An Imperfect Process

by Mary Jo Putney

  But she didn't have to go through life wearing tailored suits. The choice was up to her. If she wanted a new life, it was time to take a few cautious steps in that direction.

  If only it were possible to fast forward through change and go directly to the next secure niche....

  Chapter 3

  It looked like Val was still out, but just in case, Kendra called, "Are you in there, Val? I've got the Mercantile files for you."

  As Kendra set down the stack of folders, Val emerged from the washroom, her hair rioting around her head and looking much redder than it did when pulled back. Startled out of her usual composure, Kendra blurted out, "Girl, what have you done to your hair?"

  "Nothing. After five years of working together, it's time you saw the unvarnished me." Val folded onto the sofa with one leg tucked under her, looking very unlike her usual professional self. "I'm thinking of going off on my own. If I do, would you consider coming with me as paralegal, office manager, and secretary? I could match your salary and the medical coverage, though the other benefits might not be as good."

  Kendra closed the door to her office and sat down, even more startled than she had been by the hair. "You really want to leave here after making partner? You've just climbed on the gravy train. A few more years and you'll be set for life."

  "This job is eating me alive," Val said bluntly. "I'm good at corporate work, but a lot of it is just an elaborate game. I get tired of playing games, especially when I sometimes wish I was on the other side." She hesitated, perhaps finding it difficult to reveal so much of herself. "I want to do justice, Kendra. I'll need to take enough paying jobs to cover the rent, but what I really crave is pro bono work I can feel good about. I want to take on the powers that be and give some little guys a chance. As corny as it sounds, I want to fight the good fight."

  Her words jolted Kendra. Justice for the little guy. "You really mean that?"

  Val smiled wryly. "Yes. The big question is whether I have the courage to actually do it."

  Kendra was silent for a long time as she thought about the pain and injustice that had been bleeding her soul for years. It was almost too late to make a difference—but maybe not. Val was the smartest lawyer Kendra had ever met, and she had a real heart under that red hair and fast- talking tongue. Maybe... just maybe.. "If you leave, I'll come along if you'll take on a lost cause for me."

  Val looked cautious. "I can try. What kind of case?"

  "I want you to get a man off death row."

  "Death row?" she said, surprise in her voice. "Someone you have a personal interest in?"

  "Do you recognize the name Daniel Monroe?"

  Val's gaze went vague as she consulted her incredible memory. "He killed a policeman some years ago. If I recall correctly, he assaulted a woman, the policeman intervened, and got pumped full of bullets for his pains. A nasty business."

  "Yes, but Daniel didn't do it," Kendra said vehemently, trying to suppress her bitterness. "Seventeen years Daniel has been in jail. Every possible appeal has been filed and denied, and the State of Maryland is ready to kill an innocent man. You want to do justice? Save the life of Daniel Monroe."

  Val's expression softened. "I gather he was a friend of yours?"

  "More than a friend." Kendra's mouth twisted. "He's Jason's father." Jason, her tall, handsome, air force academy cadet son, who believed his biological father was long dead. Philip Brooks, the man Kendra had later married, had been a good father to Jason from the day he entered her life until a heart attack carried him off too soon, but it was Daniel's blood that flowed in Jason's veins. Daniel's life that had been destroyed for no damned reason at all.

  "Good God!" Shocked and sympathetic, Val chose her words carefully before continuing. "If you loved Daniel Monroe, it's natural to believe in his innocence, but if I recall correctly, the case against him was solid. His conviction was upheld on appeal a couple of times."

  "Eyewitnesses!" Kendra exclaimed, then muttered some other words that she never used in the office. "Three people identified him, and they were wrong."

  "You're sure about that?"

  "Of course I'm sure! When that poor cop died, Daniel was in bed with me and we was screwin' our brains out." Kendra deliberately used the raw accents of her youth as a way of making the past real to Val. It worked, because Val's expression changed.

  "Surely if you testified to that..."

