When she stepped through the metal detector, the alarms went off. The guard pulled her aside. “Anything in your pockets, Counselor? Cell phone? Coins? Pickaxe? That was a joke, Counselor.”
“No, sir,” Liana said, not amused. She had emptied everything she had into the little basket.
“Okay—please step over to Officer Nunez. She just needs to go over you with the wand.”
“Sure,” Liana said. She was all for tight security. She didn’t even mind in airports when she had to take off her shoes and her jacket and her belt—although she never understood how the Department of Homeland Security’s having Liana Cohen undress in the terminal protected against some radical fundamentalist terrorist blowing up the plane.
Officer Nunez, who was long past retirement age but apparently no one was brave enough to tell her, passed the wand over Liana’s arms and legs and then over her chest, where it made a high-pitched wailing sound. “Aha!” said the guard. “Did you carefully read the rules about visiting?” Nunez asked Liana.
“Yes, in fact I did,” Liana lied.
“Well, you obviously missed the one about no underwire bras.”
“What? You’re telling me that you’ve let some of these women pass through in microminis that barely cover their butts, and you’re going to stop me for a bra that supports my modest bosom and ensures that I won’t sag in twenty years?”
“Exactly,” said Nunez, enjoying Liana’s discomfort.
“So what’s supposed to happen now? I go all the way back to New York City without seeing my client?” Liana asked, starting to lose it.
“Not unless that’s what you want to do, honey. If you want to see your client, you go behind that screen and take off your bra. Then you’re good to go!” Nunez announced triumphantly. Liana made a face as if she’d just been told to parade naked in front of the entire prison population, male and female guards included.
When she’d regrouped sufficiently to speak, Liana politely thanked Nunez and went behind the screen. Certainly, visiting with Shea braless would not have been her first choice. But she was here, and it wasn’t as though she was wearing a tube top or anything terribly revealing. Still, she was self-conscious, and she feared Shea might now enjoy the visit a bit more than she had intended. She decided to try to forget about her state of undress and forge ahead. “Okay,” she called out from behind the screen, “I’m ready.”
“Hallelujah,” Nunez said and handed her a chit to redeem her bra after her visit.
Another guard—Officer Franks, according to his badge—came to escort Liana to where the attorneys met with their clients. The facility smelled like a men’s locker room that hadn’t been cleaned in six months; the stench in the hallways was so strong that Liana thought her oatmeal might make a reappearance. She half expected to see the inmates standing in their cells, like in the movies, big unshaven men with their hands clenched around the bars, yelling obscenities at her as she passed by. But if there were cellblocks where such a scene might have played out, Franks led her a different way. As they wended their way toward the visiting area, Franks waited to hear the deafening clanging shut of the door they had just passed through before he unlocked the next. Finally, he opened the last door and showed her into a small room with a table in the center and a chair on either side. “Isn’t there supposed to be a glass partition separating me from him?” Liana asked.
“Nah, some rooms are outfitted with that if the parties are not allowed to have any physical contact—but that’s not usually an issue with attorney-client visits,” Franks said. “I’ll bring in the inmate in a few minutes and uncuff him, in case he needs to read something, turn the pages, whatever.”
“Okay, great,” Liana said. She had brought the brief that she’d filed on Shea’s behalf—once she was coming all the way here, she figured she’d make a personal delivery rather than mailing it. “And do you stay in the room, Officer Franks?” Liana asked.
“Now, how could I do that?” he asked. “Wouldn’t that destroy confidentiality, kind of wreck the attorney-client privilege?”
Liana thought Franks might have winked at her. “Good point, Officer Franks. I guess I was actually thinking more about my own safety. What happens if I need you?”
“I’ll be watching through the window in the door, Counselor. Don’t worry. You just wave; I’ll see if you’re in trouble,” Franks said.
“Okay,” Liana said. Her mind returned involuntarily to the photograph of Shea, and she was glad that there wasn’t too much trouble she could get into with Franks looking through the window.
