In all the years he lived in the house, he never entertained a guest. There never was a pop-in visitor or anyone invited to his home. After his parents died there was nowhere to spend holidays or birthdays. Not being the kind of person his colleagues would invite to dinner, he didn’t receive invitations. Even though he was a deacon at his small church, he went to few of the social events. David Weston led a solitary life.
So, the three hard raps on his front door came as a bit of a shock. Neighborhood kids knew he would not buy their school fundraising candy, candles, magazines or handmade Christmas ornaments. This carried over to Halloween. The only time he was visited by trick or treaters was the first year he lived in the house. Being frugal he did not burn the porch light, making the dark house less than inviting.
He opened the front door to find Phillip McCourter and a uniformed officer standing on his porch.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Weston.” McCourter held a white envelope.
“Yes?”
“We have a warrant for your arrest.” Before Weston could respond, the uniformed officer spun Weston around and handcuffed him, and began reciting him his rights.
“I have done nothing! Why are you doing this?”
“We have found a substantial number of pornographic images of minors on both your phone and computer. But you already know that, don’t you? We will read you the formal charges at the station.”
“I demand you allow me to call a lawyer!”
“At the station. Is there anything we need to do to lock up your house?”
“Just the front door.”
McCourter nodded to the officer signaling him to remove Weston from his home.
* * *
During the booking process, Weston only spoke twice. He answered yes when asked if he understood the charges against him, and once near the end when asked if he could call a lawyer.
The large black and white clock on the wall clicked over 3:18 when the deputy stepped away and let Weston use the phone that hung in the hall, steps from the pale green bars that led to the cell where he would be placed.
A small phone book lay on the dull steel shelf below the phone. The page for attorneys was well worn and dirty with the handprints of the hundreds of people looking for legal counsel. Having no clue who to call, and never having used a lawyer other than settling his parent’s estate, Weston picked the only listing in White Owl, Adam Dupree. He dialed the number and waited.
“Law Offices.”
“My name is David Weston. I have been unjustly arrested. I need legal representation, as soon as possible to get me out of here.”
“Let me connect you to Mr. Dupree, please hold.” The young woman’s voice seemed to calm Weston a bit.
“Dupree.”
“My name is Weston, David Weston. I have been unjustly arrested and need legal assistance to get me out of here.”
“You are calling from jail?”
“Yes. Can you get me out of here? I have no one.”
“What are the charges?” Dupree was not in the habit of racing down to the jail to arrange bail.
“Something to do with sending pornographic material to minors, which I swear to you I did not do. Please, can you help me?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Sit tight and don’t say a word to anyone is that clear? We’ll have a chat and then I will see what is to be done.”
“Thank you.” Weston’s voice broke and he fought to keep his emotions in check.
“I’ll see you as soon as I can get there.” Dupree hung up.
The deputy watching Weston motioned him through the bars to the holding area. Weston shuddered as the heavy metal slammed shut behind him.
“Tomi, can you pull a representative contract and prepare a retainer agreement for five thousand dollars, please?”
“Yes, sir.”
The rain turned to sparse snow; wet, and clingy. As Dupree stepped into the street, he was grateful he drove his car to the office. The last time he made a house call to the jail was in 2006 when the CEO of Gulf Coast Fabrications left a posh Hollywood party and managed to hit six parked cars and a streetlight totaling his proto-type Tesla.
“Good Afternoon.”
“Hi, what can I do for you?” The deputy seemed to recognize Dupree. “Mr. Dupree, right?”
“Guilty as charged. I received a call from David Weston. Is it possible to see him?”
“Let me get a hold of Lieutenant McCourter. He’s in charge of the case.”
“Thanks.”
It took two tries but the deputy looked up at Dupree and nodded. “He’ll be right up.” The deputy looked to his right, then left. He waited a moment then looked up at the large circular mirror hanging behind Dupree, for a look down the hall. “I want to thank you for cleaning up that Travis Slater mess awhile back. A lot of people think highly of you for sticking your neck out like that, being new to town and all. White Owl is better for you coming here.”
“Thank you, Deputy…” Dupree leaned forward to see the brass name tag the deputy wore… “Tucker. It was a dark time.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sound of footsteps approaching up the hall interrupted any further discussion.
“Mr. Dupree?”
“Just Dupree’s fine.
“I’m Detective McCourter. I understand you want to see Mr. Weston, and I believe you will want to see the charges.” McCourter handed Dupree a cinnamon-colored folder with a bar clip at the top. “Please follow me.”
The two men walked silently down the hall the same way the detective had come. McCourter ran an ID card over the scanner at a door near the end of the hall. Two deputies sat at a desk facing a wall of bars.
“This is Mr. Dupree, he’s here to see David Weston.”
The deputy nearest the detective stood and tried to adjust his belt and equipment to accommodate his huge belly.
“Deputy Claren will take it from here. Come see me if you think you want to cut a deal.” McCourter smiled as if to say, fat chance.
The seated deputy pushed a large green button. There was a loud buzz and the pale green bars rolled back along a set of rails in the floor. Dupree was reminded why he didn’t go to jails. A cold tingle went up his spine as the bars thudded closed behind them.
