5 Alive After Friday (15 page)

She sat studying him. Waiting for him to come out with
whatever he was agonizing over. Then she understood, and in a soft persuasive
tone such as a doctor might use with a delicate patient, she suggested, “Let’s
go have some coffee.”

Had she read his mind, he wondered? Was she trying
to help him along? He returned her smile. “There’s a break room on the first
floor.”

She felt Sergeant Swanson’s icy stare frosting her
back as they walked side by side across the office to the elevator.

It must have been a change of shifts as the break
room was packed. The detective strode to a table at the back as though he owned
it; no doubt his usual spot. Two uniformed officers seated there saw them
coming. And they both started to get up. One said, “How ya doing, Dom?”

Sandy said, “Sit still. Nothing private. Just
coffee.”

The officer said, “No, it’s all yours.” They both got
up, taking their paper cups and carefully wiping the table with their napkins. Dominic
thanked them. Did they jump because he outranked them, or because he was with a
woman? From the grins on their faces, she guessed it was the latter.

He asked for her coffee preference and soon returned.
He was thinking, at least this was a start for him. They were away from his
office being friendly and informal. He thought of something nice to say, “You
get down here to West Palm much—when you’re not chasing bad guys?” It wasn’t
until then that he remembered and his hand went to his mouth. “I’m sorry, I
didn’t mean to make light of your situation. I forgot you were abducted.”

She nodded. “The Dick and Jane I told you about...they
took me out into the Everglades bound and blindfolded, forced me to kneel, put
a gun to the back of my head, and basically scared the shit out of me.”

The detective had no difficulty in visualizing. He
had inspected such scenes after the gun was fired and the head blown away. He
closed his eyes tightly and was silent.

“Then they extorted four hundred grand out of me
under threat of killing Chip...my lover.”

“Look...ah...you don’t have to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I guess I don’t want to.”

The detective took a quick sip of coffee to cover
his embarrassment. He glanced around the crowded room to avoid her eyes and
took another sip. He was ashamed at his selfishness of having dreamy thoughts
about coming on to her. He now knew how important it was for her to be there in
West Palm trying to put together all that had happened. He now understood she’d
suggested coffee not to play up to him, but merely to be friendly. Of course,
he would never ask her out, or continue to try to get closer to her. Sure, he’d
love to know more about her, but he’d no right to be included in whatever was
going on with her.

For the last twenty years, it had been his job to observe
people in their homes, on the street and across the interrogation table, and to
look into their faces and read their minds. Now that he was close up with this
woman, he could see she was stressed and not yet over the abduction. Enough
trauma for a lifetime. Looking at her, he guessed that trouble didn’t usually
bother her all that much. She’d get over it; she appeared too tough to let it
take over her life. She wasn’t lost; in fact, she seemed intensely focused. Yet,
frustrated by not finding the answers she desperately wanted. He also detected
fear; she remained threatened by something or someone; probably the mysterious Jane
she talked about who was a killer and was still out there. So for now, she was
still hurting.

“It seems to me you’re doing great and have come a
long way with all this. My guess is you’ll soon get it all sorted out with no
more surprises.” He moved his chair closer. “You know what I think, Miss Reid?
I think those two people who decided to choose you as their extortion target
made the biggest mistake of their lives.” His throat was getting tight. He spread
his strong hands along the edge of the table in front of him, gripped it
tightly and leaned toward her. “I want you to know that West Palm is yours.
Whatever you need.”

A
t his
arraignment that morning at the West Palm Beach courthouse, Ryan Cramer, stood awkwardly
wishing he were somewhere else. Next to him was his newly found attorney, Angela
James, trying to look as though she belonged in a courtroom. Sandy was seated
at the side and guessed that Ryan was the young woman’s first criminal
defendant.

In a low voice, he pleaded not guilty, and in a
low voice, Angela requested release without bail. The judge rapped his gavel
and Ryan was remanded to the custody of the West Palm Beach police and taken
back to jail.