She sat down at the table and was going through the papers she’d brought when the door opened. Shea walked in but kept his eyes averted and his back to her while Franks removed the handcuffs. Only when the guard was finished and had closed the door did Shea turn toward Liana. For a person living in a hellhole and wearing a prison jumpsuit, he remained remarkably easy on the eyes. Liana stood up and extended her hand to shake his; it was the professional way to start the meeting. But when he looked at her, a tiny sound escaped his mouth—something between a gasp and a sob, of surprise or yearning Liana couldn’t tell. Shea stared at her, and she looked away, withdrawing her hand and sitting down to break the intensity of the moment.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Cohen,” he said softly. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”
“What do you mean? We had a confirmed appointment for today,” she said, frantically searching her mind to see if she could have made a mistake on the date.
“Yes, I knew you were coming. What I meant was that I wasn’t expecting you to be . . . as you are,” Shea said.
He sat down and leaned back in the chair, tipping it slightly like a teenage boy in history class. Shea was even more compelling in person than he had been in the photograph, fit and tan from working outside in the yard, and Liana was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand—especially since she didn’t really have a task at hand. She had never found any other client even remotely intriguing in either a physical or emotional way. She knew she shouldn’t blame herself for being attracted to Shea—it wasn’t the sort of thing you could control. She hoped to God that her breasts, unbounded, were not betraying her thoughts, but she dared not look down.
Liana opened her briefcase on the table, pulled out the papers she had prepared for Shea. “I’ve brought the brief that I filed with the court to show you. As I explained in my last letter, you have thirty days to ask for permission to file a pro se supplemental brief—that means you write it yourself—”
“Yes, I know what it means, Ms. Cohen,” Shea interrupted.
“If you have other issues you want to raise . . . Maybe you want to look the brief over and see if you have any questions?” Liana suggested.
“I don’t really want to waste the time I have with you reading the brief,” Shea said. “I have a lot of time to read here.” He was confident and smooth, and Liana knew that, in combination with the nature of his conviction, she should feel disgusted. Instead she was feeling a heat all over her body that was difficult to ignore.
Liana followed Shea’s gaze, which had thankfully moved away from her, his eyes alighting on the newspaper in her open briefcase.
“Would you like to look at the Daily News, Mr. Shea?” The inmates didn’t have much access to newspapers, at least not on a very current basis. He nodded once, and she handed him the paper, which he took and flipped quickly to the Sports section.
“Maybe you could let the court know that it’s cruel and inhuman punishment to make a man miss the entire baseball season,” Shea said as he skimmed the pages.
“Which team do you follow?” Liana asked. But she didn’t need to wait for an answer as she saw a pained expression momentarily mar his handsome face. The Mets were having a horrible season, the jubilation over Johan Santana’s no-hitter having faded fast.
“Lifelong Mets fan,” Shea responded. “Would have to be with a name like Shea, but, unfortunately, no relation.” He handed Liana the paper, ne
atly folded, and she put it back into her briefcase. She had a fleeting urge to tell him of their shared passion and then thought better of it.
When she was silent for a moment, Shea said, “Wasn’t there something you came to explain about a risk I run if I pursue the appeal?” He looked at Liana so directly that she understood without him saying so that he knew there was no risk, that it had been a ruse. She didn’t try to pretend.
“No,” Liana said.
“Then why did you come, Liana?”
“Because you asked me to,” she said.
Why is he calling me by my first name, and why don’t I stop him?
Shea nodded, then rose slowly from his chair so as not to alarm her or inadvertently summon Officer Franks. He paced the length of the small room several times before stopping within two feet of Liana and fixing his attention on her.
“I asked you to come because I wanted to tell you in person that I didn’t hurt Jennifer Nash. I need to explain to you more of what went on that night.” His tone was challenging and not menacing, but she knew she needed to shut him down.
