An Imperfect Process

by Mary Jo Putney

  "There are three keys to being a good lawyer—preparation, preparation, preparation. Boring, but true. The more homework I do, the better the results, and I learned early how to do my homework well."

  "Do you think Monroe is innocent?"

  "Quite possibly." Her expression hardened. "But even if he's guilty as sin, I'm going to do my damnedest to get him off death row. I've just become a convert to the cause of ending capital punishment."

  "There's nothing like personal experience to make the horror of it sink in." Before Val could wonder about his remark, he continued, "If I understand this right, remove the eyewitness testimony and the case against Monroe collapses. No physical evidence ties him to the murder—no blood, and the weapon was never found. His only crime might be that he was roughly the same size and shape of the real shooter."

  "Like he said, with a policeman dead, they had to convict someone and he was handy." She wiped her eyes with his handkerchief. "Are you still up for investigating this case? It's not going to be fun, and the potential for pain and depression are huge. If you're unsure, now is the time to bail out."

  "I'm sure." He turned the key in the ignition and the truck's engine lurched to life. "Tonight I'll start work on the files you gave me. When I'm up to speed, we can talk strategy."

  "It's a deal." She smiled wearily. "We're off to a good start, I think."

  Rob hoped so, or Daniel Monroe was doomed. But as Rob turned into the afternoon traffic and headed downtown, it was Val who dominated his mind. Now that he knew just how much he wanted her, what, if anything, was he going to do about it?

  Chapter 7

  Sunday afternoon in the park. Enjoying the lazy sunshine, Val pulled into the grassy lot and parked at the end of an irregular line of vehicles. In the last eight days she had decided to open her own office, committed herself to what was going to be a gut-wrenching case with little chance of success, spent far too much time fantasizing about her new landlord, and learned that a local Big Sister/Little Sister organization was having a potluck picnic. She wasn't sure whether so much change was exciting or terrifying.

  No, she was sure. It was both.

  She climbed from her car, telling herself that attending a picnic was not a commitment. Anita Perez, the social worker who coordinated the group, had explained the program over the phone and invited her to the outing. The other people were mostly existing Big/Little pairings along with other family members, but there would also be kids in need of partners and a few other women interested in becoming Big Sisters.

  Val removed the bakery fudge cake she'd brought as a contribution and headed toward the sizable crowd picnicking under the oak trees. A card table held blank nametags, so she stopped to print her first name on a tag.

  She was following the scent of broiling hamburgers when she was approached by a relaxed middle-aged woman with shrewd eyes and an easy smile. Glancing at the tag, the woman said, "Hi, Val. I've been hoping you would make it. I'm Anita Perez."

  "It's nice to meet you in person. I feel ridiculously nervous about today."

  Anita laughed. "No need. Have some food, meet people, talk to some Bigs and Littles to see what they think of the program. The girls who need a Big Sister are wearing red T-shirts that say I'M SOOOOO COOL on them. If you want to strike up a conversation with one, that's fine, but no pressure. We take a lot of pains to make a match that will work for both parties." Anita took Val to the nearest grill and made some introductions, then moved on to greet others.

  Val's nerves began to unwind. Her friends used to say that she could strike up a conversation with a flagpole, so the fact that she didn't know anyone was not a problem. These were nice people. It took a generous spirit to reach out to a child who needed some extra attention, and if Val was any judge, the relationship benefited both sides. Certainly they all enjoyed telling her what a great program this was.

  After hot dogs, hamburgers, salads, and sodas had been demolished, picnickers fell upon the dessert table, where her fudge cake was rapidly reduced to crumbs. In the lazy lull after eating, the more energetic in the group decided to play softball. Teams were formed with much teasing and giggling.

  Val was considering whether to volunteer for shortstop when she noticed a spot of red at the far end of the grove of trees. A girl was perched on the most distant picnic table, feet on the bench and nose in a book. She looked frail and very alone.

  For an addicted reader, hiding with a good book was the most fun possible. Still, Val decided to go investigate.

