Snap judgment, p.1
Snap Judgment, page 1
SNAP JUDGMENT
RICHARD T. CAHILL
Copyright © 2022 Richard T. Cahill
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The right of Richard T. Cahill to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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First published in 2022 by Bloodhound Books.
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Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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www.bloodhoundbooks.com
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Print ISBN: 978-1-5040-8246-4
CONTENTS
Love best-selling fiction?
Also by Richard T. Cahill
Chapter 1
Two weeks later…
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
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A note from the publisher
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ALSO BY RICHARD T. CAHILL
PUBLISHED BY BLOODHOUND BOOKS
Deadly Grief
This book is dedicated to the memory of Donald W. Ryan, my friend and compadre.
Auf Wiedersehen, mein Freund.
CHAPTER ONE
“Son of a bitch,” Larry Watson muttered, as he went over to the figure hanging from the tree, hoping silently to himself that it was a mannequin and some form of sick joke.
As he approached, the only sound was a slight creaking from the tree branch as the body swayed slowly in the breeze.
On closer inspection, it was clear to him that this was indeed a dead man. What he found surprising was how peaceful the victim appeared. In a death as brutal as hanging, one would expect to see signs of a struggle and perhaps bruises on the face or hands. At the very least, there should have been a grimace of pain and anguish frozen on the face. But this man looked like he could be asleep, except of course for the reddish-purple discoloration in the hands where some of the blood from the arms had settled, the stiffness of rigor mortis, and the fact that he was hanging from a tree branch by the neck.
Larry thought the whole scene looked more like an old painting than a murder scene. The victim appeared not to have been dead long enough for the real stench of decay to begin. Still, he made sure not to get too close. Prior experience had taught him of the various wonderful smells given off by a dead body. He had no desire to experience them again.
Larry Watson had been walking to the courthouse that crisp, late October morning when he had happened upon the body. He’d been looking forward to getting out of the cold and thinking how he had to get everything at the courthouse ready for its 8am opening.
By union rules, he had no obligation to come in early, but Larry was old school. As a matter of pride, he went through the same routine every weekday morning; up at 5:30am, out the door by 6:15am, stop by Hazel and Ed’s Cafe for coffee and a donut, and arrive at the courthouse door at 6:45am.
When he reached his destination, he had turned down the main entry path that went through the meticulously maintained front lawn of the courthouse. Just at the entry to the right was the great oak tree. It had been there for centuries. Like many Rockfield residents, Larry always took a moment to admire its massive trunk and large branches that extended out over the sidewalk and to the street.
During the summer, its green leaves created a truly beautiful sight. In the early fall, the leaves turned a bright red and were even more spectacular. Today, however, was the final week of October and most of its leaves were gone. The nearly empty branches stretched out almost like a skeleton.
Larry had been gazing at those branches when he stopped suddenly, his breath catching in his throat. From one of the thick branches that extended all the way to the street was a rope. At the other end of the rope was the man swinging slightly in the breeze.
Not only was it definitely a human body, but Larry also knew who the dead man was. In fact, probably every person in Rockfield would know this man. It was Gilbert Russell.
Gilbert Russell was perhaps the most despised person in the entire county. Just seeing his lifeless body brought back the terrible memories of the last two years. Larry remembered the panic that had engulfed Rockfield when six-year-old Jill Lawson never returned home from kindergarten.
The city had come together as almost every man, woman, and child joined with the police in conducting the largest search any of them could remember. They went through acres and acres of dense woods and even climbed two nearby peaks of the Catskill Mountains.
Reward posters featuring the adorable young face of Jill Lawson were in every business window and on every telephone pole. Media vans from Albany and New York City news networks were a regular sight. Reporters interviewed anyone willing to talk about the missing girl and her family.
Then, eight days after she went missing, police made the discovery they had been dreading. Jill’s nude body was found in a shallow grave in a wooded area less than two miles from her school.
News of this find turned the people of Rockfield from concerned citizens to an angry mob seeking retribution. At every bar, restaurant, and gathering place, people loudly proclaimed the best kind of death sentence for the killer. Ideas such as burning in oil, castration, and skinning alive were heard, along with others even more barbaric.
Six months later, police made the arrest that all of Rockfield wanted. Gilbert Russell, a thirty-seven-year-old loner, was apprehended at his home. The State Police Lab determined that DNA found on the little girl’s remains matched that of Gilbert; a sample taken after his conviction on a previous charge of child molestation in the State of New Hampshire.
