A Life Sentence

By A. J. Brady

A Life Sentence is a story of abuse, family, love and friendship. It shows how the misunderstanding of a mental disability can cause conflict between husband and wife, how friendships can be made in the strangest of places and how a love for a child can be strong even when the child is not your own.

Linda Conroy murders her husband; her son attacks his foster mother, both these crimes seemingly committed for no apparent or justifiable reason.

Lucy Ramirez is the journalist Linda decides to confess to in order to save her son from a lifetime in institutional care.

Lucy discovers just how much abuse a mother will endure in order to protect her children and what she will put herself through to ensure the cycle is broken. During this time, Lucy questions her own mother's reasons for staying with her father and discovers that the love for family is more powerful than she ever expected and how that, at times, that love can be destructive.

A lifetime bond of friendship is made between Lucy and Linda as they create a defence for Linda's son, putting Lucy's own family life into jeopardy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781528999526

A. J. Brady

This is A. J. Brady's first novel. She is currently doing BA (Hons) in English Literature and Creative Writing. She lives in Wigan with her son and three cats.

Book preview

Epilogue

About the Author

This is A. J. Brady’s first novel. She is currently doing BA (Hons) in English Literature and Creative Writing. She lives in Wigan with her son and three cats.

Dedication

For Mum

1947–2018

Copyright Information ©

A. J. Brady (2019)

The right of A. J. Brady to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528902311 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528999526 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Chapter 1

Quietly congratulating myself on another piece of work well done, I stood and looked out of my office window at the New York Times. Well, I say my office, although I share it with twenty other people I do have a double cubicle and it is next to the window, so I guess it is my office window. The morning rays of sun emerged from behind the skyscrapers that surround the building and glared directly into the window, making me squint so much I couldn’t see the tiny dots that were New Yorkers rushing around during their busy day-to-day lives.

Not bad for a girl from Hudson, I thought to myself and as I began a mindful journey into my former life, the telephone rang and jolted me back into reality.

Hello! I shouted as I scrambled to my desk, the organised chaos on my desk became more of a mess as papers got pushed from left to right whilst I tried to control my legs and get some grip on the floor.

Lucy? Is everything all right? my editor Courtney Granger asked with an unusual tone of concern in her voice.

Erm, yes, sorry Courtney, I was just reading some notes on my next story, got lost in thought and the phone ringing startled me, that’s all, I garbled all in one breath.

Well put those notes away, compose yourself and come to my office straight away, Courtney’s voice had returned to normal.

Will do, was the only reply I could think of without asking a million questions.

Being summonsed to Courtney’s office was somewhat of a rarity for me, she usually left me to my own devices and gave me more than my fair share of journalistic freedom. In all honesty, in the last twelve months the most contact I’d had with her was an email that was short and straight to the point, good work look forward to the next piece, that was it not even printed so she could sign it personally just sent to my inbox I presumed by her secretary who probably had more work than she could handle and a permanent headache. Staring at the phone’s receiver that I still held in my hand I was startled by a voice behind me, Everything OK, Lucy?

Spinning on my bargain basement heels I hit my hip on the edge of the desk as I turned to face one of my colleagues Justin Hunders-Whitford, of the New York Hunders-Whitfords, second son of the very successful businessman Jack Whitford and his once model and philanthropist wife Jessica Hunders. Justin was on our political team of journalists, and I often thought he only got the job because of his father as his journalistic talents were mediocre, if that. He was one of those people that as soon as they started talking, I stopped listening. As far as I could tell his main achievements in life were being able to drink vast quantities of expensive spirits, playing a round of golf that would put any pro-golfer to shame and the ability to attract the most beautiful but intelligently challenged women in New York! Something I am sure his father is very proud of.

Yes, everything is good, thank you, Justin, I replied with what I hoped was a genuine smile on my face.

It was just I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation and that she who must be obeyed wants to see you.

The smug smile on his face made me want to grab hold of his Armani tie and feed it into the shredder whilst he was still wearing it, but the pain in my hip had me rethink that option.

Yeah she does, probably just wants to congratulate me in person for this last piece, I bluffed as I threw the latest copy of the paper towards him, making sure it fell face up on the front page and my headline story. He picked it up and gave some sort of snort cum grunt that I know no other animal on the planet makes, threw it back on my desk and walked away.

Bye then, I shouted after him in a cheery voice before turning to survey the disarray both on my desk and the floor.

