Chapter 44

Simon had been dead for nearly 48 hours. His body was discovered early on the morning following Jeff’s arrest. Suicide was a possible cause, but did not seem likely to the one detective who had recently become aware of the little drug business Simon had run out of his Bainbridge Street apartment.

Detective Barry Steiner had recently begun watching Simon and his activities. Suicide was far down on Steiner’s list of the possible ways Simon Edwards’ life might have ended. According to one of Steiner’s most dependable snitches, Simon had only recently gotten himself into a ‘situation,’ owing money that he couldn’t pay back. But Simon had seemed like a fighter - like someone who would not give in or give up. It was almost certain to Steiner that he had been murdered, but there were no suspects. Simon was only a minor player on the city’s drug scene. He was dealing in amounts of money that were barely big enough to justify murder, and in the past he seemed to have been scared enough or conscientious enough to keep on top of all the money he owed.

Steiner was a smart, practical cop - good at getting to the bottom of a situation quickly. He was 48, with a gruff manner that masked his underlying warmth. He was working on several drug cases and resented the interruption caused by Simon’s murder. There were other major players whose murders he might have welcomed, but this one was just an annoyance. His plan had been to talk to the neighbors, find out the patterns - who was going in and out of the building, and for how long, arrest Simon and offer him immunity for testifying against the bigger players. He could have used him as an informant, and he knew well that Simon would have jumped at the chance. Now he wondered who the hell had spoiled his plan.

He and his partner went to Simon’s apartment to fish around for clues, since there had been no signs of forced entry. Nobody to interview - at least nobody who would talk to him or tell him the truth. Steiner didn’t have time to waste on this one, and hoped he could solve it in a couple of days and get back to the more important work. He thought he had become jaded after too many years on the force. The miserable life of one more small-time drug dealer meant almost nothing to him. Good riddance - on to the next case. The fact that Simon was also an artist made Steiner care just a tiny bit more - it meant Simon had some redeeming qualities. And it meant for sure that Simon would have jumped at the chance to act as an informant and save his own neck. Now there was no neck left to save.

Steiner knew it was important to go through Simon’s apartment before any of his colleagues had a chance to mess with the case. He knew what to look for and where to look when the landlord willingly opened up the apartment without a warrant. The next step would be getting a warrant to make his findings official. Not procedure, but the way it worked in the corrupt drug world. A compartment built into the floor in the back hallway revealed two kilos of heroin. He did not look any further - just hoped one of his less honest colleagues would not find it before he obtained the warrant.

Simon’s body was carted off to the coroner, and Steiner was impatient to learn the cause of death. No pill bottle could be found anywhere - just a glass of something he had been drinking. Steiner smelled it and identified it as absinthe. If there was poison in the glass, he couldn’t tell without an analysis of the contents. A heart attack? Maybe from sampling a little too much of his own supply. Steiner would check Simon’s phone records. They almost always held some clues. Typical of many young people, there was no house phone, and Steiner’s search for a cell phone produced nothing. That disturbed him. If there was one thing he could be sure of, it was the fact that Simon would never have been separated from his cell.

Annoyed once again, now he would have to waste more time reconstructing his phone records from the past couple of months. No phone and no pills. Who double locked Simon’s door? Who had a key? Family member? Girlfriend?

It was late at night by the time Steiner managed to get a warrant, obtain Simon’s phone records, and go through them in detail. A lot of calls to numbers he recognized, a bunch of quick calls he knew to be the pattern of drug ‘customers,’ but also a reasonable number of calls to a Philadelphia number he would have to research. Steiner had all the resources he needed at his disposal. The number came up as a cell phone owned by a Debbie Sadlers. “Sadlers,” he said quietly to himself. “That’s strange,” he said a little louder. He had heard of Genevieve Sadlers, a Main Line socialite who had died in an accidental fall a few weeks earlier, but who was this Debbie? Although it was midnight, once he was stuck on a point, the time didn’t matter. He called his partner, Vince Lantana. “Ever heard of a Debbie Sadlers?” Vince was sound asleep. “Never. Any relation to Genevieve Sadlers?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Steiner said. “Never mind. Go back to sleep. I’m sure it can wait ‘til morning.”