Gilbert had only been living in Rockfield for a few months. He had kept to himself and few knew anything about him. Once his arrest photo appeared on the local news and on the Rockfield Tribune’s front page, he was suddenly the most infamous and despised person throughout the county.
Gilbert denied his involvement of course, but the evidence was overwhelming. In addition to the DNA evidence, police found pictures of Jill Lawson in Russell’s home that proved he had been targeting and watching her for at least six weeks. Photos showed the little girl walking to and from school, as well as playing in the schoolyard and in her own backyard.
The trial went quickly. It was even more noteworthy because the District Attorney himself, J. Robert Worthington, had done the trial, something he almost never did. Court insiders like Larry Watson knew that Worthington had thoughts of running for New York State Attorney General. The current office holder had already announced his retirement and Worthington planned to ride the Russell trial all the way to the State Capitol.
The jury had convicted Russell in less than twenty minutes. Gilbert’s face reddened when the verdict was read, but he refused to say anything. He just glared at his victim’s parents, Al and Jamie Lawson. Mrs. Lawson buried her face in her husband’s arms and cried. Al Lawson held his wife tenderly, but his eyes never left his daughter’s killer. The look on the stricken father’s face told everyone that he wanted to be the one to pass sentence and judgment. New York’s Court of Appeals had long ago declared the state’s death penalty unconstitutional, but Al Lawson clearly wanted to be the one to pull the switch or inject the needle. Who could blame him?
A few months later, Judge John J. Hardy handed down the strongest sentence permissible in New York, life in prison without possibility of parole. As he did, he told Russell that he wished he could have sentenced him to death.
Larry remembered the hushed silence in the courtroom when Judge Hardy said, “Mr. Russell, you will spend the rest of your life in prison, but if it were up to me, you would be taken from this courtroom and hanged in the town square.”
A few people actually applauded at these words, including Al Lawson. For the only time in the trial, Gilbert Russell spoke. Just as the commotion from Hardy’s words died down, Russell shouted, “Fuck you, asshole!”
Hardy banged the gavel for silence. Then, with a slight smile, Hardy signaled to the sheriff’s deputies who had been assigned to take him to state prison and said, “Take this rat to his hole, gentlemen.”
Within a couple of weeks, life moved on in Rockfield. The Russell case had been the almost exclusive topic of conversation for nearly a year, but now nobody even wanted to hear his name.
Just a week before Gilbert Russell’s dead body had been discovered by Larry Watson, the case had returned to the news. The New York State Court of Appeals overturned Russell’s conviction because of a significant legal error in the presentation of murder charges before the grand jury. Gilbert Russell’s attorney had filed a written form advising the District Attorney’s Office that Russell wished to exercise his constitutional right to testify before the grand jury.
Worthington had Russell brought to the grand jury along with his attorney, Ray Stanton. In a move of unnecessary gamesmanship, Worthington made Russell and his attorney wait for over four hours.
Eventually, Stanton became enraged and told the young assistant district attorney assigned to sit with him that he had a court appearance at 2pm and Russell’s testimony before the grand jury would therefore have to be rescheduled.
In a stunning move of arrogance and stupidity, Worthington sent back a written note advising Stanton that his client either testified that day or not at all. After consulting with his client, Stanton announced he was leaving for court, but his client would testify without the presence of his attorney. Worthington seemingly did not care and had Russell brought into the grand jury and had him testify.
Whenever a witness testifies before a New York Grand Jury, he or she automatically gets immunity unless required to issue a waiver. Defendants are always made to do that before they testify. Worthington had Russell sign the proper form.
However, the Court of Appeals ruled that Worthington’s foolish actions had resulted in Russell testifying and executing his waiver without proper legal representation. The court decided that Russell’s waiver of immunity was not valid. This meant that not only was the conviction vacated, but also that Russell’s testimony before the grand jury gave him legal immunity. He could never be retried or held accountable for the murder of Jill Lawson.
The public reaction was one of shock and anger. For three days, the phones at the District Attorney’s Office rang off the hook for hours on end. Furious residents demanded to know how this child killer had been allowed to get away with murder.
Bob Worthington was not about to take the blame for his incompetence. Instead, he called a press conference. He had all of his assistant district attorneys standing behind him as he spoke.