So much for my filing system then, I thought, then remembering I had to get to Courtney’s office I grabbed my handbag and tipped the contents on top of the mess on my desk and rummaged for my compact mirror, I’ll sort this out when I get back down, I muttered to myself. After reapplying my lipstick and checking my hair I smoothed down my chic but cheap shift dress and began the five-minute journey to Courtney’s office. Once in the elevator the questions came into my head. Have I done something wrong? Was my last story not up to standard? Are they making redundancies? I quickly dismissed that last thought; I would have heard the rumour mill at work. Am I being sent abroad again? Has someone told her it was me who broke the coffee machine? If they have, who was it? These and many other questions I asked myself as I rode the three floors to the managerial offices and continued even as I stood outside the office of Ms Courtney Granger, National and International News Editor.

Come on in Lucy, we haven’t got all day! Courtney’s dulcet tones echoed in the quiet corridor before I had the chance to knock.

I walked in as confidently as I could, what with all the questions still going round in my head and my hip still hurting, it was a miracle I didn’t fall through the door. I hadn’t been in Courtney’s office for a good many years, in fact, it was possibly the day I had my interview for the permanent job of journalist and as far as I could tell, it hadn’t changed one bit. The office suited Courtney, it wasn’t feminine whilst at the same time it wasn’t masculine, it was neutral; not bland neutral, but without looking closely at the name on the numerous awards that adorned the walls and shelves, and if the name plate on the door had been taken down, this could be the office of either a male or female executive. The furniture was dark mahogany, and the chairs were covered in dark burgundy material, I was nearly positive it was genuine leather, but I wasn’t going to ask. The room should have looked dark and stuffy but it didn’t, it just looked used, the kind of used which would not be out of place in a Charles Dickens novel where the business owner worked every day, which I knew it was as Courtney was famous for burning the midnight oil and had often not gone home for days on end when she was working on something big.

Lucy, come sit down. Courtney didn’t offer, it was more of an order as she pointed to the burgundy leather Chesterfield chair that was placed strategically at an angle next to the Chesterfield sofa which was occupied by a very well-dressed and well-presented lady.

Lucy, this is Emma Lewis, she’s one of the Texas State Attorneys involved in the consideration of retrials.

I couldn’t reach to shake the woman’s hand from where I was sitting, so I stood and awkwardly leaned across the large, heavy mahogany coffee table that separated us, hitting my knee on the corner as I did so. Pleased to meet you, I winced and sat down very quickly, rubbing my knee at the same time, convinced that I was going to have a very large bruise there tomorrow. As I sat I, could see that well-dressed was somewhat of an understatement, as a woman who lusted after designer high fashion but couldn’t afford it I could immediately tell that her suit was from this season’s Stella McCartney range at Harvey Nichols and her shoes were definitely Dior, which season I couldn’t be sure without crawling under the coffee table to get a closer look.

I think I must be in the wrong job! I thought to myself as I stared at the woman sat across from me, Who knew Attorneys made so much money! As well as being extremely well dressed, Emma Lewis was also stunningly beautiful. Her blonde hair was pinned up in a way that would take me all day to get right, but on her it looked as if she’d grabbed a couple of grips and effortlessly put them into place; if she was wearing makeup I couldn’t tell, she had a natural beauty not like a model who only look good when they’ve had a bevy of makeup artists and hairdressers working on them but a beauty that could quieten a room even if she walked in after just waking up and still wearing her pyjamas! I usually place myself as a 7 or a possible 8, I’m 5’ 3", slim, olive skinned and have long nearly black hair but I do need a certain amount of make up to help me look somewhat decent, Emma Lewis was definitely a 10+.

Emma Lewis got straight to business and handed me a file which I immediately knew was a police rap sheet. I glanced at Courtney with a confused look on my face and with no expression whatsoever she nodded and indicated for me to read the file. I picked it up and was surprised by the lightness of it, most of the rap sheets that came my way were so thick they took hours to read, the file contained one sheet of A4 paper and a photograph of a woman, blonde, petite build and eyes of the brightest blue but looked dead, as if the spark had been blown out of them. I read the sheet, Linda Conroy nee. Hollins, born twenty first February, nineteen seventy-seven, Schulenburg, Texas. Married to Jerry Conroy, three children Christopher, Callum and Jennifer. Pleaded guilty to the murder of Jerry Conroy and sentenced to fifteen years, currently serving in the Mountain View Unit.

I finished reading and looked up to see Courtney and Emma Lewis staring at me intently, And this has something to do with me because? I questioned as this was not my usual kind of story, I dealt with corrupt businessmen, drug barons, people who exploited women and children, not murderers.

Please hear me out, then you can make your mind up about taking on the job, Emma Lewis spoke in a calm voice.

Oh dear God, I thought, Not only is she stunning, has great taste in clothes, she’s also polite. So, I sat back and let her begin.