  The little girl was maybe ten or eleven, with a wild tangle of dark hair and one of the I'M SOOOOO COOL T-shirts. Her nametag read LYSSIE, and the wiry hair and caramel-colored skin suggested that she was of mixed race.

  Val hitched herself up onto the picnic table, sitting as far from the girl as possible so as not to invade her space. "Hi. Good book?"

  The girl looked up. She was not pretty. Thick glasses distorted her dark eyes, and her face was thin and wary. "My father murdered my mother and then killed himself," she said in a flat voice. "You can go away now." Her gaze returned to her book.

  Val's jaw dropped, which of course was exactly the reaction Lyssie wanted. Mastering her shock, she said, "That's a real conversation-stopper, but I don't see why what happened to your parents means I should go away. I admit that a good book is usually more fun than anything, but this is a picnic. Meeting new people can also be fun."

  The girl looked up again. "My parents weren't married, so I'm a bastard."

  Val guessed that Lyssie had been taunted, rejected, and singled out so often that she had decided to do the rejecting herself. The combination of belligerence and vulnerability touched Val's heart. "That gives us something in common. My parents weren't married, either."

  "You're a bastard, too?"

  "Yes, though my mother preferred to call me a love child, which means the same but sounds nicer." Wanting to retain the girl's interest, Val added, "We have something else in common—crazy curly hair. Being illegitimate never caused me any trouble, but this hair was the bane of my existence when I was your age." She tugged on a lock. "As curly as yours, and red-orange like a carrot. I stood out in a crowd like an orange sheep."

  "Now that you're grown-up, why don't you do something with it? Straighten it. Color it."

  "I could, but I don't want to. I've learned to like it this way. When I want to look respectable at work, I pull it back and look very mean." She demonstrated, pulling her hair behind her head and donning a mock scowl. Then she released her hair to bounce around her shoulders. "When I let it go, I can look like a free spirit or a rebel. So be grateful—you have hair that's an instant signal system."

  Lyssie's brief smile vanished. "I'm not a rebel."

  "No? You're here reading a book when the herd is over there, having seconds on dessert and playing group games. That makes you at least a bit of a rebel."

  The thin shoulders shrugged. Taking another tack, Val peered at the book to read the title. "Ah, the fourth Harry Potter. Good choice. Isn't the series great?"

  For the first time, the dark eyes gave Val full attention. "You've read the Harry Potter books?"

  "I sure have. They work on so many levels. Good stories, good characters, powerful themes, good writing, and humor. That's why readers of all ages like them."

  Lyssie was definitely engaged. "Do you read other fantasy books?"

  "They're my favorite leisure reading." Val hesitated, then decided to make it more personal. "Fantasy is about the struggle of good and evil, and good usually wins. I'm a lawyer so sometimes my job is also about good and evil, but real life gets pretty complicated and I don't always know if I'm on the right side. Reading fantasy novels is kind of like taking a shower to wash away the dust of the day."

  She thought that might be a little over Lyssie's head, but the little girl was nodding thoughtfully. This was one smart kid.

  "I want to be a writer," Lyssie said. "In books, the endings come out right."

  Unlike real life. No
one should have to endure what this little girl had suffered. "I know a writer, and she says that loving to read is the first step toward writing. The more you read, the better a foundation you have. In other words, as you read, don't just relax and enjoy the story, but think about what works and what doesn't."

  Lyssie's face lit up, making her almost pretty. "I do that already." She launched into an analysis of several books she had recently read. Though Val had read only the Potter books, it sounded as if the girl had a good eye for storytelling.

  When Lyssie's flow of words slowed, Val said, "Are you interested in getting a Big Sister, or are you here only because someone made you come?"

  Lyssie shrugged again. "Gramma asked me to give it a try."

  So the girl was here reluctantly. Did she fear that no one would want her, as if her traumatic background was contagious? Val felt a powerful wave of tenderness.

  Though she knew better than to hug the girl, the strength of her reaction surprised her. She had come to the picnic because she was interested in the program, but now she didn't want a Little Sister in the abstract—she wanted this one. She wanted to learn more about this bright, tragic little girl. She wanted to spend time with her, make her laugh.