Much like Cynthia, Barry Steiner had an impeccable instinct. It wasn’t just the obvious presence of a frequently-dialed number. It was something in his gut that told him he needed to check it out.

He decided to let it go for the night, opened a beer, and turned on the television in the bedroom. In ten minutes he was asleep. He had set the alarm for 7 a.m. and was not happy when it rang. He longed for the time he could retire and sleep all morning.

But this morning he wanted to figure out a simple annoying little probable murder and be done with it. He poured a cup of coffee that had prepared itself automatically on a timer, dumped in some cream and sugar, and took a big gulp, hoping it would work its magic quickly.

Then he set about finding an address for Debbie Sadlers. Suddenly the name rang more of a bell. Jefferson Sadlers had just been arrested for a series of murders. Who was Debbie and what was her connection? It took one quick call to his division to get the answer. She was the wife of the Orchestra Killer. How strange, he thought. How was she involved, and what was her connection to a small-time drug dealer/artist? He had the address he needed, and hoped for a quick answer to his question. He was in his car, the cup of coffee still in his hand.

Half an hour later, he was knocking on the door of the Sadlers apartment. “Just a minute,” a female voice answered. “Who is it?”

“Detective Barry Steiner. Philadelphia Police. I need to speak with you, Mrs. Sadlers.”

“OK, but let me see your ID,” Debbie said. She sounded tired. It was 9:15 a.m. and she was in a deep sleep, still trying to absorb all that had happened in the past few days. Reporters had used all kinds of excuses to knock on her door. She grabbed a lavender colored robe and put it on as she prepared to open the door, looking through the peephole first to see Steiner holding up a police badge. She was satisfied that he was telling the truth, and unlocked the door.

Steiner could see that she was sleepy and disheveled. In his experience, that was the best time to conduct an interview. He could watch his subjects searching for an answer, and could tell instantly if they were lying.

“Is this about my husband?” she asked. “I saw him yesterday in prison. It was a terrible shock.”

“No, Mrs. Sadlers. I’m afraid it is not about Mr. Sadlers. It has to do with a young man who was found dead yesterday. His name is Simon Edwards. There were a number of phone calls made to your number from his cell phone, and from yours to his. We’re wondering what the connection might be. Was he a friend of yours? An acquaintance? Anything you can tell me would be very helpful.”

“What did you say his name was? Simon? I’m afraid I have no idea who he was, or why he might have called my number. It was probably a wrong number. I may have returned the calls just to see who was calling me, and why. Yes, come to think of it, I do recall something like that happening.” Debbie sounded glib, but not rehearsed. Steiner could tell she was lying, but was impressed that she did it so well, so smoothly, with the sort of hesitation that occurs when someone is actually telling the truth, not spouting a prepared lie. “Maybe he had a friend with a number similar to mine.”

Barry Steiner smiled to himself. She was so naïve. Had she forgotten that her phone calls to his number would also show up on a cell phone log? “Well, if there’s anything you would like to tell me, now would be better than later.” This would be easy. He only had to figure out her connection to Simon. Was she a client? A lover? If it were as simple as a friendship, even a secret friendship, she would have told him. It was something more sinister. She probably had some information about his death. In a day or less, Barry believed, he would have his answer. As abruptly as he had come in, he said goodbye, thanked Debbie for her help, and left. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

When he closed the door, Debbie locked it, and gave a quick shudder. Could he know something? she wondered. No, just fishing for clues, I’m sure. Maybe trying to figure out if I was one of Simon’s drug customers? But she wondered if the whole issue of Simon’s phone that she had discarded, thinking that would be the end of it, would come back to haunt her. Why hadn’t she considered the phone records, not just the phone. For such a detail-oriented person, this was a big blunder, and she knew it.