Five years ago, Linda Conroy rang the Schulenburg police station stating that she had shot her husband dead. She also told them to get in touch with her parents and child social services as her children were still in school and would need picking up. She finished the phone call by adding that they would not need an ambulance, just the coroner and that she would be sat on the front porch of the house. When the local officer arrived, true to her word Linda was sat on the porch with her children’s necessary paperwork neatly placed in a folder next to her. Before the officer entered the house, he sat and spoke with Linda for a little while, in his own way trying to figure out if she was telling the truth or not. Linda did not veer from her initial statement that she had shot her husband, the officer then tried to get more information out of her she told the officer exactly where he could find her husband and that the gun she used had been placed next to him on the floor. The officer entered the house and in his own words he wasn’t completely sure what to expect, he checked each of the rooms but it was in the bedroom exactly as Linda had said Jerry Conroy was found dead, three bullet holes in his chest, lying on the floor with the gun next to him.

I became fascinated with this story and I wasn’t sure why, growing up where I had in one of the poorest parts of New York, this story was nothing new. Every day we were told of one spouse killing the other for the oddest of reasons. Drugs and prostitution were normally the main ones but I could remember a woman being shot by her husband because she had cooked spaghetti and he wanted chicken for dinner. I stood and walked towards the coffee machine without even asking permission, something I would never do and without realising I poured three cups and brought them back to the table and placed one in front of each of us. Courtney raised an eyebrow but said nothing; I took a rather large gulp and indicated for Emma to continue.

Linda was arrested for murder, but said nothing in her defence about why she had shot her husband. She declined the services of a defence lawyer as she was going to plead guilty and declined any notion of a plea deal. The police had no choice but to accept her confession, but they still made their own enquiries on the couple. All they could really find was that they both worked menial jobs for the Dairy Farmers of America; they had married at twenty and had their first child Christopher at twenty-two. Christopher had been diagnosed with Down Syndrome at birth but that didn’t seem an issue to the couple when officers spoke to their friends and family, and they went on to have two more children. The family attended church regularly, Jerry helped coach the softball team and Linda was an active member of the parents’ association in the children’s school. There was no sign that either of them had been having an affair and their life insurance policy would pay out so little it made no sense to kill for it, plus they weren’t in any kind of debt apart from the mortgage and after undergoing mental health check officials found no reason why she should shoot Jerry.

I decided to put one thought forward as Emma paused for breath, Maybe she just woke up that morning and decided I don’t like you very much anymore and killing him was the easiest way out of a loveless marriage?

Courtney looked at me with the expression of ‘really, that’s the best you can do?’, and in all honesty it was, Divorce is expensive, I continued, and I’m assuming that even though they weren’t living hand to mouth their jobs didn’t pay much and they didn’t have a great amount of savings. So, if she left him, her salary wouldn’t cover rent on a new home for her and the children, plus bills and other needs. So, killing him would be an option, but I don’t understand why she would ring the police and admit to doing it instead of saying she’d come home and found him dead or that someone had broken in and shot him because that’s what I would do if I needed to get rid of an unwanted husband.

That’s what we thought as well, hence the plea deal if she was frightened and covering for someone, but she was insistent that she be charged and plead guilty, Emma replied validating my response so much that I shot a look at Courtney that said ‘told you so’.

Emma carried on, So, because of a guilty plea there was no press coverage, that could have brought any new information to light, no trial just a sentencing hearing, but the judge believed that Linda didn’t kill Jerry for no reason, he told her that he had to incarcerate her for fifteen years, parole to be looked at after seven and he hoped within that time she would reflect on her actions and give not only the children but both their families her reasons for carrying out such a cold hearted crime.

And has she? Is that why you’re here? She’s confessed everything and you want me to tell her story? I asked excitedly because I could already see the headline in my mind.

Sorry, not quite, Emma apologised, but some things have happened in the last couple of months and I do need you to hear her story. Whilst Linda has been in prison she has been a model prisoner, interacting with the other inmates, helping the new inmates to settle in and even be a shoulder to cry on, and a sort of surrogate mom to some of the younger women. She’s given the prison officers no cause for concern, doing whatever job she’s been tasked to do and is always polite. Two months ago, Linda was working in the laundry, which is a highly prized job within the prison and as part of her job she was given a huge amount of trust to walk freely throughout the prison as she had to collect dirty linen from different cell blocks. She was walking along a top corridor in one of the more dangerous cellblocks and she hadn’t noticed it had just been mopped and slipped down the stairs. The first thought of the prison officers was that she had been pushed, but after speaking to several of the women they found out that Linda was respected by the most notorious inmates and none of them had a bad word to say about her, in fact they were so shocked and upset by her fall they put in a request to the governor for permission to visit her either in hospital or her cell; it was a pure accident but she broke her leg in two places.

