Sullivan's Law

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “You look terrific,” Brad said, smiling as he pulled her into his arms. “I forgot what a great little body you have.” He cupped his hands under her breasts, then kissed her on the lips.

  Carolyn stared at his handsome face, his amazing eyes, his incredible smile. Without thinking, she let her hands open. Eddie’s file and her purse fell to the floor. She had convinced herself that she was over him. Obviously, she’d been mistaken. No man had ever aroused her the way Brad did. She held his face in her hands. “We could lose our jobs, you know.”

  “You worry too much,” Brad told her. He switched places so Carolyn’s back was against the door. Pinning her hands over her head, he kissed her mouth, her neck, then trailed his tongue down the center of her chest. She closed her eyes and moaned.

  How long had it been?

  She heard a noise and glanced over at the urinals. What if a man was inside one of the stalls? She held her breath and listened, her heart racing in excitement. Brad had intentionally chosen the men’s room. What they were doing seemed even more decadent. She felt herself slipping. The floor was slick and her heels made it hard to keep her balance. She kicked off her shoes, then unbuttoned his shirt, moving her hands over his bronze skin as she marveled at his taut muscles. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered. “Men aren’t supposed to be beautiful.”

  Brad laughed, “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

  “Neither am I,” Carolyn said, moving a few feet away.

  “You aren’t going to make love to me?”

  “No,” she said, fighting her desire.

  “My house is only a few miles away,” Brad told her, his eyelids still heavy with lust. “All we have to do is be discreet, make certain no one in the office finds out we’re seeing each other again. Stop by my house after work.”

  “You have lipstick on your face.” Carolyn reached over and wiped it off with her finger. “What we did today was a long way from discreet.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, grinning. “Maybe that’s why you liked it so much.”

  “I don’t want a relationship where we have to sneak around,” Carolyn told him. “We wouldn’t be able to go out in public. You’re a fantastic lover, but I want more. I have to think about John and Rebecca. They need a man in their life, someone they can look up to as father.”

  “What’s going on with Frank?”

  “Nothing,” Carolyn told him, leaving him to guard the door while she went to the sink to wash off the heavy makeup and repair her clothing.

  “He’s supposed to be supporting your children,” Brad told her. “Have you filed against him? They’ll throw him in jail.”

  “We don’t know where he is right now,” Carolyn explained. “He changes his phone number all the time. I reported him for nonpayment of child support three months ago. They haven’t found him.”

  “He must not be working, or they’d trace him by his social security number.” Someone jiggled the door handle. Brad leaned against it with his right shoulder. “I’m a plumber, guy,” he yelled. “Use the john upstairs. I’m up to my ears in shit.”

  Carolyn placed her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. As soon as they heard the man’s footsteps receding, she said, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re insane?”

  “All the time,” Brad said, arching an eyebrow. “What else did you get out of Downly?”

  “Not much,” Carolyn said, falling serious. “He might plead guilty and save us the expense of a trial. The most important issue is to find out if there are other victims. He got sloppy with Luisa Cortez. Serial rapists or serial killers don’t usually start making mistakes until the third or fourth crime. If there are other victims, they’re probably dead. I keep thinking of the families, not knowing if their child is dead or alive.”

  “At least we caught him,” Brad said. “What about his girlfriend? Didn’t he tell you he was engaged?”

  “He would have used her if she existed. The men who were supposed to provide him with an alibi are drug dealers. They were in jail in San Francisco when he raped Cortez. He must have told me he was engaged to keep me from finding out he was a pedophile. Fast Eddie isn’t interested in adult women.”

  “Disgusting,” Brad said, shaking his head.

  “We can’t do this again,” Carolyn told him, her eyes drifting downward.

  “Why not?” he argued. “Okay, I admit we shouldn’t play around at work. That doesn’t mean we can’t see each other.”

  “I have to go on with my life, Brad,” Carolyn said. “Even before you were promoted, I knew our relationship wouldn’t last. You don’t want to raise some other man’s kids, come home every night to the same place and deal with domestic problems.”

  Brad was upset. “I care about you.”

  Carolyn kissed him on the forehead. “I care about you too.” She cracked the door to make certain no one was around, then quickly left before he could stop her.

  Chapter 12

  Carolyn sweet talked Arline Shoeffel’s assistant, Raul Morales, into getting her in to see the presiding judge during the afternoon recess. Unlike some of the other judges, Shoeffel didn’t indulge in three-martini lunches paid for by ass-kissing attorneys at Ventura’s finest restaurants. She’d won her position due to her impeccable ethics, her uncanny grasp of the law, and her ability to supervise high-level individuals. One of the most important duties of a presiding judge was moving the calendar. With the number of cases Ventura County processed, her job could be compared to stopping a runaway train.

  Carolyn felt lucky to have spent time alone with Arline the evening her car broke down. People at the courthouse seldom saw her, unless they spotted her in her silver Lexus either entering or leaving the restricted underground parking garage. Only a few details about her personal life were known to the general public. The judge had never been married, she never attended social functions, and she carried her lunch to work every day in a brown paper bag. In many ways, she was like a phantom. Only the judges who worked directly under her had contact with her on a regular basis.

