by Carsen Taite
“Nonsense. You’re here, you’re smart, and I could use the help.” Camille waved her forward. “Come on.” She started walking before she got an answer, ignoring the voice in her head that said the bounce in her step was because of West.
Chapter Seven
West followed Camille into the office suite, suddenly unsure about her decision to come in today. She’d planned on a few hours of uninterrupted work in the silence of the quiet office in an effort to get a head start on the week, but with Camille present she was in danger of being too distracted to accomplish anything.
“Want to set up in the conference room?” Camille asked.
West backed toward the door. “Maybe I should go.”
“Do you want to go?”
“No, but maybe I should. I can do research at home and that way you can work without being disturbed.”
“You won’t disturb me.”
West studied Camille’s face, but her expression was iron, and she read nothing other than impassive indifference. After the last few days of barely speaking, maybe indifference was all that was left of their initial attraction. An afternoon of working together—just working—might be exactly what she needed to get over the distracting attraction between them. “Good to know. Conference room sounds great. I’m going to make some coffee. Be right there.”
She walked to the kitchenette before Camille could respond, desperate for a solitary minute to regroup. She took her time, measuring the special blend, half Guatemalan and half Italian, she’d brought from home into the filter and filling the coffeemaker with fresh water from the cooler, drawing composure from the simple motions. When the coffee started to brew, she closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, slipping into one of the few pleasant memories of her youth.
Her first job in high school had been at a local coffee shop. She’d lied about her age to get the work, but the owner hadn’t complained since she’d been the hardest working employee he’d ever hired. She’d started cleaning and stocking but had eventually worked her way up to barista. Hank had encouraged her to work as an intern for a law firm, but she’d enjoyed the simple pleasure of blending coffee beans to her will and the eclectic atmosphere of the shop. People used coffee shops like their homes or offices, carrying on all sorts of personal business, seemingly oblivious to the potential for eavesdropping. She’d seen real estate deals, a couple getting marriage counseling, and one time a guy walked in with a twenty-seven-inch iMac under his arm and proceeded to start running his furniture moving business while sipping on a double latte. These people lived out in the open, not caring who heard their business or saw inside their personal matters, and she envied their transparency. She had never felt like she could let her guard down. Very few people knew her story. To most, she was either a punk kid with tattoos or a top legal scholar and which one depended on how she chose to appear, rather than what they actually knew.
“That smells good.”
West held two mugs. “I was going to offer you some.”
“I figured as much, but I couldn’t resist the smell, so I thought I’d make sure.”
West poured the fresh brew into one of the mugs asking, “Room for cream?”
“Black’s great.”
Oddly pleased they shared the same preference, West poured Camille’s cup full and handed it over.
“This is incredible. Pretty sure this isn’t from the big red canister Ester has stuffed in the cabinet.”
West grinned. “Nope. Hank loves that stuff, and I couldn’t convince him to try anything else.” She caught Camille cocking her head and realized what she’d just said. “I meant Judge Blair, of course.”
Camille took another sip of coffee. “I knew who you meant, and you don’t need to be formal on my account. Especially not when it’s just us.”
West heard the words, but Camille was dead wrong. Formal was exactly what she needed to be if they were going to maintain necessary boundaries.
“You two are close.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry you missed the opportunity to clerk for him.”
West started to say it was okay, that she hadn’t wanted to anyway, but bit back the words. Maybe it was time she quit acting like this job was one of the worst things to happen to her and take advantage of the opportunity. “It’s okay. This could be fun.” She waved a finger between them. “I mean, how many brand new clerks get to work with a brand new judge. It’s like we’re carving our way through judicial history.”
Camille burst out laughing and she joined in. “That’s one way of putting it,” Camille said. “Another way is the blind leading the blind.” She pointed to the door. “How about we discuss the Wilson motion and see if we can find our way to a solution?”
Once they reached the conference room, West pulled out her notebook and opened the file containing the AUSA’s motion and defense counsel’s response, along with a copy of the memo she and Lloyd, mostly she, had authored. “Before we get into this motion, the defense filed another motion right before Hank collapsed. The magistrate ruled on it in his absence, but as the district judge, you could take a second look.”
“What’s the gist?”
“That the statute charging Wilson with the death of Leslie Silver is unconstitutional.” West rushed the words, pretty sure she knew what the reaction would be. She wasn’t wrong.
“Not going to happen.”
“You haven’t even heard the arguments.”
“Don’t have to. I get it. It seems unfair to charge a man with the death of someone who made a conscious choice to do drugs, but Congress enacted these laws for a reason. It’s no different than charging prostitutes for offering a service Johns are happy to pay for, but the point is to discourage the activity at the source by exacting punishment for the consequences.”
“So much for a free market system.”
“Do you really believe it should be okay for the drug trade to operate without consequences?”
“I believe it’s more complicated than that. There were consequences. Leslie Silver made a choice to purchase drugs from Darryl Wilson and she wound up dead because of it. Should he be punished for violating drug laws? Yes, but that’s different from what basically amounts to a murder charge.”
