Death of a Pharaoh Read online

  My Dad told me not to worry. A man in a suit walked in, whispered something to the cop then came over to my parents.

  “Mr. Murphy, I’m Detective Angelini and I’d like to talk to your son if that’s alright?”

  My father nodded his agreement.

  “Hello Ryan, how are you feeling?” the detective asked me, real friendly like.

  “My head’s a bit sore.”

  “Do you remember what happened with the taxi?”

  “I think I killed that man.”

  “You sure did,” he affirmed. “Question is why son?”

  “I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to help the kid.”

  “That’s the problem we’re having, how did you know that Samuel was there?”

  I hesitated too long trying to find the right answer.

  “If you knew that Mr. Slomkowski took the boy and was holding him in his home then you are an accessory to kidnapping and you’re in big trouble.”

  My Dad’s face turned red with anger and he interrupted the detective.

  “If this is an interrogation then I think you should wait until our attorney arrives. We’re expecting him any moment.” It wasn’t a request.

  “Sure, no problem! The officer will stay though,” he told them. “Ryan has to take a ride to the precinct as soon as the attending gives us permission. Tell your attorney that if your son doesn’t start to spill what he knows there will be charges. The Deputy District Attorney is working on the file as we speak,” he announced.

  He turned to my mother, “My apologies for the interruption Ma’am,”

  When the doctor assured my parents that I hadn’t suffered a concussion, the cop drove me in his squad car to the station. My legal counsel, Lloyd Hamilton a founding partner of Hamilton and Dunbar, sat at my side. My father assured me that he was one of the best criminal lawyers in New York. I didn’t really understand why I needed one.

  When we arrived, Detective Angelini announced that he needed to meet with the District Attorney before we started. I felt exhausted while we waited in the interview room on the fourth floor of the 22nd Precinct. I tried to piece together in my mind what had happened. I remembered bumping into the man on the corner and I must have picked up something very bad to follow him straight away.

  Without a doubt, it had something to do with the kid they found tied up in a small bedroom in the house. I lost the vision when I blacked out but I was certain the boy had been in danger. The cops told me there was no sign of abuse. Still, this was far more serious than starting a fire in the internet cafe. I killed someone and it would prove difficult to explain how I came to be at the house. I couldn’t just tell a detective that I was clairvoyant. I hadn’t mentioned it to my lawyer, but even I knew it wouldn’t hold water as a defense against vehicular manslaughter.

  I sat there trying to come up with a convincing story when the door opened and Detective Angelini walked in with a notepad, a file folder, a cup of foul smelling coffee and something far worse brewing on his face.

  “Counselor, it’s been a long time,” he remarked. “Isn’t this slumming for you?”

  “His father is an old friend,” my lawyer explained then cut right to the chase, “Why is my client even here?”

  “Because he stole a taxi and used it to commit voluntary manslaughter. Motor vehicle theft is a felony the last time I looked and unless he starts talking, the manslaughter charge just might become murder.”

  “My client had no intention of killing Mr. Slomkowski. It was an accident,” he insisted. “Aren’t you forgetting about the young boy he saved, detective?”

  “Sure his actions allowed us to recover the boy before he’d been harmed, but my question is how did your client know that Samuel was in the house?”

  Both of them looked at me.

  “Mr. Slomkowski told me,” I confessed.

  “You expect me to believe that the perp walked up to you on the street and just spilled to you that he was holding an eight year old boy captive. Do I look stupid, son?

  “Yessir… I mean no sir; just pissed!”

  My lawyer coughed to cover his amusement.

  “Let me tell you what I think happened,” the detective offered. “Your client knew the victim. Maybe he had been his favorite when he was younger but when he reached puberty he was already too old for Mr. Slomkowski’s prepubescent tastes.”

  He scrutinized me for a reaction.

  “Didn’t like that did you Ryan?” He goaded. “Made you angry, mad enough to want to kill him?”

  “Not true,” I protested, “I never met the guy until today.”

  “Counselor, we believe the pedophile wasn’t acting alone, that he had an accomplice who could win the trust of the young boys he liked. We think your client was helping him. That’s the only explanation for how he knew where Samuel was hidden.”

  “That is preposterous,” my lawyer blustered.

  The detective ignored him. “Problem is your client got in over his head and started to feel guilty. What about the time he set fire to a video store? Maybe he’d been lining up kids to star in those twink porno flicks? How come your client always seems to know everyone’s dirty little secrets?”

  “Those records are sealed,” my lawyer reminded him. “They are not admissible in court.”

  “The District Attorney is filing to have them opened for the Grand Jury. He will charge your client with serious crimes and he is going to do time. I would suggest you consider a plea bargain.”

  I swallowed hard. Even I knew things weren’t going well.

  “We’re done here Counselor. The arraignment is at 8.00 AM tomorrow. He’ll have to spend the night in lock-up.”

  “He’s only a teenager; you can’t leave him overnight with hardened criminals off the street.”

  “He should have thought of that before he killed someone. I doubt any of his cellmates tonight will have as many serious charges pending against them as your client. Maybe they’re the ones who need protection?” he ironized. “His parents can have a minute before the officer takes him away,” he conceded then gathered up his papers and left.

