Carrie was wailing now, but Bill kept talking. He didn’t seem to notice the sound of feet stomping up the stairs of the porch. No, Rogan, she begged, not now.
But it wasn’t Rogan who appeared in the open front door. It was Will Sullivan, pointing a Sig Sauer pistol at his son. “Don’t do this, Bill. It’s like you said. You’ve tried to make up for what you did. That’s all anyone can do.”
“I got that doctor killed, Dad. Don’t you see? Flaherty trusted Helen Brunswick. He told her what he knew about me, and she didn’t believe him. He came to one of my town halls, the one in Utica the week before her murder. He said Brunswick had labeled him, that she’d gotten him in trouble with the police and made his illness worse. He was fixated on both of us. He said he’d find a way to make sure the truth came out. She’s dead because of me. And I nearly got Carrie killed. Plus, Anthony Amaro is free because of me. It’s all my fault.”
Carrie was catching her breath. Her eyes were locked only on Will Sullivan as she spoke to his son. “You’re a good person, Bill. Everyone in this room knows this. What happened with Donna was a long time ago,” Carrie said. “You were a different person then.”
“No, I’m not. I’m the same. I have to make it right.” He grabbed Carrie tighter and adjusted his grip on the knife.
Rogan suddenly appeared at the rear of the living room, his Glock trained at Bill’s forehead.
“Drop it!” he yelled. Two guns versus Bill’s one knife.
“They have my DNA.” Bill’s eyes pleaded toward his father. “You said so yourself. I was eighteen, and I was a crackhead. And I’ve been hiding my crime ever since. I’ll spend the rest of my life behind bars. I was a cop. And the son of a cop. You know what prison will be like for me?”
“Son,” Will said, “you’re making things worse. You’re terrifying Carrie, of all people.”
Ellie saw something change in Carrie’s stance. She had been trying to melt away from Bill’s body, but now she stood erect. Her face, no longer contorted with fear, appeared confident. “Everyone, stop! He won’t hurt me. He won’t. He wants you to shoot. But he won’t hurt me.”
I have to make it right. I was a crackhead. I was a cop. Bill was right: he would spend the rest of his life in prison, and his imprisonment would be a living hell. He’d be better off dead.
“Dad, come on,” he pleaded. “You need to be the one. You know it.”
Ellie saw the father’s finger stiffen against his trigger.
“No!” Carrie yelled, pressing her body against Bill’s. “He won’t do it. Don’t shoot him.”
“Dad, please,” Bill begged. “I can’t spend my life that way. Do it. Please.”
Will’s face was red. His arms were beginning to shake. She could see father and son silently exchange a lifetime of memories and confidences. She could almost hear their plan: Bill would push Carrie to safety, and Will would take the fatal shot.
“Amaro will go free,” Ellie said.
Bill jerked his head in her direction.
“Your DNA is beneath Donna’s nails. He’ll say you were the one who killed all of those girls found in Conkling Park. You’ll be his reasonable doubt. He’ll put your father on the stand and call him an accomplice. He’ll accuse your father of murdering Flaherty to cover up your crimes.”
Confusion flashed across Bill’s face.
Ellie began to rise slowly from the sofa. Even in handcuffs, she could take a running charge at Will Sullivan if she had to.
“No! No, that’s not true. Dad meant to take Flaherty in. He was going to try to get him to see that Amaro really was guilty, that I wasn’t the devil, or whatever. Dad would never have taken that shot if Flaherty hadn’t had a gun.”
Ellie knew right then they’d never be certain what had been in Will Sullivan’s heart when he walked into Flaherty’s bedroom, but she remembered his rocking on his porch swing, cradling his bucket of licorice sticks the morning after the shooting. His regret had seemed sincere. He had even mentioned his belief that he would have been able to connect with Flaherty had there been any opportunity to speak.
She had to convince Bill he owed it to Carrie and his father to stay alive. “That’s why you can’t take the easy way out. You have to make this right, but that can’t happen here in this living room. You’re the only one who can tell the truth. You’re the only one who can keep Anthony Amaro behind bars.”
Will Sullivan lowered his weapon, but Rogan still had his gun fixed on Bill.
“I forgive you,” Carrie said. “I forgive you.”
He dropped the knife, and Carrie turned to embrace him. Will Sullivan placed his weapon on the end table next to Ellie and then headed for his son. Rogan lowered his gun to his side while he unlocked Ellie’s cuffs with his other hand.
They had to pull Will and Carrie away to make the arrest. As they walked Bill out the front door, Ellie heard Carrie consoling his father.
Rogan escorted Bill to the backseat of the BMW, then clicked the locks shut while Ellie called 911 for a proper transport vehicle. Ellie heard sirens in the distance, growing louder. Bill was staring out the window, knowing this was the last time he’d see his father’s house.
“Did you see that?” Ellie asked. “The way she was reaching for him?”
Rogan nodded. “For the man who killed her sister. Pretty remarkable.”
“She meant it when she said she forgave him. She forgave him instantaneously.” That, Ellie thought, was unconditional love.
