by Carsen Taite
“Then you know I’m at the end. We lost our direct appeal. He said I may have a chance at a writ, but he can’t do it for free.”
She already knew that, but she wanted to hear him say it. Ian Taylor had told her that all the direct appeals had already been exhausted. She could hire an attorney or find someone to take the case pro bono, but the only shot Eric had now was a writ of habeus corpus. She didn’t really understand the difference, but from what she’d been able to gather, Eric had been entitled to have a court paid attorney for the appeal, but any extra shots at overturning the verdict would have to be on his own dime. Ian had been clear about the slim chances ahead. She was both relieved and disappointed to hear Eric admit the truth. With the reality in the open, they could move past it.
“I talked to Mr. Taylor. He said he did his best, but you’re right, there isn’t much for him to work with. Seems the lawyers who handled your case from the start bungled things up beyond repair.” She didn’t ask the question that was foremost in her mind, but Eric answered without being asked.
“I couldn’t afford a free-world lawyer. The court appointed those guys to my case. Said they were qualified. I figure they know plenty, but they didn’t talk to me much, so I guess they didn’t know much about this case.”
His even tone didn’t convey a lick of chastisement, but she silently berated herself. If she hadn’t cut all ties, he would have come to her for help, and she would’ve hired him a lawyer. A good one. Sitting here on death row shouldn’t be about uncertainty or lack of money. She would have exhausted every avenue to make sure he was well defended. If she hadn’t cut all ties.
As if he read her thoughts, he said, “You were right to cut me off. Last you saw me, I was headed down a path of destruction. I know it. When I got out of the pen, I promised myself I’d get my act together before I looked you up.” He ducked under her intense gaze. “I wasn’t out long before I got picked up for this. No way was I going to call you then.”
She understood. She had a million questions to ask about his case, but without privacy, she didn’t want to risk too many details. Problem was, if they didn’t talk about why he was here, there really wasn’t much else to discuss. The only thing they had in common was family, and they were the only two family members left. She risked a couple of questions. Things she had to know.
“Did you know her?”
His face fell. He knew who she was talking about. Ian had said Eric’s acquaintance with the victim was the final pin in the coffin of his case. She could understand why. Harder to say you were the random black man, selected to take the fall if you actually knew the victim of the crime.
“I did. We worked together. We were friends, kind of. I’d been to her house, helped her move in. She was always nice to me.”
Serena struggled not to react, instead formulating her next question. “Why didn’t you testify? Tell the jury you didn’t do it?” Two questions, but really only one. She needed him to tell her he didn’t do this thing. That no matter how far he had fallen, he hadn’t sunk to the depths of inhumanity, hadn’t raped and killed an innocent girl who’d never done harm to anyone.
“Lawyers told me not to. Said if I did, the jury would find out my whole record. I guess I shouldn’t have listened to them.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He met her eyes. “I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t touch a hair on her head. I swear it to you.”
His eyes begged for a response from her. She sifted through her doubts, searching for the truth. A memory surfaced. Her eighth birthday. The woman who’d given birth to them was nowhere to be found. Instead, Eric had met her after school and walked her to the shady convenience store near their dilapidated building. “Wait here,” he’d said. He was inside only a moment, then he emerged in a flash, grabbed her hand, and took off running. “Hurry, let’s get home. I have a surprise for your birthday.” When they were safely inside and all three locks were bolted, he presented a handful of candy bars, with a flourish.
Even her eight-year-old brain knew he didn’t have the money to buy her anything, but she hadn’t cared. He loved her enough to be there, to try to make her birthday something special. Her adult self would be revolted at the thought of taking stolen property, however trivial. She’d been disgusted by Eric’s behavior many times throughout the years. He lied, he cheated, he stole. But murder? Rape? She couldn’t fathom either. Not from the boy who had stolen candy so his sister could have a special day.
She locked eyes with him. “I believe you.”
