Beyond Innocence

by Carsen Taite

  She was confused at first. Were she and Cory supposed to check in? Had Cory done so? She’d seen her approach one of the bailiffs. Had she taken care of it?

  She’d waited too long to answer and he tapped the clipboard with his hand. “Are you sure you’re on today’s docket or that you’re in the right courtroom?”

  Realization dawned and it wasn’t pretty. This man with his uniform, badge, and gun, thought she was a defendant. That she’d committed a crime. That she was here to have justice meted out to her. She surveyed the rest of the people in the gallery. Lots of Hispanics, a few poor looking whites, and about a dozen African-Americans. Of course she fit right in. Didn’t matter that she was wearing her best suit, the color of her skin lumped her in with the rest of the ne’er-do-wells of Rinson County. She kept her reply short. “I’m definitely not in the right place.”

  Once out in the hallway, she wasn’t sure what to do. The halls were teeming with people, and it didn’t take long to separate the accused from their counsel. The conversations were all laced with a thread of desperation: is that the best deal you can get? What am I looking at? I’ll lose my job. I’ll never get a job if this stays on my record. She walked as far away from the crowd as she could and took a seat on a wooden bench.

  Thirty long minutes later, Cory burst into the hall. Serena saw her looking around, but wasn’t in the mood to help her out. She waited until Cory finally found her and let her have the first word.

  “Obviously, that didn’t go as well as it could have, but I’ve laid some groundwork.”

  Serena stood. “Can we go now?”

  Cory looked confused. “Sure. I know a great place for a late breakfast if you’re up for it.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She didn’t wait for Cory’s reaction. Instead, she walked as quickly as she could, her entire focus on getting out of the building. Cory followed, but wisely didn’t try to engage her in conversation. Once they were in the car, she turned to Serena. “You want to tell me why you’re so angry?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “The hell you’re not. I know an angry woman when I see one. Come on; tell me what has you in such a huff.”

  “You honestly don’t know, do you?”

  “Wouldn’t ask if I did.”

  “Why did you bring me out here?”

  “You wanted to see how things were done. I thought this would be a good opportunity.”

  “Oh, I saw how things were done. I saw you be all buddy buddy with the other attorneys while the rest of us sit in the audience and mind our manners.”

  Cory’s shock was genuine. “Were you in the same courtroom I was? Rick fought me on every point. The judge is taking my discovery motion under consideration, but I don’t think we’re going to win access unless we raise solid issues in our writ.”

  “Didn’t look like a fight to me. At least most people I fight with don’t hug me first.”

  “Hug?” Cory looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, you mean Kyle? Uh, no. He used to be a prosecutor, but he’s in private practice. He took me back to the jury room to find Rick. I’ve known Kyle for years. Wait a minute. Were you even in the courtroom when we approached the bench?”

  Serena felt stupid. She was angry at the bailiff for making assumptions about her, and she was doing the same about Cory. Time to fess up. “You mean that guy you hugged wasn’t the prosecutor?” Cory shook her head, and Serena felt sheepish. “I left right after that.”

  “Why? I thought the whole reason you were coming along was to check up on me. Hard to do that when you’re not even in the room.” Cory’s anger was palpable, and Serena wished she were anywhere else.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I had to leave.” She didn’t feel like sharing the humiliation of having been mistaken for a defendant, so she fished around for a change in subject. “I may be hungry after all. How about that breakfast?” She silently prayed Cory would let the change in subject pass without question. “You can tell me what I missed.”

  Cory’s stare bored into her. Serena sensed she was trying to read her mind, and she also sensed she’d lost more than a few notches of respect in Cory’s estimation. She’d have to steel herself if she wanted to be involved in Eric’s case. Besides, if she weren’t careful, she wouldn’t get to spend time with Cory, and as much as she didn’t understand it, as much as she resisted it, her desire to be with Cory was strong.

  *

  Cory ushered Serena into the diner. She hoped for all her bragging it was as good as she remembered. She hadn’t been able to impress Serena with her courtroom skill; maybe she could at least provide a good meal. Impressing Serena wasn’t going to be an easy task.