  I understood I had to go to jail but I didn’t look forward to the experience. If you think visions from the general population were rough, the memories of the bunch of criminals that awaited me in lock-up would be a nightmare.

  There was a constant stream of depravity even without touching anyone. I finally sat beside a nice Puerto Rican girl arrested for soliciting. She let me rest my head on her shoulder. All she thought about was getting back to her young daughter when she made bail. The four year old was safe with her mother. She couldn’t wait to make enough money to go back to school and leave the streets. She hoped it would be soon. She had to do it for her daughter. I finally fell asleep.

  My lawyer arrived first thing with some clean clothes for my appearance in court.

  “How was the night?”

  “I slept a bit, thanks. What’s going to happen now?”

  “In a few minutes they will take you to the holding pen just outside the courtroom. It shouldn’t be a long wait. When they call your name, they’ll bring you before the judge who will decide on bail. I’ll be there. Let me do the talking.”

  “Yessir,” I assured him.

  The holding area was packed. I squeezed in between two guys on a bench. The one on my left faced a charge of DUI. The man he hit was hanging on for life in the trauma ward. If he lived, he’d never walk again. The driver barely had a scratch. All he could think about was how much he needed a drink.

  Asshole, I mumbled to myself.

  The man on my right congratulated himself for only getting collared on a simple attempted B&E. I saw the entire rape and murder of the woman whose body he left in a townhouse two doors down from where he had been apprehended trying to pick a lock. He figured he’d be out on bail and over the state line long before anyone missed the waitress, since she worked the night shift at the diner over on McCall from where he followed her home last night.
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  A little voice told me it wasn’t any of my business. I was already in enough trouble, thank you very much. But I knew if he got away he might kill again. I walked over to the bailiff on duty and asked if I could make a phone call.

  “Do I look like Verizon?”

  “Just one call,” I pleaded. “It’s urgent.”

  “It always is kid. Now go sit down and wait your turn.”

  Before I could consider another plan, the door to the courtroom opened and a woman called out my name. An officer led me to where my lawyer stood. Family and friends of the arrested packed the courtroom, including my parents, attorneys waiting for the next cases, social workers and even Detective Angelini.

  “Does your client wave the reading?” the judge asked in a bored voice. He looked like he had slept worse than I had.

  “Your honor may I approach?” I blurted out interrupting my own lawyer.

  “Mr. Murphy this isn’t Judge Judy, we have procedures here and wasting my time isn’t one of them.”

  “This is real important, sir, honest.”

  He shot me an exasperated look but motioned me forward.

  I walked to the front, leaned on his bench then tapped his microphone, “Is this still on?”

  The judge covered the microphone with his right hand.

  “Sir, there’s this guy in there,” I pointed to the holding room, “and he told me that he is getting away with murder since no one knows about the body two doors down from where the cops arrested him trying to break in.”

  “He told you that?” The judge sounded skeptical.

  “Yessir.”

  “Why?”

  “People always tell me their secrets,” I told him truthfully.

  The judge stared at me for a moment.

  “Bailiff, call a detective in here right away,” he ordered. “Court adjourned ten minutes.”

  Detective Angelini came forward and showed his badge to the bailiff.

  The judge turned and looked at me over his reading glasses, “Don’t know what game you’re playing but I’ll get to you in a while. Go back with you lawyer. Get!”

  A buzz of chatter filled the courtroom while everyone wondered what had happened. My parents looked anxious. My lawyer looked annoyed. The judge motioned for Detective Angelini to approach. He looked confused. I couldn’t hear their whispered conversation. The magistrate handed him a paper with what I assumed was the address of the break-in. The detective put it in his pocket then gave me a sour look as he left. We all stood as the judge retired to his chambers.

  We waited in the courtroom for almost an hour. When the judge returned, he looked preoccupied. “Do the People wish to proceed with the charges?” he asked.

  “Yes, your honor, the information provided by Mr. Murphy in an unrelated case only supports our theory that he is an accomplice in several serious crimes. He always seems to know where an offense has been committed but can never explain how. We are certain further charges will be added to the case.”

  “Once again, Counselor, does your client wave the reading?”

  “Yes, your honor”

  “How does your client plead?”

  “Your honor, against my advice, my client wishes to plead guilty.”

  The Assistant District Attorney was about to speak when the judge interrupted her.

  “Mr. Murphy, do you understand the consequences of a guilty plea? It does not necessarily mean that you will receive a lesser sentence. You will be convicted of serious crimes and no matter the time given, a criminal record will follow you for the rest of your life,” he warned.

  I nodded my head.

  “Counselor, do you think you can change his mind?”

  “No your honor, he appears determined.”

  “We’ll need a psych evaluation. I want to make certain he understands what he is doing.”

  “Mr. Murphy, I am sending you back to lock-up until this is sorted out. Counselors, I want to see both of you in my chambers. Now!”