  Before her one-thirty appointment with Arline, Carolyn drove to a Verizon store across the street to purchase cell phones for Rebecca and John. She was delighted when she learned the phones were free, but her excitement withered when she realized that she’d have to sign a six-month contract with the phone company. She waited anxiously while the store clerk activated the phones, then left and tossed them into the trunk of Professor Leighton’s BMW. She almost ran a red light in her rush to get back to the courthouse, fearful if she was late, Arline would refuse to see her.

  “Did I make it?” Carolyn said, trying to catch her breath as she burst through the door to the judge’s outer office.

  A former New Yorker, Raul Morales slowly pulled his eyes away from his computer screen. An attractive, stuffy man in his early thirties, Morales probably knew more about the law than most attorneys. His blue-striped dress shirt was crisp and starched, and he was wearing a black vest and charcoal slacks, his shoes polished to perfection.

  “Barely,” Morales said, looking in distaste at Carolyn’s disheveled appearance. “Have you been jogging? Perhaps you should comb your hair.” He reached over and handed her a tissue as she whipped her brush out and ran it through her tangled hair. “You’re perspiring as well. I hear it’s warm out today. Must be the Santa Ana winds again. Last week I had to wear a jacket. This morning it felt like summer.”

  “You’re not in New York anymore. In California, we have a different season every week.” Carolyn blotted her forehead and upper lip, listening as he called the judge on the intercom.

  “I only promised you five minutes,” he said, gesturing toward the closed door. “She has another appointment in fifteen and she needs time to eat her lunch. I suggest you talk fast.”

  Arline Shoeffel didn’t raise her head until Carolyn was standing directly in front of her desk. “Have a seat,” she said, removing her glasses. “I was concerned when you didn’t attend c
lass last night. I heard about the explosion. How are you?”

  Carolyn didn’t answer her question. She remained standing. “I have a volatile situation on my hands,” she told her. “If I didn’t think someone could lose their life, I wouldn’t be here.” She quickly outlined the most recent developments in the Metroix case.

  “What you’ve told me does sound worth pursuing,” the judge said, her words carefully articulated. “Put together everything you have and send it over. We’ll have a light dinner together after class next week. We can discuss Metroix then.”

  “This can’t wait,” Carolyn told her, walking over and placing her hands on the edge of her desk. “I’m not returning to school until whoever is behind this has been apprehended. I can’t risk leaving my children home alone. These people know where I live. They’ve been to my house.”

  “I see what you mean,” the judge said thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t Mr. Metroix be better off in protective custody?”

  “No,” she told her. “He already got into an altercation at the jail. It wasn’t his fault, according to what he told me. Not only do I think he was falsely convicted, ironically Metroix seems to be a talented inventor. Some of his inventions could be valuable, to the extent that a prison official may be personally profiting from them.”

  “What led you to believe Mr. Metroix was an inventor?” Arline asked. “I thought you said he was mentally ill.”

  Not this again, Carolyn thought. The same problem applied to people with cerebral palsy or Lou Gehrig’s disease. Those who didn’t know better sometimes thought they were retarded. “Have you ever heard of John Forbes Nash?”

  “The name sounds somewhat familiar,” the judge answered, leaning back in her chair. “What does this man have to do with Mr. Metroix?”

  “Nash was schizophrenic,” she told her. “He also won a Nobel Prize.” She let her words sink in, then continued, “Metroix’s working on something that could benefit national security. I’m not competent to evaluate it. For that, we’re going to need a major research facility. My father taught math, though, and my mother has a master’s in chemistry. I know enough to tell you that what I saw was impressive.”

  “Complex,” Arline commented, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “What you’ve told me not only seems worthy of the court’s attention, it has some interesting legal aspects.” She reached behind her and picked up the California Penal Code off her credenza. Raul stuck his head in the door.

  “Judge Alcott will be here in fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s fine,” she said.

  “But you need time to eat your lunch.”

  “You’re not my mother, Raul,” Arline told him, peering up at him over her glasses. “Don’t interrupt me again. If Alcott shows up, he can wait.”

  “Do you want me to go?” Carolyn asked, seeing Raul giving her a dirty look, as if it was her fault that his boss had snapped at him.

  “No,” the judge answered. “The law tends to be concrete, even tedious. Assigning cases and supervising other judges isn’t as challenging as one might think. Regarding the prison,” she continued, “as per section 2812, it’s unlawful for a prison to sell anything made by an inmate unless the articles are legally sanctioned by law.” She flipped to another page. “Now, 2717.1 states that the Director of Corrections can enter into what’s referred to as a joint venture program with an outside organization or entity.”

  “Warden Lackner mentioned something about a joint venture program,” Carolyn interjected. “But Metroix said the warden not only made him sign away the rights to his inventions, he also insisted that he work specifically on the exoskeleton.”

  “If this warden is personally profiting in any way,” Arline told her, “or even had the intent to sell Mr. Metroix’s inventions, he would be in violation of section 2708.” She looked up and smiled. “You may have caught yourself a rat. This man could be criminally prosecuted if what Mr. Metroix told you is true.”

