Claibourne Correctional Facility Claibourne, Virginia
Monday, September 8, 10:15 a.m.
The first man to enter was short and pudgy and wore a red plaid shirt and tan slacks. He had receding, copper-colored hair and a goatee, both wiry and unkempt. Smiling, he moved purposefully across the room to the window where the women sat.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Frankfurt. We spoke on the phone. Susanne, so good of you to come.” He took the chair opposite Annie, and they exchanged introductions.
Hunter kept his eyes on the open doorway. A corrections officer stood there waiting, then stepped back.
Adrian Wulfe strode in.
The guy was huge, about six-six, big-boned and lanky. He wore pale blue-gray prison coveralls. His eyebrows drooped downward at the outside, giving him a faintly sad look. His hair was a bit shorter than Hunter recalled from his photo, but still tossed back loosely, indifferently. As he moved to take his seat, Hunter saw that his nose in profile was large and blade-like, reminding him of an American Indian. He didn’t speak, but nodded once at Susanne, in acknowledgment.
Her eyes bore into him, wide and unblinking. Her lips were a thin scar, and her fingers gripped the edge of the stainless-steel desktop.
Annie’s eyes were filled with contempt.
Frankfurt tried to break the ice. “Let me say: It’s so good of you all to do this!” It sounded forced, like a comic trying to warm up a tough crowd. “Susanne, I know this is a big step for you, just as it is for Adrian. I’m so proud of you both. And Ms. Woods, thank you so much for accompanying Susanne. I understand that you’ve been a central pillar in her restorative support system. That’s why-”
“Her what?”
He blinked. “Restorative support system. Friends, family, peer-group members-all those who have been there to help her through the Four Restorative Stages.”
“Look, I don’t know a damned thing about your ‘restorative stages.’ I do know that Susanne has some things that she needs to say”-she pointed right at Wulfe-“to that piece of crap that’s stinking up your room.”
Hunter laughed, wishing that they could hear him.
Wulfe eased back in his chair, staring at her. He smiled slightly; it looked pasted into place and didn’t reach his eyes.
Frankfurt didn’t notice; he was too preoccupied waving his hands around, as if erasing a student’s embarrassing mistake from a blackboard. “Now, I fully understand how difficult this is for all concerned. But we’ve already taken the first big step, so please let’s try to move forward in a mutually positive spirit. Your role here, Ms. Woods, is only as a nonparticipating observer, to lend emotional support to Susanne. So before we begin, let me explain how this Restorative Justice Dialogue will proceed.”
He leaned forward, continuing his contrived eagerness. “First, the victim”-he nodded toward Susanne-“will have the opportunity to explain how she feels and felt, and what needs were not met as the result of the offender’s actions. Then, the offender must repeat what he has heard, and he must continue to listen and repeat what the victim says she feels and needs.
“Once our victim feels completely heard, then she will be ready to listen to what Adrian, our offender, feels and needs now-and also what he felt and needed at the time of the offense. Susanne then will reflect those feelings and needs back to her offender. At the end of our dialogue, Susanne will make a request to Adrian, and Adrian will do likewise. Our aim is to arrive at a strategy for resolution.”
Hunter watched as Annie’s expression moved from incomprehension to incredulity to indignation. She got up from her chair and leaned toward Frankfurt, just inches from the glass, her palms flat on the counter.
“Are you telling us,” she said slowly, through her teeth, “that Susie is supposed to sit here and swap feelings with this-”
“Annie, don’t.”
They turned to Susanne.
“It’s okay. Really. Remember, I get to speak first.”
Something unspoken passed between the women. Annie sat down slowly. Crossed her arms. He saw that she and Wulfe locked eyes.
“For the last time, Ms. Woods, I must caution you that you aren’t to interrupt the dialogue between Susanne and Adrian. Susanne, would you like to go ahead and say something to Adrian?”
She drew a breath, released it. Placed her hands on her lap. Raised her eyes to Wulfe’s.
“Two years ago, on a beautiful July evening, you and two young thugs destroyed my life. I don’t have to tell you what you did. But maybe he”-she glanced at Frankfurt-“doesn’t know the whole story. So let me tell it.
“Arthur and I were going home from a friend’s house, down a country road, when we had to stop because of a flat tire. He tried to change it, but the lug nuts were too tight. And out there, we couldn’t get a cell signal. So we were just standing beside the car, waiting for somebody to come along, when the three of you drove up. At first, you pretended that you wanted to play Good Samaritan. You were all smiles. Next thing I knew, your friends grabbed me, and you punched Arthur and knocked him down.
“Then you dragged us into the weeds beside the road. And you held Arthur down, and you made him watch-while they raped me.” She paused. “And you know what else they did to me, too… And through that whole nightmare, I remember Arthur screaming and crying and I heard you laughing and hitting him and telling him to shut up, and then laughing some more at what they were doing to me, and telling them to hurry up, because they didn’t have a lot of time, and it was your turn.”
