The Price of Justice (27 page)

“No,” Win heard Dolan say. “You want me to come out? These are my terms. There’s a helicopter pad on this roof. I want a helicopter to take me to my father’s plane. Have his pilot meet me there. And no cops. I’ll be taking Win along.”

Dolan was silent as he listened to the voice on the other end, then shouted, “No! I’ll kill him, I swear I will,” before slamming down the phone.

Win realized he was the only one who could try to talk Dolan down. “Max, I believe you. I believe you didn’t mean to kill Carly. The jury will believe you. Don’t make it worse by doing this.”

“They’ll believe me? Like they believed you?”

Win nodded toward the living room. “They won’t let you leave, you must know that.”

Dolan slumped down on the floor and brought his knees up to his chest. “I can’t go to prison. I can’t. It’s not meant for people like us. You understand that, don’t you?”

Win got up from his chair, walked over to him, then slid down next to him. He put his arm around Dolan and said, “I do know. And I know how to survive there. If you’re convicted, and I don’t think you will be, I’ll teach you how to bear it. It was an accident. A few years at most.”

Dolan wiped the moisture from his cheeks. “You always were too much of an optimist. Don’t know why we stayed friends. Oil and water, I guess. I think I’ll stick with my plan. A helicopter to my plane.”

Win had always thought Dolan was the stronger of the two, the handsomer, the smarter, the funnier. The guy who always got whatever he wanted. Now, he knew better. He got to his feet.

“I still have my gun on you. Sit back down.”

“You know what? I just realized I’ve been imprisoned too long, and I don’t want to be anymore. If you’re going to shoot me, then do it. If not, I’m leaving.” With that, he turned away from Dolan and headed to the door.

Until he was stopped by a bullet.

C
HAPTER

47

“W
hat
in the world were you thinking?” Dani asked as she walked into Win’s hospital room the next day.

“I was thinking Max had always been a lousy shot.”

Dani laughed, then placed the flowers she’d brought on a table. The tiny bouquet was dwarfed by more than a dozen large floral arrangements in the private room. “You’re so lucky, you know. If the bullet had been a centimeter closer to an organ, I’d be attending your funeral.”

Win’s eyes turned downward. With a note of anguish in his voice, he said, “I didn’t think he’d really do it.”

“Yeah, well, you obviously didn’t know your friend.”

After Win was shot in the back, the Bergen County police stormed into the study and quickly subdued Dolan. An ambulance had already been at the scene, in the event the situation deteriorated, and within fifteen minutes Win arrived at Englewood Hospital and Medical Center. Ten minutes later, he underwent surgery.

“So, what’s going to happen to him?” Win asked.

“The New Jersey cops want to charge him with attempted murder for shooting you. Your grandmother argued with them that he should be extradited to Florida and tried there first. That way, it would remove any cloud that remained after your retrial.”

“What do you think they’ll do?”

Dani smiled. “Does anyone win an argument with your grandmother? I’m sure he’ll be extradited, charged, and tried.”

“Charged with what?”

“Probably not murder. Most likely something less. Maybe manslaughter.” She’d long ago given up predicting how local authorities acted, and she didn’t really care. HIPP had achieved what it needed to do—find Carly Sobol’s killer. She hoped that in the process, Win would find some peace.

“Where are your folks?”

“Mom and Dad just left to get some lunch. It’s the first time Mom has left my bedside.”

“So, what now for you?”

“Heal. Physically and mentally. And Dani? I just want you to know how grateful I am to you and Tommy and Melanie. If—”

“Hey, we were just doing our jobs.”

“I mean it. If it weren’t for all of you
 . . .
” He stopped and shook his head slowly.

“Thank your grandmother. She’s the one who foisted you on us.”

Win’s expression darkened. “Will she be prosecuted for Sanders’s confession?”

Dani had spent hours on the phone with Ed Whiting. He’d been torn. He’d wanted to prosecute Amelia Melton in order to dissuade such conduct in others. At the same time, he recognized that, without Sanders’s false confession, the State of Florida would have executed an innocent man. As they’d gone over the potential charges against Amelia Melton—perjury, bribery, obstruction of justice—Dani had knocked down each one. Sanders had been the one to obstruct justice by giving false information concerning the commission of a crime. He had been the one to commit perjury. Sanders was now dead. Those charges died with him. Bribery by itself was only a crime if it involved a public servant.