“Right this way, sir.”
Deputy Claren put the large brass key into a heavy door. He slid the lock back the sliding metal cover of the twelve by twelve vision panel and said, “Visitor. Step away from the door.” The metallic clang of the door’s mechanism seemed to echo along the short hallway. The deputy stepped back and let Dupree enter. “Bang on the door when you’re done.”
The door closed behind Dupree.
“Mr. Weston, my name is Dupree. How are you doing?”
Weston looked up from the bunk where he sat. His eyes were red and it was obvious he was crying shortly before Dupree arrived. He was dressed in the orange jumpsuit and the backless terry cloth slippers given all prisoners.
“Thank you for coming.”
“So, tell me, how is it you ended up here?”
Weston took a deep breath. “I truly have no idea. I was called into the office at school. I teach at the high school, and a detective said they traced obscene photos to my phone that were sent to boys in my class. I was suspended from work. They searched my home and found more photos on my computer. I swear to you I have no idea how they got there.”
The number of people who sat across a desk or in a conference room and told Dupree they were innocent could fill the Tacoma dome. The number who were telling the truth could fit into the Quarter Moon Café.
“Mr. Weston, my retainer is five thousand dollars. I bill at two-hundred dollars an hour, plus any expenses incurred. Those expenses could, but are not limited to, technical investigation. Are you able to afford such services at this time?”
“Yes, yes, can you get me out of here?”
“One thing at a time.” Dupree picked up his briefcase and undid the clasp, slipped out two sheets of pap
er, and a pen. He closed the briefcase and handed Weston the pen. “Sign here, and here.” He pointed at one line on each document Tomi highlighted in yellow.
“You do believe I’m innocent, don’t you?”
“That is immaterial. You are now my client and as such you are entitled to the best legal counsel I can provide. Do you have any questions regarding what I’ve said?”
“Can you get me out of here?”
“I will do the best I can. In the meantime, do not speak to anyone, give any information, or cooperate in any way. Am I clear? I will request a bail hearing at the soonest date possible.” Dupree stood, crossed the small cell, and hit the door three times with the side of his fist. “I will be in touch.”
* * *
“Hey, dad! Is everything OK?”
“Does something have to be wrong for me to call my favorite son?”
“I’m your only son!” Eric Dupree laughed cheerfully. “What’s up?”
“Two or three things. Let’s start with news. How’s Amy?”
“Great she’s just finished her thesis. So, now the pressures back on to start a family.”
“And how about you?” Dupree asked.
“Work’s great. The church is growing. The youth group is growing even faster. We’re seeing upwards of two hundred kids on Wednesday night,” Eric paused. “I have some not so good news.”
“Alright.” Dupree’s mind raced. What awful bomb was Eric about to drop?
“It’s Deanna. Mom called a couple of days ago. I couldn’t believe it, she actually asked me to pray for my sister.”
“And?”
“And, it’s pretty ugly. Deanna is totally out of control. Mom isn’t sure which is worse; her drinking and drugs or her stealing to pay for it. She finally got arrested. Drunk and disorderly, resisting arrest, and assaulting a police officer.”
“Was she driving?” Dupree was finding it difficult to process the behavior of his daughter.
“Thankfully not. She was at an illegal rave out in the Valley. It got raided and she was too wasted to escape with her friends so she decided to stay and fight. I guess she really laid into two or three cops. One had to be taken to the hospital. Somehow, she got his baton away from him. They finally had to use pepper spray on her. They tried tasering her and whatever she was on completely overrode the charge. She yanked the wires so hard she yanked the taser from the officer’s hands, then she pulled out the darts.”
“My goodness. So, where’s it at, legally I mean?”
“Mom thinks her new boyfriend, uh, sorry I can’t remember his name. Anyway, he’s a criminal defense attorney and he thinks he can get her probation. Mom’s not so sure. At least he’s not costing her anything.”
“You get what you pay for. I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer, but I don’t see how she won’t do time for that stunt.”
“I’m afraid I agree. Sorry.”
“It’s not your doing.”
“Well, kind of it is. I set the example. She took the wide path to destruction and not the narrow path that leads to happiness. It breaks my heart. She won’t even talk to me.”
“We all make our own way in the world. That’s free will, right? All we can do is pray for people who have made bad choices. Maybe this is rock bottom. Maybe she’ll cry out for help.”
“Sorry, who is this? Can’t be my dad.”
“I hit rock bottom emotionally, thank God, not with drugs or alcohol, I was too selfish for that. But thanks to some people God put in my path, I looked up instead of continuing to look inside.”
“I sure hope you’re right. She’s on a deadly path.” There was a long pause. “So, what is number three? I kind of derailed things.”
“Your sister’s more important than anything I have to say.”
“Still, there is something else. I can feel it.” Eric waited for a response.
Dupree cleared his throat. “You used to be quite the computer guy back when. Are you still into whatever it was you were doing online?” Dupree did a kind of puffing release of breath, “That didn’t come out right.”