Liana held up her hand. “Please, Mr. Shea, this isn’t necessary. I’ve explained to you that it makes no difference to me whether you are guilty or not. I have a job to do, and I’m doing it.” She felt a surge of strength from hearing her own words, putting her back in control.
It didn’t last long.
“I hear what you’re saying, Liana. I don’t buy it. You can’t tell me that you don’t get more fired up about a guy who is innocent. That would be the only normal human reaction—to get your juices flowing over a man you thought actually deserved you.” His voice was deep and throaty and had lost most of its con-man tenor. He stared at her intensely for a beat too long, and Liana felt a simultaneous rush of panic and excitement.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
Shea turned the chair around backward and straddled the seat, leaning forward and speaking quietly, never taking his eyes from Liana’s.
“I got to know Jennifer pretty well over those weeks of seeing her every night at her job. There were a lot of things I didn’t say on the stand because I didn’t want to embarrass her.”
Liana interrupted. “If you didn’t testify about it, I can’t use it, Mr. Shea. We’ve been over this.”
“I know that. But what you can use on my appeal isn’t the only thing that matters to me. I need you to understand the truth.”
Liana felt a shiver go up her spine, although she couldn’t pinpoint why she was afraid. It was just talk; it made no difference.
“Go on,” she said.
“We were friends; that’s what I’m trying to explain. I would be there eating, and Jennifer would take her break and sit with me and talk. She had a lot going on in her life, and she confided in me. Should I have told that jury full of strangers that she almost didn’t graduate from high school because she was failing a bunch of her classes? Or that her mother had fat-shamed her so harshly for the couple of pounds she’d gained working at Mickey D’s that she had pretty much stopped eating altogether? Should I have exposed that Jennifer was heartsick over her little brother—that kid who supposedly saved her from me—because he had joined a gang?”
Shea stood up from the chair and walked to the opposite side of the small room. Liana noticed his excellent posture and his proud gait—he didn’t look like a man weighed down by guilt. Then he paused for a moment and rested his forehead on the cool wall. When he turned around and spoke, his voice was strong and sure.
“She went up to that rooftop because she trusted me; we were friends. And what happened between us was two adults enjoying each other on a hot summer night.”
And then you betrayed that trust.
Or she betrayed you.
“Do you believe me, Liana? Do you believe me when I tell you that I’m innocent of this crime?”
“I’m trying to keep an open mind, Mr. Shea. Don’t push it,” she said.
“Fair enough,” he said, sitting down across from her again. A shadow of a smile played on his lips and something like hope flickered in his eyes.
“Listen,” Liana said, breaking the spell, “I brought you something.” She pulled out a new marble composition notebook from her briefcase and several Uniball pens she had swiped from the office supply closet. “You write very well. I brought you a blank notebook—I thought you might use it as a journal. It could help pass the time. You can write down things that happen or your feelings or thoughts. Sometimes I keep a journal, and I find it very therapeutic—it helps to sort things out when you see things in writing.” She was babbling. He made her nervous.
“Thanks, Liana,” Shea said. “Thing is, not much really happens around here that is worth recording, and it’s hard to differentiate one day from the next—except, of course, a day like today.” It was the worst kind of flattery, yet Shea executed it so sincerely Liana was almost taken in. He reached for the notebook, touched the back of her hand with his fingertips, and lingered there. It couldn’t have been more than a second or two—so fleeting yet so intimate—and a charge ran from the soles of her feet to the top of her curl-covered head. She jumped up from the table and waved at Franks, who opened the door immediately.
“Everything okay in here, Counselor?”
“Yes, Officer,” she responded. “I just think it’d be best if I left now.” She turned and walked out of the room without so much as a glance at Danny Shea, who remained seated at the table. Liana could feel him surveying every inch of her as she walked out of the room, and she heard him sigh, long and low.
She followed Officer Franks down the hallway, through the many heavy metal doors, stopping to douse herself liberally with Purell from the dispenser outside the reception room. Her hands were shaking.
