Page 2 of Save Her Life (Sandra Vos #1)

ONE

TWO DAYS EARLIER

Bruceton Mills, West Virginia

This was the place people wished for death to find them. Fluorescents flickered and buzzed overhead, their harsh light casting more shadows than already existed in this black hellhole. On each side, she was hemmed in by gray-painted concrete walls, and beneath her, the linoleum floors were unforgiving of rubber soles, raising the odd squeak in protest and leaving behind a strip of black.

Sandra Vos was following a corrections officer through USP Hazelton Penitentiary, a high-security federal prison, to the parole hearing room. She was here because the man who had killed her twin brother was requesting early release. Darrell Patton was only thirty-three years and three months into his fifty-year sentence. The full term wasn’t enough to compensate for Sam alone, but Patton was also charged for kidnapping his own seven-year-old daughter and holding thirty people hostage at gunpoint that fateful day. He deserved to serve every single year he’d been given. For Sam, she’d do her best to make sure that would happen.

Sam had been her entire world. More than her physical twin. Her twin flame. They had telepathy as attested to in some circles but dismissed by many skeptics and those in the scientific community. He could finish her sentences, and she his. Sometimes they could carry an entire conversation with just one look. It was like he was the other half of her, and when he was taken, she lost a piece of herself.

But they’d been through hell together and back between the loss of their parents and subsequent placements in various foster homes for two years before landing with a loving adoptive couple. The Davenports were nurturing souls brave enough to take on the responsibility of twelve-year-old twins because they didn’t want them separated. But just less than two short years later, the Davenports would bury one. Sandra had perched at the side of her brother’s grave tossing a flower onto his lowering casket, while the Davenports wept. She was too numb to cry.

At times that felt like yesterday.

Yet here Sandra was all these years later, still putting one foot in front of the other. Though she wasn’t left with much choice. The way she saw it, the best way to honor Sam’s life was to make the most of the one she had and whatever time she had left. They say that time heals, but it was more like a scab, able to be ripped off again and the wound made fresh.

It didn’t help that today took her straight back to that time. Not only was she forced to recall losing Sam in vivid detail, but she was about to face the man who had put him in the ground. The unfairness of it, that Patton had the nerve to request parole to claim his freedom early while her brother rotted six feet under poured acid on her grief. It had her reacting on instinct, standing up for her brother to protect his memory. She promised herself and Sam that for as long as she drew breath, she’d do her part to keep his killer behind bars.

The corrections officer she’d been following gestured for her to go into a room. Voices from inside filtered into the hallway. She took a deep, steadying inhale, thankful her career groomed her to remain calm in stressful situations. She’d lean on that training to get her through this.

She left the officer and entered the room. It was a simple, cool, sterile environment that held no secrets as to its purpose. Another officer stopped her and verified she was in the right place. “Parole hearing for Darrell Patton.”

She nodded. “I’m Sandra Vos, here to speak in opposition to release.”

He gestured toward a seating area, implying she pick a chair. There were ten total in two rows, all unoccupied.

She sat down in the front, trying to ignore the fact that Darrell Patton was mere feet away. He was sitting to the side of the room next to a man in a suit, most likely his attorney. Long lines marred his face, leaving a trace of every expression he’d ever made. His brown hair was heavily threaded with silver. When he’d gone away he was a twenty-five-year-old and was now a man of fifty-eight. Somehow in this environment, and with his vulnerable posture—slightly slumped forward and rounded shoulders—he appeared harmless, plain, tired, and haggard. But she believed nothing that her eyes could see. Not until it could be backed up by fact. For all she knew this persona was an act his lawyer told him to put on for the parole board.

A table was set out widthwise at the front of the room. Two board commissioners and the deputy commissioner were already seated there. They didn’t have name cards, but she had done her homework before coming and could identify each of them. They all made brief eye contact with her but remained expressionless. After all, they were serious men here for serious business.

She was surprised that Patton’s daughter or friends hadn’t shown up when notice would have been sent to all of them. They could have spoken for him. She found herself especially wondering about the daughter. She’d be thirty-nine now, since her birthday was in June. Did she ever develop a relationship with her father? Sandra imagined that would be challenging with him behind bars.

