by Mary Deal
Abi gasped. “Why? What's happened?”
“What you saw on the news. Double pneumonia, lower lobe stuff.” He sighed as though feeling some pity. “She's pretty sick. They said her chest is rattling like a loose windowpane in a winter storm.”
If she was that sick, they had to bring her into Seaport because the women's prison had only a small clinic that was not equipped to deal with major illnesses. “Megan's not really giving up, is she?”
“She's despondent, been that way a long time. That's why her health is failing. Understand she's sick all the time.”
“She can't give up.”
“Well, she's a fighter, all right. But how would you feel after eight years in prison, only one appeal left, and no breaks turning up since your conviction?”
“Except what we've found.” Abi felt a surge of assurance. That alone would not prove the inmate's guilt or innocence. Abi didn't care to speculate further. Now was the time for action. “Could we just see her face?”
Det. Britto paced across the foyer. He turned, scrunched up his mouth and tilted his head. His smile teased. “I guess I'm gonna' bend a rule or two.”
Chapter 16
Det. Britto spoke in hushed tones behind an index finger. “You two want to go by the ICU?” He flashed another devilish grin, as if daring his better judgment.
Years before, one of Joe's early descriptions of his friend Britto was that the man was a risk taker, always trying to stay one-up in an investigation.
“Right now, Det. Britto? Please, right now?
“I knew you'd want to, but this is hush-hush. No one's supposed to know she's in Seaport. For all anyone knows, she's still laid up in that prison clinic.”
“Let's go then.”
“Uh, ma'am. I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“What are you going to do if you learn she's your daughter?”
“I-I want to hold her.” After all she had fantasized happening during their reunion, at that moment, having her daughter back in her arms was the only thing she could think about.
“Well, you can't hold her now.”
Joe wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “If she is her daughter, we'll need to meet with her attorney as soon as possible.”
“Ha! Good luck with him.” He rejoined them at the doorway.
“What's wrong with him?”
“Can't handle the workload.”
“That's it?” Abi was aghast. “Just leaves her in limbo?”
He shrugged. “He did his obligation.”
If Abi understood the legal system correctly, in Megan Winnaker's situation, she would initially have been represented by a Public Defender. After sentencing, the only way the convicted person without financial aid could get representation was if a new attorney took the case pro-bono. “Was he a volunteer?”
“Yeah, graduated though. Now the guy's on that big canyon arson from a couple years ago. By the way, Arno, that warehouse fire you covered a week or so ago?”
“What about it?”
“Couldn't ID the perp. That fire cooked him through to the marrow. Still trying to get some DNA from that marrow though.”
Joe's frustration was showing. “Megan's attorney, he's off the case for good?”
“Passed it to a deadbeat underling.”
Attorneys were not necessary in post conviction proceedings. The prison maintained a group of lawyers drawing paychecks, mainly for advising the inmates.
“No help at all?” Abi nearly screamed. A feeling of helplessness made her heart pound again. She put her hand over her chest and breathed inconspicuously.
“What you're saying, Britto, is that they don't do much?”
“Too many cases, and they work at both the men and women's prisons. Plus, they take on paying clients, too, so they can retire some day, you know?”
If Megan Winnaker turned out to be not only her daughter but also innocent, then it was no wonder she had not been able to clear herself. “Bad legal representation would do her irreparable damage.”
“Inmates are lucky if someone volunteers legal aid.”
Some things in general Abi already knew. By the time a convict reached death row, they and their families could be penniless from the costs associated with the case. “Who handles the appeals from that point on?”
“Convicts file their own writs. Winnaker hasn't had much help. She's filed her own, from day one.”
“So Megan's been fighting a steep uphill battle alone.” Abi felt pangs of guilt at having been able to carry on with a good life, while the woman who might be her daughter lived in hell.
“She's had a couple of attorneys along the way, but she's done a real professional job for herself, if I do say so.”
“We'll get another attorney. We'll get the best.”
“If she's your daughter, I would advise it. Time is running out.”
“I can't imagine how she's lasted this long.”
“Well, you got the abolitionists to thank.”
Abi glanced questioningly at Joe then back to Det. Britto. “I think you're losing me.”
“The abolitionists are against the death penalty.” Det. Britto showed no further signs of wishing to leave, but instead, wanted them to fully understand. “They keep the justice system bogged down with shaky appeals that drag on and on. That's the real reason Winnaker's still alive.” That meant that otherwise, she would have exhausted all her appeals and been put to death long ago, since none of her appeals gained anything.
Joe stood with arms crossed against his chest, a stance that said he meant to absorb every bit of information available. “They're obligated to review her appeals, aren't they?”
“Sometimes they're thrown out.”
Abi's thoughts were way ahead. “We'll get her another attorney.” Megan Winnaker had maneuvered through the legal system, but this was her last go-round. “How did she manage to get the Supreme Court's attention?”
“On the skimpiest of technical issues, believe me.”
“Yeah, that issue about the juror.” Joe relaxed as Abi leaned against him.