“I had a shot,” Rogan said. “When he turned toward his father, I had him. But then you said Amaro would go free. He jerked, and the window closed. You saved his life, Hatcher.”
As she watched two Utica detectives move a boy they had known since childhood into the backseat of a marked car, she was certain that Bill Sullivan would disagree.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-FOUR
It was another two days before Ellie and Rogan returned to New York City. Ellie came home to find Max already asleep, the nightstand lamp left on at her side of the bed.
“You’re back.” He blinked at her sleepily. They had spoken multiple times a day while she was in Utica but she had missed seeing his face. She climbed into bed, and he wrapped his arms around her. She took a deep breath. He always smelled so good, like truffles and damp wood. This smell always made her feel safe.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, crawling into the nook between his chest and shoulder, her favorite place to sleep.
She was surprised when he adjusted his body to face her.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I wanted to wait until you were home. You were right.”
“Well, of course I was. But about what?”
“The fresh-look team. The case. From the very beginning, you said I was putting you in a bad position.”
“We already talked about this. It’s all good.” In her very first call to him after leaving Will Sullivan’s house, she had apologized for the arguments they’d been having about the case. They both promised not to let work come between them.
“But from the outset, it was my decision to put you and Rogan on the case that caused the problem. I may have picked you for all the right reasons, but I should have realized there would be issues.”
“Everything worked out, though. Truth, justice, etcetera.”
“But we fought more in one week than we have the entire time we’ve known each other. You think I liked having you sleep at your old apartment?”
“I’m sorry. I should have come home that night.”
“I know you, Ellie. Sometimes you overthink and undertalk.” He smiled and kissed her gently on the lips. “And I accept that. But we can’t keep going through this. I can’t keep putting you through this. You could have gotten killed up there, and it’s because I sent you off on some mission outside the department.”
She shushed him. “None of that was your fault. It’s fine, Max. Let’s just go to sleep.”
“I spoke with Martin today. I
won’t be handling homicides anymore.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. He’s totally overreacting.”
“No, it was my decision. And it was the right thing to do. I should have done something about this when we first moved in together, but since we were saying it was just an experiment . . .” The thought trailed off. “Anyway, I’ve solved the problem. I’m just sorry I didn’t see it earlier.”
“There has to be an alternative. You could still handle murder cases. We could agree not to work on the same ones.”
“Not good enough. With the NYPD’s murder cases split up by county, our office really doesn’t handle that many, which means for me it’s only a few a year. And if it’s not one of yours, it’s still going to involve a coworker or a friend or one of Rogan’s former partners. It’s cleaner to draw a clear line.”
“But your career—”
“You’re more important. Besides, this is Manhattan. The real bad guys are on Wall Street. Martin agreed I can start handling more financial crimes. If anything, it’s a promotion, as far as stature’s concerned. It could even lead to something at the U.S. Attorney’s office. I think he was impressed that I took the initiative.”
“But I don’t want you to resent me.”
“I did this, Ellie, because to me you’re not an experiment. I’m not waiting every day, like you’re convinced I am, hoping you’re going to change. I know you’ve spent your whole life taking care of your mother and Jess, and, frankly, taking care of yourself. I just needed to know that you were also willing to take care of me. The last few months convinced me you are. So this is what I want to do.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. And please don’t overthink it. I’m not dumb. I saw how relieved you were when Jess said he could swing the rent on your apartment. And I know why you insisted that one of us pay individually for every purchase we made when we moved in. And, for the record, if you leave, the nightstands are yours.”
“No, it was because—”
“Stop, Ellie. It’s who you are. Part of you will always be thinking about the day you might need to be on your own again. What I’m trying to say is, I accept it.”
She wiped a tear away from her cheek. “And what happens when I don’t change my mind about kids? I know I said I’d keep an open mind, but I don’t see it happening.”
“Look, I happen to think any kid would be lucky to have you as a mother. I’ve seen how you take care of Jess. Hell, you help random strangers with their luggage on the subway. Whether you know it or not, you are naturally caretaking. And don’t stick your tongue out like it’s gross. But I’m not as dead set on kids as you’ve made me out to be. I just don’t want you to write off the option for the wrong reasons.”
“Someday you’re going to regret sacrificing for me. Kids. Your job.”
He furrowed his brow and then gave her a squeeze. “I will never, ever regret a single day I’ve spent with you, or a single thing I do to make those days with you better. That’s what I mean when I say I love you, Ellie.”
He was saying that he loved her unconditionally. As she returned his embrace, she truly believed that she felt the same way about him, at least to the extent that she knew how.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-FIVE
One Month Later
Carrie scanned the three-judge panel for any follow-up questions. For better or worse, they looked like they’d heard enough.
“And for those reasons, Your Honor, the appellant respectfully requests that you reverse the district court’s decision certifying the class action and remand for further proceedings consistent with the Supreme Court’s decision in American Express v. Italian Colors Restaurant.”
The amber light on the lectern switched to red. Perfect timing.
“Good job,” Mark Schumaker said as she placed her legal pad into her open briefcase at counsel’s table.