“It is incomprehensible to me that a monster like Gilbert Russell has been given full immunity from prosecution by this office,” he said stoically, “and it makes me physically sick that tomorrow Gilbert Russell will be brought to this courthouse and ordered released from custody.”
Worthington paused, withdrew a handkerchief from his lapel pocket, and dabbed at his eyes, even though nobody present could see any tears.
He cleared his throat and sniffed. “What truly breaks my heart is that justice will be denied to little Jill Lawson and her parents,” he continued.
After pausing to let his words and emotion take their intended effect, his face became tense and angry.
“Now, I must hold the party responsible for this atrocity accountable,” he said.
The assistant district attorneys behind him began nervously looking at each other. They all knew that Worthington had been the one who dropped the ball. Was he resigning? The only one in the line who remained motionless was Frank Alexander, Worthington’s Chief Assistant. He either knew or strongly suspected what was coming next.
Worthington suddenly turned to his left and pointed at a young man at the far end of the line. “Jason Barnes, step forward please.”
Jason Barnes, the first-year prosecutor who had been assigned to sit with Russell and his attorney prior to his grand jury appearance and who had delivered Worthington’s note, stepped forward and nervously asked, “Yes, sir?”
“You are the one who brought Gilbert Russell into the grand jury,” Worthington charged, “and you are the one who told Attorney Stanton that he could leave. You are the reason why Gilbert Russell got immunity and the Lawson family will never get justice.”
The young man’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening. “What a minute,” he objected, “I just did what you—”
“Silence!!” Worthington thundered, “There is no excuse for what you did. It is unacceptable. You are fired, Mr. Barnes!”
Barnes shouted in protest, as did the assembled members of the media who had all seen the decision from the Court of Appeals and knew about Worthington’s note.
“Officer!” Worthington shouted, pointing at Chief Investigator Roger Billingsley, “Remove Mr. Barnes from the courthouse.”
The room went quiet as Roger Billingsley, known as Bills to his friends, stepped forward and walked over to Jason Barnes. Barnes opened his mouth to protest, but Bills cut him off.
“Come with me, son,” he said compassionately, “Everything will be fine.”
Tears welled in the young, now-former-assistant district attorney’s eyes, as he saw his career ending almost before it started.
Bills put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and said, “Trust me.”
Barnes hung his head and complied. Without another word, Bills walked him out of the pressroom. Barnes was not even clear of the room when Worthington started speaking again and placed the entire blame for the matter on his former assistant.
Unbeknownst to Worthington, Bills walked Barnes right over to Judge Hardy’s chambers and explained everything to an immediately irate judge. Hardy picked up the phone and called in a few favors. Before the day was out, a law firm across the river in the City of Hudson specializing in criminal defense hired Jason Barnes at quite a bit more than his prosecutor’s salary. Much to Worthington’s chagrin, word of this spread through the courthouse like wildfire.
The next day, Gilbert Russell was brought back to Linton County Court so he could be formally cleared and released from custody. The courtroom was standing-room-only when the sheriff’s deputies brought the prisoner to the defense table. The handcuffs and shackles were removed, and the deputies walked away from the prisoner and took position near the rail that separated the audience from the court proceedings. They were obviously worried about violent reactions from those assembled.
A few minutes later, Judge Hardy entered the court and everyone stood except Russell. He just smiled broadly and mockingly at the judge. Hardy glared at the defendant, but said nothing.
After sitting and instructing the rest of the people to do the same, he formally called the case. Turning to the prosecutor’s table, he said, “Mr. Alexander, the People’s position please.”
Frank Alexander stood and buttoned his jacket. Bob Worthington was nowhere to be seen. He had instead assigned the matter to his chief assistant. Some speculated that he also did not want a public confrontation with Judge Hardy about Jason Barnes.
“Your Honor,” Alexander said, “based on the ruling from the New York State Court of Appeals, the defendant has been granted immunity. Therefore, the charges against him must be dismissed and his unconditional release granted.”
Alexander then sat down without another word. Hardy turned to the defense table. “Mr. Stanton?”
Ray Stanton stood. Known as “Toupee Ray” because of the horrible rug he always wore to hide his baldness, Stanton was clearly uncomfortable. Normally, Stanton was talkative and energetic. Today, he seemed to hate his job. He had filed the appeal that resulted in Gilbert Russell’s conviction being thrown out. It had been a substantial legal victory, but Ray took no pleasure in it. He had only been doing his job, but he felt physically sick knowing this child killer was about to be set free.