Abi's emotions suddenly escalated. Any possibility of a questionable juror could be a strong argument for overturning a conviction. “Tell me more.”
“After Winnaker lost that last appeal, a groupie mailed her copies of photos printed in the newspaper, taken about three years before the Yates fire happened.”
“Before the fire?” Bits of memory about the juror flickered through her mind. “What did they have to do with the juror?”
“Well, it seems this citizen is rooting for Winnaker—and there are quite a few who do—found a couple of photos of Juror #12 that had been taken at a pro-capital punishment rally three years before Winnaker's sentence.”
“The woman just happened to become a juror in a capital case?” Abi felt a clue surfacing but knew too well that this would have been already addressed. “Don't they screen—?”
“They did. They asked each prospective juror if they had ever had anything to do for or against capital punishment.”
“Then how did they accept this juror?”
“She said she'd never had strong feelings one way or another.”
Abi remembered vaguely hearing on the news while in her busy shop about the investigation once those photos turned up but hadn't paid attention. “So these pictures may help Megan?”
“No. The investigation found no evidence that the juror was involved in the rallies.”
“I saw those photos on TV.” As involved as Joe was, he would remember. “She was clearly—”
“Clearly in the photos, yes.”
The woman claimed she had gone to meet her then husband, not knowing a rally would be taking place on that street. When she arrived, she was unable to cross the street and had been waving to her husband who waited for her on the opposite side.
Joe suddenly pointed in the air. “I remember that. She was waving open-handed and slightly turned away from the direction the prot
esters faced and who were also waving, but with fists. These pictures are Megan's last hope?”
“If they could have proved #12 was part of that group, we could've had a mistrial.”
“But two photos of two separate rallies?”
“Yeah, strange, isn't it?” Det. Britto's expression was that of a cop trying to fit the pieces together. “Evidently the woman went to meet her husband at yet another time, only to find another rally.” It was learned she and her husband weren't getting along. The separation across the street added to their marital woes. They finally divorced. It took detectives a long hard search to locate them both to hear their stories. “The investigation bought Winnaker a little time. That was all.”
Abi's hope for a clue, a loose thread left dangling, had not been that at all. “We need to learn more, Det. Britto. I need to learn every possible bit of information you can give us.”
“This is her last go 'round, ma'am. All the Supreme Court's reviewing is how the findings of the investigation of Juror #12 affect the case.”
“It's already been proven—”
“Yep, #12 got cleared, but that's Winnaker's minor technical issue and doesn't carry much weight. I'm afraid if there's any real help for her, it'll have to come from somewhere else.”
“I'm going to help her.” Abi watched their reactions and knew she had shocked them. The possibility that Megan was her daughter still existed and until proven otherwise, she had no choice.
“That's taking on a lot, ma'am. If you're sure, I know a lawyer who's been fascinated with this case. He's a damn good one, but he doesn't come cheap.” He paused a moment, then seemed to remember something and held up an index finger. “If anyone asks, you didn't get the referral from me, agreed?”
Abi began thinking about a second mortgage on her home. Then, as quickly, she realized the detective was right. She could not allow herself the impulsiveness with which she became involved in past cases. She simply could not afford to get emotionally involved unless she found concrete evidence that Megan and Becky were one and the same, or that one was impersonating the other. Yet how would she learn anything if she stifled her curiosity?
“Is that why this attorney never jumped into the case, because Megan had no money?”
“Dunno. He had just passed the bar and was pretty green when her case began. Then he got into some long drawn-out legal battles for a wealthy client. Didn't have the time maybe.”
Chapter 17
Hospital air seemed synonymous with the smell of death. The peculiar heavy odor of sickness and medicine made Abi gag. Air that should be kept healthy inside that hospital was not fresh the way the breeze in the hills was fresh and light. The most modern air conditioning system did little to purge the confined atmosphere.
“We'll follow you.” Abi motioned to the detective. She had never been inside the hospital.
Det. Britto leaned close and whispered. “Okay, but let's not draw attention to ourselves.”
This was not the way Abi had envisioned she and her daughter would meet again. She always dreamed that they would recognize each other, would run toward one another with outstretched arms, and hold and cry joyously and never again part. The imagined reunion was indelibly etched in her mind. Now Abi was about to learn if the inmate was her daughter. If she was, finding her near death from pneumonia or receiving lethal injection was not the way it was supposed to happen. Yet, if she were Becky Ann, Abi would accept her anyway she found her. She fought back tears and gritted to bolster her courage.
They proceeded quietly, without speaking, through the Emergency waiting room. They were barely noticed among the throng of patients and their families that occupied every seat and standing space available. Det. Britto frequented the hospital on police matters so, in all likelihood, his presence would seem the norm to employees.
Inside the elevator, Abi noticed Det. Britto staring at her with a look that expressed both sympathy and disappointment. She did not want either of his emotions. She knew what she had to do and would not be deterred. As the doors opened, he stepped out ahead of her and Joe. A few feet from another hallway near some gurneys parked along the wall, he waited for them to catch up.
