Innocence

by David Hosp

“And then some,” he agreed. “You knew I was coming.”

  “I had a pretty good idea.” She looked at Finn. “I was kind of hoping you’d be smart enough to stay back in the truck.”

  “Never overestimate my intelligence,” he replied. “You should know that by now.”

  “It’s a mistake I seem prone to.” She looked at him, and he could see something in her expression. It was a look that told him she had been as worried about him as he’d been about her. It was a look that told him there was still something left between them worth saving.

  Outside, the scream of approaching police sirens could be heard in the distance, growing louder by the second. “The cavalry?” Finn asked.

  “Better late than never, I suppose,” she said. “We’re going to have a lot to clean up here. We took several of the people these guys were smuggling in prisoner. They stay with us, no matter how much the local police bitch about it.”

  “Who are they?” Finn asked.

  “I can’t comment,” she replied. “It may be that, officially, they were never here. Do you understand?”

  “Do we want to understand?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Enough said.”

  “You two did a good thing here tonight.”

  Kozlowski said, “Lissa is safe. That’s enough for me. I’ll leave the rest of it to you to figure out what’s good and what’s not.”

  The sirens reached a crescendo as they pulled up in front of the church. Flaherty looked at Finn. “I’m on a plane back to D.C. tomorrow,” she said. “And tonight there’s going to be a lot to deal with.”

  “I understand.” Finn didn’t, though. Not really. He sometimes wondered if he ever would. “We’ll make it work,” he said. His optimism was real. “Somehow we’ll make it work.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Sunday, December 23, 2007

  Kozlowski sat in a chair pulled close to Lissa’s hospital bed. The plastic surgeons had practiced their magic on her the evening before, and she still slept heavily under the influence of the anesthesia. Her face was hidden under bandages, but the doctors and nurses had told Kozlowski that the operation had gone well.

  Every part of him ached. It had been a long night at the police station, and he’d burned through the last drop of his body’s adrenaline hours ago. There was a long gash on his forehead and several other more minor cuts and abrasions from his battle with Carlos, all of which the doctors had tried to treat before he growled them away. He felt limp and weary, and his muscles cried out for sleep, but he refused to give in. He could not rest until he was sure that Lissa was okay.

  It was nine o’clock before she woke, and even then it was a gradual process. She shifted her head first, searching for comfort as the painkillers loosened their grip. Her fingers fidgeted next, as if searching for something.

  He reached out and put his hand on hers, and she finally opened her eyes. She looked at him without saying anything for a while, peering out from behind her bandages. When she did speak, her words were labored and slurred, both from the drugs and from the obvious pain of the operation. “You look like shit,” she said.

  He smiled at her. “I do.”

  “What does the other guy look like?”

  “He looks dead,” Kozlowski said. “They all look dead.”

  She turned her head away from him, staring off into space as she digested the news. When she turned back he could see that some of the fear had left her eyes. “How are you doing?” she asked him.

  “I’m good,” he said. “Just looking at you, I’m good.”

  “I’m glad. How am I doing?”

  He squeezed her hand. “You’re beautiful.”

  He saw her try to smile underneath the gauze and wince in pain at the effort. “Really? I feel like shit.” Her eyelids fluttered as she fought the remaining drugs in her system.

  “They say it couldn’t have gone better,” he assured her. “Another couple of days and you can go home.”

  Her eyes watered at the thought. “Will you take me?” she asked.

  He squeezed her hand again. “If you’ll let me.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes closed, and it was clear that she was losing the battle to stay awake. “You’re . . .” Her voice trailed off as her breathing became deeper and more even. She shook herself back to the edge of consciousness once. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so tired.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay. You sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up again.” She let out a long deep breath and her body relaxed fully back into the bed. He watched her give in to slumber. “I’ll always be here,” he said quietly.

  He leaned back into the chair and watched her for a few more minutes. Then he closed his eyes, and was asleep in a matter of seconds.

  z

  Finn sat in his office early in the afternoon. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. He had been kept at the police station into the early morning, answering the same questions over and over again, until finally, sometime shortly before five a.m., they released him, convinced at last that his story was unlikely to change.

  With nothing left of the night worth the effort to sleep, Finn had gone straight to the office. He had an enormous amount of work to do in order to be ready for Salazar’s hearing in front of Cavanaugh the next day; before they appeared in court, he wanted to file an extensive brief explaining in detail exactly what had happened—both fifteen years ago and in the past two weeks—so the judge would enter the courtroom mentally prepared to let Salazar go free. In order to do that, Finn had to gather together all the pieces of the puzzle: the affidavits of Steele and Fornier; Smitty’s report indicating that the fingerprint evidence had most likely been faked; and a transcript of Macintyre’s tape-recorded confession. If properly presented, it would be more than enough to ensure his client’s freedom.