  Kendra cut off the words with an angry gesture. "No one believed me. They all thought I was just an ignorant black girl, lyin' to protect her no-good boyfriend."

  Val's eyes narrowed. "Tell me more."

  "There isn't much to say. Daniel had had a few run-ins with the law, but never anything serious. Never, ever anything violent. He spent some time in jail for car theft and had only been out for a few months. But he had found a job and was going straight. We were living together and planning on getting married. Look, I have his picture." Kendra went to her handbag and dug out her wallet, flipping to the fading photo of her, Daniel, and their son on Jason's first birthday. She had carried this photo since it was taken. Philip, bless him, had never minded. "Does this look like a murderer?"

  Val studied the photo. "It looks like a happy family. Jason takes after his father, I see. What a darling he was at that age. They have the same smile."

  Daniel had been a darling, too. Big and sweet-natured, he'd had a romantic streak that made Kendra feel like a queen. They had been so close to having it all....

  She snapped the wallet shut. "Then the cops came blasting in with guns one night threatening to shoot anything that moved. Jason was screaming—he was eighteen months old." She shook her head. "How Daniel did dote on that boy. He wanted to be there for him, like his father had never been there for him. Instead..." Her eyes squeezed shut as she furiously fought tears. She had tried so hard to put this in a mental box where she wouldn't be crippled by the pain. Usually she succeeded.

  Val leaned forward and touched Kendra's hand with silent sympathy. "They arrested him and charged him with murder?"

  Kendra nodded. "One of the detectives thought the description sounded like Daniel, and we lived only a couple blocks from the murder. Since Daniel had a record, they hauled him in. The witnesses picked him out of the lineup, and that was that. The police never looked for anyone else. He was tried, convicted, and sentenced to death."

  "Even though you said he was with you?"

  Kendra gave her a level look. "You're wondering if I'm lying. Val, I swear on my mother's grave that Daniel was with me when the murder took place. I tried talking to people. The public defender who handled the case kind of believed me and did some investigation, but he was never able to get around the eyewitness testimony."

  She fell silent as she remembered the horrible time after Daniel's conviction when she struggled as a single mother to keep herself and Jason above water. "I managed to get into a state job training program so I could get a job that paid enough to support me and my son. One reason I chose to become a legal secretary, then a paralegal, was in the hopes of finding a way to help Daniel. But I never have." Instead she had learned that while the legal system usually worked, there were plenty of times when it didn't.

  Val closed her eyes, tension visible in the taut skin over her cheekbones as she absorbed Kendra's story. "If you're right, a terrible injustice has been done." Her eyes opened, glinting steel. "You've got a deal, Kendra. You'll work for me, and I'll do my best for your friend. But you know the odds are slim that I'll be able to do anything after all these years."

  "I know." Kendra's mouth twisted. The eleventh hour had struck, and midnight was approaching fast. "You'll have to start by persuading him to let you take on the case—last winter, he fired his lawyers, saying he was tired of fighting a losing battle. But you can charm a snake out of a hole, you're smart, and you know people all over town. You're Daniel's last chance, Val. You and God. I've been having a lot of conversations with Him lately. Maybe you can stir up enough doubts to get his sentence commuted to li
fe."

  "Why didn't you tell me about Daniel earlier?"

  Kendra tried to imagine dropping that into a conversation. "This is such a white-bread, white-collar place that talking about murders and death row seemed out of place." She hesitated, realizing that in the last few minutes their relationship had changed. They had always been friendly, but they had never spoken so freely. "And to be honest, I didn't think you had the time or the interest to care about a condemned man."

  Val's nose wrinkled. "I've gotten too good at showing a detached lawyer face. Believe me, I have always cared about injustice. I only hope I can help."

  "You're offering a chance, and that's more than Daniel had before." And in return, Kendra would be the best damned legal assistant and office manager in Baltimore.