That left only one charge—suborning perjury. Mrs. Melton had bribed three people to perjure themselves at Win’s retrial. Whiting insisted that it would send a wrong message if he ignored that, even if it led to a just end. But he agreed that she shouldn’t serve any jail time. In exchange for a plea to a lesser charge, to which she’d already agreed, he would recommend probation. Since the case would likely go back to his friend, Judge Hinchey, everyone was confident that that sentence would be imposed.

“She won’t serve any jail time.”

Dani could see Win’s body physically relax. She spent another half hour with him, then left. As she exited the hospital, she thought back to the day Bruce had told her she must accept this assignment. “I don’t want to represent him,” she’d complained. “He’s not the kind of person HIPP should be helping.” Now, she realized, Win was exactly the kind of person who needed HIPP’s help. He was an innocent man. And Dani was enormously gratified that they’d succeeded.

C
HAPTER

48

FOUR MONTHS LATER

W
in
nervously checked his watch every five minutes. Normally, he loved his political-science class. Today, he couldn’t wait for the lecture to end. He’d received a call from Dani yesterday, relaying a message from Ed Whiting: “Make sure you’re watching a cable-news channel at four p.m. tomorrow. Tell the Meltons.” He wouldn’t say anything more.

Columbia University had admitted him, accepting all of the credits he’d earned at Princeton. He had more than a full course load—eighteen credits. His focus was different now than it had been when he’d entered Princeton. Then, it was a first step toward independence, a chance to party without the scrutiny of his parents. Now, school was an avenue to a degree, a path to a career. He’d decided to go to law school and work to free the wrongly convicted. Just like Dani.

Although there were students of every age in his classes—there was even one man who’d spent his career as a carpet cleaner, and upon retiring at the age of sixty-five, was fulfilling his dream of a college education—Win didn’t socialize with any of them. After Dolan, he was still afraid to trust anyone.

A week before classes started, he moved out of his parents’ town house and into his own one-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side. He’d been reluctant to do so, but his therapist encouraged it, and finally he’d agreed. She’d been right. He felt stronger living on his own, being responsible for himself.

At 3:40, Professor Greenfield announced, “Okay, that’s all for today.
Read chapters seven and eight for Wednesday’s class.”

Win gathered up his books, stuffed them in his backpack, and rushed out of the classroom. He made his way to the taxi stand on Broadway and 116th Street. Instead of heading back to his apartment, he was returning to his parents’ place. Whatever was taking place at four o’clock, he wanted to be with his family. During the seven years on death row, they’d always been there for him, keeping his spirits up, never losing hope.

He jumped into the first taxi on line and gave the driver the address. “Hurry. I need to get there before four.”

The driver sped down Broadway, then at Seventy-Sixth Street headed east to Central Park. He drove through the park and deposited Win at the town house with five minutes to spare. Win raced inside, and as soon as he entered, he heard talking heads on the television.

“Hurry, Win,” his mother said when he entered the living room. “Something’s going to happen soon.”

He looked around and saw Dani Trumball seated on the couch. She’d been invited to watch the broadcast along with his family. After all, he owed his freedom to her. They’d stayed in touch since his release from the hospital, and despite their difference in age, had become friends. Now, she patted the open seat next to her on the couch, and he slid down onto it.

“What do you think it is?” he asked Dani.

“They’re saying that Max is going to enter a guilty plea. At least, that’s the rumor they’ve heard.”

Not surprisingly, the media had been all over the arrest of Max Dolan. They’d covered the whole affair—Win’s conviction, Sanders’s confession, the acquittal at Win’s new trial, then the tape with Dolan’s confession, which had been played over and over again on the news shows—and finally, the revelation that Sanders had been paid to confess and Amelia Melton’s plea agreement. It was as though the media had found the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

At four p.m., the talking heads switched to a camera inside Judge Hinchey’s courtroom. Win saw Whiting sitting at the prosecutor’s table. Dolan, along with a man Win assumed was his attorney, sat at the defense table. A minute later, the bailiff called everyone to stand, and Judge Hinchey walked in, then took his seat on the bench.

“I understand we have a plea agreement today.”