Thirty minutes later, Sandy and Angela were in the
middle of exchanging introductions and explanations, when an officer brought Ryan
into the interview room at the jail.

Angela explained she was the wife of the lawyer
Ryan used for his business. They realized that her business-lawyer husband wasn’t
qualified to take on a criminal case. She confessed her uncertainty that
criminal law had been the right choice for her. According to her, stage fright was
her problem in front of the judge that morning. Sandy bluntly told her that it
was more than just stage fright—she should have been better prepared for the arraignment;
she looked as though she didn’t know courtroom procedure. Sandy then smiled and
said it reminded her of her own faltering beginning.

First off, Sandy expressed to Ryan how sorry she
was about him losing his wife. She was certain he still held love for her.
After he’d composed himself, she asked if Detective Dominic had read him his rights.
Did she mean that spiel about the right to keep silent? Yes, but he wondered at
the time why that was necessary, since he didn’t know about his wife’s murder.

“Tell me what happened that evening...the night
you drove to your timeshare at Disney World. I need to know the times.”

Myra had texted him earlier, he explained, then
phoned him later while he was at Gail’s. What time? Oh, around seven-thirty. She
said the police were after her and didn’t know what to do. She needed his
support, needed him to stand beside her. He told her he’d suffered months and
months of her blatantly screwing around with Boyd and now this—a major crime. He’d
had enough. She was on her own.

Then she came over to Gail’s condo to beg him to
help. The three of them talked. Gail wanted to keep out of it and didn’t offer
to help. He was upset and angry. Myra gave up trying to bring him around and
left crying around ten. He and Gail talked for a while and then she went to bed.
The embezzlement on top of her cheating was just too much. That’s when he
decided to take off, drive up to their timeshare near Orlando and get away from
it all. What time? Maybe eleven.

Next Sandy asked what he had told Dominic in the
interrogation room. He admitted that again and again he had been deceptive and
didn’t give straightforward answers because at that point he still believed
that somehow he was in trouble because of his wife’s embezzlement and didn’t
know she had been murdered.

Dominic kept asking if he was angry with his wife.
Sure, he’d replied. She was ruining his life and his business. Should have done
something earlier. Should have erased her like a bad dream. Had he said those
words? Yes, that’s what he blurted out. He wouldn’t have phrased it like that
had he known someone had killed her.

They listened with dismay. It sounded bad. Caught
in one lie after another. Dominic had cleverly not told Ryan what was going on
until after he’d incriminated himself.

Angela James had asked few questions through all
of the questioning. She followed Sandy’s lead. When Sandy made a note, she’d
make a note. Now Ryan’s version of what happened was clear. Sandy hadn’t
decided personally whether he was guilty. She had to stop and consider how to
handle it.

She reasoned that Ryan wouldn’t have killed Myra
for money; still he did seem emotional and might have harbored the hate
necessary to kill her. If he were to be believed, he had assumed they picked him
up because his wife was being investigated. Knowing he was innocent and
couldn’t be tied to the theft, he cooperated and obligingly incriminated
himself in the murder. It all worked out nicely for the clever detective. Ryan
had been sucker-punched. Except, what if he knew all along that his wife was
dead and had neatly fooled the detective into believing he was a harmless wimp?

She checked watch. “This is all in your hands now,
Angela. You have to take over now. I’m going back up to Park Beach later today
and will be up there a couple of days.”

“But what’ll I do?”

“You need to come up with a good argument with some
evidence to back it up. Then request a bond hearing and go back before the
judge and request bail for Ryan. Your client has plenty of motive and no alibi
for the time of the murder. Get your hands on the police report now and the
M.E. report when available. Then inspect the crime scene immediately. Take your
own photos. Don’t be surprised if you find evidence the police have overlooked
or not mentioned.”

“They’ll let me do that?”

