He and Cindy were married for seven years, which could best be described as turbulent. Novack was simply impossible to be married to; he was moody and difficult, and his level of impossibility exactly mirrored what was happening at work.
There were many good moments, and she loved him, but he was just too unpredictable, and she didn’t want to walk on eggshells all the time. So finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, and she threw him out. She immediately filed for divorce, which he did not contest, and began the process of overhauling her life.
She finished her masters in speech therapy and got a good job in an already thriving private practice. She started dating, nothing too serious, which was just as well, since there was a problem.
Its name was Novack.
For all practical purposes, Novack didn’t recognize the divorce. He took an apartment of his own, but considered the post-marriage situation simply a phase. He kept showing up at Cindy’s house, helping her whenever he could, and just hanging out until she told him to leave.
It definitely inhibited her dating, since Novack was six foot two, a hundred and ninety pounds, was trained in martial arts, and carried a gun. Prospective suitors found that to be a somewhat unappealing combination.
And the truth was that Cindy didn’t mind. This was a different Novack, attentive, respectful, and even, her mind boggled at the thought, sensitive. Plus, since they didn’t live together, she could throw him out whenever he started to get on her nerves, though that happened on surprisingly few occasions.
Sex between them, though always satisfying to both, became even better. And money, a cause of some friction in the past, was not an issue, since they kept separate finances. Cindy actually made more than he did, which was a secret she would carry to her grave and beyond.
They were planning a vacation, for one week starting that Monday. Nothing fancy, they were heading to Long Beach Island, New Jersey. Surprisingly, Cindy was looking forward to it without any trepidation, even though it was the first vacation they would take together since the divorce. She figured that if any problems came up, they were advanced enough to handle it.
Cindy knew how much the Sheryl Harrison case had troubled him and stuck with him over the years, so she was not surprised when he brought it up the previous night. When Reggie told him that Jamie Wagner wanted to meet with him, Novack basically knew where that was going to go, and he discussed it with her.
She had encouraged him to do whatever he had to in order to clear his mind of it once and for all. She also felt for Sheryl, and strongly supported her goal of saving her daughter.
Cindy was not surprised when Novack showed up at her office after his meeting with Jamie Wagner. He started to make small talk, which was decidedly not his specialty, and since a client was waiting for her, she attempted to cut through it.
“What’s up?” she asked. “How was your meeting with Wagner?”
“Fine … no big deal.”
“Great,” she said, trying to hide her amusement. “I was afraid it might interfere with our vacation.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.
“Because I know you wouldn’t want anything to interfere with our vacation.”
He gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “Every day with you is a vacation.”
“You’re a piece of work, you know, Novack?”
“I’m aware of that, yes.”
“You came here to tell me we’re not going away next week, and you don’t know how to bring it up.”
“Cind, it’s a perfect chance to get to the bottom of this. And that poor girl, lying in that hospital…”
“You’re playing the ‘poor girl’ card on me?”
He smiled. “I can only play the cards I’m dealt.”
“You know, all the other women, their ex-husbands take them on great trips after they get divorced. I had to get stuck with you? You won’t even take me to New Jersey?”
“I’ll make it up to you. Next year I won’t take you to Paris.”
She laughed. “Deal. Now get out of here.”
Gerard Timmerman kept me waiting in his anteroom for ten minutes. It was probably some type of revenge for my postponing our meeting, or maybe he was on the phone with HR determining if they needed to give me any severance, or just throw me out without paying me a dime.
Ordinarily I wouldn’t mind; Timmerman could keep me waiting until August and I’d be fine with it. It would have meant less time at my desk poring through contracts, and I was getting paid whether I actually did any work or not. But I was anxious to get to the prison and talk to Sheryl, so I was hoping the great man would hurry up and see me.
When I was finally summoned, I saw that I was meeting with not one, but two exalted leaders. In addition to Timmerman, Harold Carlson was there as well, which meant two-thirds of the founding fathers were present, plus me.
There was a famous double-play combination in baseball about a million years ago, that my uncle Reggie used to tell me about. They were way before his time, but he is a baseball history geek, and he said these guys were legendary. The combination was referred to as “Tinker, to Evers, to Chance,” since those were their last names. Looking at these two guys, I had to stifle a laugh, as for some reason it hit me that I felt like I was alone with Tinker and Evers, and I had no Chance.
I decided to open the meeting with an apology about missing the meeting earlier, but Timmerman shrugged it off as if it were of no importance. “As I mentioned on the phone,” he said, “Harold and I are concerned at the direction your assignment has taken.”
The truth was that in our brief conversation, he hadn’t mentioned that he was concerned, nor had he mentioned “Harold.” But I decided correcting him wouldn’t be a good plan, so I just gave a half nod and waited.
“We also don’t think it’s the kind of case our firm is well equipped to handle. It’s well outside our areas of specialization, as well as yours.”
