Presumption of Guilt (32 page)

“We have you stone cold, Childs. And your friend Engles can’t get you out of this one. In fact, with what I have, I should put you away for a good long time. That is, if I don’t decide to go for the death penalty.”

Childs, a thirty-two-year-old man bulked up by hours in the gym, glared at him. “What’re we talking for, then? You’re fishing.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. The way your friend Engles served you up, you’d think he was law enforcement or something.” Cosgrove grinned. “Said you came to him and offered to take care of Paul Scoby. Said he told you not to, was putting together surveillance to keep an eye on you, but you went ahead anyway. Said he’s been building a case against you.” Engles hadn’t said anything of the kind to Cosgrove—they hadn’t even talked since his arraignment months earlier—but he could tell by the murderous gleam in Childs’s eye that he believed it.

“He’s lying.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But see, who do you think the jury will believe? A loser drug dealer or the sheriff of Hudson County?”

“I ain’t copping to no murder.”

“See, I don’t believe Engles. I think he called the shots and you did his bidding.”

Childs sat still in his seat, silent.

“Of course, if you don’t want to give me your side of the story, I’ll go with Engles. Then it’ll be you facing the needle instead of him.”

After a few more moments of Childs’s silence, Cosgrove stood up. “Okay, have it your way.” He turned to the FBI agent in the room and said, “Book him for the murder of Paul Scoby,” then started to walk toward the door.

“Wait.”

Cosgrove turned back to him.

“What’ll you do for me if I tell you how it went down?”

“Now you’re thinking, Childs. Tell me what happened, and I’ll take death off the table.”

“No, man, I need more than that.”

“Sorry, that’s the best I’m offering.”

Child’s wrung his hands together, then wiped his greasy hair back from his forehead. “It was his idea. He called in some chits. I just followed his directions.”

“You’ve got to give me proof.”

And so Danny Childs laid out for the assistant US attorney every phone call, every meeting, every favor between him and Engles. It was more than enough for Cosgrove.

Dani watched through the one-way glass as Cosgrove questioned Sheriff John Engles. Engles’s lawyer, Malcolm Jenner, sat by his side.

“As I told your lawyer,” Cosgrove said, “we now have proof that you were responsible for the deaths of Joe and Sarah Singer as well as Paul Scoby.”

“Yeah, he told me. A guy doing time for murder and a low-life drug dealer. Why would you believe them? Why would any juror believe them?”

Cosgrove looked up toward the mirrored wall, straight at where Dani stood on the other side, and smiled. Dani knew he hadn’t told Jenner everything he had. He’d told her that he wanted to experience the pleasure of watching Engles’s face when he realized he had no way out. He turned back to Engles and said, “You shouldn’t have trusted Zeke Williams to throw away all the evidence of the Singer murders.”

He let that sit there. Engles didn’t respond, but his counsel did, shooting an agitated glance his client’s way and then back down at the table.

“He kept the glove you wore that night,” Cosgrove went on at last. “And it still has your fingerprints on it, along with blood matched to both of the Singers.”

There it was: Engles’s face drained of all color.

“You’re bluffing,” he said, his voice husky.

“Nope. It’s all in here.” Cosgrove pulled out a paper from his folder and handed it to Jenner. On it were the results from the forensic lab that had examined and tested the glove.

“What’s it say?” Engles asked his lawyer, his voice barely above a whisper now.

Jenner stared at it, then said, “I’d like some time alone with my client.”

“Sure. Take as much as you need. Just knock when you’re ready.” Cosgrove left the room, turning off the sound as he exited, and joined Dani, beaming.

“So, what do you think?”

“Engles looks like he’s going to have a heart attack,” Dani said. “He’ll talk. And I bet he’ll give us the judge.”

After only five minutes, they watched Jenner stand and stick his head into the hall.

Cosgrove grinned at Dani. “Sometimes I love my job,” he said, then left her alone in the observation room and rejoined the men on the other side of the one-way glass.

“What are you offering?” Jenner asked after Cosgrove had taken his seat.

“Since you killed Scoby to keep him from testifying against you in a federal trial, we can and will seek the death penalty, and we’ll get it. I want a full recitation of facts, including everyone implicated, and I’ll take death off the table.”

