Leary lifted his knife and fork. He’d ordered the porchetta, which the menu described as roasted pork belly served with cicerchie and broccoli rabe. It looked delicious, and judging by the expression on his face as he chewed his first bite, it tasted as good as it looked. “Damn,” he said with approval.
Graham brought a forkful of her dinner—a beef dish—to her mouth. She frowned.
“Something wrong?” Eckert said, pausing with his knife and fork.
“It’s just not as well done as I’d like,” Graham said. “I’ll say something.”
Eckert shook his head. “Let me.” He raised a hand into the air. When the waiter didn’t respond immediately, he loudly cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me! Waiter!”
The dining room went silent. Jessie felt the gazes of the other people focus on their table. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the stares.
“Yes, sir?” The waiter said. “Is there a problem?”
Graham said, “It’s no big deal. If you could just take my plate back and make it slightly more well done—”
“Actually, it is a big deal,” Eckert said. He grabbed Graham’s plate off the table and thrust it into the waiter’s hands.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. I’ll run it back to the kitchen.”
“You better,” Eckert said. “This isn’t how she ordered it. And we expect you to take it off the bill, too.”
The waiter looked abashed. “Certainly, sir.”
“Now she has to sit here while we all have our dinners. Ridiculous!”
“My apologies, sir.” The waiter took Graham’s plate and hurried away.
Every other person in the room had watched this exchange, and now Jessie heard the murmur of conversation as the silence broke and people started to talk again—probably about them.
“Excuse me,” Graham said. She stood from her chair. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
Jessie stood, too. “I’ll go with you.”
She felt bad leaving Leary at the table with Eckert, but she supposed it was just another thing she’d have to make up to him.
In the restroom, Graham stood in front of the sink, staring at her reflection. Her gaze ticked to Jessie as she entered the room and came up beside her. “This is why I don’t do blind dates,” Graham said. “I knew I shouldn’t have let my mother talk me into this.”
“His heart is probably in the right place.”
Graham stared at her. “Seriously?”
And they both burst out laughing. “Okay, I agree. It’s a turnoff.”
“It’s a warning sign,” Graham said. “You can tell a lot about a person from the way they talk to waiters. The guy is clearly a dick.”
“So it seems.”
“Boring, too,” Graham said. “I think I listened to about ten seconds of his ten minute story about leasing his car. I was thinking about our case the whole time. Thank God I had that on my mind, or I’d have died of boredom.”
“Me, too,” Jessie said.
Their eyes met in the mirror.
“What were you thinking?” Graham said.
Jessie shrugged. “Mostly about getting a warrant to compel Manpower to give us the identity of True_Man and access to the private messages. The more I think about it, the more I think this is a criminal conspiracy case.”
“Conspiracy?” Graham seemed to mull it over. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I guess that fits. Aiding another person in the planning or commission of a crime, or soliciting someone to commit a crime. And there has to be an overt act, right?”
Jessie saw her own surprised expression in the mirror. “You know the Pennsylvania Criminal Code.”
Graham shrugged. “I’ve picked up bits and pieces.”
“If we can get the warrant,” Jessie said, “I think the private messages will give us evidence that True_Man solicited Russell Lanford to commit the crime, and maybe even aided him, too.”
“And there’s no question regarding the presence of an overt act,” Graham said. “Seventeen people were killed.”
“Right. We’ll have all we need to charge him.”
“Assuming we can also find out who he is—and assuming he’s not sitting in an internet cafe in China or somewhere equally beyond our reach.”
“Right.” Jessie took a deep breath. “I think we should draft the warrant application first thing in the morning. Do you want to meet at my office?”
Graham nodded. “Okay.”
When they returned to the table, Leary looked like he wanted to kill himself. But a moment later, the waiter returned with Graham’s dish—now cooked perfectly to order—and they quickly absorbed themselves in the delicious meal.
On the way home, Leary said, “Was our double date everything you hoped it would be?”
“Actually, yes.”
“You and Emily seem pretty chummy now.”
“Nothing brings two women together like disliking the same man.”
“So, mission accomplished, I guess.”
“And as a bonus, we did some good brainstorming on our case.”
“Really? When did that happen?”
“In the bathroom.”
Leary nodded. “Of course.”
“Sorry you had to endure Eckert.”
Leary shrugged. “At least the food was good. And”—he shot her a mischievous grin—“I believe I’ve earned some special attention tonight?”
She grinned back. “Tonight, you’ll have all my attention.”
13
Six AM the next morning, the DA’s office was a ghost town. Jessie had to flip wall switches to illuminate their path step by step as she led Emily Graham to a conference room on the floor of the Homicide Unit. The detective was silent, and Jessie could practically feel the waves of anxiety pulsing from her body as she tailed her down the hallway. Despite her enthusiasm the previous night, Graham didn’t want to be here. Jessie remembered the labored sentences in her police report. Apparently, writing was not Graham’s activity of choice.