“The police must permit the defense attorney to
inspect the crime scene. The M.E. estimated the time of death at midnight.
That’s about when Ryan left for the timeshare—he took the turnpike, so if he
used a SunPass, there’ll be a record of when he got on and off. At midnight,
Gail was home alone already in bed—supposedly. So she is also a suspect and
that gives you reasonable doubt.”

Ryan was listening. “Gail wouldn’t have shot Myra.”

“You have all that, counselor?” Sandy asked.

Angela hesitantly nodded her head.

“Now, you can do what you want, but I’d say here’s
your defense. The shooting and the ransacked house are connected, of course.
The shooter obviously was there searching for money and was interrupted by Myra.
If it were Ryan searching for the money, he could have done it anytime Myra was
out, it didn’t have to be at midnight. In any case, it would have been dumb for
her to hide something in the bedroom her husband was using.”

Angela excitedly jumped in, “If he was ransacking
his own house, he wouldn’t have wasted time tearing apart his own bedroom
looking for it! And if you’re searching for something in your own house you
don’t turn the place upside down.”

“And if your wife walks in while you’re trashing
the place, you don’t shoot her—you have a big argument.” She gave Angela a
thumbs up. “Now you’ve got the idea. Except, what if the prosecution maintains—”
Sandy glanced over at Ryan. “—that he shot her and then messed up the place to
make it look like a burglary?”

“Oh, damn. What do I do then?”

“That’s when you start earning your fee.”

During the session between Sandy and Angela, Ryan had
sat nearly catatonic with eyes and head down and shoulders drooped. If he kept
on in that mood, he’d soon be a good candidate for a suicide watch. Sandy was
straining to think of something therapeutic and deeply philosophical, “You’re
going to be okay and we’re going to get you out of this, Ryan.”

She remembered Angela and glanced over at her, “Aren’t
we, Angela?”

Sandy went on, “You’ve suffered a double shock.
Your wife was violently murdered. She lost her life and you haven’t had time to
think about her. You’ve been preoccupied with this damn accusation and jail. Yet
your own life hasn’t been destroyed, in spite of what you’re feeling. This will
pass. You’ll get it all together again. You’ll move on. Eventually, there’ll be
someone new in your life. You’re too good to be passed up. Okay, you’ve been
beaten up pretty badly. Nothing says you’re going to lose again.”

“At the very least, I’m going to lose my
business.” He forced a smile. “I’m glad we crossed paths.”

“You’re a good man who has experienced pain, but
you’re going to find the strength to fight back. Let me ask, are you glad
Myra’s dead?”

“No.”

“Are you going to miss her?”

“I haven’t as yet. It’s not like she’s gone.”

“That’s exactly what I meant. You haven’t had time
to grieve for her. You’re going to be fine. Angela will get you out on bail.
Where are you going to stay? The yellow tape will be up around your house for a
while.

“I’ll stay over at Gail’s. She has two bedrooms.”

“Ryan, I really need to speak with your sister.
Can you arrange that for me?”

“I know she won’t do it. She told me if anyone
asks her any more questions, she’ll get a lawyer.”

That just wouldn’t do. Sandy would find some other
way to get to Gail.

He continued, “I’ll have to look for a job
somewhere. My business is in the trash can now.”

“You mean because of the publicity? It might not
be that bad.”

“Oh it’s that bad. I do a lot of condo landscaping
and have to satisfy the condominium directors. They will certainly stop doing
business with someone who can’t control his cheating, embezzling wife and might
even have killed her. Even if not convicted the questions will always be there.
After all those years of hard work building it up, my business will have died
with her.”

She was trying to think of something encouraging to
say, when her cell buzzed. She turned her back on them to answer. Probably Chip.
No, it was Martin. That was fine, although she hadn’t expected him to call. “Everything
is going to hell down here, Martin. I hope it’s better up there.”

Martin’s voice was wavering and with a noticeable
shortness of breath, he said, “Sandy, Chip is in the hospital...he was in a
shoot out.”

