An Imperfect Process

by Mary Jo Putney

  She shivered, suddenly tired and cold. She didn't want to lose Rob, but... marriage? The prospect made her want to flee to the high timber.

  Smiling wryly, she stood and headed to her bedroom. When life settled down a bit, she would have to call Rachel and find out what was wrong. Rachel could always explain the twists in her friends' psyche. Better yet, she never did so unless asked.

  In the meantime, she returned to her bed and rejoined Rob, burrowing as close to his warm body as humanly possible.

  Chapter 18

  Cal Murphy's office was a riot of papers gone mad. Val wasn't surprised. Public defenders were notoriously overworked. She knocked on the open door to let the office's inhabitant know she was there. "Cal? I'm Val Covington."

  The man at the computer looked up, blinking behind thick glasses. Val said helpfully, "You said I could come by and talk to you about Daniel Monroe."

  "Oh, right, right." He stood and offered his hand. Tall and angular, he had thinning hair and an engaging smile. "I'd apologize for the mess, but it's chronic so there's no point."

  "Not a problem. You PDs average what, forty cases or so at once?"

  He grimaced. "That's when things are going well. At the moment, I have almost a hundred. Pray for more city funding before the OPD goes under for the third time."

  "I brought you some fuel." Val had checked with Murphy's secretary beforehand, so she opened a paper bag and produced two steaming containers of coffee. Handing over the larger one she said, "Your preference is for the largest white chocolate mocha latte in the Western Hemisphere, right?"

  "My God, woman," he said reverently as he accepted the latte. "Are you married? Do you want to be?"

  For a fleeting moment she thought of Rob's near proposal, and her bizarre reaction. He had not raised the subject since, and she had been embarrassingly grateful for that. "Sorry, I'm just opening my own office. No time for a husband."

  "Just as well." He took a deep swallow of the latte, delicately licking whipped cream from his lips. "Not only would Val and Cal be ridiculous, but my wife would probably have something to say on the subject."

  "A lot to say, if she's another lawyer. We never lack for words."

  "Ginny is an ER doctor. I met her when one of my clients got himself shot in the gut by an angry drug dealer."

  Val winced. "Did he survive?"

  "Of course. Why do you think I married his doctor?" He grinned for a moment before turning serious. "All right, Val, what do you want to know?"

  "Anything you can tell me about defending Daniel Monroe that doesn't show up on the official records."

  He sighed and took another swig of coffee. "That was my first capital case where I sat first chair. Will you try to get Daniel a stay of execution based on my failings?"

  "The appeals court has already looked into that without finding any problems with Daniel's trial." She sipped her own modest cappuccino. "I'm no criminal lawyer, but it looked to me as if he got a pretty good defense."

  "Thanks for that," he said dryly. "It's easy to blame any failures on the public defender, since everyone knows we're all drunken morons who can't hold a real job."

  "And corporate litigators like me are greedy beasts with long fangs and no conscience." They shared a smile of lawyerly commiseration before Val continued, "If you had Daniel's case to try over again, would you do anything differently?"

  He slouched back in his chair and thought about it. "Not really. There wasn't a single damned shred of physical evidence either for or against Daniel, so it all came down to the eyewitnesses. A single one could have been explained away as mistaken identity, maybe even two, but three?"

  He frowned. "If I had then the experience I have now, I could have done a better job of undermining the two male witnesses. At the trial the state's attorney presented them as practically altar boys, but both of them eventually went to prison. That was no use to me at the time of Daniel's trial, though."

  "They were not upstanding citizens," she agreed. "Darrell Long got himself shot, and I understand Joe Cady is dying of AIDS."

  "No surprises there." Murphy shook his head. "Against the eyewitnesses, all I had was Daniel's girlfriend who swore he was with her. She was a good witness, but it's assumed that girlfriends and mothers will lie to protect even the rottenest criminal, so everything she said was discounted. I wonder what happened to her and the baby. I forget her name, but she was a bright, very together girl."