  A little nervously, she said, "I've never been a Big Sister and I need training, but if you're willing and Anita and your grandmother agree, I would very much like to have you as a Little Sister. Would you like that, too? We can get matching T-shirts that say 'Every day is a bad hair day.'" She hesitated, hoping this wasn't too soon. "Of course, if you'd rather not, that's okay. The match has to be something we both want."

  Lyssie's rejection wouldn't be okay, but the last thing Val wanted to do was make the girl unhappy. Hardly breathing, she waited as Lyssie pulled out a bookmark and carefully placed it between the pages. "What would we do?"

  "Things we would both enjoy. I'd like to read and discuss books, or maybe go to movies, or work on craft projects, or cook. Do you think you'd like any of those things? We get to choose together."

  For a long moment, Lyssie fidgeted with the bookmark.

  Then she closed the volume and looked up with a shy smile. "I... I'd like that."

  "Wonderful!" Val beamed like an idiot. "Shall we go find Anita?"

  And later she would call Rachel and thank her for a truly great suggestion.

  * * *

  Over the years, Kendra had become accustomed to the SuperMax. She knew the routines and some of the guards. Most of them were good guys doing a job to support their families. But she never stopped loathing the place. Sometimes when she couldn't sleep at night, she would be haunted by thoughts of being incarcerated here. Rough concrete walls, even a concrete bed, in a room the size of a walk-in closet. Narrow slits of windows that only a snake child could escape from. Twenty-three hours a day of solitude. She would go crazy.

  Daniel's calm acceptance was little short of a miracle. Though he was on death row, he never caused any problems, so he was allowed a few privileges. With books, he had given himself an eclectic education. He had stayed fit with exercises that could be done in his cell, and playing basketball with two or three other men during the brief recreation hours. After his initial rage and bitterness had died down, he had returned to the religion of his childhood with a faith that awed her. Though he didn't want to die, he wasn't eating himself alive with anger.

  Only on rare occasions did she glimpse the frustration he felt with his imprisonment. What would it be like to be locked up like a rat in a cage? Be unable to eat what he wanted, go where he wanted? Lord, never to have sex except with his right hand? No matter how hard she tried to imagine imprisonment, she couldn't really understand the dark place at the center of his soul. For that, she was shamefully grateful. She wouldn't have the strength to endure vicious injustice with such grace.

  She settled in the visiting room chair, waiting. Not something she was naturally good at, but she had learned. When Daniel arrived, he was escorted by two guards. Both gave her friendly nods. Everyone politely ignored the shackles that bound the prisoner.

  "Hi, baby." Daniel smiled at her, warmth in his eyes. Though he'd never used emotional blackmail to get her to come, she knew how much these visits meant to him as a break in the slow stretch of featureless days. "How you doin'?"

  "Pretty good, big guy. What did you think of my boss?"

  He chuckled. "She's quite a little firecracker. Wouldn't want to cross her."

  "She's smart, Daniel, probably the smartest lawyer I've ever worked with. Maybe she can create some reasonable doubt."

  His smile vanished. "It's too late for that, Kendra. The people who love executions keep makin' it harder and harder to raise post-conviction issues. Even if that little redhead came up with a signed affidavit from God that I'm innocent, it wouldn't be enough to save my black ass. Don't kid yourself about this. It'll just make the hurtin' worse when I'm dead."

  His words chilled her. "Don't give up, honey. Val needs you to cooperate if we're going to have a shot at getting the sentence commuted."

  "I'm cooperating, but not because I think it'll do any good. Even if my sentence is commuted, what would it mean? They would just move me back across the street to the Pen. Not much of a life. Maybe I'd be better off dead."

  "Don't you say such a wicked thing!" she snapped. "No one is better off dead."

  "We all die, sugar," he said gently. "In a way, I'm lucky to know when. Gives me a chance to make my peace."

  She disliked his words, but he had given her an opening to raise the question that haunted her. "Let me tell Jason about you before it's too late."

