Heart of a Killer (3 page)

The couple’s only child was Karen, eight years old at the time of the murder. Fortunately, she was at school when her mother took a blade to her father’s throat.

Maybe my parents weren’t as bad as I thought.

By the time I finished the file, I knew there was no way I would feel comfortable representing Sheryl Harrison. What she did, no matter how big a slimeball Charlie was, was reprehensible. Even though the loss of life that she was now hoping for would have been a good thing if it saved her daughter, Sheryl was just not someone I wanted to spend time with. Let somebody else do it.

I arrived at my parents’ house at 5:00
P.M.
, an hour after I had been told to be there. If they were annoyed, they didn’t show it, though annoyance was not something they ever displayed in public.

They made a big show of introducing me to everyone. I knew I had met at least half of those people before at similar functions, but no one admitted to it, and I certainly didn’t. The same thing would happen next time if, God forbid, there was a next time.

It wasn’t until at least an hour later that my father called me aside and reminded me that the invitation had said four o’clock.

I nodded. “I know, but I’m on a big case, and I got caught up in the work.”

He looked pleased. “That I’m glad to hear. What kind of case is it?”

“Murder,” I said, and happily waited for the double take, which came on schedule. I waited just a beat before dropping the bomb. “Pro bono.”

His faint, ironic smile told me that he felt he should have expected something just like this. “Sounds like quite a career move. Murder … you’re starting at the top. No sense fooling around with armed robbery, or embezzlement.”

“But there’s still a chance for some upward mobility,” I said. “I mean, it’s not like she’s a mass murderer.”

“She?”

“Yes. She cut her husband’s throat with a steak knife.”

Just then my mother walked over, probably curious and a little concerned about what the conference was about. “Our son is representing a murderer,” Dad said.

She recoiled for a moment, and then said, “Jamie.” Mother could make the word “Jamie” mean “Jamie, you’re an asshole and a complete disappointment,” merely by adjusting her inflection.

“Jamie, this is simply not a good idea,” Dad said.

“Yet it feels right,” I said.

My mother frowned, something she was incredibly accomplished at. She had at least fifteen different frowns in her repertoire, which covered every possible displeasure she wanted to exhibit. “It’s like I’ve always said, he has his uncle’s genes.”

She was referring to Dad’s brother Reggie, a criminal attorney for almost thirty-five years, during which time he had made virtually no money at all. Reggie occasionally showed up at family functions, but he was not exactly welcomed with open arms, and was obviously even less happy to be there.

The conversation quickly came to an end, and my parents went back to circulating among their guests. It left me with a slight feeling of triumph, but then a stronger one of horror.

I had decided not to represent Sheryl Harrison, but if I followed through on that instinct, my parents would think they won, that I had obeyed them.

I had just gotten myself a client.

For Sheryl, Sunday was either the best or worst day of the week. The sole determining factor was whether Karen came to visit; it was literally the only thing in the world that Sheryl looked forward to or had any interest in. Which meant that this particular day was going to be a “best” day, the first one in more than a month.

For a long time Karen was there almost every Sunday, but the percentage started to decline as her health worsened. What also declined was the level of honesty between them; what were formerly open, candid conversations had become guarded and secretive.

On Karen’s part, it represented a desire to protect her mother. She knew that she was her mother’s entire world, and that Sheryl would do anything for her. She also knew how helpless Sheryl felt because of her imprisonment; there was literally nothing she could do for Karen in any area of her life, other than provide love and understanding. But for what was ailing Karen, love and understanding simply wasn’t going to do the trick.

So Karen avoided talking about her health, which was to say that left nothing in her life she really could talk honestly about. Because her health was gradually taking over everything, impacting all that she did, or didn’t do. And as she grew weaker, the “didn’t do”s were dominating.

On this day, the conversation began pretty much the same as always, with Sheryl asking, “How are you feeling, honey?” She couldn’t help inquiring even though she already knew the answer.