  Val got to her feet. "It's time to resign my partnership. I found a great potential office today—a remodeled former church out Old Harford Road, not far from where you live. A good omen if I get it, don't you think?"

  Kendra smiled a little as the other woman left the office. A remodeled church? Maybe God was listening after all,

  and this was a sign. With God, Val, and Kendra working together, they might beat death row after all.

  * * *

  Step firm, Val walked down to the corner suite occupied by Donald Crouse, senior partner of Crouse, Resnick. Strange how the decision she had wrestled with was now blindingly obvious. It was time to take her career in a new direction. To do good, not just well.

  She murmured a greeting to Carl Brown, the firm's biggest rainmaker, as he brushed past her with a brusque nod. Dear Carl, charming as always. The only one of the senior partners she disliked, he was hyper-competitive and had made no secret of the fact that he didn't think the firm should have female partners. Val wouldn't miss him.

  As Carl turned into his office, his assistant looked up, phone to her ear. "Mr. Brown, your daughter Jenny is on the line. Can you take the call?"

  "I haven't got time," he said curtly. "If she needs money, tell her to e-mail me."

  Val winced, seeing herself in the absent Jenny, who was a child of Carl's first or second marriage, not the current one. Law firms were full of people too busy to talk to their own children. Her father was like that, though at least he wasn't as bad-tempered as Carl. Yes, leaving was the right decision.

  Breezing into Donald Crouse's reception area, she asked, "Is The Man free?"

  "Go on in," his assistant said. "What did you do to your hair?"

  Ignoring the question, Val entered the inner sanctum. Donald glanced up from the document he was reading. Tall and saturnine with a dry sense of humor, he was Val's personal favorite of the senior members of the firm. He'd been her mentor and her champion even before he became her friend.

  "Donald, I'm leaving Crouse, Resnick," Val said bluntly. "I've finally lost the battle to be respectable, and it's time to go off on my own."

  He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I can't say that I'm surprised. You've always been a triangle in a round hole."

  Her mouth quirked up. "Not even a square peg?"

  "They're a dime a dozen. Triangles are rare." He peered over the top of his glasses. "I always wondered what you'd look like if you let your hair down. Remarkable."

  She smiled and settled into a chair. "I'm rather sorry to prove to the other partners that they were right, and I'm just not their kind, but there it is. I'll start organizing my work for others to take over."

  He steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "If you're opening an office here in Baltimore, would you be interested in a continuing relationship with us? We often contract some of the smaller cases out, plus there will be occasions when we'll have larger cases that would benefit from your unique touch."

  The prospect of self-employment gave Val a sudden, keen interest in cash flow. "Call away. It's generous of you to be willing to maintain a relationship."

  "Generous, hell," he said dryly. "You're the best litigator in the city, Val. I'd rather have you on my side than in opposition."

  "I'll miss you, Donald," she said honestly. "But not the daily grind here."

  "It takes courage to walk away. There were times when I was tempted, but..." He gestured toward the family portraits on his shining mahogany desk. "Too many responsibilities, and too used to living well."

  His admission surprised her. She had thought him perfectly suited to the career he had chosen. But how much did one ever know about someone else's inner life?

  After she and Donald discussed timing, finances, and other exit details, she returned to her office, making mental lists of all that must be done. The phone was ringing as she passed Kendra's door. "If that's my father, I'll take it in my office."

  Kendra picked up the phone and greeted the caller, raising her brows in a how-did-you-know-that expression.

  Wryly Val closed the door and sat at her desk to take the call. This prediction had been easy. If her father was available, he would call as soon as his old friend Donald let him know that Val was quitting.

  Not bothering with a greeting, Bradford Westerfield III barked, "For God's sake, Val, what's this nonsense I hear about you leaving Crouse, Resnick?"

  "Not nonsense, Brad," she said calmly. "I've had enough of life in a big law firm, and I'm ready to go."

  "You're insane to throw away all you've achieved so far. And just after you made partner! That's more than insane, that's... that's perverse."