  Reading over the brief again, Finn was confident he’d succeeded. Another hour’s work and he might even be able to break away and see Linda Flaherty before she headed back to D.C. The night before had been a mess; the tension between them had been unbearable, in both the good sense and the bad. No matter how much they disagreed and made each other crazy, there was an undeniable pull between the two of them that neither of them could resist. He knew that if he could just find a way to be alone with her, even for a brief time, he could make everything right again. He might not be able to fix all their problems, but it would be enough for the moment. After that . . . well, they would have to take it one step at a time.

  The phone rang, interrupting his romantic musings, and he reached over to pick it up. “Finn here.”

  “Finn, this is Tony Horowitz over at Identech.”

  Finn smiled: It was the final piece of the puzzle. “Tony, thanks for calling. I’m sitting here just tinkering with the briefs I have to submit to the court, and I’ve left a little hole where I can plug in your findings. I’m not even sure we need them at this point, but we might as well use all the ammunition we’ve got. Have you finished running the tests?”

  “I have.” There was an odd hesitation in Horowitz’s voice, but Finn was too tired to credit it.

  “Excellent,” Finn said. “This will seal the deal, then. Let me have it so I can finish this up and get out of here.”

  “I would have called earlier, y’know?” Anthony said. “I guess I’ve been procrastinating; I know how invested you feel in this.”

  Finn’s heart went cold. “What are you talking about, Anthony? Let me have the results.”

  “I’m sorry, man. There’s just no way around a positive match.”

  “A positive match for what?”

  “What do you think? For your guy—Salazar. The DNA from under the woman’s fingernails from fifteen years ago is a match with your client’s DNA sample.”

  Finn felt dizzy. “That can’t be.”

  “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but trust me, it’s true.”

  “No, you don’
t understand. The cops already admitted that they framed him. He wasn’t the guy.”

  Anthony said nothing for a moment. “I don’t know what to tell you, Finn. Science doesn’t lie, and science tells me that the man Officer Steele scratched fifteen years ago in that alley was Vincente Salazar.”

  PART IV

  Chapter Forty

  Scott Finn was sitting at the table in the small attorney meeting room at Billerica when they brought Salazar in. It was late, past normal visiting hours on a Sunday, but Finn had explained to the guards that his client had a hearing the next day. When they hesitated, he threatened to have them brought up on charges for denying his client’s constitutional right to adequate representation, and after a few phone calls up the chain of command, they relented and told him he could have ten minutes.

  Finn had talked to Salazar earlier that day by telephone, and related everything that had happened in the previous two days. He had assured his client that Sunday night would be his last in prison, based on what they had learned—but that was before Finn knew about the DNA test results.

  Salazar sat across the table from Finn, waiting patiently until the guard had retreated from the room. Then he leaned forward and grasped Finn’s hands resting on the table. “Thank you,” he said. He put his head down on the table, and when he lifted it again, his face bore the expression of the exhausted relief of an answered prayer. “Thank you for everything.”

  Finn pulled his hands away. “You all packed?” His voice was sharp, and he could see a hint of concern creep into the corner of Salazar’s smile.

  “There is very little from this place that I want to take with me,” Salazar said.

  “Did you call your family? Tell them you were coming home?”

  “Yes. Right after we spoke this morning, though I told them it was likely, not definite. I am a superstitious man.”

  Finn lapsed into silence, unsure what to say.

  “Mr. Finn, is there something wrong?”

  “There is.” Finn was watching Salazar’s expression closely. It had turned serious.

  “What is it?”

  Finn laughed bitterly. “I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t really know anymore, about anything. All I know is that I was wrong— the whole time I was wrong. I was wrong to listen to Mark Dobson; I was wrong to get involved in this case; I was wrong to think I could make a difference; but most of all, I was wrong for believing in you.”

  Salazar looked almost frightened. “Please, Mr. Finn, I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do. There’s no need to keep up the act; I know. I know, and it doesn’t matter, because I’m your attorney, so I’m the one person you don’t have to lie to. I couldn’t betray you if I wanted to.”

  “Betray me how?”

  Finn sighed. “You really want to play this thing all the way out? Fine. I got back the DNA test results today. You know, the one that compared your DNA to the DNA taken from under Madeline Steele’s fingernails? The one that was supposed to establish your innocence?”

  “Yes? And?”

  “And I know you did it. You were the one in the alley that night. You’re the man she scratched.”

  “But that’s impossible. I didn’t do this. I swear it.”

  “You can swear all you want, but like the man said to me this afternoon, science doesn’t lie. What happened? Did you really think you could avoid deportation if you killed her? Or is there more to this than I even know? Are you actually a member of VDS? Never mind. Don’t answer. I don’t want to know.”

  Salazar looked shaken. He leaned back in his chair and stared off into space. Then he looked back at Finn. “What do you plan to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Finn said. “I honestly don’t know. What would you do if you were in my position?”

  Salazar thought about it briefly before replying. “When I took an oath as a doctor, I swore to treat the sick and tend to the wounded, no matter who they were, no matter what I thought of them personally. My understanding is that you took a similar oath when you became a lawyer, no? To represent your clients to the best of your ability, whether you believe in them or not?”