Chapter Two
Late that evening, Serena waited for the red-eye back to Florida. She hated airports. The first time in her life she’d flown on a plane she’d been leaving a tragic past to head to an uncertain future. The whole gravity thing didn’t help matters.
She’d been thirteen years old. Not only had she never been on a plane, no one in her circle of influence ever had. Of course, that circle was small. After the court declared her junkie mother unfit, she and Eric had spent several years in foster care. Sometimes together, sometimes apart.
When the folks from the agency came to visit, they took pictures. She stood still and listened while they made comments to the foster parents about how attractive her mocha skin was, how acceptable. How it would make it so much easier to find her a permanent home. She wondered why they didn’t know she could hear them. She wasn’t stupid, but in her young brain, that permanent home would always include her older brother. Her protector.
When the time came to seal the deal, Eric wasn’t part of it. Platitudes like, “He’ll be happier in a place that’s more for boys,” and, “You’ll both be able to visit and share your experiences,” didn’t soothe the pain. Serena had grown to love Don and Marion Clark, the couple who’d adopted her. They were Mom and Dad, but she’d never gotten over the pain of losing the only real family she’d ever had.
Years had passed before she’d seen Eric again. She’d almost learned to forget her past when it came roaring back in the form of a late night phone call.
“Honey, sorry to wake you, but I think it’s important.”
The urgency in Marion’s voice had been a cold blast of wake up. Serena shook herself awake and waited with panic for the only kind of news that comes in the middle of the night.
“It’s your brother, Eric. He’s in trouble.”
That was the first time. Two months post graduation from the local community college, she was only one week into her job at the bank, but she didn’t hesitate. She had walked into her boss’s office the next morning and, in vague terms, explained she had a family emergency that required her to travel out of state. She said she’d only be gone a few days, but she really had no idea what to expect. She purchased her flight, leaving the return trip open. Marion drove her to the airport.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Serena almost said yes. She hadn’t been back to Dallas since she’d first stepped on a plane, a week after her thirteenth birthday. As reluctant as she was to leave her life behind on that day, she was just as scared to return to it now. Although she’d resisted making connections here, she’d managed to weave her way into the lives of the couple who’d adopted her. But one thread remained unraveled, back in Texas. Eric. For a few months after she’d been whisked away to Florida, they’d written letters back and forth. Hers, timid descriptions of her new life in a distant place. His, thinly veiled missives of resentment. Eventually, one or both of them realized that no matter how they tried, they weren’t connecting. The letters stopped. If the Clarks had ever moved, Eric wouldn’t have been able to reach her that first time. He’d explained on the phone how he’d kept her last letter. How tenuous their family tie must be, reliant on a simple fact of geography.
The gate attendant called her boarding group. She rose to join the cattle call, wishing she’d purchased a book to distract her from thoughts of Eric during the flight home. As if he could read her mind, the gentleman who’d been sitting next to her offered her his newspaper. “I’m abou
t to toss this. Would you like it?”
She smiled and accepted the paper. Within moments after boarding, she was completely immersed in an article about a recent conviction that had been overturned because of prosecutorial misconduct and the organization that had won the appeal. Hope renewed, she started making notes and planning a strategy to help Eric. She would not give up without a fight.
*
Cory opened the door a crack, but only because she couldn’t figure out how to disable the doorbell. The Nelson hearing had been five days ago, and she hadn’t spoken to a soul since she’d been placed on indefinite leave. Melinda Stone, hands on her hips, dripping wet from the rain, said, “Thank God, I was about to melt. And I was almost certain I could smell your rotting corpse. What’s for dinner?”
Melinda has always made her dizzy, from the first moment they met as 1Ls in law school. The last thing she needed right now was an infusion of her energy. Needed or wanted—Cory wasn’t sure of the difference. Didn’t matter. She’d get rid of her quickly. What the hell was she doing here anyway? Cory didn’t open the door any wider. “I’m alive, but I’m really busy.”