She had just finished her first oral argument in front of the Second Circuit Court of Appeals. It wasn’t a sexy constitutional law topic, and the case wasn’t even particularly close, but she expected to score a win for her client in one of the most prestigious courts in the country.
Andrew Gold, the other associate who had worked on the appellate briefs, was full of praise for her performance, but she knew he would have preferred the chance to present their arguments himself. A month ago, Carrie had been crying at the Governor Hotel in Utica, feeling like a failure for quitting her position with Linda Moreland and wondering whether anyone would ever give her a job again. As it turned out, her old firm, Russ Waterston, had been delighted to take her back. The firm had even agreed to let her take six weeks of vacation at the end of the year so she could finally go to Europe.
Other than Mark Schumaker, no one at the firm was entirely sure of the details of her very short leave of absence, but the rumors had made her something of a rock star among the other associates.
As they hit the bottom of the courthouse stairs, she spotted a familiar face. Carrie waved, but the woman suddenly turned and ducked into the clerk’s office.
“I think that’s what the kids call a dis,” Mark said. When he saw her serious expression, he added, “Maybe she just didn’t see you. Or perhaps it’s not who you thought.”
But Carrie was positive the woman was Kristin McConnell, the daughter of Anthony Amaro’s original defense attorney. And she was sure Kristin had seen her, too. The duck into the clerk’s office—where lawyers would rarely go themselves—had been a clear dodge. It was strange; the woman had been perfectly pleasant when Carrie had gone to her office to pick up the files Kristin’s father had kept in storage.
Then she realized the only reason the attorney would avoid her.
Mark was leading the way to the chauffeured sedan waiting at the curb, one of the perks of representing big business. “You guys can take off without me,” she said. “I have to deal with something.”
“That’s right,” Mark said. “Linda Moreland’s sentencing is today.”
Kristin McConnell was on her way to the courthouse elevator when Carrie walked back inside.
“Kristin,” she called out.
The woman turned at the sound of her name. Busted. She gave Carrie a quick wave, then jabbed at the elevator button three times. The light above the doors indicated that the car was on the tenth floor.
“I know you meant to help,” Carrie said.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“The tips you were sending to the District Attorney about Anthony Amaro. You knew your father had represented a guilty man.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken, Ms. Blank.”
“Amaro had told your father about the incriminating statement he’d made to his cellmate in Utica. And your father had the records about Amaro’s mistreatment in foster care so he could try to present a sympathetic case during the penalty phase if the case went to trial. Only Amaro’s defense lawyer would have had that information. That’s why the police thought I was the one sending it. That’s what Linda Moreland thought, too. I almost got killed because of that belief.”
The elevator had stopped again, this time on the sixth floor.
Carrie saw Kristin swallow. “My father had very strong feelings about what sort of life I was cut out for.”
“Let’s just say I can empathize, but I don’t understand what that has to do with leaking information to the prosecution.”
“When I tried to tell him I wasn’t cut out for defense work—busting my butt for guilty people, all based on some abstract principle—he told me he was disappointed in me. That I was wasting my talent.”
“Guess I wasn’t cut out for it, either. I quit after two days, then got knocked in the head for my trouble.” She tapped her knuckles to the top of her head, the way she’d learned she could evoke a smile when the awkward subject was raised.
She didn’t see any point in telling the woman that she was still working on the criminal-defense side of the table in one r
espect: the Sullivan family. She was helping Bill’s lawyers identify possible defenses. The hope was to get a plea agreement for manslaughter, with his sentence served in protective custody. For a couple of hours she had believed the two of them might spend their entire lives together. Now she knew they would never be together again—not like that—but she truly believed he deserved a chance at some kind of future down the road.
As for Will, Carrie had drafted a motion to dismiss obstruction charges on the grounds that the statute of limitations had long expired. To convict him now, the government would only be able to rely on recent events. She predicted that the case would be settled by forcing Will to resign without his pension.
“You’ve got quite a sense of humor about it under the circumstances,” Kristin said.
She didn’t, but she was becoming a better faker than in the past. “If it makes any difference, I’m pretty sure Anthony Amaro would still be on the streets right now if someone hadn’t sent that information to the DA.” Regarding other hypothetical scenarios, Carrie had stopped asking herself whether it would have been better for the truth about Donna’s death to have remained hidden.
The elevator finally came to rest on the ground floor. “And just so you know,” Kristin said, stepping inside, “if any attorney sent those documents, he or she would be disbarred.” The elevator doors closed, leaving Carrie on her own. She looked at her watch.
Linda Moreland would be sentenced in twenty minutes, but she saw no reason to give that woman another second of her time. Carrie had the rest of her life waiting for her.
CHAPTER
SIXTY-SIX
Ellie opened the courtroom door carefully, hoping to slip in quietly. Once inside, she realized that the judge hadn’t even taken the bench yet. Ellie was pleased to see a large reporter presence.
Linda Moreland glanced toward the sound of her footsteps down the galley, but she avoided eye contact.
All Day and a Night: A Novel of Suspense (Ellie Hatcher) Page 31