“The clock tells us it’s time to get started,” the deputy commissioner said in a cool tone, and the guard near the door started to close it, just as a man entered.

Sandra overheard him tell the guard his name was Lonnie Jennings, a friend of Patton’s, and he was there to speak to his favor. He was directed to take a seat and claimed the end chair in the front row, closer to Patton.

The deputy commissioner called the hearing to a start and requested that Darrell Patton’s attorney speak first.

He stood and positioned himself in front of the board, tugging down on his jacket and doing up its buttons. “My client is seeking approval for early release based on his exemplary record as a peaceful inmate. Darrell Patton has served thirty-three years and has lived with the consequences of his actions every one of those days. He regrets having put himself and the lives of others in danger.”

Sandra stiffened at how the lawyer had whitewashed his transgression, as if he hadn’t actually been responsible for the loss of life. Her fingers and arms became cold. Goosebumps rose. Chills were a common side effect when she became angry. It normally took her a long time to get there. Just not when it involved what happened to her brother. But she talked herself down by reminding herself her time to speak was coming. Then she’d make it clear just how dangerous Patton was then and now.

The lawyer continued. “Since his incarceration, he has been doing what he can to make up for his actions, and it is with a humble and pleading manner that he asks this parole board to approve his request for early release. He’s prepared to do all he can to secure employment and contribute to society.” The attorney returned to his seat.

“Very well.” The deputy commissioner leaned forward, both elbows on the table, looking over his glasses at Patton as he called on him to speak for himself.

Once Patton put himself in the same spot his lawyer had been, the deputy commissioner spoke again. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Patton?”

“That I’m sorry to everyone in this room that we even need to be here today, that my actions thirty-three years ago brought us to this day. I’m sorry to those I’ve hurt.” Patton turned to look directly at Sandra. She met his gaze, determined not to disclose any weakness even if her stomach was ice and her breathing labored.

“Beyond your apologies, Mr. Patton, tell us why we should consider early parole,” one of the board members said.

“I’ve changed in my time here. I was only twenty-five, young, naive, immature, when I carried out my crimes. In all the time that has passed, I’ve worked to improve myself every day and show that I’m a model inmate. You’ll see from my record that I’ve never initiated any fights in here, and I’ve always listened to the direction of the COs.”

“All very well, but what’s to say you are not a danger to yourself or others if you get out early?” This question came from the second board member.

“With respect, as I’ve said, I’m a different man now. I’ve even found God, and I’m regularly in attendance for Bible study.”

Sandra hated it when anyone pointed at their religious beliefs as evidence of being blameless. Some of the worst atrocities in history were done in the name of God or religion.

“You may return to your seat,” the deputy commissioner told Patton, and he did just that. Then he glanced at a piece of paper and looked up at her. “Sandra Vos, you are here today to oppose early parole for Darrell Patton?”

“I am, sir.”