  “I also swore an oath as an officer of the court and a member of the judicial system. I can’t lie, and I can’t allow you to lie if I know the truth.”

  “I am not asking you to lie,” Salazar said. “I am asking you to represent me to the best of your ability—within the law. Are you still able to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Finn replied. “I know you’re guilty, so why would you want me to represent you at this point?”

  Salazar smiled sadly. “If there is one thing I have learned in my lifetime, it is that we always know far less than we think we do. And whether or not you believe in me, I believe in you. I think that is enough; and I am sure you have represented people you believed to be guilty before. Did that stop you from winning?”

  Finn stood up and walked to the door. He banged on the glass to signal the guard to let him out.

  “Well, Mr. Finn?” Salazar said, looking anxiously at him. “Are you still my lawyer?”

  The guard opened the door, and Finn stood there, weighing his options. He looked back at Salazar. “Shave tomorrow,” he said. “You won’t be allowed to wear anything but your prison fatigues, but make sure you comb your hair and do your best to look presentable. It can only help our chances with Judge Cavanaugh.” Then he walked out the door without looking back again.

  z

  Salazar was shaking when he returned to his cell. The freedom he had thought was so close at hand now seemed out of reach, and the life he had thought he would be able to build with his family seemed to be evaporating in front of his eyes. Sitting on his cot, he tried to regain his bearings, but all he could think about was his daughter. He remembered her as a newborn—remembered holding her in his arms at that moment when the pain of losing his wife was still a scream in his head that drowned out everything but his love for this beautiful, helpless creature. He had clung to her during those difficult first months, finding meaning enough in her existence to keep breathing. He had taken a vow on that day when she and her mother had passed each other so briefly: that he would always protect her. He had failed in that vow, and now, just as he thought he would have the rest of his life to make it up to her, it was all falling apart.

  He reached into the crease of the mattress and pulled out the disposable phone, hoping and praying that this would be the last time he would use it. He dialed the number, and when the call was answered, he spoke quietly. “The DNA tests came back,” he said. “They were positive. We both know what that means.”

  “I’m sorry,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Salazar responded. “Are you willing to do what must be done?” His question was met with a silence that chilled him. “Will you do what must be done?” he asked again.

  “Will Mr. Finn go along?”

  “I don’t know. He no longer has faith in me. It won’t matter, if you will not be strong.”

  The silence came again. Finally, the voice answered, “I will do what must be done. For you.”

  “Not for me.”

  “No, not for you. Because I must.”

  “Good,” Salazar said, though he felt little relief.

  “I am sorry.”

  Salazar could hear the truth in the voice. “I know.” He closed the cell phone and slipped it back into the mattress. He lay down on the cot and stared at the ceiling. He would not sleep, he knew, and it would be a long night. But then he had always been a patient man.

  z

  Kozlowski stretched his legs under the table in Finn’s office. “So you’re still representing him?”

  Finn sat at his desk, focusing on the stack of papers in front of him, pretending to prepare for the hearing the next day. “I guess. It feels a little weird, but what choice do I have?”

  “None that I can see.” Kozlowski scratched his head. “Ultimately, I wouldn’t think
it would be that hard, would it? I mean, it’s not like you’ve never represented a guilty client before. Shit, I’m guessing ninety percent of the clients we work for are guilty in one way or another.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “I never believed in any of them in the first place. But with Salazar . . .” Finn sighed heavily, looking for the right words, but they didn’t come.

  “You thought you were doing something good this time?”

  “Yeah,” Finn said. “I guess that’s it.”

  “You thought you were getting yourself clean? Maybe even buying yourself out of a little time in purgatory?”

  “I guess.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” Kozlowski said. “But you can forget it. The world doesn’t work that way, and you know it. You’re a good lawyer. That means nine out of ten people who come looking for you are going to be dirty. You start buying in to their bullshit, and you’ll lose your mind. You’re a lawyer; do your job.”

  Finn shook his head. “I just don’t get it. Macintyre admitted that he framed Salazar. Steele and Fornier confirmed it. How can he be guilty? It just doesn’t add up.”

  “Why? You think the cops don’t frame guilty people? Look at O.J., for Christ’s sake. Most of the time it’s the guilty people who are the easiest to set up. It happens that in this case, Macintyre thought he was framing someone who was innocent. He thought VDS did this, and he was wrong. So, instead of framing an innocent man, he got lucky and set up the guy who actually did the crime. Make the most of it—as a lawyer. After all, it’s still not a terrible case.”

  “I guess not,” Finn conceded. “But what the hell am I supposed to do with the DNA evidence?”

  “If Salazar was just another client—if you had never believed in him—what would you do with it then?”

  “I don’t know,” Finn said. “I’d probably try to bury it. Horowitz hasn’t actually finished his report, and I told him there was no hurry. I suppose I could file what I have now—the evidence from Macintyre, Smitty, Steele, and Fornier. I mean, guilty or not, the way they framed him still stinks to high heaven. It should be enough to grab the judge’s attention, at least.”