Was the killer already in the room that Friday night? A woman in leopard-spotted pants sat in a booth, talking intently amid the laughter and conversation inside MVP's Interactive Video Cafe, a high-tone supper club in the suburban outskirts of Atlanta. By the front door, a long line of patrons lingered, waiting for tables to open. Against a backdrop of deep blue walls and soft neons, guys in designer shirts and leather jackets leaned against the polished-oak bar, curling glasses of cold beer. Three men in dark coats and blue jeans had rushed to take a table close to the jazz band. But they did not seem interested in the music.
Onstage, Derwin Brown crooned his best Barry White into the microphone. He didn't want the night to end. He had come here to celebrate his wife's 46th birthday--and he had stayed on even after she left for home feeling tired. There was much more to celebrate: in three days, he would be sworn in as the new sheriff of DeKalb County, in suburban Atlanta. The night was as much in his honor as hers; relatives and close campaign supporters had feted him in the lounge's VIP room earlier. Soon he hoped to make good on his promise to get rid of corruption at the local jail and maybe someday--if he had as much energy as he did ambition--reform the nation's prison systems. The cafe's chef had made crab-stuffed chicken especially for Brown, who spent the evening shaking hands, swapping stories and holding court. With a glass of Hennessy, he was sitting in a booth with the female volunteer from his election campaign in the leopard-print pants when the band's lead singer picked the couple out from the crowd. Brown, 46, all 5 ft. 10 in., 245 lbs. of him, could not resist the request to sing Tonight Is the Night in Barry's baritone: "You're knockin' on my door and you're ringing my bell/ Hope you're not impatient after waiting so very long... A whole year I put you off with my silly hang-ups/ And we're both old enough to know right from wrong."
At about 11 p.m. on that Dec. 15, after quick bows and goodbyes, DeKalb's sheriff-elect headed home alone in a rented white sedan. The drive was less than two miles; the destination, a neighborhood of older brick ranches and split-levels built before two-car garages came into style. The Browns' house, with Mediterranean arches along its front walk and gun-metal blue trim, is among the nicest on the block. It has a narrow front yard and a paved driveway. Derwin and Phyllis Brown's son, Robert, 18, looked out a front window to see his father, who had parked in the street, walking up the driveway with a bounce in his step, carrying Christmas gifts he had bought that afternoon. There was also a bouquet of red roses for his wife in the car. Expecting him, Phyllis had displayed his new blue sheriff's uniform in the den. Derwin had designed it himself, with gold stars and braid, and he had been anxious for the tailor to finish it. His good friend and confidant Robert Crowder had brought it to the house. Friends and family had been watching TV, talking about the trip to Helen, Ga., where Phyllis and Derwin planned to escape before Christmas. Everybody was relieved; the election was behind them, the long battle finally over.