An Imperfect Process (7 page)

"There's a good chance. He was always a nice boy, but his mama's on drugs and his daddy's dead, and he's too much for Lucy to handle." Miss Marian shook her head. "Giving him something better to do is a start. Thank you for your help."

"You would make a pretty good Marine yourself, ma'am."

The old lady snorted. "I used to teach junior high school, and I learned that you can't let yourself be afraid of kids, no matter how big they are. You do your best, and hope they listen."

"Can I drive you somewhere?"

"My daughter's house is only a block away. Thank you for your help, young man." She cocked her head to one side. "Aren't you the Graffiti Guy?"

He nodded and held his hand out. "Rob Smith."

"Marian Berry." She shook his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. "It's good to get rid of graffiti, but don't the kids just come right back and paint new ones?"

"Usually not. They want recognition. Being wiped out as if they don't matter generally sends them to find a spot where their tags won't be covered immediately. If a different tagger comes around then, we paint him out and pretty soon, he's gone, too."

"Sure does make the neighborhood look better. You keep up the good work, Mr. Smith." She marched off, back erect.

Adrenaline still pumping, he climbed back into the truck and resumed his trip to the church, hoping he wouldn't be late. He had just pulled into the lot when a burgundy-colored Lexus whizzed up next to him. The car made his truck look old and tired.

He climbed from the truck, then stared at the woman who bounded from the Lexus. She wore jeans, a dark orange T-shirt that read 99 PERCENT OF LAWYERS GIVE THE REST A BAD NAME, and she had a wild mane of red curls swirling around her head. Dangling earrings and an embroidered ethnic vest completed her outfit. He said, "Who are you and what are you doing with Val Covington's car?"

She laughed. "This is the real me, Saturday style. Can you stand it?"

He climbed the steps and unlocked the back door. "Stand it? I'm fascinated. I always loved the story of Jekyll and Hyde."

"I presume Dr. Jekyll was me in lawyer drag." She slanted him a glance as she passed by him into the building. "Which means that now I'm dangerous Ms. Hyde."

Dangerous wasn't the half of it. Her buoyancy and sheer high spirits struck chords that had been silent so long he had forgotten how they sounded, and that wasn't counting her physical attractions. Even in her tailored suit she had been sexy, but in casual attire, she was stunning. And she was flirting with him.

He didn't take it personally. Today she radiated the kind of sparkling femininity that flirts with the world and probably caused males from nine to ninety to follow her around. Keeping his voice light, he said, "A killer lawyer who looks like you? Dangerous indeed." He ushered her into the back room he had been using as an office.

Val reached into her oversized tapestry handbag and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "I drafted a lease based on the terms we discussed on the phone. Look it through, consult another lawyer if you like, or let me know if you want changes."

He skimmed through his copy, noting that the rental amount and terms were as they agreed. "No need. I'm willing to sign now."

She shook her head. "You're too trusting."

"A contract isn't worth much more than the honesty of the people who sign it."

"True, but contracts come in handy if a situation implodes and the pieces need to be sorted out. I want to talk to you about a bit of remodeling before I move in, but that should be a separate deal." She grinned. "I haven't even seen the whole building. I should be ashamed of myself for not doing my homework."

"I'll give you the full tour before we sign anything, so you can back out if you change your mind."

"I won't change my mind for anything short of a cholera- breeding swamp in the basement. And probably not then."

If she found a swamp, she'd call a plumber. An efficient woman, Val Covington. He opened the door to the lower level for her. Though she seemed tall because of her energetic presence, now that she wore sandals instead of high heels she really was just a little bit of a thing. "See for yourself."

Since the sanctuary and church offices were half a story aboveground, the basement level had enough windows to admit good light, but the area was otherwise unexciting. The majority of the old church hall was open space, the white walls and neutral vinyl floor covering accented by dark woodwork.

Kitchen and bathrooms were at the back of the building, under the offices. The aged kitchen was a period piece, designed to allow a dozen or more church ladies to work in it. Since Rob wasn't sure of the eventual use of the room, he hadn't done anything but clean, paint, and check that the elderly appliances worked.

Val didn't mind. "What a great old kitchen. With a table in the middle and a new microwave, it will make a nice lunch room." She surveyed the open hall, which had been designed for suppers and meetings. "Not a cholera swamp in sight, so I'd like this subdivided into rooms for records and offices for interns and volunteers."

"Interns?"

"With two law schools in Baltimore, it shouldn't be hard to find students hot to get some real world experience. I also intend to haul in some of my lawyer friends. Since they have to do some
pro bono
work, they might as well do it here. I'm not the only one who yearns to do justice." She headed to the stairs. "Next stop, offices."

Rob guided her to the former minister's study, which was directly behind the sanctuary. "This is the nicest office, I think."

Val sighed happily at the sight of the bay window, which had narrow stained-glass panels at the top. "This one's mine. I've always yearned for a window seat." She crossed the room and perched on the uncushioned bench. "Diamond-shaped windowpanes and a view of the neighbor's rhododendrons. Not a bad exchange for my vulture's eye view of the Inner Harbor."

He thought about what her current job must be like. "I imagine it will feel strange to shift from a busy uptown law firm to a quiet private practice."

She shrugged. "I'm ready. For years, every day has had six deadlines and endless streams of tense people. The adrenaline rush is addictive, but busyness is no substitute for a life."

She might find it harder to recover from adrenaline addiction than she thought. He'd had a terrible time kicking the habit. Simplicity wasn't easy. Of course, Val was looking to slow her life down, not turn it off completely, as he had done. "Are you really going to concentrate on
pro bono
work?"