A
s
Sandy approached the wide, sweeping driveway that curved up to the emergency
entrance at the Rosewood Regional Hospital, just south of Park Beach, she could
see that the steps on the entry way were jammed with friends and associates,
many in the uniform of various city, county and state law enforcement entities.
The sun was low in the sky putting the steps in the shade. The overflow spilled
down to the adjacent parking area where people talked with one another in small
groups. Vehicles kept arriving. After a quick circle of the clogged parking, Sandy
pulled onto the grass by the entrance between two police vehicles.

Eddy Jaworski spotted her and walked with her up
the steps. “They ran us out of the waiting room. How are you doing?”

“How is he?” She looked into his face hopefully.
He made a slight shake of his head. Once inside, she was surprised to find the
waiting room was quiet and only half filled. Martin and Mel were at the side
talking. They both hurried over looking solemn.

“Well...tell me.” She looked from one to the
other.

“Not good, Sandy,” Mel said.

Martin nodded in agreement. “Are you okay?”

Mel frowned. “They haven’t told us much, other
than he’s still in ICU.”

The three of them settled into the waiting room. Mel
explained that Chip had been temporarily assigned to assist an FBI joint task
force on a drug bust in nearby Fort Pierce.

“Was he wearing his bullet-proof vest?” she asked

“In spite of his vest. Something went wrong.”

“Obviously,” she snapped.

After a forty-five minute wait, a doctor came out
and reported that Detective Goddard was in critical condition. Sandy hunched
her shoulders in frustration. “Well, we know that.”

The doctor turned and left, Mel hurried after him.
They exchanged a few words in the corridor. Mel came back and reported the
doctor had removed a bullet from Chip’s chest. He was not responsive and hadn’t
regained consciousness since being shot. It didn’t look good.

After another lengthy wait, Mel got up and walked
down the hall to the ICU. He came back with a nurse who told Sandy to follow
her; she could go to Chip’s room. Except for ICU personnel coming in and out,
she was alone with Chip. She gave up trying to get information out of any of
them.

After sitting bedside and staring at him for some
time with all the tubes and paraphernalia, she leaned down toward his face, and
said, “I love you, I love you. Please come back, Chip.” She sat bedside
listening to the cadence of the vital signs monitor and then started shaking. A
nurse noticed and wrapped a heated blanket around her shoulders. She wasn’t
certain just what she was feeling and didn’t care. She sat looking straight
ahead. This wasn’t happening.

Personnel occasionally would come and check
whatever. After an hour, her jumble of thoughts of concern for Chip began to
focus. She shook the blanket from her shoulders, stood and walked around the
room while looking back at Chip’s comatose body. He’d never give up, she was
certain of that, but was he there? Being in a coma meant his mental processes
had shut down. Still, she wanted his mind to be there to rally his body to
fight on. His body lying there was strong; it wouldn’t give in easily, even if
his mind wasn’t in control. She reached out and gently clasped her hand around
his arm. “Good, you’re nice and warm. Stay nice and warm, Chip. And know that I
love you.”

She had a feeling of extreme vulnerability and now
the additional feeling of loneliness. She walked back out to the waiting room.
Mel, Martin and Eddy Jaworski were there. They all focused on her expectantly
thinking she had news. “This can’t be happening,” she said in too loud of a
voice. “Chip can’t be dying.” She slowly shook her head.

Martin, uncertain of how to comfort her, asked
once again how she was doing.

She answered, “Hoping for the best and expecting
the worst doesn’t do a thing for me. How about you?” Without answering, he gave
her arm a squeeze.

She began to feel dizzy; maybe from a pill the
nurse had given her, just a Tylenol she thought. She needed to sit. A sudden outrage
against Dick and Jane overtook her. She stood back up. The pair had slipped
from her mind. Why had she stopped thinking about them? Weren’t they
responsible for all this? Her immediate thought was that they didn’t get the
money after all. She couldn’t concentrate. Her thoughts were a blur, but she
knew something had gone wrong. Had the bastards carried out their deadly threat
even though she gave them the money?