  "Her name is Kendra Brooks now. She's my right-hand woman and the best paralegal in Baltimore. She's also the reason I'm involved in this case. The baby, Jason Brooks, will be starting his second year at the Air Force Academy."

  "Well, I'll be damned. My favorite niece is a classmate of his. They might know each other. I'm glad Kendra and the boy are doing well." He sighed. "I see so many broken lives. It's good to be reminded that some people not only survive, but flourish."

  She hadn't expected to get any real leads out of Murphy, but she was enjoying this discussion. "Any suggestions as to ways of saving Daniel's life?"

  "Since appeals have been exhausted, you need some new evidence that casts strong doubt on Daniel's guilt. If you can find Joe Cady, lean on him. If he lied about the shooter, he might know the real killer, and he might be willing to talk now. If he's convincing, it might cast enough doubt on Daniel's conviction for the sentence to be commuted to life. Apart from that"—he grimaced—"pray for a miracle."

  She tilted her head. "You've been a public defender for over twenty years. How do you keep doing what must be heartbreaking work?"

  He took off his glasses and began polishing the lenses. "You mean because most of them are guilty and some of them have done truly horrible things? It helps to believe passionately that everyone is entitled to the best possible defense. Besides, sometimes clients who look guilty as sin aren't.

  "Everyone deserves a zealous defense, and I've got a thing about wrongful convictions, which is one reason I'm seeing what I can do for Daniel," Val said. "I considered becoming a public defender, but decided I was too much of a wimp to deal with so many cases involving violence."

  "That part isn't easy, but someone needs to do it." Frowning, Cal shoved his glasses back into place. "Clients tell some pretty incredible stories, but you sort of have to believe them since truth is so often stranger than fiction. A lot are drop-outs who started life with the deck stacked against 'em, and the streets and dealing drugs are the only road they can see that's open to them. Hope gets consumed and protecting your honor is worth your life, 'cause your life isn't worth much anyhow, and at least if you go down people will respect the way you fell."

  He leaned forward and started talking faster. "Cops do a tough job and heaven knows we need them, but some are cowboys who figure that if a suspect didn't do this particular crime, he did something else just as bad so he deserves punishment, and beefing up the evidence is really just justice. So maybe a cowboy says he had a clear view when something went down even though he didn't see a thing, or maybe he has some drugs picked up on another bust so why not plant them on this no-good dude who deserves whatever he gets?"

  Cal stood, shoving his chair backwards, and began to stalk around the office. "So, by God, the state damn well needs to prove every element of a crime beyond a reasonable doubt, not just seventy-five percent. Innocent until proven guilty—it's the American way, because even when the system works perfectly, which it never does, it's an imperfect process and innocent guys go to jail and sometimes they're even executed, and even one wrongful execution is too many.

  "Society needs to remember that justice should be about freeing the innocent and giving just punishment to the guilty. It can't be about revenge, because most criminals will get out of prison someday, and we better hope they've turned themselves around, which they're unlikely to do if they're bitter because they were hammered by a judge or thrown by their counsel or screwed by the police. If there's to be any hope at all, there has to be justice, dammit. Justice. And that means people like me f
ighting the good fight on behalf of people who don't always deserve it, but justice is worth the fight, always."

  Val stared at him, and all she could think to say was, "Wow."

  He stopped, embarrassed. "God, I'm preaching. Sorry, but you did ask."

  "I'm glad I did. I just remembered one of the reasons I went to law school. It's easy to forget in the daily grind of a legal practice."

  "You're in it for justice?" His mouth quirked up. "Most of my female classmates claimed they wanted to be lawyers for the money."

  "That was another factor for me, but not the biggest." She rose and offered her hand. "Thanks, Cal. I'll do what I can for Daniel, and prayer goes at the top of the list, because if you couldn't save him, it will take a miracle for us to do it now."

  "I hope you get one, because that's a case that's haunted me. Maybe eighty percent of the time the courts get it right, but I don't think this was one of them, and death is different from other penalties. So... final." He shook her hand, then dropped into his chair and returned to his computer screen. By the time Val reached his office door, he'd forgotten her existence.