Her mother, Terry Aimonetti, had cared for her granddaughter Karen since Sheryl’s arrest, and had done the best she could in an awful situation. She considered it her obligation to keep Sheryl fully informed of Karen’s condition, even though Karen had sworn her to secrecy. It was one of a number of issues in which Terry was caught in the middle between daughter and granddaughter.

Terry waited outside, as she did on all these visits. She wanted the two of them to be able to talk alone; she thought they could connect better that way.

Karen was fourteen years old, but she seemed stuck on twelve, or maybe thirteen. Her disease had made her more frail, or at least she seemed that way to Sheryl, and the physical changes made her seem younger than she was.

“Pretty good,” Karen said, although Sheryl would have known better even if Terry had not kept her current. Karen looked exhausted, pale, and washed out, and Sheryl had to catch herself so as not to react to Karen’s appearance when she first walked in.

What Sheryl didn’t realize was that Karen was there this morning, and had started coming on mornings more than previously, because by the afternoon her strength had been pretty much sapped.

“You getting enough rest?” Sheryl asked.

Karen frowned. “All I do is rest.”

“It’s good for you. How is Tommy?” Tommy was the latest of Karen’s boyfriends, though “boyfriend” was not a word Karen would ever have used. In Karen’s mind, she and Tommy just “hung out.” Sheryl wasn’t sure what that meant in the modern parlance, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Trouble between you two?”

“No, we just … whatever. I’m staying home a lot … studying.” Karen seemed frustrated, which was completely understandable to Sheryl. She of all people knew what it was like to be prevented from doing what she wanted, when she wanted, though obviously it was for a different reason than the one her daughter faced.

Sheryl put her hand on her daughter’s. “Karen, it’s going to be all right, I swear. Before you know it, you’ll be feeling better and have more energy than you’ve ever had before.” This was one of the areas in which Sheryl was not forthcoming; she would not tell Karen her transplant plans until they were about to become a reality. Karen would be upset and never willingly go along, which was why Sheryl had no intention of giving her a choice.

They talked for a while, but it was a guarded, strained conversation, since neither could broach the only subject that was on their minds, that was dominating their lives.

Five minutes before the hour was up, Karen asked, “How do things look for the parole hearing?”

Sheryl’s parole hearing was coming up, a biannual event that Sheryl had spent absolutely no time thinking about. “Same as last time,” Sheryl said. “It’s just a formality, Karen. No one is granted parole this early.”

It wasn’t the first time Karen had heard that, but each time was like a slap in the face. She had always invested most of her hope in that process. In her view, people were gathering to decide whether her mother should stay in prison. Surely they could decide “no” just as easily as “yes.”

“Can I talk to them this time?” she asked.

“I don’t think so, honey. It’s not done.” Sheryl would never want to put Karen through that, especially since she was telling the truth. The hearing was a formality; there was no chance that at this stage of her term she would be let out, no matter who testified.

“But he was my father. If I tell them that I forgive you, maybe they will.”

“I’ll talk to my lawyer,” she said, which was partially true. She would be talking to her lawyer, but not about Karen testifying before the parole board.

She would be talking to her lawyer about being allowed to die.

Jamie Wagner’s visit to the prison was a major opportunity for Lila Baldwin. A guard at New Jersey State, Lila had been keeping a close eye on Sheryl Harrison for the past six years, watching for anything unusual, anything that she could report. In all that time, there had been nothing really even worth mentioning; Sheryl had been a quiet, model prisoner.

It wasn’t the prison authorities that were particularly interested in Sheryl; in fact, Lila wasn’t sure who she was reporting to. She had a phone number that she was to call. When the process first began, soon after Sheryl’s incarceration, Lila had reported a few insignificant matters, simply to show that she was on top of things and could be relied on. Soon she stopped bothering to do that.

The truth was that Lila never really thought it would last this long; she had never been that lucky. She remembered the first anonymous package she had received, filled with ten blank one-thousand-dollar money orders. A phone call followed, equally anonymous, instructing her on what she should do, with the promise of more money to come.