“You make some good points, but you’re not going to sway me. I’m not here to take down the system.” Camille smiled. “But feel free to write your representative and ask them to overturn the law. Now, back to the motion that’s actually before us.”
West hesitated, annoyed with Camille for dismissing her pitch so quickly and annoyed with herself for bothering to make it in the first place. Did she really want a known drug dealer like Darryl Wilson to escape the consequences of his actions or was a simmering anger about the “victim’s” role in her own tragedy overriding her legal analysis? Until she figured out her own motivation, she’d probably better abandon the cause.
She pointed at the government’s motion. “The arguments are pretty straightforward. The government says they have evidence that Wilson had sex with the victim, Leslie Silver.”
“What’s the evidence?”
West turned to a section in her notebook, acutely conscious Camille was standing close, the scent of her flowery perfume intoxicating. She drew her finger along the page. “Sperm sample taken from her clothes. DNA match to Wilson.”
“Anything else?”
“Not anything they’ve revealed in the motion. Anyway, their logic for getting in the evidence about alleged prior sexual assaults basically goes like this: Wilson did drugs with Silver and raped her, and they should be able to show he did the same thing to others to show a pattern of behavior.”
“Seems like a bit of a stretch to me. Sex isn’t rape unless it was nonconsensual.”
“They get that.”
“So, what’s their evidence?”
“A group of young women have come forward who say they woke up after partying with Wilson to find signs they’d had sex. Underwear missing, soreness
, etc. They have no recollection of the act itself, just that fuzzy feeling that something happened and it wasn’t something they wanted.”
“Did they file police reports?”
West listened for, but didn’t hear any tone in the question. “Most of them didn’t. The two that did, did so much later, presumably after talking to their friends. You know, hey, anyone else feel like something weird went down after doing coke with Darryl Wilson? That kind of conversation.”
“Got it. Any other evidence?”
“Kind of. And this is their smoking gun. They have videos of Wilson having sex with some of these girls. I suspect that’s what they really want to play for the jury.”
“They do, do they? If they turn this into a porn screening, the jury is going to come after Wilson with pitchforks and torches.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the goal. The defense brief says the same thing you did. Their argument is that the prosecutors are bootstrapping. They shouldn’t get to show evidence of rape of other women to prove he raped the victim, and the evidence of sex with the victim shouldn’t be used to allow them to introduce these other cases.”
“What’s Lloyd’s take on all this?”
West pushed back from the table. “I’d rather not speak for him if it’s all the same to you.”
“You disagree.”
“He’s more a fan of let it all in and let the jury sort it out.”
“Does he have any legal support for his theory?”
“Just the crap that’s quoted in the government’s brief.” West noted Camille’s eyes widen with surprise. “Well, some of it is crap. They’re citing cases from random district courts back East. Nothing binding.”
“But you have law on your side?”
West bristled at the question. “Well, for one thing, it’s not my side, it’s the right side. Trust me, there isn’t anyone who has more reason to see scum like this—” She stopped abruptly, conscious she’d said too much.
Camille’s eyes narrowed in question, but all she said was “And the other thing?”
“Quit patronizing me.” West saw Camille’s look of surprise and knew she was walking a fine line, but she’d already dug in so she kept going. “The other thing is, yes, I do have law to support my conclusions. It’s pretty basic, Federal Rule 403 says you, the judge, can exclude evidence if it’s probative value is substantially outweighed by a danger of unfair prejudice and confusing the issues, among other things. That should be enough, but if it’s not good enough for you, then there’s a bunch of case law that says the same thing.”
“That may be true,” Camille replied. “But there are exceptions to the rule, and I happen to think juries are usually smart enough to sort most things out on their own. If the government is able to present solid evidence that Darryl Wilson had sex with Leslie Silver while she was comatose from drugs he sold her, that would certainly constitute a sexual assault and they’d have a decent argument that they should be allowed to show the defendant has a pattern of this type of behavior.”
West wondered if Camille really believed what she was saying or if part of her motivation for the “lay all the cards on the table” approach stemmed from the case that had gotten her voted out of office. In the conservative county where she’d been on the bench, there had been a backlash in the recent election against judges who the voters thought had substituted their own views for those of a jury, and West had no doubt Camille’s loss was perceived as a stinging rebuke against that type of behavior. It had to be hard, balancing the law with the facts, but it was the job Camille had signed on for and, in West’s view, abdicating wasn’t an option.
“The bottom line is this isn’t a rape case,” West said. “If they want to charge Wilson with rape, nothing’s stopping them unless they don’t have the evidence. And if they don’t have the evidence, well then, they shouldn’t be bringing any of this up in the first place.”
Camille leaned back and steepled her fingers. “You’re very passionate for someone who wasn’t really interested in this job in the first place. Is there a particular reason this case has you riled?”
West suffered through the slow burn of the blush she was certain was creeping up her neck. “I might not look like much of a lawyer to you, but I care about getting it right.”