As a lawyer, writing was second nature to Jessie. In some ways it was her preferred method of communication. In briefs and other court documents, she could organize her thoughts in coherent, persuasive arguments that she could never seem to match while speaking on her feet. Sometimes she forgot that most people didn’t share this view, and many went through life limiting their written output to texts and Facebook updates. Cops didn’t have that luxury, though, and she didn’t need to remind Graham of that.
“You always start work this early?” Graham said.
“I like the quiet. You?”
“I usually run in the morning,” Graham said. “Clears my head. Helps me prepare for the day.”
“Sorry. I guess we could have done this later.”
“No, let’s get it over with.”
In Pennsylvania, a search warrant application consisted of two parts: the legal application, presented by the DA’s office, which laid out the request and argued that probable cause existed to justify a Constitutionally-valid search and seizure, and the factual affidavit, a sworn statement by an officer or detective describing the facts that supported the argument.
Typically, the detective would draft the warrant application, an assistant DA would review it, and then it would be filed. But sometimes, Jessie preferred to work directly with the detective. The process helped to make sure she and the detective were on the same page—critical if and when the warrant was challenged by defense counsel in a pre-trial motion to suppress evidence—and it made Jessie an active player rather than a rubber stamp on the detective’s words. Today was one of those times that she believed working on the warrant application together would benefit the case, especially since Graham had helped Jessie solidify their argument the night before.
Jessie opened the conference room door and walked inside. She took a seat and opened her laptop on the long, oval table. Graham opened an identical laptop, one of the loaners the DA’s office kept for guests.
“Okay,�
�� Jessie said. She smiled. “Let’s knock this out.”
“I feel like I’m in college again. But not the fun part.”
Jessie thought about that. “How about if we order breakfast?”
Graham arched an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
“Sure. The diner around the corner doesn’t mind delivering here. They make incredible bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches. What do you say?”
“I say I don’t know how you maintain your figure.”
Jessie shrugged. “I’m blessed with an amazing metabolism. They have salads, too, if you want—”
“Screw that. I’ll get mine with a side of hashbrowns.”
Jessie laughed. She pulled out her phone. The diner’s phone number was already in her contacts list, and she had their order placed within a minute. “Done,” she said, putting down her phone. “Feeling more like the fun part of college yet?”
“A little,” Graham conceded with a half-smile. “Food has definitely improved our working relationship.”
“Yes. Maybe we should just eat constantly when working together.”
“I’m good with that,” Graham said. She looked at her laptop and her frown returned.
“Just write down what happened when we interviewed Wesley Lanford,” Jessie said, “what he said and showed us. I’ll help you through it.”
They worked together on the affidavit for fifteen minutes. Then Jessie’s phone vibrated, interrupting them. Their food was here.
An hour later, the conference room reeked of greasy food, Jessie’s stomach felt full-to-bursting, Graham looked dazed, and they had a completed application for a search warrant.
Their request to the court was straightforward. They were asking the court to issue a search warrant requiring Manpower to locate and produce information—specifically, the identity and all user information and content (including private messages) of True_Man.
“What do you think we’ll find?” Graham said.
“A monster,” she said, and they sat in silence for a moment contemplating that.
14
Later that day, Jessie’s phone vibrated. She looked at the screen and saw that the identity of the caller was blocked. She answered anyway. “Jessica Black.”
“Hi. This is Brenda Townsend.” When Jessie didn’t respond, the caller added, “Judge Katz’s clerk?”
“Oh, right. Hi, Brenda.” Jessie remembered her now—a young woman who’d just graduated from law school and was clerking for Judge Clifford Katz. Katz was the judge reviewing her application for a search warrant of Manpower’s records on True_Man. “Is this about the warrant?”
“Uh, well, yes.” Brenda sounded uncomfortable, and that made Jessie uncomfortable.
“Is there a problem?”
“The judge would like to speak with you in person, if that’s okay. He has an opening at 2. If you could meet him in his chambers….”
“I’ll be there,” Jessie said.
“Great.” Brenda sounded relieved. “I’ll let him know.”
Jessie entered Judge Katz’s chambers. She found him hunched over his desk, one hand gripping his mouse, playing what looked like an intense game of solitaire on his PC.
“You wanted to see me, Your Honor?”
His bright blue eyes zeroed in on her from beneath bushy gray brows. “Jessie, come on in. Have a seat. Relax.”
She did as the judge commanded, taking a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk. “It’s kind of hard to relax when I don’t know why you called me here. Is there a problem with the warrant application?”
He gave up on his solitaire game and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
She wanted to ask him what that meant, but she kept her mouth closed. Katz was an old-timer. He’d been on the bench since before Jessie went to law school. Hell, probably before she’d gone to high school. Whatever he had to say, he’d get to it in his own way.
“This school shooting,” he said. His voice was low, rumbling. “Terrible thing.”
“Yes.”
“I love kids. I’m not sure if you knew that about me, but it’s true. They’re our future. I truly believe that. And they’re delicate. So delicate. They don’t realize it, don’t believe it. So it falls on us to protect them.”
