just been handed to me. I'm going to retrace every step. I knew Easton was bad when we started out, but he's much worse than I thought. He is the worst kind of slime. If it turns out that everything he said on the witness stand is true, then he's just spitting at us because he doesn't want to go to prison. On the other hand, if he was lying we've got an innocent man rotting in a jail cell. And if that's the case, we've also got a mur?derer on the loose who shot and killed Natalie Raines in our juris?diction.”
“Emily, the murderer who shot and killed Natalie Raines is in that cell two blocks away, and his name is Gregg Aldrich. Thanks to the fact you apparently did not make it clear to Easton that he was going away, the media is going to be ranting about what else he may have to say.”
Ted Wesley picked up the phone, a sign that the meeting was over.
Emily went back to her office. The file she had been studying most of the morning contained the initial report of the police in Old Tappan, where Jimmy Easton had been arrested in the burglary. It was brief. The burglary had occurred at nine thirty p.m. last February 20th. As he was being processed in the police station, Easton had volunteered that he had information about the Raines murder.
And that was when Jake Rosen and Billy Tryon rushed over to interview him, Emily thought. It certainly was a break that Easton ended up talking. It had been an embarrassment for this office that Raines's murder was still unsolved after two years. If Easton read the papers at all, he would have known that Aldrich was the only sus?pect. He had met him at a bar. Could he have pieced together the rest of that story, maybe with some help from Billy Tryon?