He waved for her to get up. As she stood, she brushed her fingertips over the gold St. Michael pendant that dangled from a chain around her neck. It was passed on to her brother after their father’s death, then on to her. Standing tall, shoulders squared back, head high, chin slightly out to denote confidence and strength but not arrogance, she spoke. “As you just said, my name is Sandra Vos. Darrell Patton did more than put lives in danger. He killed my twin brother, Sam, at the age of fourteen. Sam, like any American teenager, loved and played football. After practice one day he decided to go out with his friends for pizza. Our mother, the sweet woman who adopted us just a couple years before, said he could, but she’s been haunted by that decision ever since. You see, that day, Sam never came home. All because Darrell Patton saw fit to kidnap his seven-year-old daughter and stop for pizza. His face was broadcast on a TV they had in the restaurant. People recognized him, including my brother. Sam spoke up though, and Darrell shot him just before locking down the place. Due to Mr. Patton’s refusal to release him for medical attention or surrender himself, Sam never received the help he needed. Sam died on scene. In the eyes of law enforcement, Sam was a tragedy, collateral damage, but he was far more than that to me and his family. Darrell Patton stole a light that day. He didn’t seem to care that he endangered lives. The people in the restaurant that day, but also his own daughter’s. His own flesh and blood,” she emphasized. “He knowingly packed a gun and took her into a public place, gambling with his daughter’s welfare. Even when given ample opportunities to surrender, Mr. Patton refused. As a negotiator with the FBI, I know the longer an incident stretches out, the window of opportunity for peaceful resolution starts to close. Darrell Patton was warned of this, but he continued to risk everyone’s life. Even his own. And sure, Mr. Patton might be a different man now. But consider this. He did what he did because he was desperate and down on his luck. He took his daughter because full custody had just been awarded to the girl’s mother. He felt he was wronged. That makes me fear what will happen if Mr. Patton gets out and feels wronged again. As this board is tasked with considering all the practicalities of early release, where does he plan to go if he gets out? How does he intend to support himself? From my knowledge, he’d be on his own. His daughter didn’t even see fit to attend this hearing. What if Mr. Patton becomes desperate again? What’s to prevent him from being triggered into committing another crime? How many people will die next time? You ask me, Darrell Patton is a danger to himself and society. I urge this board to deny request for parole.” She returned to her chair, satisfied with her presentation. Since the parole board’s main responsibility was to weigh whether Patton was a risk to himself or society, she wanted to end on that key point. Some aspects had been impromptu, but most of it she’d practiced to tedium in front of a mirror. Even a few times before her teenage daughter, Olivia, Liv for short. She had given her mother two thumbs up, but there was far more on the line today.

“Thank you, Ms. Vos,” the deputy commissioner said. He turned to Patton and asked, “What are your plans if you are released? Where will you go? How will you make a living?”

Patton stood and cleared his throat. “I’m still working out the details.”

The three men tasked with determining Patton’s fate all looked at each other. Their facial expressions made it clear they were not impressed.

One of the board members asked, “Will your daughter be supportive of you? As Ms. Vos pointed out, she’s not even here today.”

Patton glanced over his shoulder, and his cheeks burned bright red. “I haven’t talked to my daughter since that day, though I have tried reaching out to her numerous times. I have confidence if I were freed, I could build a relationship with her.”

“That sounds to me like you plan to manipulate your daughter’s feelings to suit your purpose, which, I’ll be honest, doesn’t sit well with me. What if she doesn’t agree to reconciliation?” The deputy commissioner leveled an expectant gaze at Patton, and Sandra felt a spike of victory.

“If I may step in,” the lawyer said, standing next to his client. “Mr. Patton has also learned a trade during his time here. Woodworking, and it’s something he can utilize on the outside to support himself. Until he gets himself on his feet, I am confident his friends will take him in.”

The man from the end of the row, Lonnie Jennings, now stood. “If I may say something?”

“We will be getting to you just shortly.” The deputy commissioner fired him with a glare.

Jennings sat back down.

The lawyer gestured toward Jennings. “I believe Mr. Jennings was going to offer to take in Darrell Patton. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Jennings said.

The board didn’t look impressed at the temporary loss of control over the direction of the hearing.

“All right, Mr. Jennings, let’s hear your statement,” the deputy commissioner said to regain ground.

Sandra tuned out most of what the man said, aside from the fact the two men were friends since childhood, and Jennings had witnessed the change in his friend. He put it on the record he’d take Patton in if he was released.

Eventually, the hearing was called to a close with the promise a decision should be reached by Friday.

Two days from now. Whether it took that full length of time or not, every minute was sure to feel much longer.

As everyone cleared out, Patton was looking at her, and she stared right back. She saw a man who regretted what he’d done, but she wasn’t sure if the reason was pure or selfish. Would he feel that remorse if he hadn’t been caught?

She waited for Patton to break eye contact before leaving. As she walked down the hall toward the exit, she felt confident that by showing up here today she had made a difference. And she was prepared to come back every twenty-four months as he became eligible to appeal again. Between her intention and a thing called justice, Darrell Patton would serve out his full fifty years.