She would have to come up with a Plan B, a reason for knowing and speaking to Simon. Maybe she could have been a client, secretly purchasing drugs from him. Or a patron of his paintings, although there were none of his paintings in her possession. She could easily have taken one when he was ‘asleep,’ and locked it in her secret room. She should have made up something for Detective Steiner, but he had taken her by surprise. She was completely unprepared for anyone investigating Simon’s death as a murder. I miss Simon. I didn’t think I would miss him. Didn’t think Jeff would end up in jail and I would be alone, she thought.

Later the same morning, Barry Steiner pulled up Debbie’s phone records and examined her calls. In addition to quite a few calls to Simon, which he already knew about, he found calls to her family, to her husband, and to someone named Catherine Alberts, whom he would definitely interview, as on several occasions they coincided with her calls to Simon, following them by a minute or two. He would return to speak with Debbie later in the day. She wasn’t likely to run away, especially since he had arranged for her to be followed until his case was solved.

Debbie guessed that he would be back, and practiced telling her story in front of a mirror.

“I met Simon at an art gallery,” she rehearsed. “I thought he was very talented and wanted to help his career, so I gave him money to live on. Of course, as I’m sure you realize, I could not tell my husband about this. He would have been furious. This had to be my secret - and Simon’s.” She said it a few times until it felt right.

Debbie visited Jeff late in the afternoon, after contacting one of the city’s top criminal attorneys to help him. She was distracted, preoccupied with Simon’s investigation, and a little nervous about the prospect of seeing Steiner again.

Steiner knew exactly where Debbie was, and intended to question her again, with the new information he had gathered. On his way to the prison, he stopped to see what the medical examiner had to say about Simon’s death.

“Definitely murder,” was the quick answer Steiner got from the M.E., Jake Arnold. “Barbiturates, a shitload of them. Phenobarbital.”

“Why not suicide, then?” Steiner asked.

“Could have been, but he would’ve had some trouble smothering himself after taking the pills. Figure the pills did most of the job, but not all. Maybe it was taking longer than expected. Somebody got a little nervous and finished him off - did you find a plastic bag?”

“Nah. My druggies would use a gun - not sleeping pills and a bag - and they wouldn’t have double locked the door when they left. Sounds like an angry girlfriend to me. Thanks, Jake. Gotta run.”

When Debbie left the family visiting room at 6 p.m., Det. Steiner was waiting for her right there. “I need a few minutes of your time,” he said, escorting her to a private room. “I don’t believe what you said about not knowing Simon. I think you should come clean with me.”

“All right. Yes, I did know him. We were friends. I met Simon at an art gallery.” She repeated the rest of her well- rehearsed story perfectly. At the end, he said, “Mm-hmm. I see. Was there more? Were you involved with him? Were you lovers?”

“Of course not,” Debbie said, indignantly. “I love my husband. I would never do such a thing. I only wanted to help Simon’s career.”

Debbie had no clue that Steiner had spoken with her friend Catherine a couple of hours earlier. She had been frightened by the visit, and told Det. Steiner everything he needed to know. She did not lie for Debbie, but in fact told him of their first meeting in the Irish Pub, her subsequent visits detailing their affair, and more. Now, with the medical examiner’s report, and Catherine’s sworn statement coupled with Debbie’s outright lies, Steiner knew the case would be moved to homicide. He also had plenty of fingerprints to show she had been in the apartment, although strange items had been wiped clean. He believed the case would have been ironclad without any prints.

Perfect, he thought! The only missing piece was Genevieve Sadlers’ death. He would not immediately use Catherine’s story - not until Debbie was behind bars. He now knew Debbie was dangerous and would not want to risk Catherine’s safety - a bad reward for her honesty in helping him with the case. He had the option of protecting Catherine until Debbie was imprisoned, but it wouldn’t be necessary as long as he could get Debbie first without Catherine’s testimony.