  Why had she left the courtroom before they were done? What had at first made Cory angry, now had her puzzled. Maybe facing the reality of her brother’s case and the uphill battle ahead proved to be more than she could handle. She could hardly blame her since every desperate move wore at her confidence as well. How did attorneys do this for a living, knowing that wins were scarce and losses cost lives?

  After Kyle had directed her back to the jury room, she’d confidently strode into the room, asking which one of the attorneys standing behind buckets of files was Rick Smith. When a middle-aged balding man with a slight paunch had stood to shake her hand, she felt a vague sense of recognition.

  “Cory Lance, nice to see you again.” He must have noticed her puzzled expression, because he followed up with, “You taught that class on homicide investigations last year, down in Huntsville.”

  She remembered. She and Julie had laughed about him later that evening when Julie had snuck into her room. He’d spent the class falling all over himself in his attempts to impress her and the rest of the class with his extensive knowledge of the law. Talking over her and the other panelists, shouting out answers, preaching his own courtroom methods as the only way. She’d been anything but impressed. That he was the prosecutor who’d sent Eric Washington to death row was a stinging blow. As much as it pained her, she knew his type would be more susceptible to flattery than intimidation. She did her best imitation of a southern belle.

  “Of course I remember you, Rick. You were the star student.”

  He beamed and she did her best not to choke on her next words. “I’m sure you’re just the person to help me. I’m doing some work for the Justice Clinic, you know that little group that operates out of Richards University? Well, anyway, they’re working on a writ for a case you handled, and we’d like to see if we can get an agreed discovery order to review your file. The name Eric Washington ring any bells?” She waited and watched while he digested her request. She could tell he was trying to wrap his head around the fact she had just said she was working for the Justice Clinic, but he’d be too kiss-ass to admit he wasn’t already aware of her current predicament.

  “Eric Washington, eh? I remember that case. Brutal. Jury didn’t take long to decide his fate. Not long at all.” He motioned her over to a corner of the busy room. When they were out of earshot of most of the occupants, he let his guard down. “What’s a nice woman like you working on a case like this for? I mean, I heard about your recent troubles, but the Justice Clinic? What’s the point of all the years you wielded the sword of justice if you’re going to use your talents to put murderers and rapists back on the street?”

  Cory drew on reserves deep within to keep from slapping the pious expression off Rick’s face. Wielding the sword of justice? Had she ever thought of her job in such grandiose terms?

  She had. She may not have the insufferable personality traits of this bozo, but their differences weren’t as vast as she would like to think. Prosecuting crimes, putting away bad guys—she’d lived for the thrill of those victories her entire legal career. She’d always believed the guy on trial deserved the worst the jury could mete out. She had to, or else what was the point?

  “Rick, we all do what we have to do. Right now, I’m working this case and I’m going to give it everything I’ve got. Now, how ab
out you show me your file? Come on, one prosecutor to another. If Eric Washington was good for the crimes, then what’s the harm?”

  His expression quickly turned from affable to sour. “I can’t believe you, of all people, would be asking that question.”

  “Care to explain what you mean by that?” Cory abandoned charm and settled in for a fight.

  He glanced around. Their conversation had begun to draw attention from the other lawyers in the room. To her relief, he lowered instead of raised his voice. “I know you need to make a show of this for PR and all. Let’s go into the courtroom and you can argue your little discovery motion to your heart’s content. But you and I both know you don’t have a chance of saving Eric Washington’s life. And I don’t think you really want to anyway.”

  Cory didn’t bother replying. Instead, she directed her anger into a well-crafted argument before Judge Fowler. Fowler had unseated the former judge, the one who’d presided over Eric’s trial. She’d hoped his lack of investment in the original case would make him more receptive to her motion. He’d listened to her arguments and asked thoughtful questions, but at the end of the day, he did what she expected and ruled against her.

