Heart of a Killer (6 page)

The man who conducted this and all conversations with Hennessey was Nolan Murray. He was considerably older than his handpicked colleagues, but he referred to them as his “partners.” He was in actually their leader, and their boss.

Murray and Churchill knew each other first, and developed what had become their incredibly profitable “business” together. It took a while to find a third person who could meet their strict requirements to join their club, but Churchill finally found him in Lampley. Once they added Hennessey for the “hands-on” work, their workforce was complete.

And once Murray worked his way into the Limerick nuclear plant, they knew that their business was going to expand rather dramatically.

“Hello, Mr. Hennessey. I received your report on Sheryl Harrison,” Murray said. He spoke through a voice synthesizer, so the sound that Hennessey would hear bore little resemblance to his real voice.

“Obviously things have since changed,” Hennessey said, referring to the media outburst that had just occurred.

“Obviously. The situation has gone from slightly worrisome to decidedly unsatisfactory.”

“I’m working on finding out more information,” Hennessey said. “Not just what’s in the papers.” He said this without conviction, since he really had little prospect of finding out anything useful to the caller that wasn’t already public.

“Information is not what I’m looking for now. We’re coming up on a sensitive time, and this is an intolerable interference.”

Hennessey had no idea what he meant by a “sensitive time,” because he really hadn’t a clue as to what Murray’s goals were. “Okay. What are you looking for?”

“Ms. Harrison wants to die.”

“Yes.”

“Grant her wish.”

A media contingent was waiting for me outside the prison. They looked exactly like the group in front of my apartment; there seemed to be no limit to the number of people assigned to this story.

Once I got past them and went inside, the people in the reception area and the guards seemed somewhat more responsive than they had the previous times. I assumed it was because they now knew the world was interested and watching, and scrutiny might be visited upon them.

I was brought into the same room Sheryl and I had met in twice before, and once again she was waiting for me. It was a conversation I was not looking forward to. I realized that I was seeking her approval, and I was about to get anything but that.

“I’m sorry, Sheryl. I screwed up big time. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Tell me what happened,” she said. “Don’t leave out anything.”

So I told her about calling the Corrections Department, pretending to be a reporter, and meeting with Constance Barkley. I also told her that I had threatened the matter would become public, which I believe provoked them to take the initiative. “It was stupid,” I said. “And I never thought about Karen. Not once.”

“At the end of the day it’s not going to matter,” she said, once again demonstrating the gift of surprise.

“What?”

“We had to go to them eventually anyway, and at least you got heard by the person at the top. This way we didn’t waste time with the losers at the prison. And this was the type of thing that the media was going to grab on to whenever word got out.”

“But we could have framed it with our point of view.” Weirdly, she didn’t seem angry, or even upset. To her it was another mountain to climb; I suspected she had climbed a few in her life.

“We still can,” she said.

“And Karen?”

“I’m very unhappy about that, but she was going to find out anyway. I wanted to be the one to tell her, but my mother will handle it.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better?” I asked.

She gave me the eye contact thing again, in full force. “Harvard, believe me when I tell you this. I totally do not give a shit if you feel better.”

“I believe you.”

She nodded. “Good. Now let’s figure out what we’re going to do next.”

“Before we do that, there’s something else we need to talk about,” I said.

She seemed wary, as if another bomb was going to be dropped on her. “You raising your fee?”

“Sheryl, remember the trouble you said you had getting a lawyer? When I suggested you could change lawyers you said you couldn’t go through that process again.”

“I remember.”

“Well, at this point lawyers would be throwing themselves at you. This has a high media profile now; you just say the word and you could hold bar association meetings in here.”

“Is that right?” she asked, as if she hadn’t thought of that before.

“That’s absolutely right.”

“Harvard lawyers?” she asked.

“Hopefully not.”

She thought for a while, more than a minute, apparently giving it serious consideration. Finally, “No. I’ll stick with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you feel guilty about what happened, and because you’re pissed off. You’re invested in this.”

I was happy with her decision; no, more than happy. I felt vindicated, and maybe even energized. I’m not sure why I wanted to keep a hopeless case that wouldn’t earn me a dime, but I did.

We talked for almost an hour, planning our strategy, such as it was. We came to the conclusion that our approach had to be two-pronged, both public relations and legal. It was not exactly inspired genius, since the PR battle had already begun, and I was a lawyer.

“I’m going to file a lawsuit,” I said.

“On what grounds?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll come up with something. We need to pressure them, come at them from all angles.”

I doubt that Sheryl was reassured, but at least by now she trusted I would give it my full effort. What I hadn’t told her was that I was going to be adding a third prong. I didn’t know whether I could get anywhere with it yet, so I was waiting to broach the subject with her. But I made a mental note to call my uncle Reggie, to get that wheel in motion.

As I was leaving, a guy dressed in a suit and tie, which meant he was neither a guard nor a prisoner, approached me. “Mr. Wagner, have you got a minute?”

“For what?”

“Warden Dolan would like to see you.”

I let him lead me to the warden’s office, which was surprisingly spacious and well appointed, and seemed incongruous for the prison environment. Dolan was in her mid-forties, with looks that gave new meaning to the word “nondescript.” If I met with her ten times, I still wouldn’t recognize her on the street.

“Mr. Wagner,” she said, dispensing with any pleasantries, “I have some information for you relating to your client.”

“What might that be?”

“She has been placed on suicide watch.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“She is being removed from the general population, into a cell and area of the prison that is constantly monitored by cameras and guards. Anything that could be considered remotely dangerous will be taken from her.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It’s quite common, really. We do it whenever we judge that an inmate might be a candidate for suicide. Today’s media reports clearly indicate that she is a textbook case. Not only does she intend to commit suicide; she wants the state to facilitate it.”

