let Albany, or even Harland, take the fall, anything to protect Cassie, but Cassie, in the end, wouldn’t let that happen.
That’s why I’ve been silent on the whole thing, why I wanted to reserve judgment until I spoke to her. Cassie killed a girl, her best friend, but the circumstances are what they are. The law provides excuses-extreme emotional distress, temporary insanity-in a clumsy attempt to reconcile competing societal concerns, to strike a balance between retribution and compassion. I don’t know what a judge would make of this. What a jury would decide. I have seen it better than anyone, the imperfect application of the law to the facts.
I didn’t stop for a single moment to consider whether Terry Burgos was insane. I went to work immediately to dispel that notion, lining up evidence to beat his defense, telling myself that he had a lawyer, that there was a jury, that the system provided safeguards to ensure that the truth came out.
But I was a prosecutor. My job was about more than winning. Yet in every piece of evidence demonstrating Burgos’s psychosis-and there was plenty of it-I saw only an obstacle to victory, a land mine to sidestep, something I had to discredit. I didn’t care whether I was right. I didn’t even ask the question.
Maybe, I will tell myself, what Burgos did was inevitable, that he had a short fuse that something, somehow, was going to light. If it wasn’t Ellie’s dead body setting him off, it would have been something else. Anyone provoked that easily was probably going to do it, anyway. Surely, I will remind myself, he should not be given a pass. He was a danger to society. He did kill four young women. It will be a debate I’ll play out the rest of my days.
“Do whatever you’re going to do,” Cassie says softly, her eyes shining once more with tears. “I won’t fight it. I‘m-I’m so tired of running.”
A prosecutor is given infinite discretion. He can decline to prosecute for any reason whatsoever. I am no longer a prosecutor, but the Mansbury murders were mine, and what happens to Cassie Bentley is entirely up to me, whether I like it or not.
“Good-bye, Gwendolyn Lake.” I leave Cassie standing motionless, staring out over the horizon, wondering if she’ll ever stop running.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I have relied on the talents and insights of others in helping create and shape this novel.
Bill Kunkle, a former colleague and the lead prosecutor in the matter of People v. John Wayne Gacy, was very generous in sharing his experiences and opinions on the prosecution of a schizophrenic serial killer. I wish I had a fraction of your war stories, Bill.
Dr. Ronald Wright, a forensic pathologist in Florida, again was liberal with his time and patience in answering technical questions and in helping make the discussion of dead people more interesting than I ever would have suspected.
My old law school classmate Matt Phillips was kind enough to lend me the brilliant mind of his wife, Dr. Wendy Phillips, who gave me an overview and some needed details on the subject of paranoid schizophrenia.
Jeff Gerecke gave me excellent direction and advice, as he has done for many years, and I am forever in his debt.
I rounded up two of the usual suspects to read the manuscript and offer anything that came to mind. Jim Jann, urban poet and leader of men, always manages to see things that I cannot and clues me in. Jim Minton, from minor details to plot flow to the big picture, always makes my books better. To this group I added Mike McDermott, who let me use his good name (literally) and whose comments on an early draft are greatly appreciated.
J. A. Konrath, who knows a few things about writing of serial killers and who has given me so much advice in my literary career, provided critical commentary, some advice, and a good jolt of encouragement, too. I owe him one-thousand.
Dan Collins, a federal prosecutor and a friend for life, was always there to answer my annoying questions about law enforcement. Or maybe that’s just because I sprang for drinks.
Larry Kirshbaum, my agent, teaches me something every time he opens his mouth. His enthusiasm is infectious and his wisdom limitless.
It’s not easy being my editor. But Brendan Duffy has been outstanding from start to finish in guiding this novel in matters big and small. This book wouldn’t be the same without him. I’m lucky to have such a talented partner in crime.
And finally, my wife, Susan, who listens to my endless jibber ing about my novels and who keeps me balanced and sane and deliriously happy. You still make my heart go pitter-pat.
David Ellis