“Did something happen in there? You weren’t here very long,” Franks asked.
“No, Officer. Everything was fine. We just ran out of things to talk about.”
Liana thanked him again for guarding her so well and left the building. She walked back and forth in front of the facility, waiting for Boris to arrive, and then got into the back seat of his cab.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“It was good, Boris. But I’m reminded of some wisdom that my friend Deb gave me a couple of years ago, when I got aggravated about something a client had done. She said, ‘Liana, always remember, the difference between you and the client is that you get to sleep in your own bed tonight.’”
Boris looked puzzled, but he good-naturedly responded, “All right then, let’s make sure you catch that train,” and he stepped on the gas. Only when she got home and undressed to shower did Liana realize she had left her bra behind.
A few days after meeting with Danny Shea, Liana arrived at work to find a letter from him on her desk. She realized that, subconsciously, she had been waiting to hear from him like a teenage girl waits for a boy to telephone for a second date.
I’m really losing it.
Dear Liana,
I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for coming to see me. I hope things didn’t end on a bad note; I wasn’t quite sure why you left so abruptly. In any event, it was great to finally meet you, and I very much appreciated the opportunity to give you a fuller picture of my relationship with Jennifer. I hope that knowing what you know now, you have a more nuanced understanding of what went on that night.
I hope I can take the liberty of also telling you that your visit meant a lot to me personally. You were a beautiful breath of fresh air in an otherwise totally dismal reality. I know that my reputation precedes me, but I hope that, having met me, you now have even more reason to doubt that I’m the person the prosecutor claims I am. I think we have a certain connection, and I pray it will grow stronger.
Please keep me updated on any developments in my case. I won’t write to you unnecessarily but will wait for your correspondence.
Sincerely,
Danny
Liana sat at her desk, stunned.
How
did I possibly let things get to the point where a client would suggest we have some sort of bond?
It was a more charming version of a letter she would normally laugh off, showing it around to her friends in the office and commiserating about these sex-starved clients. But she knew she had encouraged his attention, and the letter was so sweet she couldn’t bear to ridicule him. When she remembered the way he had looked at her, her first impulse was to take the letter home and put it in her dresser drawer for a rainy day. Instead, trembling, she ripped it up into tiny pieces and threw it in the trash. She took out a sheet of blank paper and wrote him by hand so there would be no trace on her computer.
Dear Mr. Shea,
Thank you for your letter. I enjoyed meeting you as well. I have to insist that you please keep all your correspondence strictly impersonal and refrain from any improper remarks or innuendo. If your behavior becomes at all troubling to me, I will have your case reassigned to another (male) attorney in the office.
I’m sure you understand the position that I am in. I have many clients, and I try to treat each one with the respect he or she deserves. I do not have the time or inclination to become friendly with my clients, as that would detract from the representation that I can provide.
I will keep you up to date on all aspects of the case.
Sincerely,
Liana Cohen, Esq.
Liana hoped her response was stern without being unduly hurtful. She folded the letter and put it into a blank envelope, writing out Shea’s address and inmate number on the envelope and, rattled, putting her own apartment as the return address. She dropped the envelope in the mailroom in the middle of some letters to other clients and went home, feeling relieved. This had gone too far already, but she would get herself back on track.
CHAPTER 12
The autumn months after Liana filed Danny Shea’s brief dragged. Now that the district attorney’s opposing brief was in, there was nothing to do but wait for a date for oral argument of the appeal before a panel of judges in the Second Department. Liana hadn’t had any more contact with Shea; he’d promised he wouldn’t write to her without a legitimate purpose, and he understood that they were in a holding pattern. Still, she hadn’t been able to put him or her visit to the prison completely out of her mind. Sometimes Liana pictured Shea in the Green Haven interview room patiently waiting for her to come back, Jennifer Nash’s pink purse in his hands.
Unreasonable Doubts Page 14