She nodded. In fact, she did know that Katz loved kids. She knew that he donated generously—in the form both of money and time—to children’s charities and organizations. She knew that he dressed as Santa (even though he was Jewish) every Christmas at a homeless shelter so that kids who had nothing could make their heartbreakingly simple wishes—and, whenever it was within his power to do so, he made those wishes come true. What she didn’t know was why he seemed to want to talk about this now.
“You mind if I take off my shoes?” he said. “My wife bought me new shoes and they’re killing my feet.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. Hell, he could take off his shirt, too. Just as long as he gave her her search warrant.
Katz yanked off his shoes and let out a sigh. “Much better.” Then, with barely a pause, he said, “This warrant application. I don’t know. I think it’s a stretch.”
“Your Honor, the application meets all of the requirements under the Pennsylvania Rules of Criminal Procedure.”
He waved a hand. “I’m not talking about formalities.”
“Then what?”
“Where’s the probable cause? Do you really expect to find evidence that a crime was committed on this … what did you call it … message board?”
“Yes.”
“Which crime?”
“Conspiracy.”
He grunted. “Conspiracy to commit murder, Jessie? Really?”
She leaned forward. “All of the elements are there, Your Honor.” She counted them off on her fingers, thankful her earlier brainstorming sessions with Graham had prepared her. “Intent. Agreement to aid in the planning or commission of a crime. Overt act.”
“I know the statutory elements. And I’m sympathetic to the district attorney’s office’s desire to seek justice here. But come on. Russell Lanford killed those kids. No one helped him—certainly not by talking to him on some internet page.”
“I think I can prove that’s exactly what happened. But only if you grant my application for a search warrant.”
The judge sat back in his chair, thinking. Rather than stare at him, she looked around his chambers. He’d turned a utilitarian office into a warm space, practically a den. All it needed was a fireplace and more comfortable chairs. But Jessie knew better than to allow the ambiance to lull her. Katz had a warm side, no doubt—call it his Santa side—but he was also a shrewd judge, battle-hardened by years on the bench and even more years prior to that as a trial lawyer. And no judge liked to be reversed on appeal.
The judge said, “I won’t pretend that what I read in Detective Graham’s affidavit didn’t disturb me. It’s terrifying, what the internet makes possible, the dangers it poses to kids. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m not naïve enough to believe it was ever truly possible to protect kids during their teenage years. You know, the years when they’re at their most stupid and most susceptible to bad influences. Before the internet, in my day, parents worried about their kids being corrupted by the bad seed who hung out on the street corner, the greaser wearing a leather jacket and showing off his switchblade. But now … now that bad seed is everywhere. He’s in your phone.” Katz shook his head ruefully. “But conspiracy? The Pennsylvania Criminal Code just wasn’t drafted with the internet in mind.”
“The laws were drafted to be flexible,” Jessie said. “To accommodate a changing world. If True_Man conspired to commit murder, the technology he used is irrelevant.”
Katz sighed and tilted his chair forward, pinning her with his stare. “You’re a good prosecutor, Jessie. One of the best, to be truthful. So I’m going to give you some leeway this time. I’m going to issue the search warrant.”
“Thank you, Your Honor—”
Judge Katz raised a knobby finger, signaling that he was not done. She closed her mouth. “But,” he said, “I want you to understand the risks. For both of us. The risk for me is a spanking from the appellate court. I can handle that. At this point in my career, I don’t need to worry about my record, only my retirement fund. But the risk to you is potentially more dire.”
“I know, Your Honor. The inadmissibility of evidence.”
He nodded. “If an appellate court rules my search warrant unconstitutional, then everything the warrant leads you to—up to and including True_Man’s identity—will be off limits. Fruit of the poisonous tree. Your whole case will vanish in a puff of judicial smoke and True_Man will walk.”
“The search warrant will stand,” she said. “Even if I have to defend it before the Supreme Court.”
Katz smiled, and a raspy laugh escaped his throat. “Now that would be a show.”
Jessie nodded. “Let’s hope it doesn’t go that far.”
The judge’s face grew serious again. “Okay, Ms. Black. You have your search warrant. Let’s see what you find.”
15
The city held a memorial service for the victims of the Stevens Academy shooting at Fairmount Park, a large municipal park along the waterfront that served as a frequent venue for public concerts and other, happier events. Walking through the crowd of mourners with Leary, Jessie saw a lot of teenagers with their parents. She tried to imagine what it would be like to struggle with the reality of a school shooting at that age. It was hard enough for a thirty-three year old. Her heel came down on something and she almost tripped. Leary caught her. She looked down. There were candles scattered on the ground.
“Careful,” Leary said. “There was a candlelight vigil here last night. The grass is littered with candles, flowers, condolence cards.”
A dais had been set up near the river, with a podium and several folding chairs. The mayor was standing at the podium and seemed to be studying his notes as tech people set up equipment in front of him. Jessie recognized a few of the people sitting in the chairs—community and religious leaders. No sign of Jesus Rivera. As far as he was concerned, Jessie knew, the Russell Lanford incident was no longer a matter for the DA’s office.
Jessie Black Legal Thrillers Box Set 1 Page 60