Whiting stood. “Yes, Your Honor. The prosecution accepts the defendant’s plea of guilty to involuntary manslaughter in connection with the death of Carly Sobol, and to perjury in an official proceeding in connection with his testimony in the retrial of Winston Melton. In exchange for the guilty pleas, the prosecution recommends a sentence of eight years in each, to run concurrently.”

Judge Hinchey turned to Dolan. His lawyer nudged him to stand. “Is that what you’ve agreed to?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you now to describe your involvement in the death of Ms. Sobol.”

Max repeated to the court what he’d admitted four months ago to Win. Win sat back in his chair, unsure of what he felt. Eight years seemed like a pittance to him. Eight years without facing the threat of death by injection. With good behavior, he’d likely be out in six, less time than Win had served for a crime he hadn’t committed—that Dolan knew Win hadn’t committed yet and had remained silent.

Still, Dolan wouldn’t be isolated on death row as he served his sentence. Although he wouldn’t bear the devastating solitude of death row, being part of the general prison population had its own risks. Perhaps Dolan could minimize those risks by buying protection, but he couldn’t pay everyone off—there were just too many prisoners. Win knew it was wrong, but he felt a twinge of satisfaction knowing what his former friend would face. And when that sentence was finished, he would be tried in New Jersey for the attempted murder of Win.

Dani turned to Win. “So, it’s finally over.”

Win nodded. “If it wasn’t for you—you and Tommy—this never would have happened. Max would have gotten away with it.”

“Don’t minimize your role.”

Win chuckled. “I can’t forget, even if I wanted to. The scar on my back is there as a permanent reminder.” Win reached over to Dani and took her hand. “I hope you and Tommy continue to stay in touch. You’re both honorary members of my family now.”

“I know.” She pulled Win close to her and gave him a hug.

After Dani gathered up her belongings and left, Win realized she was right. It was over. It was time for him to move on with his life. He walked into his former bedroom and, once there, took out his cell phone and dialed a number. It was something he should have done a long time ago.

As Win dressed for the evening, he tried to tamp down his feeling of nervousness. Casual or dressy? Definitely a jacket, but tie or no tie? He pulled out an orange-and-black one, Princeton’s school colors, then deftly knotted it around his neck. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, finished dressing, then splashed on some aftershave.

Outside his apartment, he found a cab easily and directed the driver to Caf
é
Boulud. He gave the maître d’ his name and was led to his table. As he got closer, he saw that she was already seated. His heart began to race, and he took quick breaths.

She’s still so beautiful, he thought.

“Here you are, monsieur.”

She smiled up at him, and at that moment, his apprehension dissipated. His heartbeat steadied. He smiled back at her. “Hi, Sienna.”

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

A
s always, I begin my thanks with my husband, Lenny. Throughout our marriage, he has always encouraged me to strive to achieve my dreams and has supported me in my efforts. He is my rock. My sons, Jason and Andy; their wives, Amanda and Jackie; and my grandchildren, Rachel, Joshua, Jacob, Sienna, and Noah, make me grateful every day for my wonderful family.

As the book was being written, I was fortunate to belong to The Creative Writing Group of The Villages, Florida. The astute comments and suggestions of its members have helped make this a better story. Once the first draft was completed, I turned it over to Jason and Amanda, whom I always rely on to provide the first critical comments. Their insights and suggestions have always proved valuable.

My agent, Adam Chromy of Movable Type Management, helped me see that the book needed to be restructured. His advice has improved the book immeasurably, and I’m thrilled to have him in my corner.

My developmental editor, Charlotte Herscher, found the weak spots in the story and pushed me to correct them. For that, I am grateful.

The entire staff at Thomas & Mercer, beginning with my editor, Kjersti Egerdahl, are terrific to work with. In addition to Kjersti, I give my thanks to my copy editor, Valerie Kalfrin; my proofreader, Jill Kramer; Cyanotype Book Architects for designing a great cover; and Meaghan Wagner for writing a book-jacket description that entices prospective readers. Thanks also to Jacque Ben-Zekry and Tiffany Pokorny. And I give special thanks to senior editor Alan Turkus for his belief in me.

Although my stories are fiction, I draw my inspiration from real cases of men and women wrongly incarcerated. Some of their true stories are heartbreaking. Perhaps one day science will provide a way to ensure that innocent people are never imprisoned.