Their son, now in his early 30s, put a comforting hand on his mother’s shoulder.
Jacob Sweet was a tall, athletic gentleman with blond hair now heading toward gray. He had a square jaw and blue eyes. His wife was a petite brunette with shoulder-length hair, full lips, and dark eyes, which she blotted with a tissue.
Their son, Chris, resembled his mother with dark hair and dark eyes.
"It looks like York is exiting the courthouse with his attorney now," Paris said into the camera.
The crowd rushed to surround York, and Paris was no exception.
Cameras and microphones closed in. Flashes squinted York’s eyes.
Reporters shouted questions.
"Did you kill Sarah Sweet?”
"How does it feel to be a free man?”
"What will you do with the million dollars?"
His attorney did his best to settle the crowd. "Mr. York is pleased with the terms of the agreement and anxious to put the past behind him. Robbed of 15 years of his life for a crime he did not commit, he intends to start again and make the most of his remaining time. We ask that you respect his privacy and not harass the man.”
“If you're innocent, why did you take the plea agreement?” a reporter shouted.
Darrell's attorney started to answer, but York took this one. “Well, it's pretty simple," he said with a slight southern drawl.
York was 50 now, with long, stringy brown hair that dangled above his shoulders. He had a mustache and a goatee. His puffy, narrow eyes surveyed the crowd. He was the kind of greasy, shifty guy that didn't exactly inspire trust.
York continued. "I can either take this shitty agreement and walk now. Or I can sit in jail for another six months to two years waiting for my appeal to go through. With as corrupt as this county is, I didn't want to take the risk of anything happening. Wouldn’t be the first time this county has lost exculpatory evidence or convicted an innocent man. I have a limited number of days left, and they grow shorter every day. This was a chance to get my life back, and I'm ready to get busy living."
"What will you do with the money?"
Darrell sucked his lips and thought about it for a second. "I haven't rightly given it much consideration." He smiled and held his arms outstretched. "It's just good to breathe the free air, feel the sunlight on my face, and dream of possibilities."
"You're a murderer!" Mr. Sweet cried. "You killed my daughter. I swear to God, you will reap what you sow!”
At that point, I fully expected Mr. Sweet to pull out a pistol and shoot the man.
4
The Sarah Sweet murder was way before our time in the department. Darrell York was a drifter living aboard a dilapidated 32-foot sailboat in the Mariner’s Pointe Marina when it happened. Damning evidence had been found aboard his boat, but he denied any involvement. With a prior sexual assault charge, which was later dismissed, Darrell had been a prime suspect.
The nature of the case, combined with Sarah's condition, pointed to a vile predator. A monster. People demanded justice. Darrell fit the profile. It seemed a rush to judgment had put an innocent man behind bars. There was a lot of controversy around the case at the time. I didn't expect that controversy would end anytime soon.
Sarah’s father was red in the face, yelling at Darrell in front of the courthouse.Ifhe had a gun in his possession, he didn't pull it out. He spoke his mind and finished with, "I hope you rot in hell!"
Darrell just smiled. "Already been there. I'm sorry for your loss, and I hope you can find peace."
"Fuck you!"
Mr. Sweet took his wife's hand and stormed away. Chris glared at Darrell, then followed his parents.
The media frenzy soaked up the exchange. This was prime-time drama.
"Think he did it?" JD muttered.
I shrugged.
The case wasn't exactly cut and dry. Trace DNA from two individuals had been found in Sarah's panties—neither of which belonged to Darrell. But the panties were found aboard Darrell’s boat, and witnesses had seen them together on the day of her disappearance.