“The glove doesn’t tie him to Scoby’s murder.”

“True. But I don’t think I’ll have any trouble convincing a jury that there’s a pattern here. First with Zeke, then with Childs.”

Jenner turned to Engles and whispered something in his ear. Engles nodded, then Jenner turned back to Cosgrove. “Just taking death off the table isn’t good enough. My client can hand you Judge Bryson. Without his testimony, Bryson will walk.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Fifteen to twenty.”

“Not a chance. I’ll go ahead with just your client. I have enough to bury him.”

Now Engles whispered in his lawyer’s ear. Jenner whispered something back, and Cosgrove offered to leave the room once again so they could talk freely.

“No, it’s okay. Apparently my client is unhappy about the judge getting off. Give us twenty to life in a minimum security federal prison, and he’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Twenty-five to life, medium security, final offer.”

Engles nodded.

“Go ahead,” Cosgrove said.

Engles took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow with it. He cleared his throat, then began to talk. “Bryson planned it all, from the very beginning. He and Quince knew each other, played cards together or something. Quince told him his business was going to put in a bid for the county jail project, and Bryson said, ‘What if I can promise you’ll get it?’ It all developed from there. Bryson brought on board Scoby and me. We each had something he needed.”

“And Singer was part of it?”

“Yeah. A reluctant part. But he and Quince were like brothers, and Quince convinced him to go ahead with it.”

“Why were the Singers killed?”

“‘Cause Joe got nervous when the state started poking around. He thought it’d go easier on everyone if we confessed, instead of waiting for the state to figure it out.”

“Did Bryson order him killed?”

Engles stared down at the table. After a few moments, his lawyer told him he needed to answer the question. “Not in so many words. But he told all of us he had to be kept quiet. I figured that was the only way to do it. Besides, the others—they all had money, from their businesses, from being a judge. I’d given my whole life to public service and had squat. I deserved that money, and no way was I giving it back.”

“Why Sarah Singer?”

“She woke up. I couldn’t let her ID me.”

“What about Quince Michaels?”

“Childs arranged for a contact in Miami to jimmy with the boat’s gas tank.”

“And that was you, again, protecting your interests?”

“No. Bryson found out from Quince that the HIPP investigator knew about him stealing money from the county. He was afraid Quince would strike a deal for himself and implicate us. He told me to kill him.”

“And Scoby?”

“That was Bryson also. I had Childs handle it, but it was Bryson who ordered it.”

As Dani listened to Engles’s confession, she wished Cosgrove would ask him about her and Mary Jane Olivetti’s “accidents,” although she really knew the answer. The black SUV she’d seen through her rear window was undoubtedly the same that had carried Frank Reynolds’s would-be assassins to Reynolds’s house. Hearing Engles admit that he’d arranged for the “accidents” wouldn’t change anything for him or Bryson. Even without it, both would go away for a very long time.

Dani’s stomach churned. Five people dead, solely because of greed. Not poverty, not drug addiction, not inflamed passions. Just greed. And because of that greed, a young woman had lost her parents, her daughter, and twelve years of her life.

C
HAPTER

54

A
s soon as Engles was placed under arrest and led away to a federal holding cell, Cosgrove dictated an affidavit to his secretary. When it was typed, he headed over to Foley Square, the site of the US District Court for the Southern District of New York, found Justice Marvin Wolfe in his chambers, and had an arrest warrant signed. From there, he walked it over to Federal Plaza, the New York field office of the FBI.

Warrant in hand, the FBI dispatched a field agent to head immediately to Judge Bryson’s courtroom up in Andersonville. He was on the bench when they walked in, but that didn’t stop the agents. The two men politely informed the attorneys arguing their cases that court was now closed.

“Who do you think you are?” Bryson began to bluster from the bench before the agents whipped out their badges. He immediately announced that everyone should clear the courtroom.

When it was empty, he smiled genially toward the men and asked, “How can I help you?”

“Sir, we have a warrant for your arrest in the murder of Paul Scoby. You have the right—”

“Enough. Don’t you think I know my rights?”

“Sorry, sir, but we have to state it in full,” one said and then went through the standard litany.

