Philip Margolin - Gone ,but not forgotten
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- Название:Gone ,but not forgotten
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He ruled that everything the defendant told us was true.
We just didn't ask the right questions. I researched the hell out of the law on plea agreements trying to get the appellate court to rule for us.
No luck. Contract principles apply, but so does due process. If both sides enter into the agreement in good faith and the defendant performs, the courts are going to enforce the agreement. If you go into this with your eyes open, Ray, I think the pardon will stick."
"Then I have no choice."
"Yes, you do," Merrill insisted. "You tell him no deal.
You can't pardon a serial killer and expect to be reelected.
It's political suicide."
"Damn it, Larry," Colby snapped, "how do you think people would react if they found out I let three women die to win an election?"
Raymond Colby opened the door to Nancy Gordon's bedroom. Frank Grimsbo was seated next to the door, holding his weapon, his eyes on the prisoner. The shades were drawn and the bed was still unmade. Peter Lake was handcuffed to a chair. His back was to the window.
No one had treated the cuts on Lake's face and the blood had dried, making him look like a badly defeated fighter.
Lake should have been scared. Instead, he looked like he was in charge of the situation.
"Thanks for coming, Ray."
"What's going on, Pete? This is crazy. You murdered Sandy and Melody?"
"I I had to, Ray. I explained that to the police. You know I wouldn't have killed them if I had a choice."
"That sweet little girl. How can you live with your self?"
Lake shrugged his shoulders. "That's really beside the point, Ray. I'm not going to prison, and you're going to see to that'."
"It's out of my hands, Pete. You killed three people.
You're morally responsible for Waters's death. I can't do anything for you."
Lake smiled. "Then why are you here?"
"To ask you to tell the police where you're keeping the other women."
"No can do, Ray. My life depends on keeping the cops in the dark."
"You'd let three innocent women die?"
Lake shrugged. "Three dead, six dead. They can't punish me anymore after the first life sentence. I don't envy you, Ray. Believe me when I say that I wish I didn't have to put an old friend, whom I admire deeply, in this position. But I won't tell you where the women are if I don't get my pardon. And, believe me, every minute counts. Those women are mighty hungry and mighty thirsty by now. I can't guarantee how much longer they'll last without food and water."
Colby sat on the bed across from Lake. He bent forward, his forearms resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him.
"I do consider myself your friend, Pete. I still can't believe what I'm hearing. As a friend, I beg you to save those women. I promise I'll intercede on your behalf with the authorities. Maybe a plea to manslaughter can be worked out."
Lake shook his head. "No prison. Not one day. I know what happens in jail to a man who's raped a woman. I wouldn't last a week."
"You're expecting a miracle, Pete. How can I let you go free?" 'look, Ray, I'll make this simple for you. I walk or the women die. There's no other alternative, and you're using up valuable time jawing with me."
Colby hunched his shoulders. He stared at the floor.
Lake's smile widened.
"What are your terms?" Colby asked.
"I want a pardon for every crime I committed in New York State and immunity from prosecution for every conceivable crime the authorities can think up in the future. I want the pardon in writing and I want a videotape of you signing it. I want the original of the tape and the pardon given to a lawyer I'll choose.
"I want immunity from prosecution in federal court…"
"I can't guarantee that. I have no authority to "Call the U.S. attorney or the attorney general. Call the President. This is non-negotiable. I'm not going to get hit with a federal charge for violation of civil rights."
"I'll see what I can do."
"That's all I ask. But if you don't do what I want, the women die.
"There's one other thing. I want a guarantee that the State of New York will pay any civil judgments if I get sued by the survivors or Cross's husband. I'm not going to lose any money over this. Attorney fees, too."
Lake's last remark helped the governor see Lake for what he was. The handsome, urbane young man with whom he had dined and played golf was the disguise worn by a monster. Colby felt rage replacing the numbness he'd experienced since learning Lake's true nature.
Colby stood. "I have to know how much time those women have, so I can tell the attorney general how quickly we must act."
"I'm not going to tell you, Ray. You're not getting any information from me until I have what I want. But," Lake said with a smile, "I will tell you to hurry."
The police cars and ambulances bounced along the unpaved back road, their sirens blaring in hopes that the captive women would hear them and take heart. There were three ambulances, each with a team of doctors and Larry Merrill were riding nurses. Governor Colby and with Chief O'Malley and Wayne Turner. Frank Grimsbo was driving another police car Nancy Gordon riding shotgun. In the back of that car was Herb Carstairs, an attorney Lake had retained. A videotape of Governor Colby signing a pardon and a copy of the pardon with an addendum signed by the United States attorney rested in Carstairs's safe. Next to Carstairs, in leg irons and handcuffs, sat Peter Lake, who seemed indifferent to the high speed ride.
The cavalcade rounded a curve in the country road and Nancy saw the farmhouse. it looked deserted. The front yard was overgrown and the paint was peeling. To the right of the house, across a dusty strip of yard, was a dilapidated barn.
Nancy was out and running as soon as the car stopped. She raced up the steps of the house and kicked in the front door. Medics and doctors raced after her.
Lake had said the women were in the basement. Nancy found the basement door and threw it open. A stench of urine, excrement and unwashed bodies hit her and she gagged. Then she took a deep breath and yelled, "Police.
You're safe," as she started down the stairs, two at a time, stopping her headlong rush the moment she saw what was in the basement.
Nancy felt like someone had punched a hole through her chest and torn out her heart. Later it occurred to her that her reaction must have been similar to the reactions of the servicemen who liberated the Nazi concentration camps. The basement windows were painted black and the only light came from bare bulbs that hung from the ceiling. A section of the basement was divided by plywood walls into six small stalls. Three of the stalls were empty. All of the stalls were covered with straw and outfitted with dirty mattresses. A videotape camera sat on a tripod outside each of the three occupied stalls. In addition to the mattress, each stall contained a cheap clock, a plastic water bottle with a plastic straw, and a dog food dish. The water bottles looked empty.
Nancy could see the remains of some kind of gruel in the dishes.
Toward the rear of the basement was an open area.
In it was a mattress covered with a sheet and a large table. Nancy could not make out all of the instruments on the table, but one of them was definitely a cattle prod.
Nancy stepped aside as the doctors rushed past her.
She stared at the three survivors. The women were naked. Their feet were chained to the wall at the ankles.
The chain extended just far enough to reach the water bottle and dog food dish. The women in the first two stalls lay on their side on their mattress. Their eyes seemed to be floating in the sockets. Nancy could see their ribs. There were burn marks and bruises everywhere. The woman in the third stall was Samantha Reardon. She huddled against the wall, her face expressionless, staring blankly at her rescuers.
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