Presumption of Guilt

by Rachel Sinclair

  I heard the shouting beginning from down below, thinking that I didn’t want this particular prize. “You mean that they can’t be asked to leave even though they’re disturbing the peace?” I asked Aidan. “Come on, there must be something that can be done about this. And something that can be done about all these death threats. I mean, seriously. I’m just trying to do my job.”

  “I’m sure that the cops were called, and they’ll probably just be told to tone it down. It’s 10 o’clock and people are trying to get some shut-eye. But they can’t be asked to leave if they’re quiet.”

  As if on cue, the crowd below quieted down. But they were still down there, holding up their signs. I was stunned to see that quite a few of these signs had my picture blown up on them, with a circle and line through it. “I don’t like this.” I took a deep breath. “Somebody could get hurt in all this.”

  “Well, my MMA skills are going to come in handy, then,” he said, flexing his muscle again. I had to admit that my brother was really buff, thank God. He worked out just about every day and kept in shape through riding his bike and running on the beach just about every evening.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Maybe we should get a gun.”

  “Probably wouldn’t hurt,” he said. “Anyhow, I have to do some studying before I hit the hay. Got a hot date this weekend, so studying is going to be out for the next few days. See ya.” At that, he went into his bedroom, leaving me to watch the protestors warily down below.

  I sat there and watched the crowd until they finally disbanded at 2 AM, while drinking some hot tea and petting Harlow and Lola, who were out on the balcony with me. I was probably anthropomorphizing them, but it seemed like they were just as worried as I was. Their little ears were perked up and they kept whining softly while pacing around the floor of the balcony.

  I went down to the boardwalk after I thought that it was safe and walked them so that they could do their business before we all tried to get to sleep.

  That was a mistake.

  “You,” a 50ish man in a baseball hat said to me as I walked Lola and Harlow. “You’re the bitch who’s going to be getting that illegal piece of shit off for murder!” He pointed at me and there were five people who surrounded me almost immediately. They apparently were stragglers from the earlier protest. They were all men, all about the same age as the first guy, and they all stood close to me and yelled obscenities. They were careful not to touch me, though, because I could have anybody who laid a hand on me arrested for battery.

  A beach cop on his Segway came up to the group immediately. “Move along,” he said, getting off his Segway and brandishing a club.

  The men obeyed, dispersing onto the beach, while giving the cop the stink-eye.

  “Thank you,” I said to the cop.

  He nodded his head but said nothing, and continued on his way.

  I was shaking as I walked the dogs. As usual, they sniffed around for several minutes before finally getting down to business, and I cursed both of them silently. It was irritating on a regular evening, the way that they had to find just the right patch of grass to pee on. I thought that they did it on purpose because they wanted to stay out as long as possible. Tonight, though, it was scary to stand outside with the dogs. I half expected some guy to come along and force me into his truck.

  Every noise I heard made me jump out of my skin.

  Lola and Harlow finally did their business, and I ran back into the condo building, punching the elevator button with shaking hands.

  I got into my condo and jumped into my bed, putting the covers over my head.

  What did I get myself into?

  Chapter 10

  The next day, I got into my office suite and saw a guy sitting in the waiting area. I figured that he was waiting for one of the other attorneys in the suite, but, when he saw me, he immediately smiled and stood up.

  He was definitely handsome. That is, if you like perfection. Perfect teeth, straight nose, chiseled chin and cheekbones, eyes that were a bright combination of blue and green and were fringed with thick dark eyelashes. His sandy hair was cut short, but not too short, as his bangs were slightly long and swooped to one side. His suit was impeccably tailored to his 6 foot plus frame, and his shoes were wing-tipped, leather and buffed to an impossible sheen. In his perfectly manicured hand was a briefcase, and on that wrist was a Rolex watch.

  I raised an eyebrow. This guy looked monied.

  “You serving me with papers for something?” I asked him. I knew that I didn’t have any clients coming in, but he seemed to be waiting for me, so that was the only thing that I could think of - this guy was some kind of process server. I didn’t know who might be suing me, but I guessed that there was somebody who might have an imaginary malpractice case against me.

  He chuckled. “No, I’m not a process server.” He held out his hand. “Christian Davis. Damned glad to meet you.”

  I looked over at the receptionist who was watching Christian with stars in her eyes. Christian saw me make eye contact with Sarah, the receptionist for our suite, and smiled. “I didn’t have an appointment. I took a chance to come down here and meet with you.” I noticed that he had dimples when he smiled. “I knew that you come into the office early, so I knew that I could catch you before you really get going.”

  I was wary about people knowing too much about me, especially after my close calls from the night before with the mob on the boardwalk. “How did you know that I come into the office early?” I asked him.

  He cocked his head. “I follow you on Facebook. You make early posts from your office all the time, so I figured that it was a safe bet that you would be here at this time.”

  That was a bad habit of mine, one that I was going to quit doing tout de suite. I did post on Facebook from my office. I was one of those annoying people who liked to show off different pictures I bought from art fairs or some of the cute little figurines I nabbed for my office shelves. I realized that many of those postings were at 6 AM, which was when I usually got into the office in the morning.