“This is insane. Someone’s head is going to roll for this.”

“Step down from the bench, please, and place your hands behind your back.”

Bryson was marched from the courthouse, hands in cuffs, past the attorneys, defendants, and spectators who had just been evicted from his courtroom. He was placed in the back of the FBI vehicle and driven down to Cosgrove’s office. On the way, and with Cosgrove’s approval, he was allowed to call a defense attorney to meet him there. Peter Spencer arrived ten minutes before his client and was ushered into an interrogation room.

When Cosgrove entered, Spencer immediately jumped up. “This is a complete outrage. Judge Bryson is one of the most respected jurists in the state. It’s preposterous to think that he’d be involved in a murder.”

“Sit down, counselor. Why don’t you take a look at what we have before you start grandstanding?”

Both men sat down, and Cosgrove pushed a folder across the table. Spencer opened it up and began reading. When he was finished, he said, “We’ll fight this. You have no hard evidence to tie him to the crime, just the word of one man fighting to save his own skin. You have plenty on Engles, but the only thing tying my client to any of this is his word. And I promise you, I’ll demolish him on the stand.”

“We have one other thing. Engles told us where his and Bryson’s bank accounts are. We’re already working on getting access to them. Seven million dollars is going to be hard for him to explain away. With the bank account, we have him solid on the fraud scheme, and it won’t be a giant leap for the jury to believe that he engineered the hit. Especially with Frank Reynolds testifying that the judge ran Hudson County. When he said jump, everyone jumped.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Come on in,” Cosgrove said. The door opened and the two agents escorted Alan Bryson into the room.

“You can take the cuffs off now,” Cosgrove said. “I suspect Mr. Spencer wants some time alone with his client.”

Spencer nodded and Cosgrove stood up. On his way out the door, he said, “I’m in a generous mood today. It’s your best chance for making a deal. After today, I go for the death penalty.”

As he left the room, he saw a shriveled-up man, his skin a ghostly white, sunk into his chair. One hour later, a deal was in place. Twenty-five years to life in a federal prison.

C
HAPTER

55

M
olly’s family were all gathered in Judge Silver’s courtroom—her daughter, her sister, her niece and nephew, and her brother-in-law. Dani was there with Tommy and Melanie. An air of excitement filled the room and spilled over to the guards and court officers. All were smiling and relaxed.

It had been two weeks since Engles and Bryson had confessed. That had been a wonderful day. Dani had left Engles’s interrogation and sped up to Donna’s home in Andersonville. She hadn’t yet told Molly about Zeke Williams or Danny Childs. Although she’d wanted to rush up there right after Williams confessed, Cosgrove convinced her to wait. “A small town grapevine can go viral. I don’t want any information getting back to Engles before we have it all tied up.”

“What’s happened?” Molly asked after she’d opened the front door and seen Dani standing there, a wide grin on her face.

“Sheriff Engles confessed to murdering your parents.”

Molly had stared at Dani, speechless, as though she couldn’t comprehend the words. When the import hit her, she threw her arms around her.

“It’s over,” Dani told her. “You’re free.”

In the intervening two weeks, Dani met repeatedly with Eric Murdoch. He was prepared to jointly move the court to declare Molly innocent of the crimes she’d spent twelve years in prison for. But Dani wanted more.

Instead of entering Columbia University, where she’d been accepted following her high school graduation, Molly had entered the prison system. Instead of studying hard and embarking on a career path after her college education, she’d washed dishes in the prison kitchen. Instead of raising her beautiful daughter, she’d given her up, to a woman who mistreated her. Dani wanted Molly to be compensated for what she’d lost.

It would cost money for Molly to go to college, all these years later. It would cost money to rent an apartment, to buy food and clothes, to help raise her daughter. Dani wanted her to enter her life out of prison as an independent woman, not a child forced to live with her older sister.

New York State allowed payment to those who were unjustly convicted in an amount that the court of claims determined was fair and reasonable. Dani argued that those years should be valued in terms beyond mere lost income. Molly had lost her innocence. Her entry into the business or professional world, where youth is valued, had been delayed. But most of all, she deserved compensation for the devastation she’d suffered in giving away her child.