  As he proceeded in that vein, Val half tuned him out. Ironic that he was talking about her professional successes only when she was leaving. She supposed that he loved her in his fashion, but nonetheless, she was an embarrassment—the illegitimate daughter he'd sired during his one youthful dabble in rebellion. She would never be tall, slim, blond, or legitimate.

  He sighed with exasperation. "You're not listening to a word I'm saying."

  "I could quote your last few sentences, but if what you mean is that nothing you say will change my mind, you're right. The decision is made." She smiled wickedly. "What if I say that I can make more money on my own? Would that make a difference?"

  His voice changed. "Are you going to handle class-action suits like the ones over asbestos and tobacco? There's huge amounts of money to be made there, and you'd be good at it."

  "No class-action suits, at least not yet. I've just taken on my first new case—to try to get a convicted cop killer off death row. I won't make a penny off this even if I'm successful—which I probably won't be."

  He snorted, recognizing that he was being baited. "You're your mother's daughter, Val."

  The statement was not meant as a compliment. Val's mother, Callie Covington, was an aging hippie who lived her principles and disdained practicality. Occasionally she made Val nuts, but she was real and admirable, and she, at least, would approve that her only daughter was kicking over the traces of the establishment. "Callie will probably buy me a bottle of cheap California champagne to celebrate."

  Her father unexpectedly laughed. "She would. Very well, if you're bound and determined to practice do-gooder law, I'm sure you'll do it well. But when you decide you want to return to a real firm, come to New York and work for me."

  "Brad, that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me." She sent greetings to her stepmother and half sisters, then hung up.

  When she was younger, she had wondered what it would be like to have parents she could call Mom and Dad. The commune where she had spent her early years considered anything but first names to be hierarchal and bourgeois.

  The Mount Hope Peace Commune. Among her longtime friends, it was generally agreed that Val had the weirdest upbringing, though Rainey was a close second.

  Callie had been a gorgeous auburn-haired earth mother, while Brad was a tall blond WASP entranced by the world outside his privileged childhood. The couple was a classic example of opposites attracting—then being unable to get along. They had lived together in the North Carolina commune until Brad tired of rebellion and returned to his real life, which meant Ha
rvard Law School and a career in a top New York law firm.

  Callie had stayed at Mount Hope practicing art, gardening, and free love until Val reached school age. Then she moved to Baltimore and set up a studio. Though she was a gifted fabric artist, she had no business sense and didn't earn regular money until she began teaching art in a small progressive school. The salary wasn't much, but at least it was regular and she enjoyed the work.

  Since Brad was the responsible sort who paid child support regularly even though he hadn't known Callie was pregnant when he left, they got by. Val attended the local Quaker private school on her father's dime, then made it through college and law school on scholarships and student loans.

  Though Val was proud of having managed on her own, unlike her mother she had never wanted to rebel against the middle class. She had wanted to join it, and she had.

  Speaking of Callie... Val reached for the phone. Time to invite her mother to dinner and tell her the news.

  After Callie accepted the invitation, Val had one last call to make before settling down to her brief. The phone rang three times before it was answered. "Rob here."

  Hearing traffic in the background, Val guessed it was a cell phone. "Hi, Rob? This is Val Covington. I've changed my mind about the suitability of putting a law office in a church. Do you have time now to discuss the details?"

  "For sure." There was a smile in his voice. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

  "So am I." She could hardly wait to begin her new life. And apparently it would include Rob Smith, which would be... interesting.

  * * *

  Callie was already waiting in a booth when Val entered the Kandahar restaurant's cool, dim interior. Taller than Val and dressed in flowing artsy garments of her own design, Callie would fit right into a Wagnerian opera. She rose to administer a hug. "What's the occasion? You never leave that dreary office early enough for dinner."

  "Often I don't, but you're right, this is an occasion. I'm buying dinner, and I expect you to spring for some cheap California champagne."