by Carsen Taite
“You really know your stuff.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Meredith was genuinely curious.
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you were pretty far removed from your days dealing with criminal law.”
“Doesn’t feel like it was that long ago. Sometimes I miss being a prosecutor.”
The clatter of plates interrupted their conversation, and the bartender shoved the food toward them and then strode off to wait on some new arrivals.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Stevie said. “No sense inducing heartburn.”
“I have a feeling these onion rings will do that all on their own.”
“But totally worth it,” Stevie said.
Meredith nodded and tugged one of the golden rings free from the pile. She was just about to put it in her mouth, when she noticed Adam Rondell, a reporter, striding toward them.
“Hey, Senator, you slumming it with us regular folks tonight?”
She set the onion ring down and cast a quick look at Stevie who looked between them with a curious expression. Meredith smiled to signal all was well. “Hi, Adam, am I encroaching on your space? I’d say I’m sorry, but since you spend your life following me around, I think turnabout is fair play.”
“Touché.”
Hearing Stevie clear her throat, Meredith broke contact with Adam and turned her way.
“Adam Rondel, meet my friend Stevie Palmer. Stevie, meet my stalker, Adam. He works for the—”
“The Metro Mash-Up.” Stevie interrupted. “I’m familiar with your blog.”
“Smart and pretty,” Adam said. “She’s a keeper.” He turned back to Meredith. “So, I heard something interesting today. Do you have a minute to answer a couple of questions?”
If she were dining alone, she might, but Meredith had sensed Stevie tense up when Adam approached the bar. She had a reputation for allowing the press extensive access to her professional life, but no matter what she’d told herself about her reason for this meeting with Stevie, it was no longer purely professional, and she was more interested in pleasing her than satisfying the insatiable appetites of the reporters who dogged her on a daily basis. “Call my office Monday and we’ll set up a time to talk.”
“Sounds like a brush-off.”
Meredith spotted Stevie opening her mouth to respond and she jumped in, pointing at her onion rings. “Dinner. It’s a thing. You should try it sometime.” She smiled to defuse her refusal. “Later, I promise.”
He shook his head. “I heard a rumor today that you are jumping in the presidential race. Sure you don’t want to comment?”
Meredith kept smiling, but she wanted to strangle whoever had started the rumor and Adam for spreading it. “Here’s my comment and listen close because I’m not going to repeat it and I’m not answering any follow-up questions. I fully support Senator Armstrong in her bid for the Democratic nomination, and I think she’ll make a wonderful president.”
Adam made a show of pretending to take notes on his hand while she spoke. “Got it. Okay, ladies, have a nice evening.” He tipped an imaginary hat and strode away.
Meredith watched until he walked out the door of the bar. “Sorry about that. It’s a hazard of the job.”
“Definitely a hazard,” Stevie said. “That guy’s an ass. Have you read the stuff he writes that passes for news? Of course, that’s more the norm than not nowadays.”
She heard the edge in Stevie’s voice and noted that it sounded like Stevie had a personal bias against Adam Rondel and the press in general. She started to form a question, but Stevie beat her to it.
“Although he’s not the only one speculating about you entering the race. Is it true?”
Meredith took her time chewing her food. The rumors had swirled after her speech at the Democratic convention during the last election cycle. She’d been given the speaking spot mostly because of her family connections and she knew it, but showcasing her at the convention had been part of a grand plan to put her on the path to an eventual run for the top office. “Maybe someday. Senator Armstrong is going to carry the standard this time around, and I support her all the way.”
“Connie Armstrong, really?”
“What, you don’t like her? She’s a strong woman with a deep history of service to her country.”
“Is that the party line?”
Meredith bit back a sharp retort. “If you think I walk a straight party line, you don’t know me very well. Do you have a specific beef with Senator Armstrong?”
Stevie nodded as if to acknowledge Meredith was right to put her to the test. “If she’s the nominee, I’ll vote for her, but only because the alternatives on the other side of the aisle are positively frightening, but you have to admit she comes with a lot of baggage. Armstrong’s had to walk a pretty fine line between liberals and conservatives to maintain her popularity in Texas, and she’s a little too moderate for my taste.”
“Sometimes moderates are the only ones who get things done.”
“At what compromise to their principles? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for moderation when it comes to things like foreign affairs, but when it comes to civil rights, gun control, poverty, the environment, someone has to take a stand on the side of what’s right and just.”
“And you think I would be that person?”
Stevie looked taken aback by the question, and she took a moment to answer. “You come closer than Armstrong.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement. “It’s not as difficult for me since my New York constituents expect me to lean left, but Connie’s had to work hard to build a base in a state that has teetered back and forth between liberal and conservative. What she’s managed to accomplish in the South has groomed her for this position.”
“You have a point.”
“I’m guessing you don’t concede that very often.”
Stevie grinned. “Only when necessary.”