The person had done their homework about her, Lila knew. Not every guard would have been susceptible to the proposal, even though technically she was doing nothing illegal. For her the call had been an easy one; she would take her money and follow those kinds of orders as long as they wanted.

And the money orders continued to come, one thousand dollars the first of every month. No return address on the envelope, and no indication who her employer was. She didn’t really care, maybe didn’t even want to know, so long as the money kept coming.

So when Lila learned about Jamie, it represented an opportunity to cement her employment, to show that she still had value. She dialed the number, the first time she had done so in almost four years. And this time, just as the few times back then, it was answered on the first ring.

“Yes?” It sounded like the same male voice as in the previous calls. The man’s name was Ray Hennessey, but Lila did not know that, and had never felt like she should ask.

“This is Lila Baldwin, I…”

“Yes?”

“I’m calling about Sheryl Harrison; I’ve been watching her for you, and…”

“I know who you are and about whom you are calling. Say what you are going to say.” There was a trace of impatience in the voice, which worried Lila. She wanted to stay on this person’s good side.

“Okay … sure. The thing is, Sheryl met with a lawyer on Friday.”

“What was the subject of the meeting?” Hennessey asked.

“I’m not sure. I’m trying to find out, but she’s being really quiet about it. I’ve had some people ask her, but she refuses to say.”

“Might it be her parole hearing?”

“No, she told someone she’s not preparing for that at all. That if things go well there won’t be a hearing.”

“What else do you know?” The voice sounded more interested than before, which Lila took as a good sign.

“The lawyer’s name is Jamie Wagner. He works at a firm called Carlson, Miller, and Timmerman. They’re in Newark. I’m trying to find out more about him.”

“Report in when you do,” Hennessey said.

“Of course.” Lila momentarily was struck with a desire to ask if all of this information, which was clearly of interest to her employer, warranted a bonus. She thought better of it; if it developed further, that could happen down the line.

“What area of the prison is Sheryl in these days?” the voice asked.

“She’s in with the general population.”

“Good.”

Click.

The word “good,” just before the man hung up, unnerved Lila more than a little. He had seemed relieved to learn she was in the general population, and Lila was certain that wasn’t because he wanted Sheryl to be able to socialize.

No, it sounded like he was pleased because if it became necessary, Sheryl could be gotten to. In the context of prison life, that was a very ominous concept. Lila worried about what might happen to Sheryl, and whether she should intervene in any way.

If she did say something, her receiving the money all those years would be uncovered, her career would be over, and she might well switch places and become one of the guarded, rather than the guard.

For Lila, the decision was an easy one: Sheryl Harrison was on her own.

But the truth was that Lila misjudged Hennessey’s reaction. His use of the word “good” was simply expressing his pleasure that he would have more information to tell his own boss. Hennessey did not care where Sheryl was in the prison population, nor did he care what happened to her or why she was talking to a lawyer.

Hennessey’s job was strikingly similar to Lila’s in one major respect. He was supposed to acquire information, and report it up the ladder. Where they differed was that for Lila, that was the end of it. For Hennessey, there was always likely to be more.

In this case, it could be anything. Maybe he would have to kill Sheryl, or maybe even the lawyer. That would depend on more information, which he would acquire. Gathering information was one of his specialties.

Hennessey’s next actions would be decided later, and not by him. He would simply do what he was told, what he was paid to do, and he didn’t care much either way what it was.

On my second visit to the prison, I felt much more comfortable. I knew the security procedures, so that went more smoothly. I recognized some of the guards, and they seemed to remember me as well. In only two trips, I was feeling just as much at home as I did at Carlson, Miller, and Timmerman.

My new friendship with my guard buddies apparently was not going to get me any special favors, since it took almost an hour before Sheryl Harrison was produced to meet with me. We met in the same room as the last time, and she was handcuffed to the same table.