Melinda pushed her way in. “You’re barely alive and you’re not busy at all. You’re about to have your license suspended, and word on the street is that you’re letting it happen. Where’s the tiger I remember? She wouldn’t go down without a fight.” She rubbed Corey’s chin. “Where’s my tiger? Where is she?”
Cory pushed her away. “Not funny. I think you have me mistaken for someone else. Some other victim who might actually desire your house calls. Seriously, Mel, I have stuff to do.”
Melinda shook her head, conveying her opinion that Cory was pathetic, and walked into the kitchen. “You look like shit. When’s the last time you washed your hair?”
“I washed my hair this morning,” Cory protested. She hadn’t felt like combing it though, and the dark strands hung like thick ropes around her face. She looked down at her usually lanky frame. Her sweats hung in loose folds. She’d definitely lost a few pounds. She was a tall, skinny, shaggy, former lawyer. Dressed like a homeless person. Appropriate.
As Cory watched, Melinda riffled through a few drawers, finally uttering an “ah ha” when she located the plastic folder housing a variety of takeout menus. She thrust her find toward Cory. “Pick one. It’s on me.”
Cory gave up. When Mel was in one of these moods, nothing would dissuade her. “Pizza. I Fratelli’s.”
“I’m thinking Thai.” Melinda pulled a phone out of her purse.
She knew better than to fight. “You can use my phone.” Cory handed her the cordless handset.
“It doesn’t work.”
“Yes, it does.”
“I’ve been calling you for three days. You don’t answer. Either it doesn’t work or you’re ignoring me. You pick. You want soup with your Pad Kee Mow?”
“Why don’t you tell me what I want?” Cory pretended to grouse.
Melinda waved her off. “Don’t be a pissant. I’ll tell you plenty before we’re done, but I’ll let you pick your dinner. Chicken or beef?”
Cory shrugged. She wouldn’t win this fight. She may as well save her energy for the real reason behind Melinda’s visit. “Chicken. Extra spicy.” She waited until Melinda phoned in the order, then started her own round of questions.
“Who told you?”
“No one had to tell me.”
“Oh, I see. Now you’re going to add psychic to your long list of talents.”
Melinda reached into her enormous handbag and pulled out a rolled up newspaper. She spread it out on the kitchen table, and Cory could tell it was actually various sections of four newspapers, different dates. Each one contained a headline, decreasing in size and placement about the Nelson case. The first one, the one with the front-page headline, contained a feature story that spanned several pages. Innocent Man Freed After DA’s Office Admits Wrongdoing.
She didn’t need to read further. She knew her name would be splashed throughout the pages. Cory Lance—lead prosecutor at Nelson’s trial. Cory Lance—her arguments convinced a jury to put Nelson away for life. Cory Lance—the prosecutor who kept valuable, exculpatory evidence from the defense team. Cory Lance—the reason the case was overturned.
The article wouldn’t contain a single statement from her about the appeal and subsequent dismissal of charges. Not for lack of trying on the part of the press. For days following the entry of the Innocence Project team, reporters had dogged her every move from her house to the courthouse. She’d finally stopped repeating the officially sanctioned two-word response, “no comment,” and maintained a stoic façade, when all she’d really wanted to do was shout, “You don’t know anything about how the justice system works.” Ray Nelson was a danger to society. She knew it, the cops knew it, the judge and jury had known it. Now, because of what was perceived as prosecutorial misconduct, he’d be walking the streets of Dallas again. Free to offend again. She for one wouldn’t be sleeping until he got himself locked up again.
She tossed the paper aside. The stories in the media sensationalized everything. “Ray Nelson may be a lot of things, but innocent isn’t one of them.”
Melinda shoved her toward a chair at the kitchen table. “That’s better, Tiger. Talk it out. If it makes you feel any better, I did see at least one story about the case that didn’t mention your name.” She looked around. “You have wine?”