  “And why do you follow me on Facebook?” Who was this guy? Was he a creeper or a stalker? God knew he was a good-looking creeper or stalker, if that’s what he was, but so was Ted Bundy.

  “I found out that you’re on the Esme Gutierrez case, so I looked you up on Facebook. I would have called you to make an appointment, but you probably would have just thought that I was a weirdo.”

  “And just showing up here is going to make me think that you’re less of a weirdo?” I asked him with a shake of my head.

  “Well, I guess I thought that I could charm you in person,” he said, “moreso than over the phone.”

  “Huh. Because you’re such a pretty boy? I’m quite sure that you’re used to women dropping their panties the second you walk through the door, but if you thought that was going to happen here, think again. I’m not in the mood.” After the scene last night, I wasn’t in the mood for much.

  His smile never lost his face. “Touché. Listen, if I could just have five minutes of your time, I’ll explain why I’m here.”

  “You sound like a door-to-door salesman,” I said. “Leave a brochure of whatever you’re selling, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Actually, I’m not wanting to sell you on anything. Except myself. I want to sell you on myself.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked him. “What do you mean, you’re selling yourself?” Was he a male prostitute? That was a new one, selling sex door to door. New one on me, anyhow, but maybe it was a thing. At any rate, that was the last thing I needed at that moment. Pretty boy or no.

  “Just five minutes,” he said, putting his thumb and forefinger together to show that he was only asking for a little thing. “And you can throw me out of your office if you don’t like what I have to say.”

  I looked over at Sarah, who was studiously pretending not to hear anything that was being said between this Greek God and me, but I could tell that she was hanging on every word. She was clearly as curious
as I was about what this whole thing was about.

  I motioned him to follow me. “My office is back here,” I said, “but I’m leaving the door open. And I’m warning you, I have a gun.” I didn’t have a gun, of course, at least not yet. But I had the sneaking suspicion that I was going to have to get one after last night.

  He followed me into my office and sat down in front of my desk. “Nice office,” he said, looking around. “That a Klimt print?” he asked, pointing to a painting I had on one of my walls that was, indeed, a copy of a Gustav Klimt painting. “He’s one of my favorite artists.”

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding my head. “Good eye. Now, down to business. Who are you and why are you here?”

  “A direct woman,” he said approvingly. “I love it. Well, I’m here because I want in.”

  “Into what?” I asked him.

  “I want in on the Esme Gutierrez case,” he said. “You don’t have a second chair lined up yet, do you?”

  “Ah, I see. So, like a circling vulture, you stalked the Esme Gutierrez case and just waited to pounce on whoever was suckered into taking it?” I leaned back, observing him. “Gotta give you an A for effort there, but-“

  “Listen, I’m an attorney down at Gordon and Rees,” he said, referring to one of the largest law firms in the San Diego area, “and I’m going out of my mind working for them. 80 hours a week, grinding away, and never seeing a courtroom. I’m on the partnership track, but, quite frankly, if I make partner, I don’t think I’m going to see my fortieth birthday. I mean, I’m making 250K a year, but my billable hour requirement is just insane.” He took out his resume. “You went to Harvard. I went to Yale. Class of 2015, just like you.”

  “Wait,” I said, looking at his resume. It showed that he was specializing in intellectual property law at Gordon and Rees, and that his career, thus far, consisted of legal research, document preparation and review and lots of deposition and settlement work. He hadn’t yet had any trial experience, so I was wondering why it was that he thought that he was right for the job.

  I did need a second chair, that was indisputable, but I was thinking that I needed to find somebody who I knew well in the criminal bar. Somebody who knew what he was doing. I certainly wasn’t looking for a big firm muckety-muck who had never been inside the San Diego Superior courthouse. “Why do you think that you’re qualified to second-chair a case like this?”

  “Now, I know that this is a death penalty case. And I know that the stakes are high. Incredibly high.”

  “You might say that,” I said. “I lose this case, and my client gets a needle in her arm. Not to mention the fact that her life is probably in danger as we speak. The passions on this case are sky-high, I don’t think I need to tell you. So, yes, the stakes are very high. Too high to hire an inexperienced second-chair to help out with this.”

  “I understand, and I knew that you would say that,” he said. Then he straightened his back and looked me in the eye. “Look, I’m going to tell you something, and, trust me, I’m taking a gamble in saying this to you. You could call the California Bar and turn me in. But, I think that I might have some skills that could come in handy to you in this case.”

  “Oh, great,” I said. “Sounds like you’re about to tell me that you skirt ethics or something.”

  “I’m a computer hacker,” he blurted out. “And I’m very good at it.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And-“ I wasn’t quite sure what him being a good computer hacker had to do with the price of tea in China.