  Thoughtfully she left the building and walked along busy St. Paul Place. She was only a few blocks from Crouse, Resnick, but very different kinds of law were practiced in the two locations. Both were needed. Neither was exactly right for her.

  In a matter of days she would officially open her own office, and it was up to her to develop the kind of practice that would suit her best. The prospect was still a little scary, but exhilarating. She could do this. She just wished that she could begin by freeing Daniel.

  Crouse, Resnick was quiet. Kendra had officially left and was setting up the new office. Val had a lot of loose ends to tie up, but for all intents and purposes, her uptown law firm career was over. The biggest event left was her going-away luncheon.

  After returning a couple of Crouse, Resnick calls, she checked her cell phone for personal messages. One number was Rob's. Glad to have an excuse to talk to him, she called his cell phone. "Hi, handsome, what's up?"

  His deep voice had the remarkable ability to soothe and arouse at the same time. "I've located Joe Cady. Still alive, barely, at a nursing home in South Baltimore. Since you wanted to go with me, will tomorrow afternoon be okay?"

  She felt a rush of excitement. "It would have to be first thing in the morning—tomorrow is my farewell luncheon." She jotted a note on her schedule. "I hope we get something useful from Cady. This morning I talked to the public defender who handled Daniel's case. He's a cool guy who gave a rant on justice that curled my toes. He also thought Cady might be our best chance for new evidence."

  "Let's hope the poor schlub is well enough to talk."

  "What's on your schedule for this afternoon?"

  "I'm visiting Brenda Harris, the assault victim. If I can persuade her to admit that she wasn't absolutely sure Daniel was the attacker, it would add weight to the case."

  Worth a try. "Have you had any luck investigating the other two witnesses' backgrounds?"

  "I sure have. Though neither Long nor Cady had an adult arrest record at the time of the trial, they both had juvenile records, and they lied about their circumstances at the time of Daniel's trial. Long said he was a student at Coppin State College, but they never heard of him, and Cady claimed that he worked at Johns Hopkins, only he had been fired months earlier after about two weeks on the job. Will this undermine their credibility?"

  "It might help support any stronger evidence we find." She sighed. "Cal Murphy suggested we pray for a miracle."

  "If that's what it takes, I'll give it a try."

  She wondered if he was joking. They had yet to discuss spiritual beliefs, which was odd considering how spirituality—or lack thereof—was a vital part of one's character. "Are you free for dinner tonight? Or a late night snack?" When he hesitated, she said, "I sleep better when you're with me, and it's been three whole days."

  He chuckled. "That's a romantic proposal if I ever heard one. I'd love to come, but I'm not sure yet what time that will be. I'll call you."

  She smiled. At least the day wouldn't be a total waste if she would see Rob later.

  * * *

  Petite and blond, Brenda Harris was an attractive woman in her late forties. She allowed Rob into her suburban home with a certain wariness. "I don't know what you want to talk about, Mr. Smith. Everything I have to say about Daniel Monroe and the murder trial is a matter of public record."

  "An investigator needs to be thorough." It hadn't been easy to persuade Brenda Harris to see him, and Rob wasn't surprised to find a large man in the Harris living room.

  "Marty," she said, "this is Rob Smith, that investigator I told you about."

  As the men shook hands, Rob got the clear message that if he upset Marty's wife, he was in big trouble. "My intention isn't to disturb you, Mrs. Harris. I only want to hear in your own words what happened when you were assaulted, and Officer Malloy was killed. Maybe there's some small detail that didn't seem important or that you didn't remember till after the trial. Anything like that might be useful to my investigation."

  Marty snorted. "How can this not be disturbing? She couldn't stand living in Kensington any more, which is why we sold that house and moved here to Essex."

  "My mother worked nights, and she was assaulted once when I was a kid," Rob said soberly. "She fought back and ended up in the hospital." After that, she started carrying a gun. "It's a crime that women can't walk the streets in safety."