Steiner wanted to see the case through and was reluctant to turn it over to homicide, although ultimately he would have no choice. Still, he would remain involved and do everything he could to see that Debbie was convicted.

“Well, Mrs. Sadlers, apparently there were some witnesses to your involvement with Simon - people he had spoken to who knew of your affair.”

Debbie could not believe that Simon would have told anyone, although he may have said something towards the end, when she was giving him money--maybe to one of his close friends. But how would this detective have found anyone so quickly? Catherine did not occur to her. The fact that Simon might really have talked made her believe that her actions were justified. If it was true, he had deserved to die.

“Well, I suppose if he told one of his friends that I gave him money,” Debbie said, “it’s entirely possible they could have assumed we were having an affair. But we weren’t. Are you implying something, Detective Steiner? Do I need an attorney?”

“That might be a good idea, actually. I just need to confirm a few points. Now, I understand you met Simon one evening at a downtown pub, not an art gallery, as you told me, and that, let me see,” he interrupted himself to look at his notepad, “yes, you began an affair with him around mid-September and continued until his death on Monday. The pattern of phone calls I’ve examined does seem to confirm that. It appears you gave him an alcoholic drink containing Phenobarbital, and when that didn’t do the trick, you finished him off by smothering him.” he said.

“You are making this up!” Debbie said. “You have no evidence at all that we were anything more than casual friends. I’ve told you the truth.” Oh God. How could he possibly have figured it all out? she asked herself.

“To the contrary, Mrs. Sadlers. I’ve got a warrant for your arrest,” he said.

“You can’t hold me. You have no grounds. My husband is the murderer. Why don’t you ask him if he killed Simon? I only tried to help Simon. Why are you trying to frame me?”

“Yes, I can hold you,” he said, “for the murder of Simon Edwards.” He pulled a small book from his pocket. “I suspect you’ve been lying to me about a number of things. For example,” he said, reading from the book.

“October 22: ‘Debbie was here, and we made love for hours. She says she loves me, but obviously not enough to leave her rich husband. She has promised me money to get out of this mess. Let’s see if she really delivers...Don doesn’t believe she will,’ and so forth, and so on.”

“Don. He told Don?!” Debbie said. It slipped out before she realized her reaction. Embarrassed, she tried to correct herself. “He was lying. Why would he say something like that to Don?” She couldn’t believe Simon kept a diary and never mentioned it to her. She was livid. She tried to control her rage but she knew it was seeping out and Steiner could probably see her anger.

“So you know who Don is?” Steiner asked.

“Well, I met him once, the first time I met Simon. He was a friend of Simon’s.”

“A close friend, apparently, and one who knew about your affair and your financial support,” he said.

“It’s no crime to help somebody, is it?” Debbie asked. “You must let me go. I need to speak with my husband.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” he said. “You should probably contact your attorney as well,” he said, calling for an officer to escort her downtown to the Roundhouse for booking and further questioning.

“Let me go,” she screamed. “I didn’t do anything. Let me go!” she said, trying to wriggle from the officer’s hold on her.” He managed to put handcuffs on her while Steiner read her her Rights. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law....”

Debbie tried to kick Steiner, missing him and kicking the chair next to him. “Let me go. I didn’t hurt Simon. I loved him. Let me go, you bastard. You can’t hold me here.”

“You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during questioning,” Steiner continued.

The officer was holding her. She turned quickly, trying to kick his leg. He grabbed her leg and held it firmly. With her teeth, she grabbed the sleeve of his uniform, ripping it.

“If you cannot afford a lawyer--right, this part’s not for you” Steiner said, straightening her up from her wild, contorted, attack position and holding her up, “one will be provided for you at government expense.” Another officer had joined the group; the three put her in the back of a squad car and locked the doors. Two officers accompanied her on the trip to the Roundhouse.

“I’ll sue you for police brutality,” she shouted, as they drove off. “You’re finished. All of you.”