Was he trying to take the case away from me? “What are you saying?” I asked, but I soon realized that my questions or feelings were of no consequence to the conversation. In fact, it wasn’t a conversation at all. He was going to say what he was going to say; I could jump on his desk and tap-dance and it wouldn’t matter.
“It’s a very difficult matter … very difficult,” he said, shaking his head sadly at the difficulty of it all. He looked over at Harold, who sat impassively, not joining in the head shaking. “So we are prepared to take an unprecedented step.”
He paused; this might have been my chance to jump in, but I didn’t.
“We will hire an experienced criminal attorney to represent Ms. Harrison, at our expense. Our involvement will be behind the scenes, of course. We are not looking for publicity.”
“It’s not really a criminal case,” I said.
He smiled. “I assure you the attorney we hire will be equal to the task.”
“So you’re asking me to withdraw from representing Sheryl? Ms. Harrison?”
“I’m not sure I would categorize it as ‘asking,’” he said. “You are currently representing her on assignment from this office. We are reassigning you to something more in line with your skill set. It is better for her, and much better for your future with the firm.”
“I don’t have a future with the firm.”
He seemed surprised by my directness, but recovered and shook his head. “Not true. I’ve been reviewing your record; it’s a strong one.”
“So I have a chance at partner?”
“You will certainly receive every consideration,” he lied.
I was furious, and wanted to tell him what he could do with his consideration, but he and Harold and the surroundings were somewhat intimidating.
But then I thought of Sheryl, sitting in that shit hole relying on me in a way no one had ever relied on me before, and I realized that these assholes were not in her league. I had only spent a couple of hours with her, and I worked for these people for six years, yet I cared more about her than Ge
rard and Harold and their whole goddamn firm.
“I’ll talk to Sheryl about your offer,” I said. “It is ultimately her decision.”
Timmerman’s voice immediately got about twenty degrees colder. “Your withdrawal from the case is not her decision; she will be adequately represented and cannot compel you to continue. To be completely candid, it is also not your decision. It is the decision of this firm.”
I put my hands on his desk, partially to steady myself. I was annoyed that this asshole had the power to literally make my legs shake. “Mr. Timmerman, Mr. Carlson, here’s how this is going to work. I am going to tell Sheryl your offer. If she takes it, that’s fine. If she wants to keep me, then I will remain her lawyer.”
“You don’t—” he started, but I interrupted him.
“You can keep paying my salary while I do so, or you can fire me. That’s the only part that is in your control. But if you fire me, I’ll see to it that you’ll be chin deep in all that publicity you don’t want.”
“I’m not sure that’s the attitude you want to take,” he said. “And I’m not sure we’re the people you want to threaten.”
I nodded. “I’m not either. But what I am sure of is that Sheryl Harrison is going to be calling the shots. She’s dealing with enough bullshit, without adding yours to the pile. So let me know what you want to do, fire me or not. Either way I’m fine with it.”
As exit lines go, I wasn’t going to come up with anything much better than that, so I walked out. I think Timmerman was saying something as I closed the door, but I’m not sure.
Novack had waited six years to investigate the case; he wasn’t waiting another day. He told his partner, David Anders, what he was doing, and Anders had said, “What a surprise.”
“Which means what?” Novack asks.
“Which means this has been bugging you for six years. When this story about Harrison broke, there was no way you weren’t going to dive into it.”
“You think it’s a mistake?”
“I think it’s a mistake, and I think it’s a waste of time. I told you that then, and I’m telling you now. She said she did it. She was alone in the room with the victim. End of story.”
“Then I’m doing it,” Novack said. “Proving you wrong will only add to the satisfaction.”
Anders laughed, and since their caseload was not that busy at the moment, and since he was Novack’s friend as well as partner, he agreed to cover for Novack, so that he might begin his “vacation” project four days early.
The first thing Novack did was retrieve the murder book from the archives. It was easily found, because much of it had just been copied for Wagner when he was appointed as Sheryl Harrison’s new attorney. And it was easy to go through, because there was almost nothing of real consequence in it.
Novack immediately knew how difficult this was going to be. It was much tougher than diving into a cold case, because invariably those cases would have gone cold after every investigative avenue was exhausted. The file would be filled with information that could be reexamined and rechecked.
In the murder of Charlie Harrison, almost no investigation had taken place, because the obvious killer was in custody within minutes of the murder.
Whereas the victim’s life is usually taken apart in an effort to find out who might have wanted him dead, Charlie Harrison’s life had undergone no such scrutiny. The only aspect that had been documented in any detail at all was his relationship with Sheryl, which had been a rocky one. And that information hadn’t been gathered for the purpose of finding the killer; it was more to guarantee that Sheryl would pay for her crime.
So that was where Novack would start; he would learn who Charlie Harrison was, and maybe that would reveal why he died. His first stop was Arcadia Chevrolet on Route 4 in Paramus, where Charlie worked for seven years as a used-car salesman.