Cory sighed and pointed to a rack on the counter. “The Pinot is the best. Corkscrew in the drawer.”
Melinda poured two glasses and settled in at the table. “Drink and spill.”
Cory took a sip of the wine to delay the inevitable interrogation. The Nelson case was the last thing she wanted to talk about, especially with Melinda. She wouldn’t be satisfied with cursory answers. “Nothing to it. We had him, dead to rights. Judge knew it. Jury took less than an hour to find him guilty.”
“And?”
“And an appellate lawyer got him off on a technicality.”
“Technicality?”
“The police had a suspect prior to arresting Nelson. They liked the other guy. A lot. We didn’t give that information to the defense.” Cory had gotten used to the “we” word. Melinda called her on it.
“Didn’t Julie try that case with you?”
Cory hesitated as she considered how to answer. “She did, but the case was mine.” She silently willed Melinda to drop the subject. No such luck.
“Uh huh. So you didn’t tell the other side the cops were on to someone else?”
“Sounds worse when you say it.”
“Sounds like a little more than a technicality to me.”
“I’ve worked dozens of these cases. I’ve seen cops chase their tails more often than not.”
“Ever heard of Brady?”
Every lawyer knew about the seminal U.S. Supreme Court case, Brady v. Maryland, which required the prosecution to turn over exculpatory evidence to the defense. The fact the police had pursued other suspects qualified as Brady information, but this case had been different. She wasn’t ready or willing to explain why.
“Trust me.” She hoped Melinda wouldn’t dwell on the irony of her request. “Nelson did the crime. That he’s walking the street today is a travesty. He beat his wife on a regular basis, and she wasn’t strong enough to fight back, with her fists or in the courtroom. It was a miracle we ever got an assault conviction on him before he killed her. Was the evidence against him circumstantial? Yes, but so was the evidence they say proves he’s innocent.” Even though she was riled, she carefully worded her next statement. “The defense may not have been given some of the evidence, but I’m still not convinced the guy is innocent.”
“Tell me why you think you got tagged as the bad guy in this mess?”
Cory shook her head. She had no intention of getting into the exact details with Melinda or anyone else. All she cared about was minimizing the damage. She didn’t have any hope of making the situation go away. “My case, my con
sequences. Doesn’t matter now. All I care about is putting this behind me and getting back to work.”
“Okay. Got it. The question now, is how are we going to accomplish that?” Melinda’s response signaled she’d caught Cory’s “this subject is closed tone.”
Cory purposefully ignored the “we.” “I don’t have many choices. I got a letter from the state bar requesting my response slash explanation. Pretty sure it’s for show. They can’t wait to hang me out to dry so the press will die down.”
“And that’s where I come in. I’ve got a letter here for you to sign stating I represent you. I’ll fax that in tomorrow, but we should start planning for your hearing right away. I have some ideas, but I’ll want you to be totally involved in your own representation.”
“Whoa, wait a minute. I thought you were here to drink my wine, not hustle a new client. Besides, I can’t afford you.” Melinda had carved out a specialty over the years, representing lawyers and other professionals in administrative hearings. Her success rate was unparalleled, and Cory imagined her fees were as well.
“You’ll be my pro bono case this month.” Although Cory had barely sipped her wine, Melinda topped off her glass. “Seriously, let me help you. Pay me what you can, when you can. Say yes, or I’ll bail and leave you on the hook to pay the delivery guy.”
Cory hadn’t given the state bar procedure much thought. In the back of her mind, she supposed she thought she’d represent herself. Fall on her sword and hope for the best. Probably not a great idea, but she didn’t want Melinda or anyone else witnessing her disintegration. She had another reason for going it alone, but she wasn’t ready to reveal it now. Or ever. She knew she was supposed to try to avoid a hearing, but no one had offered any guidance about how to make that work with her personal goal of keeping her license. She was only just beginning to realize how adrift she was. Maybe Melinda, who knew the system better than anyone, could be valuable after all.