Steiner considered adding assault charges against the officer, but couldn’t face all the paperwork for a torn shirt. The officer agreed with him. “Think of it as my amusement for the day,” he said into the other end of the phone. “Let it go. Just make the fucking murder charge stick...like crazy glue.”

Although the evidence against Debbie was circumstantial, Steiner was highly respected and had no trouble putting together an affidavit of probable cause, easily accepted by the prosecutor. The warrant Steiner requested was issued and Steiner was certain that a conviction could be obtained. He also planned to review the file on Genevieve Sadlers, as he was sure Debbie had something to do with her death.

Alone in a cell in the Roundhouse, Debbie could not believe this turn of events. She had gone from sitting on top of the world to sitting alone in a jail cell, waiting to speak with an attorney she didn’t know.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” she shouted, hoping somebody would hear her. “Let me go.” Nobody was listening.

Debbie was disturbed when the attorney she had hired to defend Jeff told her it would be unwise for him to take her case. Sidney Blackstone, an attorney he recommended, came to the Roundhouse quickly and assured Debbie that the charges against her would not hold up in a hearing before a judge. He would challenge the warrant.

Believing that some element of truth would help her case, Debbie admitted to her affair with Simon, and told Blackstone that she believed Jeff had known about it and killed Simon. Blackstone told her that lying to Steiner about her affair was not ‘probable cause’ for murder, and that any of Simon’s drug suppliers had access and could easily have committed the murder.

At the preliminary hearing, Debbie confessed only to being in love with Simon and to giving him money. She was subdued and persuasive. So was her attorney, who stated that having an affair, giving money to her lover, and lying, while not admirable actions, did not make her a murderer. It was deemed more than likely that her husband, a confessed killer, had learned of the affair and put an end to Simon. He had the motive and the means. So did any number of people involved in Simon’s world of drugs.

The last person with a reason to murder Simon, according to Blackstone, was Debbie, who was deeply in love with him. Simon had been her only respite from her dreary and unsatisfying life with her husband, a confessed killer of six people. The judge was convinced that Debbie hardly seemed capable of murder. Was Steiner truly suggesting “wasting taxpayer money on a trial with no evidence?” the judge asked, concluding that he found the warrant completely lacking in substance. He ordered Debbie to be released. Steiner stormed out of the courtroom, furious.

Debbie went directly to visit Jeff. She would have an hour to explain everything.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Jeff said angrily. “How could you?”

“How could I what?” Debbie asked. She didn’t want to volunteer any information before finding out what he knew.

“How could you have an affair? Who was he? Did you kill him?”

“Who told you?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter. You hear things. Did you kill him, or not?”

“Of course I didn’t kill him. He was an artist--Simon Edwards. He helped me to deal with life.”

“What about me? I thought you loved me?” Jeff asked softly.

“I do love you, Jeff. But you were in a world of your own, busy killing musicians. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew you weren’t there for me. I needed someone to care for me, to love me. That’s when I met Simon. He made me feel better.”

“Were you in love with him?”

“I...cared about him,” Debbie answered.

“That’s not what I asked. Were you in love with him? Don’t lie to me. I deserve the truth.”

“Yes. Yes, I was in love with him.”

“Were you going to leave me for him?” Jeff asked.

“No. What’s the difference now? He’s dead. Simon is dead....”

“How do you expect me to feel about this?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. I wasn’t planning to fall in love with him. It just happened. I couldn’t help it.”

“I can’t hear any more of this. Get out.”

“I love you, Jeff. I’m sorry.”

“Do you? Do you really love me, or did you really love Simon?

She got up to leave. Debbie knew the answer, but she wouldn’t say it to Jeff. He didn’t want to see her now, but she was sure he would forgive her in time. Although she was still determined to divorce him later if he was convicted, Debbie had made the decision to stand by him during his trial. It was the right thing to do. She knew what it felt like to be alone in a frightening place, and she could not let her husband go through the most difficult time by himself.