  "It's a crime that murdering bastard Monroe is still alive when Officer Malloy is dead," Marty said vehemently. "Malloy never got to see his kids grow up. He never got to play ball with his son, or give his daughter away at her wedding. It's a damned crying shame that it takes so long for a murderer to get executed in this state."

  "There's no question that Malloy's killer deserves punishment, but I'm conducting this investigation because there's evidence Daniel Monroe wasn't the killer. An innocent man might die, and no one wants that." He caught Brenda's gaze. "Mrs. Harris, the lighting was poor that evening, and you testified that the attack seemed to come out of nowhere. Have you ever wondered if it was Monroe who attacked you?"

  "Never. It was him," she said flatly.

  "Yet when you saw him in a photo lineup, you couldn't identify him," Rob said, careful not to sound confrontational.

  "I was too upset then! I couldn't have identified my own mother. Later, when I saw the real lineup, I knew it was him. I could feel his filthy hands on me again. And he had that tattoo on his wrist, a nasty snake..." Her voice broke. "I still dream about that poor man screaming as Monroe shot him. And the blood... there was so much blood. It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen."

  Even after all these years, pain was vividly real in her eyes. That still didn't mean her identification was correct. The police should never have put Daniel's picture in the photo lineup, then included him with a bunch of strangers in the real lineup. Seeing his face a second time had turned Daniel from a man she didn't recognize into a familiar face. But Brenda Harris was not going to concede the point.

  "According to the case files, you were knocked to the ground in the cross alley beside the corner of the house on the south side. Is that correct?" When she nodded, Rob continued, "You would have seen the killer silhouetted against the only street light nearby. Were you able to see the man's features clearly?"

  For an instant he thought he saw uncertainty in her expression. Then she shook her head. "It was Daniel Monroe I saw. I've never doubted it for a moment. I recognized his face and his tattoo."

  "It was common then for young men in prison to get tattoos on their wrists," Rob said. "I've been looking up police files on possible suspects, and I've already found three men who had tattoos of the same general type as the one Daniel Monroe had."

  "I recognized this one! Monroe is the one who attacked me and killed Malloy."

  Rob would get nothing more from her. Suppressing a sigh, he got to his feet. "Thanks ve
ry much for taking the time to see me, Mrs. Harris. If you should think of anything else, here's my card."

  But he would never hear from her. She might be wrong, but even if the memory had been artificially constructed after the fact, after all these years it was as firmly rooted, as convincing to her, as a genuine memory.

  A pity the human mind was so suggestible, and so stubborn.

  * * *

  Though tempted by Val's offer of dinner, Rob finished his work before calling her to say that he was on his way over. It was after eleven o'clock when he rang her doorbell. If they were a couple, which they seemed to be, having a key would be handy, but he hadn't asked for one because he didn't want to spook her again.

  Within seconds, the door swung open and she tugged him inside so the door could be shut to prevent the cats from escaping. Then she was in his arms, hugging him hard. "It's soooooo nice to see you," she murmured into his shoulder.

  "Ditto." He wrapped her close, feeling the tension ease. "Did the mugging make you uncomfortable here alone? I can come over every night until you're okay again."

  "No, I wasn't afraid of being alone." She stepped back and slid her arm around his waist, guiding him toward the kitchen. "I just—missed seeing you. Hungry? I've got some nice sliced corned beef and cheese from the best deli in Pikesville."

  He laughed. "When you were little, did your mother teach you that the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"

  "Nope, I figured it out for myself." They reached the kitchen, and she headed for the refrigerator. "I also picked up a six-pack of that microbrewery beer you said you liked, and some German potato salad. Interested?"

  He kissed the back of her neck. "Very. Many thanks."

  As he sat at the table, he told himself that he should stop trying to analyze how Val felt about him. She might feel skittish about getting serious too quickly, but surely her consideration and pampering was proof of caring. In time, they would get this right.