  I wondered if I had made the right move while they cuffed me and led me away. The murderer looked a lot less sure of himself when I strolled back into the holding cell. He paced nervously around the room as if he sensed that the delay was not a good sign. I had barely sat down when the detective came to read him his rights on the new charges. I guess they’d found the body. On the way out, Angelini made a face that said, “I’m coming for you later.”

  It didn’t matter. For the first time in years, I felt 100% certain about a decision. I didn’t know what prompted me to make the guilty plea but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was what I was supposed to say, like my destiny or something. I actually smiled when a court officer came in and escorted me to a small interview room where my lawyer waited.

  “Am I in more trouble?”

  He ignored the question.

  “Ryan, you need to change your plea to not guilty. As your attorney, I can’t allow you to make such a grievous error. If you refuse, you will be sentenced to an adult facility for several years and I don’t have to tell you what will happen to a young guy like you in a real jail.”

  “But I did kill that man. I am guilty and I’m not going to lie.”

  “We all know that everything you did was to try and help that kid. You don’t deserve to go to jail for that.”

  “Yes I do. Murder is murder and my mind is made up. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.”

  The court psychologist met with me later that same day. He asked me a bunch of questions to see if I truly understood everything that was happening. I think I convinced him. My second night in remand was better. I found a corner where I didn’t have to touch anyone and fell into a deep slumber but even there my nightmare came back.

  The next morning, my lawyer looked like he had lost his best friend.

  “This is your last chance, Ryan, I beg you to reconsider your plea.”

  “Thanks but no thanks,” I reaffirmed, “Can I see my parents?”

  “You’ll have a few moments with them before you are sentenced. This is going to be hard on them.”

  They looked devastated. I felt I had let them down. I wondered if they ever regretted that they hadn’t picked a different baby that fateful day sixteen years ago. They deserved better. We hugged. My mother cried softly until the clerk called my name for the second time.

  The judge was more somber than yesterday and the Assistant District Attorney didn’t seem that thrilled with what would be an easy victory.

  “I’ve read the psych report. It appears that Mr. Murphy is fully conscious of the implications of a guilty plea.”

  He paused as he searched for the next words. I smiled at him to make it easier.

  “This is your last chance Mr. Murphy. How do you plead to the charges?”

  “Guilty, your honor.”

  “Do the People agree with the proposed sentence?”

  “We do.”

  He reached for his gavel.

  “Mr. Murphy, it has been a difficult day. I feel that I should be thanking you for your meritorious service to that young boy and to the memory of the women murdered early yesterday. I do not understand how you came to know of these crimes but at the same time, common sense supports the theory of the People that somehow you were involved or at least aware. It is the only explanation. I have struggled all morning with my decision and I will forever carry the burden that someday when I meet my maker, I may be called to task for sending one of his angels to jail.”

  My mother gasped.

  “Unfortunately, your guilty plea leaves me no choice. On all counts, I hereby sentence you to a period of not less than five years and no more than ten, to be served in an adult facility. May God have mercy on my soul!”

  He slammed the gavel down.

  I embraced my parents while the court officer waited patiently to put me in chains.

  They transported me immediately in a Department of Corrections bus to the Downstate Medium Security Prison in nearby Dutchess County, which serves as a
receiving and classification center for new inmates. I would spend five days there while I completed a series of interviews, medical tests and psychological evaluations so they could decide where to send me.

  On arrival, they deloused all of us even though I assured the officer I didn’t have any on me. They gave me a permanent Department Identification Number, called a DIN, a free haircut and DOC standard issue green overalls. I couldn’t have any visitors until they assigned me a prison. On the fifth day, they told me I was going to Sullivan County Correctional in Fallsburg; not too far for my parents to travel.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning after breakfast, they gave me a large envelope with all my paperwork but I didn’t get on a van until late afternoon after I waited hours for another prisoner going to the same facility.

  They chained us to a seat together. The other guy had a shaved head, bad teeth and tattoos all over his body. Even though I had no interest, I soon learned that he was Slovakian and an enforcer for a criminal gang that smuggled women from East European countries with the promise of jobs as nannies and au pairs. When they got here, they forced the girls to prostitute themselves. I tried to avoid any contact but the guy was huge. His bulk took up his side and half of mine, and the entire drive became an endless loop of rape, savage beatings and even murder. He was a sadist who loved his work and I made a mental note to avoid him as much as possible if we ended up in the same block.

  We’d already learned the drill at Downstate so the arrival process was quick and easy. They finally separated me from the Neanderthal who went to a special wing for violent offenders. I was happy to see the back of his head with its swastika tattoo and all. After a walk down a long corridor where a different officer scanned my DIN every time we came to a door, we finally arrived at Cellblock D.

  The catcalls began as soon as they pushed me through the main door like a steer at auction. I was the first new inmate that week. Most of the comments blended into an unintelligible din with everyone yelling over each other but I didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know that I was in serious danger of losing my virginity a second time. It probably wouldn’t be as much fun as it had been with Maria Fanelli in her bedroom that night. Hard to believe that barely a year had gone by since then. The guards slowed the pace to prolong the verbal abuse. I’d heard that they placed bets on how long it would take for each new inmate to get punked.