  “And, believe me, my computer hacking skills will come in handy. It always does. You don’t even know right now what kind of records you’re going to have to get illicitly.” He nodded his head. “Plus, I would imagine that you’re getting some pretty choice emails lately. You’ve been doxed, big time, and everyone knows everything about you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So my brother tells me. I haven’t Googled my name online, though, because I don’t want to know what’s being said about me.”

  “Trust me, you probably don’t want to know, but you probably should. There’re stories about you on the dark web, and they’re not exactly flattering. I realize that you served a 7 year prison sentence for something you didn’t do, but, according to the people on the internet, you bribed your way out of prison and you really did kill your best friend, Becky Whitfield. Just about everyone agrees that you should still be in prison, including the family of Becky Whitfield. They’ve been chiming in with postings of their own. It’s ugly out there.”

  I took a deep breath and looked at my balcony. I had some red geraniums growing there in a pot, and looking at them always comforted me. But nothing could comfort me when I heard what Christian had to say about what was being said about me. I didn’t like people talking about me, just like anybody else. I didn’t like hate emails, either. A certain amount of hate emails went along with this job, because every time I walked a defendant, I got a slew of emails accusing me of being an accessory to murder and the like. But I had never gotten death threats and I had never gotten the vitriol that was flooding my email inbox even as we spoke. And just knowing that literally the whole world knew about my going to prison…there were no words for how humiliated I felt.

  I looked at Christian and saw an expression on his face that enraged me. It was a cross between a pitiful poor you look and a half smile, and I immediately thought that he was actually enjoying himself. He was digging the knife in and twisting it around and was getting some kind of sadistic pleasure out of my agony.

  “Out,” I said to him, pointing to the door. “I don’t need your help, thank you very much. There are plenty of attorneys out there with death penalty experience who can help me in this case. I need somebody with relevant experience.” I took a deep breath and counted to ten, then shut my eyes. “Thank you very much for thinking of me, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to reject your offer.”

  He nodded his head. “Okay, I thought it was worth a try.” He brought out two of his business cards. “But if you change your mind-“

  “I won’t, but thanks,” I said. “Sarah will show you out.”

  He turned around and walked out of my office without another word.

  And the second he left, I lost it. All the pain, all the rage that I had felt ever since Becky was found dead came to the surface. I doubled over on the floor, holding my belly while I screamed impotently against…something. The nameless person who killed her. My public defender who didn’t give a crap about me. The prosecutor who intentionally withheld exculpating evidence. The people who were still convicting me, who never forgave me even though there was nothing to forgive. I knew that I would never escape my hell, because there would always be thousands, maybe even millions, of people who would still think that I was guilty.

  It was like the congressman Gary Condit. He was suspected of killing his intern, Chandra Levy, with whom he was having an affair. He lost his career over it, even though somebody else was eventually convicted for the intern’s murder. People still thought him to be a murderer, even to this day. It didn’t help that the person convicted for poor Chandra’s murder eventually was freed because somebody lied on the stand.

  The only way that it would stop would be if I could track down Becky’s murderer. I had never even bothered to try to find her murderer all these years, because I wanted to move on with my life. I didn’t want to reopen that particularly painful wound. But I knew that I was going to have to. If I ever wanted to walk around in public without feeling that people were pointing and staring, I was going to have to try to figure it out. It was a cold case at the moment, but cold cases were meant to be reopened. And if I could just find some clues, then maybe, just maybe, I could convince the cops to give the case a second look.

  And maybe I could actually sleep at night.

  Chapter 11

  That night, I got home and found that Aidan wasn’t around. That was fine. It was Friday evening, and he had mentioned something about having a hot date. If it was a re
ally hot date, he might not return until the next day. I decided to take advantage of the relative quiet of the evening and really dig in deep into Esme’s case. The answer to what had happened was right there in that file. I was convinced of it.

  I prepared a motion to inspect the crime scene, and made a note to myself that I needed to set up interviews with Colleen and Jacob. With any luck, they would speak to me willingly. If they didn’t, I was going to have to subpoena them for trial, but I didn’t want to be feeling around in the dark like that. Because of the California rules regarding depositions, I wouldn’t be able to depose them before trial, which would mean that I would be asking them questions on the stand that I didn’t know the answer to. That was always a bad idea, because you never knew what they were going to say. Sometimes it worked out. Sometimes it didn’t. When it didn’t work, it was usually devastating to the case.

  There were a few protestors out on the boardwalk again, but they weren’t shouting like they were the previous evening. I figured that the beach cop was down there keeping the peace. But they were there with their signs, including signs that had pictures of me with the circle and line through my face.

  I didn’t want to look at my emails again. I figured that what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me.

  How wrong I was.

  Chapter 12

  I actually got to sleep that night. It was a dreamless sleep, but I shut my eyes and actually went unconscious, so I counted that as a win. I listened to the snoring of my two precious pups, and the sounds of their snores actually came into my unconscious brain.

  So did the sound of their frantic barking.

  I opened my eyes and saw a figure was in my bedroom. “Aidan, what are you doing here?” I asked the figure, and then looked at the clock. 2 AM. “How was your date?”