  "No!" Daniel's expression darkened. "We've talked about this over and over. What good will it do for him to know his real father will be executed as a murderer? No damn good at all. Phil Brooks adopted him and did right by both of you. Jason has already lost the father he knew. Don't make the boy ashamed of a father he didn't know."

  "Jason isn't a boy, he's a man. Nineteen years old, an air force cadet. A son who's going to soar. He deserves to know the truth."

  For an instant, Daniel's pain was vivid in his face. Then he shuttered his expression. "All he needs to know is that his real daddy loved him and died young."

  "He has a right to meet you at least once, and to know that you're innocent." She was begging now and didn't care. "You shouldn't make this choice for him."

  Daniel sighed. "I can't stop you from tellin' him. But Kendra—can't you at least let me have this?"

  His words silenced her. She never had been able to say no to him, from the first time they met. He'd been playing basketball with some buddies at a local schoolyard. The ball flew over the chain-link fence as she walked by on the way home from her job flipping burgers. She was Kendra Jackson then, nineteen and feeling three times her age.

  When the ball bounced in front of her, she automatically scooped it up. Daniel jogged up to the fence. "Hey, girl, will you throw the ball back?"

  She turned to him and saw the most beautiful man imaginable. A couple of years older than she, he was tall and limber and fit, with a smile that lit up East Baltimore. A light-hearted Ashanti warrior. Feeling mischievous, she took aim and threw the ball over the fence. It arced through the air and snapped through the net in a perfect shot.

  "Whoa, baby!" Daniel exclaimed admiringly. "You are good."

  One of the other players scoffed. "She just got lucky."

  "Maybe. Maybe not." Daniel retrieved the ball and dribbled it, his gaze on Kendra. "Want to shoot a few hoops?"

  She debated a moment before saying, "Sure." Her life didn't have a lot of fun just then, what with her mama dying of cancer, so she wouldn't pass this up. She found the fence door and entered. The guys accepted her with good humor, which switched to alarm as she showed 'em her moves.

  After she sank her fifth basket, Daniel recovered the ball, saying with a chuckle, "We got ourselves a ringer here. Where did you play, sugar?"

  "Dunbar. I was All-State for two years." She smiled wickedly. "It is
n't just black guys that know how to play basketball." Her smile faded as she thought of the athletic scholarships that had been offered. But then her mama fell sick, so no way could Kendra go to college. She glanced at her watch. "Time for me to go home."

  "I'll walk you there." Daniel tossed the ball back over his head and the two of them left in a chorus of cheers and rowdy speculation.

  On the way home they exchanged names and discovered that his family went to the same church her cousins did. She liked that she could look up to him. Too many guys were too short for her.

  When they reached the small house Mama had rented because it was close to Hopkins Hospital, Daniel asked, "Like to get together for a little one-on-one this weekend?" Gently he brushed her cheek with his knuckles, his expression making it clear what kind of game he was hoping for.

  Her instant, sizzling attraction was immediately drowned in a wave of weariness. "I can't. I got too much to do."

  "There should always be time enough for love."

  It was a slick line. Too slick. Deciding to show him why she couldn't play games with carefree young studs, she said, "Come on in and meet my mama."

  That would have sent most boys flying, but not Daniel. And he didn't run or flinch when he met her mother, who was bald, bone-thin, and exhausted by the disease that was killing her. Instead, after Kendra made the introductions, Daniel solemnly took Mama's hand. "Miz Jackson, you have one mighty fine daughter here. Maybe I'll marry her someday."

  Never at a loss for words, Mama said, "See that you do. I don't hold with boys who make babies but are too cowardly to become husbands."

  "Yes, ma'am." From then on, Daniel and Mama were friends. He was the one who sat with Kendra in the hospital at the end and held her when she was crying her eyes out at the funeral. He had moved in by then, and his loving was the only sweet spot in a sad, sad time.

  Before Mama died, he asked Kendra to marry him. She had said yes for her mother's sake, but later she kept putting him off when he wanted to name a date.