There was always the chance that few if any people would even remember him, six years could have seen a lot of turnover in the dealership’s employees. Novack arrived and flashed his badge, asking to see the person in charge.
Within five minutes he was in Danny Duncan’s office. The sign outside his office door said “manager,” and the small sign on his desk confirmed it. Duncan quite obviously wanted to make sure that everybody knew he was the top banana at Arcadia Chevrolet.
Duncan looked to be in his forties. The percentage of his hair that he had maintained over the years was in the twenties, and it was obvious to Novack that careful combing was designed to maximize what he had and conceal what he didn’t. It didn’t work, thought Novack, but then again it never did.
Duncan had a bunch of commendations on his wall, proclaiming him the top salesman of various months, going back as far as 2002. That told Novack that he had worked his way up to manager, and that he had been a colleague of Charlie’s when his throat was intact.
“He was a great guy,” Duncan said, “just a great guy. And a real practical joker, you know? You never knew what he was going to do next.”
“Did he have any enemies?” Novack asked.
“Charlie? No way.”
“Do me a favor, think before you answer, okay? It’s been six years, so you probably haven’t thought about this stuff in a while. Take your time, and tell me everything you know about him. The good and the bad.”
“Okay … sure.”
“Did he have any enemies?”
Duncan delayed answering, as instructed, trying to figure out when he could respond without being accused of jumping the gun. Finally, he said, “I guess his wife, you know?”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Nah, Charlie never brought her around. Didn’t talk about her much either.”
“Were there any customers that were angry at Charlie, maybe they thought he ripped them off?”
“We have a satisfaction guarantee in place here.”
“I’m sure you do, but maybe some customer still wasn’t completely satisfied? Do you keep records of things like that?”
“Well, we keep a file with complaints, but that’s going back a ways. I could look for it.”
“Good, do that. When you heard that Charlie had been murdered, did you hear at the same time that his wife had been arrested?”
Duncan thought back on the moment and said, “No, I don’t think I did.”
Novack nodded. “In that moment, did you have an instinct as to who might have done it?”
Again Duncan took his time, and finally shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I just remember how weird it was that Charlie was gone, and like that, in that way, you know? It gave me the creeps; I mean, we had just been out celebrating the night before.”
“What were you celebrating?”
“It was Charlie’s going away party. A bunch of us went to the Crow’s Nest on Route Seventeen.”
“Had be been fired?”
“Charlie? No way,” Duncan said. “He quit.”
“Why?”
“Because he was coming into all that money.”
It was a totally weird sensation; I couldn’t get used to it. Whenever I turned on the radio or television, I was the person they were talking about. Sheryl was the center of attention, but they never failed to mention me, and I was almost always pleased that they did. Until now, I never really thought of myself as having an ego, and here I was finding out how much I liked having it stroked.
The one thing my ego and I didn’t like was that some of the analysts were turning their attention to whether I had the experience and savvy necessary for the job. It was obviously a legitimate question, but I couldn’t help wondering if Timmerman was feeding the flames. I decided that it was too soon for that, since I had just turned the guy down. But I certainly wouldn’t put it past him for the future.
It seemed like more polls were taken to gauge the public’s point of view on the Harrison case than the average presidential election. In sum they said that about 55 percent of Americans sided with Sheryl in her fight to save Karen’s life; 38 percent
were against her, and 7 percent had no opinion.
The people opposed basically broke down in three camps. The fervent pro-lifers, mostly devoutly religious people, simply could not countenance the state taking someone’s life in such a manner. All life, they reasoned, was precious and had to be protected.
A second segment worried about the “slippery slope” that might be greased by granting Sheryl’s wish. They sympathized with her plight, but worried where it might lead, who else might petition the government for the right to die. These people vaguely worried about governmental death panels, which might go even further and make decisions about whether some people no longer were worth keeping alive.
The third group, the smallest of the three, was opposed simply because it was against the law. Neither the Corrections Department, nor the governor himself, had the right to disregard a long-standing statute. If they wanted to let Sheryl die, let the Congress pass a law giving them and her that right.
The irony of it all was made crystal clear by another survey, which asked people whether someone who slit someone’s throat while their victim was sleeping should receive the death penalty. A large majority said yes, meaning many people thought it was okay for the state to kill Sheryl, but just not on her terms.
I headed to the prison to see Sheryl, and found that I was looking forward to it. I liked her, she was straightforward and didn’t bullshit, traits which were not exactly commonplace in my world. I also had to admit that I saw her as a benefactor in a strange way; I was enjoying being in the action, and she was the reason I was there.
I was searched even more carefully than usual before being allowed in to see her; it was invasive and irritating. They must have thought I was smuggling in a scalpel, some anesthesia, and a team of surgeons.
Sheryl was getting less access to the outside world now that she was on suicide watch and thus in solitary, so she asked me to update her on everything that was happening. I told her about the lawsuit I filed, and she pumped me for details with surprisingly perceptive legal questions. She had clearly been studying.
Heart of a Killer Page 7