Meredith tossed a half-eaten onion ring down and pushed her plate aside. “I couldn’t possibly eat another bite.”
“I’m thinking you’re mostly a salad girl.”
“Is that so?”
Stevie blushed slightly. “Either that or you work out a lot.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment. And inspiration not to skip my morning run.” Meredith noticed for the first time that she hadn’t wanted to glance at her phone the entire time they’d been sitting at the bar. The relaxed vibe was refreshing, more like a date than a business meeting. She tipped her empty glass at Stevie’s. “Are we having dessert or another drink? My waistline can’t afford both.”
“Which one will convince you to change your mind on the sentencing guidelines?”
And just like that, they were back to business, but Meredith didn’t want to be. “Tell you what, let’s have whichever one you want tonight and skip the shop talk. Tomorrow, send me whatever additional information you want me to review, and I’ll have my staff put together a position paper. I promise to give it a full review before we vote on the amendments.”
“And if you’re convinced about my position, you’ll sway some of the other committee members?”
“If you convince me, I’ll convince them.”
Stevie stuck out her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal. And prepare yourself because we’re having apple pie. With ice cream.”
As Stevie waved a hand at the bartender to order their dessert, Meredith reflected on what a pleasant surprise this evening had turned out to be. Sometimes being prepared was overrated.
Chapter Two
First thing Monday morning, Stevie filled out the prisoner request form and handed it to the warden at the DC detention center. He examined the form and pointed to a row of chairs along the wall.
“We’ve got a space for you at the third window.”
Stevie shook her head. “I need a room.”
“The notes say no contact visits for this guy.”
She’d dealt with this before, increased restrictions on defen
dants deemed to be a threat to national security, and she was fully prepared to push back. “I’ll take the room,” she said, keeping her tone even but firm, and hoping her hard stare conveyed what she didn’t want to have to say. A few beats passed and she was about ready to tell the warden he’d hear from the judge, but he relented before she had to go all law-and-order on him.
“Sign the sheet,” he said in a curt voice.
She complied. She didn’t blame the guards for having a little bit of attitude. Working in the prison every day had to be a drain, but ultimately her allegiance was to her client not their keepers. Once she was in the attorney room, she selected the best two of the three chairs and positioned them on either side of the rickety table in the center of the room. The file wasn’t very thick, and she spread it out in front of her, counting on the fact the guards would likely take their time getting the client to her to allow her time to prepare.
She’d skimmed the file the night before, but she’d been distracted and she knew why. She’d been completely unprepared for Meredith Mitchell in real life. She was even better looking than she was on camera, and her charm was palpable. Stevie had half expected Meredith to be uncomfortable in the casual bar with its restrictive rules, but by the end of the evening, she had the surly owner eating out of her hand, and a casual observer would think she was a regular. Except for the encounter with Adam Rondel, the entire evening had been easy and comfortable, and Stevie couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself as much. So why did she feel unsettled?
Maybe it was because now that Meredith had agreed to take a second look at the committee’s report, she no longer had an excuse to see Meredith again.
The door opened and jarred her from her reverie. Three guards escorted a tall, skinny guy who looked to be in his late twenties into the room, and she shoved aside all thoughts of Meredith Mitchell and focused on assessing her new client.
He slid into the chair across from her and tucked the extra folds of his orange jumpsuit under his legs while she motioned to the guards that she wanted to be alone with him. The one in the lead shrugged and motioned for the others to follow him out. She waited until the door was firmly shut behind them, and then turned to her client. “Are you William Barkley?” She felt silly asking the question, but when she was a young lawyer, she’d had a very confusing new client conference until she realized the guards had brought out the wrong inmate.
He nodded.
“How old are you, Mr. Barkley?” She knew what the file said, but this was a softball question designed to get him to start talking.
He wasn’t falling for it. Barkley jabbed a finger at the file, and Stevie pulled out the page that listed his personal data. William Barkley, age twenty-five, six two, one hundred sixty pounds. Resident of Maryland and employee of Folsom Enterprises, an IT company whose primary work was as a subcontractor for government agencies. He was accused of violating the Espionage Act for sending classified documents to an online news outlet. She vaguely remembered the information having to do with the FBI having a lead on Russian hackers infiltrating social media and failing to act on the intel. She didn’t get why the government was still trying to keep a lid on that since these kinds of stories were popping up all over the place now.
She decided to start with the basics. She slid the paper with his personal data across the table. “Is this information correct?” She watched him scan the paper and then look up to meet her gaze. He nodded again. Good. So far he didn’t seem crazy, just really reluctant to say words out loud. “I don’t suppose you’d like to talk to me about the charges against you?” A slight shake of his head was his only response.
Stevie mentally reviewed the prior attorney’s report and recommendation for a competency screening. He’d listed only a couple of factors as a basis for the recommendation, relying heavily on Barkley’s failure to communicate. She decided to dive right in. “Your last attorney believes you need to be evaluated for competency. Do you know what that means and why he would make that kind of recommendation?”