  “What should I do?” Carolyn asked, excited.

  Arline was studying another section. “Would you say this video monitoring system that Mr. Metroix claims he invented provided exceptional assistance in maintaining the safety and security of the prison?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Take a look at section 2935 when you get back to your office,” she said. “Mr. Metroix should have received a year off his sentence. I’ll go over the rest of the particulars as soon as I receive them. Don’t call me, though. I’ll call you once I determine how we should proceed.”

  “Thanks, Arline,” Carolyn gushed, feeling as if she’d argued her first case as an attorney. “This means a great deal to me.”

  “Good day, Carolyn,” the judge said, coolly dismissing her.

  Fast Eddie was curled up on the lower bunk in his cell. He was weak from hunger. He’d always been a picky eater. The slop they tried to feed them at the jail made him sick to his stomach, and he hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours.

  Some of the things Sullivan had told him had been boldfaced lies. When he’d raped the girl, he’d worn a rubber. He wasn’t stupid enough to leave behind that kind of evidence.

  As small as she was, though, Luisa had put up quite a struggle. She had scratched him, but the injuries were so mild, they were barely visible. Her little fingernails had been paper thin. Sullivan had been trying to intimidate him. All they had to connect him to the crime was the girl. It wasn’t uncommon for children that age to fall apart on the witness stand. When a defense attorney started drilling them, they got flustered and confused.

  He hadn’t planned on strangling her. He’d intended to place a plastic bag over her head and suffocate her. He didn’t like to do anything sexual while his victims were thrashing around. When he’d tossed the girl out of the car in the vacant lot near her house, he’d been certain she was dead.

  Luisa Cortez had been special. Eddie had been considerate of her family, leaving her where he knew they would find her. If he had known she would live to possibly identify him, he would have buried her in a remote location. Her body had been still and cold. He’d used a washcloth to make sure there were no hairs or other evidence that could be traced back to him. Listening to her chest, he had mistakenly believed the sound he’d heard was his own heartbeat instead of hers.

  Luisa would have led a lousy life anyway.

  A wave of pleasure passed over him. She’d looked so sweet, with her silky black hair and pretty dress, singing to herself as she skipped down the sidewalk.

  He heard a deep voice call his name, then the electronically controlled door to his cell swung open. “Edward James Downly,” a tall guard said, “get your ass in gear. Your bondsman posted your bail.”

  Eddie bolted upright in the bed. Was he dreaming? The judge had ordered him held without bail. Not only that, Sullivan must have a hold on him for violation of probation.

  “You coming or what?” the guard asked, smacking on a wad of chewing gum.

  Eddie leapt to his feet, snickering under his breath as the jailer led him through a maze of corridors to the release section of the jail. He waited behind a painted line until a deputy in a room that resembled a cage called out his name.

  Fast Eddie stepped forward to the window.

  “We’ve got one pair of Levi’s, one brown knit shirt, one pair of jockey shorts, two socks, and a pair of Nike tennis shoes.” The officer inside the room stacked everything in a neat pile. “Next we got one men’s wallet containing sixty-three dollars, fifty cents in change, one pair of sunglasses, and a Nokia cell phone.” He stopped and handed Eddie a form. “Sign at the bottom and you’re good to go.”

  As soon as Eddie scribbled his name, the guard pointed to a room where he could change. If it was a dream, he was loving it. Five minutes later, he stepped outside into the California sunshine. Slipping on his sunglasses, he pulled his cell phone out and depressed the button to activate it. The damn battery on the phone was still charged. This was one hell of a lucky day, Eddie thought. Might even be one fo
r the history books. He wasn’t much of a gambler or he’d head straight for the racetrack.

  Daniel overslept and missed the free breakfast buffet at the Comfort Inn. After showering and dressing in the Lakers T-shirt and sweatpants he’d purchased at Rite Aid the night before, he spent the morning attempting to duplicate his latest work on the exoskeleton.

  Regenerating his computations regarding the electrical components could easily take years, and even then, he would have to test them to make sure they were functional. He’d almost perfected the device that would improve locomotion to the exoskeleton, in addition to a compact power converter and actuator. No one that he knew of, though, had yet developed the perfect material for the suit. Most of the exoskeletons he’d seen in technical or military magazines had been nothing more than cumbersome, robotic, man-wearable hardware. He wasn’t interested in augmenting the performance of soldiers. Daniel wanted to provide a way for paralyzed or crippled individuals to become mobile again.

  Laying down his pencil, he told himself he couldn’t allow the loss of his work to destroy him. He’d battled his illness and served his prison sentence. Then again, perhaps he deserved everything that had happened to him and his torment would continue into eternity.

  When his stomach started growling, Daniel noticed that it was one-thirty. Carolyn had said she would call him that morning. She’d instructed him to stay in the room and order his food from room service. The items on the menu didn’t interest him. He decided to walk over to Saul’s Bagels across from the Seagull Motel. He’d eaten there several times and enjoyed it. He needed some fresh air anyway. What good was it to be out of prison if you stayed cooped up in a motel room?