I nodded in response, but my mind was whirring, I had a more than good knowledge of the inner workings of a prison, OK it was mainly male only prisons, but I was confident the distribution of work duties and privileges incurred were pretty much the same. Laundry and library duties were usually given to lifers who had shown some remorse for their crimes but who still didn’t have any expectation of parole or release, not someone who at most had only served a couple of years on what could be a seven-year sentence and even if she served her full time, fifteen years wasn’t a long enough sentence. I had known men who had served fifteen years before they even got the chance to work in the laundry; also, I wanted to know what wing Linda had been put in. Murderers were normally kept together in one of the high security wings and very rarely exposed to newcomers who would need a shoulder to cry on, let alone become a surrogate mother to the younger inmates. Something didn’t feel right in my gut but I kept quiet and assumed I would be told the answers in due course. So, I sat and waited expecting Emma’s next statement to be she was taken to the prison hospital, X-rayed and given the appropriate treatment, and I was right, but it was the next sentence that made me sit up a little straighter.

Once the initial X-ray had been taken the prison doctors requested the permission of the governor to transfer Linda to the local hospital as some anomalies had been brought to their attention. The governor agreed, however, he gave them a proviso that Linda had to be given the full facts as to why she was being transferred as he believed the women should be treated as they would on the outside even though they were incarcerated, a doctor on the outside wouldn’t send a patient for more tests and not tell them why, he held the assumption that if they were treated as humans, it would aid in their rehabilitation and if Linda didn’t agree to any further tests or X-rays, he wouldn’t force the issue and they wouldn’t happen.

It was at this point I began to regret my lack of medical knowledge. If I was fact finding for a story I would talk to a doctor who would either confirm or deny what I’d been told. I wasn’t sure if I didn’t, couldn’t or wouldn’t remember any of the information I’d been given over the years; but right now I wished I had. I tried to hurry Emma along, Yes, yes but did she agree?

Lucy! Courtney reprimanded. Let Emma finish.

I looked down at my bruised knee, Sorry, I muttered like a school girl who has been caught sending notes in class.

It’s OK I was the same when I first got this case, Emma replied in a soothing voice.

Linda did agree and was transferred immediately and had a full body X-ray. The findings were incredible, nearly every bone in her body had been either broken or fractured in multiple places and, as far as the doctors could tell, been allowed to heal without any form of professional medical treatment, meaning that they had healed incorrectly or in some cases hadn’t healed at all! Doctors realised she had suffered physical abuse for many years but as there were so many injuries, they couldn’t determine whether they were caused when she was a young girl or as an adult. She was re-interviewed by a public defender to try and ascertain if she’d suffered domestic abuse at the hands of Jerry or whether she was protecting her parents who could have abused her much more than physically. But still she stayed silent and the public defender had no choice but to let it go, which meant her leg was put in plaster and she was sent back to the prison hospital to recuperate.

I had somehow made my way to the very edge of my seat and as Emma finished talking I collapsed backwards in the chair, forgetting that the Chesterfield had a low back and nearly snapped my neck as my head flung further backwards that I intended. The only words I could muster were, WOW, that’s intense. Rubbing my neck, I turned to Courtney, If you don’t mind, another coffee would be good.

Courtney nodded in agreement, rolling her shoulders as if she felt my pain. I looked at Emma who held her cup up, so I brought the coffee pot over to the table, filled our cups, drank mine in one mouthful and filled it again.

This story gets better though, Emma spoke between ladylike sips.

How? I questioned, I was still stunned how a woman wouldn’t give up the person or people who had abused her for years.

Do you remember her children? Emma asked.

Both Courtney and I nodded, and I wondered if she had any idea where this was going because I certainly didn’t and I had almost every conceivable explanation regarding the children going round in my head, what if one of them had shot Jerry and she was taking the blame was the first one I rejected, the kids were at school. We waited expectantly for her to continue. Emma sat back, Both sets of grandparents took in the children but found they couldn’t cope with Christopher’s bouts of violence towards them, especially the ones aimed at his grandmother. Educational psychologists couldn’t find any reasonable explanations for this and his school maintained he was a model pupil. It was only when he had been reprimanded by an adult female member of his family he would lash out and did not stop until he was physically restrained. It was concluded that his mental disabilities meant he did not have the capacity to understand why both his mother and father had been taken away from him.

Again, something I had no knowledge of, mental health issues had never crossed my