She should have warned him and put him on guard.
Should have called the police and the FBI. What a horrible miscalculation she’d
made. He was in intensive care at that very moment because of her. “I’ll never
forgive myself,” she said loudly, looking down, rubbing her hands together.

Mel stood up beside her. “What are you talking about?
You’ve nothing to do with this.”

“Dick and Jane shot him,” she said.

“Who? Oh, those two. No, that’s crazy. I already
explained to you, Chip was miles away on a joint drug bust operation with the
FBI and Fort Pierce police. Caught a bullet in the gunfire. We don’t know everything
yet. But no way is it connected to your episode.”

She looked up at him questioning. “That’s right,
that’s right.” Her shoulders sagged with the relief of guilt. “I knew that. I
knew that.”

“I’m sorry you were thinking that, Sandy. We
should have given you more details. I thought you understood. Are you okay now?”

“Yes. I forgot. I was confused.”

Martin told her the police had a squad running
down leads on the hood that had exchanged gunfire with Chip. “They believe they
know who did it.”

She couldn’t endure all the whispering and walked
back down the hospital corridor to Chip’s room. Periodically, the staff would
come in to do their tasks, and then it would grow quiet again except for the
beeping of the monitor.

“Can I get you a coffee or something, Mrs.
Goddard?” one nurse asked.

“He isn’t married.”

“Oh, we thought you were his wife.” The nurse
quickly understood. “We’re all hoping along with you.”

“Never has been...as far as I know...,” she
couldn’t finish. She put her head down.

“Call us if there’s any change in his breathing.”
The nurse left her alone.

She sat there for almost an hour, whispering to
him about how much she loved him and how wonderful their future would be. Their
short time together seemed so precious, so valuable and now suddenly so fragile.

They had met a mere two years earlier, when as a
brash law student, she was defending her errant brother and Chip was on the job
in the murder case. Their friendship spawned a relationship, which would have
been exclusive except for a couple of regrettable lapses on her part. But for
some time the relationship was unquestionably exclusive. The sleepovers had increased
from occasional to frequent. Yet, she didn’t want to move in with him. How
could she possibly give up her own apartment and have no place to slip away? She
loved the thought that she could put her shoes under his bed whenever she wanted;
however, hanging all of her clothes in his closet was a far different metaphor.

A month ago he had proposed. Her feelings of
independence and selfishness had previously driven her toward her goal of
finishing school and becoming a lawyer. The feelings had been so much a part of
her for so long, she was unsure she could commit to the dependency and
sacrifices of marriage. Her excuse for waiting was that she wanted to show the
world that she could make it on her own. Now that she had received a huge fee
for a novice lawyer, Chip was hoping that time had come. She cherished her freedom
and was still reluctant to buy into the one man for the rest of her life idea. She
told him she wasn’t ready. Was that another regret? She now wished she had at
least agreed to move in with him. She would have had more memories.

She couldn’t believe she’d dozed off but was
suddenly aware of how still and quiet the room was, except for the reassuring
beep of the monitor. She’d been crying and wasn’t entirely alert, but thought
she heard him whisper her name. She abruptly straightened and placed her hand
on his arm to reassure him. She was startled to feel his body suddenly relax
under her grasp. She’d never seen his body so limp even in sleep.

Then the vital signs monitor at his bedside struck
the worst kind of alarm. She yelled. ICU personnel scrambled into the room.
They pushed her aside. She kept repeating his name, calling out to him as if somehow
it would help them.

After a few frenzied minutes, they pulled their
hands back, put their arms down to their sides and glanced at each other. No
one moved to look at her.

A heavy tightness filled her body. She steadied
herself with her arms on the edge of the bed and leaned over him. Everyone
stepped back away. She kissed him and put her cheek next to his warm cheek. She
felt she was choking. Gasping for air, she whispered, “You’ll live forever in
my heart, Chip.” His head rolled to one side away from her.