He shrugged. “Virginia abolished parole years ago. So he can’t be trying to suck up to the parole board. But his plea bargain minimized the time he’ll stay behind bars.”
Susie looked down. “I suppose you wonder why I agreed to that.”
“None of my business.”
“Well, I want to tell you, anyway. It wasn’t so much the ordeal of testifying in court. Yes, I knew it would be hard to face my friends and co-workers if they had all of those…images in their minds. But that wasn’t the biggest thing. It was mostly for Arthur’s sake. He was having so much trouble with it. I couldn’t bear the thought of forcing him to relive it in court.”
“I understand.”
“And when their lawyers made it clear that they would really go after us at trial-well, I told the Commonwealth Attorney’s office I wouldn’t fight a plea deal. Not as long as they’d be convicted of a sex crime of some sort. I wanted them branded as sex criminals, with their names in a registry. So that other people would be warned that they’re predators.”
“You figured that if they were convicted for sex crimes, they’d be gone for a long time.”
“I still don’t understand why not.”
Dylan took another sip, put down the mug. Spread his big hands on the paper placemat. “From what I’ve been able to figure out, Wulfe initially was charged with rape and conspiracy to commit a felony. But because he didn’t actually assault you-”
“Only because the cops got there in time,” Annie interrupted.
“Only because. So they charged him with ‘attempt to commit rape.’ In this state, that’s a Class 4 felony-which means he was eligible for a two-to-ten-year sentence. The conspiracy charge could’ve added another year or so behind bars. But by the terms of the plea deal, the judge ordered the two sentences to run concurrently, not consecutively.”
“So, their conspiracy-their gang attack-added nothing, then?” Annie demanded.
“I’m afraid not. Wulfe received just a little over three years. But with all these early-release programs, who knows what that really means?”
“What about the other two?” Susie asked.
“When they attacked you, Bracey and Valenti were still juveniles, if only by a few months. Still, because of the seriousness of the charges, they were indicted in circuit court. They could have been convicted and sentenced as adults. But again, the plea bargains changed all that. They bounced those two back to the juvie system. Which, as we know, is a joke. Since they didn’t have any serious previous convictions, they were eligible for shorter sentences.”
“Even though we know they probably both committed murders in the past?”
“Even though.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Crazy. And immoral. Because our so-called justice system has nothing to do with justice.”
“So what happens to Bracey and Valenti now?”
Annie thought something moved in his eyes.
“They were in sex-offender ‘therapy’ in the juvenile correction centers. Then they were transferred to a ‘community-based alternative’ in Alexandria called Youth Horizons. It is a group home in a residential neighborhood. When I wrote my article last week, I thought these guys were still living there, locked up.”
“They’re not?” Susie looked shocked.
Dylan shook his head. “All they really have to do is show up each morning for four hours of counseling. In the afternoons, they’re released, supposedly to look for jobs. But at night, those two are out roaming the streets. You can thank the idiots promoting all these ‘alternatives to incarceration’ programs. They’re responsible for- Something wrong, Annie?”
She tried to cover her reaction. “Sorry. I, I just remembered-I have to visit someone tonight.”
“Anyway, next year, when they turn twenty-one, they can’t be held any longer. But I think they’ll be out even sooner, because they get months of ‘good behavior’ credits that shorten their sentences.”
“You’re telling me these animals will serve less than three years , then be back on the streets?”
“Susanne, I’m telling you they’re already back on the streets.”
She put her head in her hands. “I can’t believe this. They took my Arthur forever, and they lose only three years of their lives.”
Dylan turned away and looked at the passing traffic.
“I appreciate your honesty. I wish the prosecutor had been this honest with me.”
They were silent for a moment. Then Susie spoke again. “Dylan, for a reporter, you’re unusually sympathetic to crime victims. I was thinking. I’d like to invite you to the next executive committee meeting of our Vigilance for Victims group. I think the members would like to meet you.”
He nodded immediately. “Susanne, I’d be honored.”
“You, too, Annie. I’ve been inviting you for months, and you haven’t shown up yet.”
“Well…when is it?”
“Wednesday night, 7:30. I know it’s short notice, but-”
“Works for me,” Hunter said, looking not at Susie, but at her.
“Sure,” she found herself saying, breaking eye contact. “I think I’m clear, too.”
“Great. It’s at our…it’s at my home just off Route 193, north of Tysons Corner. Annie knows where it is, but I’ll email you the directions. You’ll be glad you came. The people are wonderful. Inspiring. For me, they’ve meant so-”
“Excuse me,” Dylan said, pulling his ringing cell phone from a jacket pocket. “Yes?… Oh, Danika. Hi. Look, I’m tied up right now. Could I- What?”
His eyes widened, his lips parted. She exchanged glances with Susie.
“Sure… I understand… Listen, let the detective know I can meet him there about 4:30. Then call Bronowski back and tell him I’ll phone in about an hour, okay?… Thanks.”
He closed the phone. “Sorry for the interruption. That was my answering service. Considering what we’ve just been talking about, you’re not going to believe this.”
He pushed his cup and saucer aside, reached across the table and rested his hand on Susie’s. “Susanne, it seems that you have one less criminal to worry about. William Bracey has just been found shot dead.”
Her shoulders began to shake.
Then he was around the table, holding her close as she began to sob.
TWELVE
Washington, D.C.
Monday, September 8, 4:40 p.m.
Dylan Hunter liked Ed Cronin’s face.
The Alexandria homicide investigator had a squarish jaw, a fringe of close-cropped blond hair, and blue eyes that sparked with intelligence. He looked to be in his mid-forties; beneath his blue sports jacket he seemed trim and athletic. Maybe a handball player or runner. One of that minority of balding guys that women go for.
“I appreciate this, Mr. Hunter. I won’t take much of your time.”
“It’s okay, Sergeant Cronin. End of the workday. What can I do for you?”
“As I told your receptionist when I called, it’s about the murder of William Bracey.”
“Right. One of the trio I wrote about last week. I caught the news on the radio on my way here.”
“That’s the guy.”
“Well, I don’t think many people will lament his passing.”
Cronin smiled, the only editorial he would permit himself.
“But I put everything that I learned about the guy in the article. So if you’re looking for more information, I’m not sure I can help you.”
The detective leaned back in the guest chair. It didn’t creak as it had under the weight of its previous occupant. “Maybe you can. We found something unusual at the crime scene.”
He shut up. Waiting for him to fill the silence. The guy was good. But it would seem suspicious not to bite. “Unusual?”
Cronin reached into the large manila envelope he’d brought with him. Extracted a clear, zip-lock plastic bag and slid it across the desk toward him. He leaned over to look at it. Inside was a newspaper clipping with brownish spatters on it.
He looked up at his visitor. “You found this at the crime scene?”
Cronin nodded, watching him.
Hunter sat back, frowned, and spread his hands. “I don’t understand.”