Camille’s careful gaze was long and lingering, and with each passing second, West grew even more uncomfortable. If Camille didn’t think she could do a good job, she could let her go. She couldn’t be expected to keep her promise to Hank if Camille broke hers, right?
“I’m sorry if I’ve done something to make you think I doubt your skills,” Camille said, her words dripping with double meaning. “I have no doubt you’re an excellent lawyer. I remember having that kind of passion, but sometimes what seems clear in the moment, isn’t right when it’s examined from all sides.”
West’s chest tightened at the truism. Was she fighting so hard for the rights of the defendant because she didn’t want to admit that Leslie Silver, despite her apparent choice to take Wilson’s drugs, might not have been in control of what happened afterward? Her mind whirred with memories of the Leslie Silvers she’d known when she was a child, surrendering to the now only to be swept away by the consequences of their actions and inactions.
Camille gazed at a spot across the room, seemingly lost in thought, and West wondered what memory held her interest and why her passion was in the past. She wanted to ask, but she worried any personal digging on her part would result in a reciprocal unearthing of the life she’d rather leave buried. Better to dive back into the work, trust that Camille would do the right thing, and let be the things she knew she couldn’t have.
Chapter Eight
Monday morning, Camille pushed through the doors of the office suite, hoping she was early enough to avoid having to interact with anyone, but she stopped short when she saw Ester already seated at her desk, typing away on her computer. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you never went home for the weekend.”
“I went home all right, but judging by the mess in the conference room, someone put in some extra hours.” Ester didn’t look up from her work as she spoke. “Don’t worry. I cleaned up all the evidence.”
Camille’s stomach clenched at the words. Evidence. Ester’s tone was hard to read, but Camille did a mental inventory of the state of the room when she and West had finally called it a day and gone their separate ways. Coffee cups, a pizza box, and paper plates—all of which she’d intended to clean up this morning before anyone else arrived. That had to be what Ester was referring to, but the fact there might be something else she could get caught with, left her cold. She raised her hands. “Guilty as charged. In my defense, I planned to clean up the mess myself this morning.”
“Didn’t look like you were working alone.”
Ester’s comment hung in the air inviting, but not demanding a response. Camille wavered between no comment and the risk of sounding defensive. She settled on a simple. “West was here and we went through the research on the Wilson case.”
A veil came down over Ester’s eyes. “That’s a rough one all around.”
“It is.” Camille didn’t say anything else, hoping Ester would elaborate. Everything about West’s reaction to the talk about the case yesterday had set off alarms that the case pushed personal buttons, but she was surprised to see the same reaction reflected in Ester’s demeanor. What did Ester know that she didn’t? “How long did you work for Judge Blair?”
“Seems like forever. I knew him when he was on the partner track at Goss and Landry. When he made partner, I was assigned to be his secretary, and when he got the appointment here, he brought me along.” She shook a finger at Camille. “Before you go getting any ideas, he was able to hire me on because my predecessor was retiring.”
Camille laughed. “I have no designs on replacing you.” She took a beat to consider her next question. It stood to reason if Ester had known Blair that long, she might have an inside track on Blair’s prot�
�gé. “Do you know of any particular reason why the Wilson case would bother West?”
Ester averted her eyes as she answered. “Case is pretty gruesome if you ask me. Somebody left that poor girl for dead. She had a bright future ahead, but she became an addict and no one intervened to get her help. Now she’s dead, and someone’s going to have to pay.”
Camille wanted to push the point. Of course the case was disturbing, but she was interested in how it was disturbing to West, not the average person. She told herself she cared because of how it affected West’s ability to be objective, but the truth was she wanted the insight into West’s psyche.
Well, she wasn’t going to get any insights from Ester. As much as she wanted information, she appreciated Ester’s discretion. She’d have to find what she wanted to know another way, but in the meantime, there was work to do. “I asked Lloyd to contact counsel on this case. They should be here in about thirty minutes. We’ll meet in chambers, but I’ll need George there as well.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Once she was secluded in the small conference room connected to her office where she could wait for Lloyd and the court reporter in peace, she ran through the key points both sides had raised, but second thoughts about which clerk she’d chosen to be part of this morning’s conference hearing crept in. She wasn’t going to rule the way West wanted, not entirely anyway, and she’d convinced herself that wasn’t the reason she’d asked Lloyd to run point. But now that she was on the verge of ruling, she was starting to question her motives. Her rumination was interrupted by a knock at the door, and she pushed her doubt aside. She had two clerks, and it wasn’t right to favor one over the other, especially not when her favoritism was based in lust as much as intellect. Before she had a chance to respond, the door opened and Lloyd poked his head in. “Everyone’s here.”
“Have them come in.”
Once everyone crowded into the room, Camille experienced a moment of hesitation. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to cram all these people into such a small space. But what she had to say, she didn’t want to say in open court since she planned to seal the record for now. “Thank you all for being here on such short notice. I’ve thoroughly reviewed the government’s motion and defense counsel’s response. You’ll have my written opinion by midweek, but I’m going to give you a preview of my decision because I know both sides are getting ready for trial and I don’t want any arguments for a continuance based on my ruling.”