  “I can’t authorize what amounts to a fishing expedition. If you file a writ that raises genuine questions of fact regarding Mr. Washington’s innocence, then I’ll authorize discovery.” Her only comfort was that he instructed Rick, on the record, that everything in the file should be preserved, at least until time ran out for Eric.

  She couldn’t believe how naive she’d been, thinking she could bounce into court and use her law-and-order cred to get a fellow prosecutor to hand over his file. Cory was thankful Serena hadn’t witnessed the behind-the-scenes confrontation, but she wished she’d been there to see Cory argue in the courtroom. Impressing Serena seemed to be high on her list of priorities these days.

  “What’s good here?”

  Serena’s question brought her back to the present. “Everything. Precisely the reason I’m glad this place isn’t on my way to work every day.”

  They settled on pancakes and split an order of bacon. When their food arrived, quick and hot, Serena groaned after the first bite. “These are amazing. I can never get pancakes to turn out right. They’re either too tough or runny in the middle.”

  “I know, right? I don’t even bother trying to make them myself. Nothing can compare to my mom’s except this place.” Cory immediately regretted the reference to her mother. Did Serena feel a sense of loss whenever anyone else talked about their parents?

  “We had pancakes every Saturday morning when I was a kid. My adoptive parents, the Clarks, were big on tradition.”

  Since Serena had opened the subject, Cory forged ahead. “Do you call them Mom and Dad? Are you close? How does that work?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions.” She looked more amused than annoyed.

  “Occupational hazard.”

  “It varies. I love them, but when I first went to live with them, I’d been ripped away from everything familiar. I was angry because Eric couldn’t come with us. I didn’t understand why my mother was no longer in the picture, not that she ever really was. I couldn’t process all the changes at once. It took me a while to warm up to the idea of having replacement parents, let alone acknowledging their roles by calling them Mom and Dad.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, they’re Mom and Dad to their faces, but I still have a habit of referring to them as Don and Marion Clark when I’m talking to other people.”

  “You didn’t take their name?”

  “They let me choose. I had this strange idea that if my mother ever came looking for me, she wouldn’t be able to find me if I changed my name.” Serena grunted. “Like she’d ever find her way out of whatever crack house she happened to be in to give it a go. She lived the life of a junkie and died with a needle in her arm.”

  Cory stretched her hand across the table and placed it over Serena’s. “I’m sorry.”

  Serena didn’t pull away, but when she looked into Cory’s eyes, her stare was blank. “Not your problem.”

  Cory knew from experience that sometimes the most extreme pain burrows so deep it looks like nonchalance. Time to veer away from this subject. “What do you do in Florida?”

  “I’m the head teller at a bank. Nothing glamorous.”

  “I know all about non-glamorous occupations.”

  “Really? I know plenty of people who think attorneys are at the top of the food chain.”

  “Not those who work for the county. Prosecutors probably make the least money of anyone in the law biz.” Shit. She’d stepped in rough conversational waters again. Bad enough she regularly worked on the other side, she didn’t need to call attention to it.

  Serena didn’t let her off the hook. “How long did you work as a prosecutor?”

  “I started right out of law school. Actually, I interned at the office before I graduated, so besides a stint serving ice cream at Braum’s, it’s the only job I’ve ever had.”

  “Guess you liked it?”

  Cory didn’t read any sarcasm behind the question, only a genuine interest. “I did. It felt good representing victims, some who couldn’t speak for themselves.”

  “You became successful.”

  “I’ve won more cases than I’ve lost.” Cory didn’t feel like bragging about her ninety percent victory rate. She knew some defense attorneys would say she came by that number by cherry picking her cases, but it wasn’t true. She worked harder than anyone she knew. That’s why Julie had noticed her. Taken her under her wing. Promoted her through the ranks. At least that’s what she had to believe.

  “I think you’re being modest. I Googled you.”

  “Well then, you’ve probably read just as many bad things as good things.” Cory didn’t try to hide a smile, flattered that Serena had taken the time to get to know more about her. “I’m sure the recent news has you a bit on edge.”

  “Understatement. Prosecutor hides evidence and man lingers behind bars. Not a confidence builder, for sure.”