She stopped. Her eyes were closed.
Adrian Wulfe’s face was expressionless.
“It must have made you feel so very powerful to do that to Arthur, didn’t it, Mr. Wulfe? I mean, to hit him, hold him down, humiliate him like that? After all, Arthur wasn’t a great big guy like you. And Arthur wouldn’t have known how to overpower or hurt someone. Because he never wanted to. He was a doctor, Mr. Wulfe. A plastic surgeon. Unlike you, he devoted his whole life to fixing people’s injuries-not causing them. Sometimes, he even had to repair the horrible damage that monsters like you cause.”
Frankfurt squirmed in his seat. Wulfe sat motionless.
“You and I both know you were going to kill us that night, Mr. Wulfe. You wouldn’t have wanted to leave us alive to identify you. It was sheer dumb luck for us that you didn’t-if you want to call us lucky for surviving. If it wasn’t for that pizza delivery kid driving past with his windows down, who heard our screaming and radioed for the cops, I wouldn’t be here. Of course-” Her voice caught. “Of course, Arthur isn’t here. Is he, Mr. Wulfe? No, because he couldn’t deal with it.”
She turned to Frankfurt, her eyes blazing. “So, doctor. You want me to talk about how I felt. You want me to talk about how I feel. You want me to say what I need. Let me tell you what I need. I need my husband back. I need the wonderful man who shot himself ten days ago, to end the hell that son of a bitch put him through. I need the husband he took from me! I need the man he murdered, just as sure as if he’d bashed in his skull with the tire iron that night. So tell me, doctor: How do you suppose he’s going to ‘restore’ my husband? And why in God’s name should I give a damn about his feelings and his needs?”
Frankfurt shifted again uncomfortably.
“You’re right, Mrs. Copeland.”
They all turned to Adrian Wulfe.
“There’s absolutely no reason why you should care about anything I feel or need. Absolutely none. Everything you said about me-you’re right. It was monstrous, what I did. Inexcusable.”
Susanne just stared at him, as if she no longer had the capacity for speech.
“The only reason I asked for this meeting,” he continued, his voice rumbling deep and soft, “was to give you the chance to say these things to my face. Things you need to say, but weren’t given the opportunity to say in the courtroom. But there’s no reason for you to listen to me. Nothing I can say could ever undo all the suffering I’ve caused you and your husband. It would be insulting of me to even try to apologize.”
Susanne Copeland was trembling. A tear began a thin track down her cheek.
“Do you have anything else that you’d like to say to me, Mrs. Copeland?” Wulfe asked. “I’ll stay here as long as you want me to.”
She shook her head. Tears were now flowing freely. Annie reached out to touch her shoulder.
“In that case, doctor, there’s no reason she should have to endure my presence any longer.”
He rose to his feet. Nodded to Susanne. Then met Annie’s angry frown with a little smile.
You goddamned manipulative fraud.
Hunter rushed to the door, yanked it open. In the hallway, a few feet away, two waiting corrections officers leaning against the wall straightened when they saw him.
Two seconds later, the door to Wulfe’s cubicle opened and he emerged.
Hunter went for him. “Wulfe!”
The prisoner looked his way, startled. The guards jumped between them, one blocking his path while the other pushed Wulfe in the opposite direction.
“Hold on, buddy! You stop right there!” the nearest officer yelled to Hunter, pressing him back.
He stopped. He wasn’t about to hurt innocent people just to get at the guy.
“Look at me, Wulfe.”
Towering above the head of the other guard, the inmate stared back at him.
“See this face? I want you to remember it in your nightmares. Because someday, it’ll be the last face you’ll ever see.”
*
The three of them sat in a small diner on the outskirts of Claibourne, the old-fashioned kind that looked like a railroad car parked on the side of the highway. She and Susie faced Dylan Hunter on the opposite side of the booth. Annie suspected that he was hungry, but since they were only having hot tea, he stuck to coffee.
“You actually spoke to him, then,” Susie said.
“Briefly.”
“What did you say to him?”
He took a sip from his mug. “Enough.”
Annie studied him more closely. His was a masculine face, not pretty-boy handsome, but rough-handsome. Skin creased and slightly weathered, as if he spent his years outdoors. Deep-set eyes, constantly on the move, seeming to miss nothing. Cleft chin, broad nose, thick tangle of dark brown hair. She thought she saw a thin, faint scar along his jawline. He looked more like a prizefighter than a reporter.
Those eyes caught her watching him; she lowered her gaze to her teacup.
“You think it was all some kind of ruse, then.”
“Yes, Susanne, I do.”
“What could he possibly hope to gain?”
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.