Barkley hunched down in his seat and placed a finger over his lips. Stevie braced for whatever he was about to say, certain this was the crazy she’d been warned about. He pointed at her pen. She hesitated for a just a second to consider how dangerous a pen could be in the wrong hands and decided to risk it. She shoved her legal pad and pen across the table and watched him form big block letters. He tore the paper from the pad, folded it in half, and slid it back toward her. She lifted the edge and peeked at the secret note.
NOT SAFE TO TALK HERE.
And there was her first glimpse at crazy, but it was only borderline. She wrote back. This room is secure. The guards aren’t listening. You can talk to me. And slid the note back to him.
He scanned her writing several times before reaching for the pen, scrawling words in a firm press, and sending it back her way.
YOU DON’T KNOW THAT.
Okay, this was the real deal, but she’d need more specifics to file a motion with the judge and this back and forth note thing was getting old fast. “Talk to me about what you’ve experienced. I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.”
He shook his head and crossed his hands on the table as if to signal he was done. She gave it one more try. “Mr. Barkley, this afternoon, we’re going to be back in court for your detention hearing. You haven’t provided any information to pretrial services, and without their report, the judge will have no choice but to keep you in custody while we either prepare for trial or work out a deal, neither of which can I do if you do not communicate with me. In addition, if I have reason to suspect that you may not be competent to stand trial, it is my duty to ask the court to have you examined by a mental health practitioner, which sounds like an easy process, but it isn’t. You might be shipped off to another facility for an undetermined amount of time while the process is taking place. If you are indeed competent, the examination will only delay your court procedure, and delay is not always to your benefit, especially since you will remain in custody while your competency is being assessed. Ultimately, you will wind up right back here with me asking you to provide information so that I can assist you with your case, a lot like what I’m doing right now. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Barkley frowned as she spoke and shifted in his chair. When she was done, he reached for the note and pen again and drew heavy black lines beneath the words NOT SAFE TO TALK HERE, and then shoved the paper across the table with enough force to send it flying onto the floor. Stevie leaned down to pick it up and placed it in her bag. If she chose to file a motion to have him examined for competency, this would be exhibit A.
Back at the office, Stevie tossed the file on her desk and stretched her arms over her head. Joe poked his head in. “What’s the verdict? Cray or no cray?”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re not the most sensitive person in the office?”
“I’m okay with that assessment.”
“Good. The guy is paranoid, for sure, but incompetent? I’m not convinced. Besides, isn’t there a saying, ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you’?”
“Maybe he spent too much time working on top secret projects for Folsom. The real question is whether he’s nuts, er, I mean mentally challenged, and whether you think he’ll respond to you.”
She considered his question carefully. As unsure as she was about her interaction with William Barkley, she did feel like they’d made a connection. At the very least, he seemed to want to confide in her even if he was leery about doing so at the jail. “I’ll stay on it. Maybe once he gets hauled in front of the judge again, he’ll agree to talk to me.”
“Fair enough.” He handed her an envelope. “This came for you. Hand-delivered. Hannah asked me to give it to you. She wouldn’t let me open it.”
“Maybe because it says ‘personal and confidential’ on the outside of the envelope.”
“We’re a law office—almost everything says that.” He ja
bbed a finger at the envelope. “You going to open it or what? It’s from Senator Mitchell’s office.”
Meredith’s name in the upper left corner had been the first thing she’d noticed when Joe waved the envelope her way, but she didn’t want him to know that. She tucked it under Barkley’s file. “If there’s anything in it that affects you, you’ll be the first to know.”
He scrunched his face at her, but she wasn’t deterred and waved him off. “Now go. I’ve got work to do.”
He wandered off to bother someone else in the office, and she slowly slid Meredith’s envelope out from under the pile on her desk. It was thick and heavy, and curiosity quickly took over. She grabbed a letter opener and sliced her way in, quickly shaking the contents out onto her desk. On top was a note card in heavy linen stock engraved with Meredith’s name. In flowing script it said: I followed your suggestion (that’s twice now) and found the enclosed articles. I made copies for the rest of the committee members and thought you might like to have a set for yourself. Thanks for the nudge. Yours, Meredith.
Stevie read the card three times before setting it aside to look at the stack of paper—articles from a cross-section of legal journals arguing the exact points she’d been trying to make when she’d appeared before the committee and with Meredith at the bar. Had it really been that easy to convince Meredith to be swayed toward her side or was there more to this message than a simple, you were right, I was wrong? Stevie picked up the card and read it again. Thanks for the nudge. What exactly had nudged the senator: her arguments or the evening they’d shared?
Stevie set the stack of paper to the side of her desk and tried to focus on the rest of her work, but it kept calling out to her. After a completely unproductive hour, she picked up her phone and dialed. A woman’s voice answered before she could talk herself out of it.