  Cory fiddled with her pancakes, her appetite gone. The master litigator was at a loss for words, but Serena wasn’t going to let her off so easy.

  “Care to tell me what happened?”

  Cory flashed to an image of Julie, placing a finger over her lips, telling her, “Let’s get past this, and everything will work out just fine. You do your part and I’ll do mine.” For once, she didn’t care what Julie thought. She wanted to tell Serena the whole story. But she wouldn’t. Too much at stake. She did want what Julie promised—just to get past this, no matter what respect she could buy from Serena with the truth. She settled on a half-truth. “Maybe someday.”

  “Right.” Serena didn’t have to say it. Cory knew she didn’t believe her. Didn’t believe she would ever share what happened, ever tell the truth, ever come clean. Didn’t matter. They would work Eric’s case together and it would all be over soon. Serena would go back to her noncontroversial job at a bank in Florida, and Cory would try to survive the swirl of bad PR and return to her life as it had been. Their lives could not be more different. So why did she desperately want to find similarities?

  Serena’s cell phone rang and Cory feigned disinterest as she answered it. Would it be her parents, calling to check on her? A significant other? The thought made her seethe with jealousy. She was surprised when Serena passed the phone to her.

  “It’s Skye. She’s been trying to reach you, but her calls are going straight to voice mail.”

  “I turned my phone off when I was in court. I must’ve forgotten to turn it back on.” She spoke into the phone. “Skye, where’s the fire? You’re kidding? What time?” She glanced at her watch. “We’re about forty minutes out. We’ll meet you there.” She ended the call and handed the phone back to Serena. “Want to tag along on a witness interview? Skye just located Leonard Wilkens and he’s interested in repenting before he dies.”

  Chapter Thirteen

&n
bsp; Leonard aka Lenny Wilkins’s house was not much more than a beat-up shack with paint peeling from the siding and only a few uncracked windows. Lenny was in worse shape than his house.

  After a brief discussion on the front porch with Skye, Cory decided no harm would come from letting Serena sit in on the interview as long as she understood the ground rules. Skye and Cory would ask all the questions. When the time came for Skye to get a written statement from Leonard, Cory and Serena would both leave to keep him from claiming that he felt undue pressure from having Eric’s entire legal team standing over his shoulder.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Serena’s presence was Skye’s idea. She’d hypothesized that having Eric’s sister on hand would motivate the old man to tell the truth, especially if it meant the telling might spare Eric’s life. Cory’s reservations were more about protecting Serena’s feelings than for any other reason. She’d read the statement Leonard gave to the police. It was laced with racial epithets. They’d cleaned up his language for trial, and Eric’s attorneys were ineffective at pointing out the difference in his polished courtroom presence and the bigoted self he’d shown the cops. But here, in his own home, he wouldn’t bother hiding his coarse manner, and Cory wanted to protect Serena from any further harm.

  “I’ve read the file. I know guys like this. They don’t change. If anything, the older they get, the worse they are. I can handle it.” Serena’s face was steel. Cory knew she had to hurt inside, but the last thing she needed was to be patronized. She offered an encouraging nod and held open the door. Skye introduced them to Wilkins. She didn’t bother explaining Serena’s role, probably assuming he would get the connection by the fact she and Eric had the same last name.

  Wilkins sat in an aging vinyl recliner, his lower body wrapped in a dingy afghan. Tubes ran from his nose to the oxygen tank on the floor beside him. He motioned at the couch and gasped a welcome. “Come in. Sit down.”

  Cory wished she had a tarp or something to put between her suit and the filthy piece of furniture. The entire room, with stacks of newspapers and magazines, used fast food containers, and half full abandoned mugs of coffee was a showpiece for one of those reality shows that featured hoarders or people who didn’t know the definition of sanitary. The faster they heard what he had to say, the faster they could leave. She took a seat on the couch and tried to ignore the slight crunch when she made contact with the upholstery. Serena sat close beside her. The only bright light in an otherwise dismal room.