"I figure on doing it about half time. We'll see." She drew her feet up onto the window seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I want to make a difference in people's lives, not just their pocketbooks. Not that there's anything wrong with prosperity, but I don't want my life to be about money. For years it has been, and I didn't even realize it until these last few days. I was always pushing, pushing..." She cut off her words, as if she had already said too much.

She was wise to see the light before her life was in crisis. He had been less wise. "How will you find worthy causes to fight?"

"They're finding me. I already agreed to take on one case, and I'll probably take another on after I've talked to the potential client—a single mother whose rich ex- husband keeps taking her to court for no good reason."

"I hope you squash him like a bug. What's the other case?"

"It's a tough one. Kendra, my assistant, asked me to see if I could do anything for an old friend of hers who's on death row. Daniel Monroe was convicted of killing a policeman. She swears he's innocent, but he's run out of appeals and the execution date will be set soon." Val grimaced. "I'll see what I can do, but it would take a miracle to save his life."

The words
death row
hit Rob like ice water, shattering his relaxed mood. "Are you sure your friend isn't indulging in wishful thinking about his innocence? Most convicts will swear on a stack of Bibles that they were railroaded."

"Kendra says she was with him the night of the murder."

"The police didn't believe her?"

"They thought she was lying to protect her boyfriend. I'm sure that happens, but Kendra doesn't lie. If Kendra says he was with her, he was."

So maybe this really was an innocent man wrongly convicted. "What was the case against Monroe?"

"I haven't seen the files yet—this only just came up—but Kendra said that he was convicted on the testimony of the three eyewitnesses."

His mouth twisted. "Eyewitness error is the most common cause of unjust conviction."

"Yes, but it's awfully hard to disprove." Her arms tightened around her knees. "If a victim gets up on the witness stand and says, "That man there did it,' juries believe. A mistaken witness can send an innocent man to his death."

"When a crime raises public outrage, everyone is desperate to see the killer punished," Rob said cynically. "It's too easy for police and prosecutors to settle for the first plausible suspect and not look any further."

She studied his face. "You know something about crime and punishment."

His gaze shifted away from her. 'I've done some reading." Which was true, though most of what he knew had been learned the hard way. "How will you go about this? As a capital case, I imagine it's been pretty thoroughly hashed over."

"I'll start with getting the case files from the public defender's office. Then I'll try to interview everyone significant in the case—the defense lawyer, the prosecutor, the police, the eyewitnesses, and hope they're all still alive. I'll have to tear apart every shred of evidence and look for weaknesses."

She halted. "No, that's not where to start. First I have to visit Monroe at the penitentiary. All I know about him is through Kendra. I want to meet him for myself, then find out if he wants me to act for him. I really can't do anything without his agreement."

Rob's desire for detachment fought a brief but fierce battle with a compulsion to get involved in this case. "Take me with you. Maybe I can help with the investigation."

"Why would you want to do that?" she asked, startled.

"I don't like capital punishment," he said flatly. "How do you feel about it?"

"Ambivalent." She frowned. "I don't clamor for blood, but some people have done such ghastly things that it's hard to be upset if they meet their maker prematurely."

"By killing, society reduces itself to the level of a murderer. Not to mention the fact that innocent men die. Did you know that for every seven men executed, one is released from death row as completely innocent? A lot of prisoners have been freed when DNA evidence proved they didn't commit the crime. What does that imply about cases where there's no DNA to give absolute proof of guilt or innocence?"

She stared at him. "One in eight? Really?"

"So I've read. The figures aren't exact. Plenty of agencies keep track of crime and punishment, but not many track wrongful convictions."

"Twelve percent. That's
appalling
." She swung from the window seat and began pacing the room. "If the percentage of wrong convictions holds across the board, that means tens of thousands of innocent people are in prison."

He smiled without humor. "You wanted to do justice. The field is wide open."

"I promised to look into this case for Kendra's sake, but if the problem of wrongful conviction is so widespread, there's even more reason to take it on." She gave a quick, impatient shake of her head. "Any thinking person recognizes that the system must occasionally fail and send an innocent man to jail, or worse, to the death chamber. But if mistakes are made on such a scale, it's... it's horrific."

"You'll probably go home this afternoon and research to find if my figures are accurate," he predicted.

She looked startled. "I'm that transparent?"

"Lawyers believe in facts. Before you start a crusade, you're going to make sure that you're carrying the right banner."

"Damn straight." She stopped pacing and studied his face with alarming intensity. "Rob, your desire to help an innocent man is obviously for real, but I have to ask if you have any experience as an investigator. Do you think you can handle an investigation with so much riding on it? There won't be time for second chances. If this kind of work is outside your experience, I can hire a professional investigator."

Though he preferred not to discuss his past, it couldn't be avoided this time. "I was a military policeman in the Marines, and I was damned good at it. I had a knack for thinking sideways, so I was given the oddball cases. It's been a few years, but the basic cop skills of investigation, interviewing, and deduction were drummed into me pretty thoroughly. Maybe I can find some angles that no one else has."

"You're hired. Not that there's any money in this." She smiled a little. "Between now and the time I leave my job, I'm going to be swamped, so it will be a godsend if you have skill and interest in this."

"Thanks for letting me help." The words were inadequate for what he felt. Even to himself, he couldn't fully explain this urgent need to try to save a stranger. Changing the subject, he said, "You were interested in some remodeling before you move in?"

"Bookcases, closet shelving, that sort of thing. One of the back rooms needs to be set up for equipment like copiers and printers." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she shifted mental gears from justice to office space. "It might be good to install double doors between this office and the one behind. I can use the extra space as a library and conference room."