They rounded the corner and passed a man sitting outside the doorway of the ICU. Det. Britto took Abi's elbow and directed her to a window farther down the hallway. Joe stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders as they peered through the glass. A nurse came out of the room and passed behind them as Abi held her breath and stared straight ahead and prayed not to be noticed.
A gaunt, young woman with short dark hair occupied a bed between two male patients in their beds along the opposite side of the narrow room. All the patients were connected to various monitors and IVs. The woman had an oxygen apparatus positioned at her nose, held in place with a band around her head. She only moved when her chest heaved as if she couldn't get enough air.
Abi choked back emotion. Her arms ached to reach out to comfort the frail woman. Her heart ached for the stranger, who did not look to be her daughter, but who was about to face the greatest challenge of her lifetime. The end of it.
Joe whispered into her ear. “What do you think?”
“She's nothing more than a skeleton.” Abi's whisper cracked. “Just can't tell.”
Det. Britto leaned close. “She doesn't look like you, but being emaciated, it's hard to tell.”
Just then, the woman in the bed turned her head to the right, exposing the left side of her face. Her eyes flickered as if she were trying to wake. Abi moved closer, almost pressing her face against the window.
With the monitors sending signals that the woman had moved, attendants immediately went to her bedside.
“That nurse is in the way.” Abi sidestepped to peer around.
Another nurse turned and saw them. She quickly pulled the curtain closed. Abi sighed heavily but could not move.
“No mole.” Det. Britto rubbed the side of his cheek where the mole would have appeared on the patient's face.
“Has she ever had surgery? Has anyone noticed?”
“Never had reason to suspect anything like that.”
“How soon can we find out?” Abi wasn't ready to leave and needed to know more. “Could the nurse take a look?”
The man sitting outside the doorway stood and walked over. “You folks family?”
“You on the job?” The detective's police jargon shot back with authority.
The man recognized Det. Britto's police colloquialism, straightened his posture and produced a Police Department business card from his breast pocket. “Yes sir.”
Det. Britto read quickly. “Officer John Ryde. Well, keep watch, buddy.” Det. Britto walked away without producing his own identification. A quick jerk of his head and the peculiar slant of his eyes bade Abi and Joe to follow quickly. Det. Britto evidently meant to keep quiet any further involvement on his part, at least as long as possible.
Outside the emergency entrance on the vehicle ramp, Abi pulled her coat closer. “That wasn't enough. I need to speak with her.”
“I was hoping something might have clicked.” Det. Britto stared at her patiently.
“It might have, but not in the debilitated condition she's in.” Abi had always said she would know her daughter in an instant. She had not recognized the patient. She neither saw nor felt anything that said the woman could be Becky. That should have settled things. It didn't.
The wail of an approaching ambulance interrupted their conversation. Hospital security walked out through the automatic doors. Det. Britto knew what that meant. “Let's move. They got another case coming in.”
They made their way through lanes in the parking lot as the ambulance pulled up and killed its siren.
“Guess there's no other way.” Det. Britto had that look again; as if he was about to do something he should not.
“You mean you'll do it? You'll speak with her attorney?”
“Soon as I can.”
“How about a doctor? Is there any way
we can learn if she's had anything like a mole removed?” That simple mole and its removal could be the dreaded confirmation.
“Through her attorney.”
“Damned.” Joe shook his head sharply. “How can this attorney have so much control when he's doing nothing?”
“Yes, nothing. Now there's a cop guarding the door and an attorney we must appease.”
The detective's eyebrows lifted. “Be thankful for unintended help, ma'am.”
“How so?”
“Well, it's like this.” The wizened detective again lowered his voice in his secretive way. “That officer was wearing street clothes, right?” He motioned with his thumb back toward the hospital and waited to assure she was listening.
“Yes?”
“That Yates guy, Stan Yates? He's been known to make public threats against Winnaker's life.” Det. Britto's gaze was intense. “Said if he found her where he could get at her, he'd wring her neck with his bare hands.”
Abi shivered at the thought that that poor woman's life had been threatened for so long.
“That braggart, Britto? That drunk?”
“Yeah.” Det. Britto folded his arms across his chest and thought a moment. “I kinda' think it's more than that.” He had a habit of mentioning a detail and then leaving the rest hanging.
“So what else?”
“Remember I told you I'm not convinced this girl did the fire?” He didn't wait for their responses. “She got convicted on circumstantial evidence. Actually, her story, her simple alibi the way she tells it, could all be true.”
Abi had to think on her feet. Through all her appeals, Megan Winnaker could not get her conviction overturned. No one was able to shed any new light to make the authorities want to look further. “She must have a sharp mind in order to carry her appeals to the Supreme Court.” The appeals process could only deal with laws as they were applied during the trial. The process was meant to right any possible errors made in the courts and the judicial proceedings. “If new evidence is found, would they throw out the conviction?”