“She would only do it under medical supervision,” I said.

“Perhaps. But perhaps in her desperation when her plans are thwarted she would take her own life, hoping that the medical staff would arrange for the transplant.” She showed a small, smug smile. “That is no longer possible.”

“So you are intent on keeping her alive, so that her daughter can die.”

“Mr. Wagner, I would have preferred that you had followed the chain of command with your initial request.”

“You mean I should have come to you?”

“That is correct.”

“Why would I want to start at the bottom?”

I left, having taken a petulant shot at someone in a position to make my client’s life more difficult. It was not my finest moment, but it was unfortunately getting to be a typical one.

I write great briefs; even the partners at the firm wouldn’t dispute that. They cut straight to the salient points, which judges like, and are concise, which judges like even more. It’s not a talent that gets you the big prize of partnership at a law firm; it’s sort of like winning Miss Congeniality. But in any event, I’m sort of known for it, even among my colleagues.

So I set out to write a brief in support of the lawsuit I was filing on Sheryl’s behalf. It’s disheartening to write something like that, knowing down deep that if I were a judge I would rule against it myself. The law was simply not on our side.

Which, of course, did not stop me from claiming that the law was exactly, precisely on our side. The specific law I relied on was
Griswold vs. Connecticut,
a landmark 1965 Supreme Court case. It invalidated a Connecticut law against the use of contraceptives, with seven justices taking the position that it violated the constitutional right to privacy, in this case the marital variety. This despite the fact that not even the like-minded seven justices could point to an actual mention of privacy in the Constitution. Instead they pointed to other areas of the document, especially the fourteenth amendment, as justification.

The Griswold decision has had very far-ranging, significant implications beyond whether Connecticut men could use condoms. It has since been cited again and again by the court, most notably in
Roe vs. Wade
. In that decision, as well as numerous others, the court accepted a woman’s dominance over her own body, saying that all such decisions were private and between her and her doctor, without the government having any right to interfere.

So I cited Griswold repeatedly throughout my brief. Our position was that Sheryl Harrison had total control of her own body, including ending its life in order to save that of her daughter. It was, essentially, a “private” matter, and none of the government’s business.

I recognized that one of the counterarguments would be that once Sheryl was convicted and sent to prison, she gave up control of her body, so completely that the government had the right to imprison it. I thought that argument was easily refuted; for instance, surely her being an inmate didn’t give the authorities the right to experiment on her, or sterilize her. Her essential bodily privacy was maintained, even in prison.

My counter to the law against assisted suicide was considerably less effective. I argued that the intent in this case was not suicide; the intent was simply to save a life by providing a transplant. The fact that she would die in the process was a secondary effect; in fact, if an artificial heart could keep her alive after the operation, she would certainly consent to that.

When I finished, I was struck with a realization that made me understand how far in over my head I was. I had never so much as argued a case in any court before, which in itself is not unusual for a person on my level within the firm. The senior partners handle the courtroom roles, and we associates provide them the backup they need, and demand.

But now here I was filing suit in the New Jersey Supreme Court, asking that they hear this on an expedited basis because of the urgent time considerations. It was comparable to the clubhouse custodian at Yankee Stadium suddenly being called on to replace Derek Jeter at shortstop.

I didn’t even have any idea how to do it, so I called my uncle Reggie, who walked me through the fairly easy mechanics. I would literally drive to the courthouse, walk in the front door, and hand it to the clerk.

“But don’t go alone,” he said.

“You want to go with me?”

“What do I look like, a valet? Why the hell would I go with you?”

“You just said I shouldn’t go alone,” I pointed out.

“Right. You should go with every reporter and cameraman you can find. And bring the daughter; have her faint a couple of times on the courthouse steps.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t think that’s a little too subtle?”

“Jamie, here’s your only shot. You’ve got to get every person in America on your side. They need to think that if their elected officials turn you down, they are murdering a teenage girl.”

Reggie’s comment jarred me, but not for the reason he would have thought. It made me realize that this really was about that teenage girl, slowly dying, probably scared out of her mind. She and her mother were what I should be focusing on.

Of course, I also knew that Reggie was right, and that it was in Karen’s best interest to have the media on her side. I didn’t know how one attracts “every reporter and cameraman,” so Reggie said he would take care of it with one phone call. “Just wait a half hour and head for the courthouse.”

I hung up, and as soon as I did the phone rang. Assuming it was one of the media people, I picked it up, so that I could announce my intentions.

“Jamie, this is Gerard Timmerman.”

He didn’t need to mention that he was the Gerard Timmerman of the firm of Carlson, Miller, and Timmerman, the firm that gave me a paycheck twice a month. Everybody referred to him as Gerry, but apparently when talking to someone of my level, it was Gerard.

“Yes, sir.”

“I see that this pro-bono assignment has taken a somewhat unexpected turn.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, for the second time, since the first time seemed to have gone fairly well.

“Come in and let’s talk about it.”

“Okay … will do. When?”

“Let’s say in one hour,” he said.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. I’ll be at the courthouse in one hour. I can be there tomorrow morning … if that works for you.”

He was quiet for a few minutes, probably deciding the words he was going to use to fire me. Then, “Nine-thirty.”

I started to say that was fine, and that I’d see him at nine-thirty, when I realized he was no longer on the phone.

By the time I drove to the courthouse, which was in Newark, you would think that the president of the United States or Lindsay Lohan was arriving. I had been so busy that I don’t think I fully understood the media firestorm Sheryl’s plight had created. Demonstrations were well under way on both sides of the issue, but I would say the definite tilt was toward our side.