Heart of a Killer by David Rosenfelt Read Free Book Online

is James Wagner, but he has not commented on the report.”
    My initial, desperate refuge was in the mention of the lawyer’s name as “James,” rather than “Jamie,” but since James is my real name, that is how I am listed with the bar association. In any event, I knew down deep that another James Wagner having a client named Harrison, in a situation that was newsworthy, was too much of a coincidence to really hope for.
    I went right to my computer and turned it on. I have Yahoo! as my home page, and the first thing I noticed was the name Sheryl Harrison. It was at the top of the “trending now” list, which probably meant her name was at that moment the most searched name on the web.
    My hope was that Sheryl somehow gave an interview from prison, but I knew that wasn’t going to turn out to be the case.
    The story was everywhere; I had my choice of where I wanted to read it. I chose The New York Times ; there would be time to check out the more sensationalized versions later. And sure enough, it was a straightforward recounting of the facts, at least in its initial paragraphs. It then eased into a legal analysis of the law as it relates to assisted suicide, both in New Jersey and nationally.
    It was completely clear that either Constance Barkley went to the press after I left, or she went to her superiors, who then decided to go public. It made sense for them, especially since I had stupidly threatened to do so myself. This way they got to frame the story in their terms; the first time the public saw the facts they would be getting the government version.
    Also mentioned in the story, as it had been on television, was the fact that I was not available for comment. Then I realized why. I turn off the ringer on my phone during the night and let the machine pick up. Late-night phone calls have always scared me; nobody calls after midnight with good news. So I avoid them.
    There were eighteen messages on the machine, since that was all that it could hold. I didn’t know how many people couldn’t get through, and I had no desire to find out.
    Seventeen of the calls were from media outlets, imploring me to call them back. Quite a few of them implied that they were on my side, and that I could use them as a platform to spread our word.
    The one call not from a media person was a woman’s voice that I recognized as Sheryl’s. Even if I hadn’t recognized it, the message would have made the identity of the caller crystal clear.
    All she said was, “Harvard, you are an asshole. A major asshole. Thanks for telling my daughter and the entire world that she is going to die.”
    Had Sheryl Harrison employed a cadre of advisers for twenty years, giving them as their only task coming up with words to cause me pain, they couldn’t have done as well as she did with that message. I hadn’t even considered the effect on Karen, how stunned, frightened, and devastated she would be.
    I hadn’t thought through the impact my actions might have; I just blundered ahead with the first idea that popped into my head. And now it was too late; nothing I could do from that point on could make up for what Karen Harrison had to be going through.
    I decided not to call any of the reporters back, for two reasons. First of all, I hadn’t decided what to tell them, and I had already said enough to regret for a decade. More important, Sheryl deserved to be the first one I talked to. That way she could fire me, and it would no longer matter what the hell I said to anyone.
    They were waiting in front of the building; I would call it a small army of media people, except for the fact that it wasn’t small, and it wasn’t just people. There were also trucks, and cameras, and microphones.
    The garage where I parked was about two hundred feet from the front door of my apartment, and it took me twenty minutes to navigate it. I decided to make one statement, so as not to look as if we had nothing to say on our side.
    “I’m not going to comment