“I know what you mean. No, all I did was go places I shouldn’t have been.”
“That’s good. I mean, I’m glad to hear it. You had some friends, as I recall, that were really serious computer geeks; built their own computers, wrote programs, stuff like that. Are you still in touch with any of them? Did they do anything with all that?”
“A couple of them went to work in Silicon Valley. We don’t keep in touch. What’s this about?”
“I have a client. A teacher. He was arrested for sending porn to boys at his school. He swears he didn’t do it. The cops found stuff on his phone and on his computer at home.”
“If it walks like a duck…”
“That’s just it. I believe him, but I need an expert. Somebody who’s not a cop. Somebody who doesn’t already think he’s guilty to take a look and see if he’s telling the truth.”
“They found porn on his phone and computer? And he says it’s not his? Really?”
“Is it possible that somebody put it there?”
“Anything is possible, but is it probable? Why would anybody do that? That’s really hard to do.”
“Do you know anybody who could help? I pay well.” Dupree gave a half-hearted chuckle.
“I know one guy here at the church, Andrew Russell. I don’t think he’ll actively get involved, but he could give you good info about the hows and whys of how it all works. He’s in Cybersecurity. Kind of a genius, I hear.”
“That’s exactly what I need. Thanks, Eric.”
Dupree could hear a knock on Eric’s door. A woman’s muffled voice was saying something he couldn’t hear through Eric’s hand over the phone.
“Hey, dad I hate to cut this short but I’ve got a situation here. Kind of an emergency with a kid. Let me give you the number.”
Dupree jotted down the man’s name and number, thanked Eric and got off the line.
CHAPTER 10
“You have a bail hearing at 10:30. Don’t forget.”
“When did you get here? It’s nice and warm for a change.” Dupree slipped off his heavy coat.
“Do they usually take three days?”
“I figured we would see a judge the next day, to tell you the truth. This being an annex courthouse, the judge is a local. He probably plays poker with the town whozits. Nothing is hated more than child molesters or, in this case, sexting old men.”
“So much for justice being blind.” Tomi shook her head. There were still many things that her eyes were being opened to, and a lot of it hit hard.
“Justice is blind, most of the time, but she isn’t deaf.”
Tomi stared up at Dupree from her desk. She struggled with the words to express her feelings. As much as she enjoyed her job and the vast amount she was learning day by day, there was a dark side to the law that pained her.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think David Weston is guilty?”
Dupree’s eye involuntarily squinted. He took a long moment to process the question and, even more, his response. Here is a young woman who possessed a very strong moral compass. To her, right and wrong were almost an intuitive sense of moral, spiritual, and divine inspiration. She couldn’t begin to express it herself, but to Dupree her every question, comment, and opinion was indisputable proof.
“It doesn’t matter.” Dupree paused to let his words sink in. “Listen, The Sixth Amendment to the Constitution says: In all criminal prosecutions, ‘the accused shall enjoy the right…to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defense.’ It doesn’t say anything about guilt or innocence. My job and yours by association and terms of your employment make us responsible for carrying out the Constitution.”
“Does it bother you when you know someone is guilty?”
“How do you think a judge feels when a jury lets a guilty person go? He knows they are guilty, but according to our laws, they are free, and ac
quitted.”
“But, but…”
“Everyone is guaranteed a defense by counsel. Is it perfect? Absolutely not. The job of the defense is to provide the best defense of the charges as possible. Sometimes it is so cut and dried, the best that can be done is fight for a reduced sentence. Now, you asked if I thought our client was guilty. I don’t know. Frankly, I would prefer not to have an opinion. I am only human, but I have chosen a profession that is governed by law and precedent. Within that framework, I can, and have, guided my client to plead guilty or to take a deal put forth by the State. As counsel, I always do what I see as the best for the client. I have, and with no great pride, gotten guilty people off. But, Tomi, that is the game we have chosen to play. It is not for everyone.”
“I have a lot to learn. No, that’s not exactly right, I have a lot to process. How will I know if I am truly cut out for a career in the law?”
“You’ll know. Whatever the case, you must be true to yourself and your core beliefs and not sell out to money, prestige or the thrill of the game.” Dupre sighed and gave Tomi a fatherly smile. “I know you will do what is right, no matter your choice. And know this; I will support your decision.”
Dupree felt a tinge of guilt as he went to his desk. Was the brutal cruelty of the law a fair place to throw an innocent? Only time will tell.
“Tomi, can you see if you can get me an appointment with the principal of the high school, preferably this afternoon?”
As he dropped into his chair, a yellow post-it note from the day before looked like neon against the black of his keyboard. He picked up the phone and punched in the phone number.
“Good morning, is this Andy?” Dupree tried to sound cheerful after being on hold for fifteen minutes.
“Andrew, yes.”
“My name is Dupree. I believe you and my son Eric are friends. As a matter of fact, that’s how I got your name and number. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, sir. Eric and I play on the same team for our church basketball league. What’s up?”
“Eric seems to think you are the grand poohbah of all computer geeks.” Dupree laughed, finding himself quoting his son.
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