Beyond Innocence (3 page)

*

Cory opened the door a crack, but only because she couldn’t figure out how to disable the doorbell. The Nelson hearing had been five days ago, and she hadn’t spoken to a soul since she’d been placed on indefinite leave. Melinda Stone, hands on her hips, dripping wet from the rain, said, “Thank God, I was about to melt. And I was almost certain I could smell your rotting corpse. What’s for dinner?”

Melinda has always made her dizzy, from the first moment they met as 1Ls in law school. The last thing she needed right now was an infusion of her energy. Needed or wanted—Cory wasn’t sure of the difference. Didn’t matter. She’d get rid of her quickly. What the hell was she doing here anyway? Cory didn’t open the door any wider. “I’m alive, but I’m really busy.”

Melinda pushed her way in. “You’re barely alive and you’re not busy at all. You’re about to have your license suspended, and word on the street is that you’re letting it happen. Where’s the tiger I remember? She wouldn’t go down without a fight.” She rubbed Corey’s chin. “Where’s my tiger? Where is she?”

Cory pushed her away. “Not funny. I think you have me mistaken for someone else. Some other victim who might actually desire your house calls. Seriously, Mel, I have stuff to do.”

Melinda shook her head, conveying her opinion that Cory was pathetic, and walked into the kitchen. “You look like shit. When’s the last time you washed your hair?”

“I washed my hair this morning,” Cory protested. She hadn’t felt like combing it though, and the dark strands hung like thick ropes around her face. She looked down at her usually lanky frame. Her sweats hung in loose folds. She’d definitely lost a few pounds. She was a tall, skinny, shaggy, former lawyer. Dressed like a homeless person. Appropriate.

As Cory watched, Melinda riffled through a few drawers, finally uttering an “ah ha” when she located the plastic folder housing a variety of takeout menus. She thrust her find toward Cory. “Pick one. It’s on me.”

Cory gave up. When Mel was in one of these moods, nothing would dissuade her. “Pizza. I Fratelli’s.”

“I’m thinking Thai.” Melinda pulled a phone out of her purse.

She knew better than to fight. “You can use my phone.” Cory handed her the cordless handset.

“It doesn’t work.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ve been calling you for three days. You don’t answer. Either it doesn’t work or you’re ignoring me. You pick. You want soup with your Pad Kee Mow?”

“Why don’t you tell me what I want?” Cory pretended to grouse.

Melinda waved her off. “Don’t be a pissant. I’ll tell you plenty before we’re done, but I’ll let you pick your dinner. Chicken or beef?”

Cory shrugged. She wouldn’t win this fight. She may as well save her energy for the real reason behind Melinda’s visit. “Chicken. Extra spicy.” She waited until Melinda phoned in the order, then started her own round of questions.

“Who told you?”

“No one had to tell me.”

“Oh, I see. Now you’re going to add psychic to your long list of talents.”

Melinda reached into her enormous handbag and pulled out a rolled up newspaper. She spread it out on the kitchen table, and Cory could tell it was actually various sections of four newspapers, different dates. Each one contained a headline, decreasing in size and placement about the Nelson case. The first one, the one with the front-page headline, contained a feature story that spanned several pages.
Innocent Man Freed After DA’s Office Admits Wrongdoing
.

She didn’t need to read further. She knew her name would be splashed throughout the pages. Cory Lance—lead prosecutor at Nelson’s trial. Cory Lance—her arguments convinced a jury to put Nelson away for life. Cory Lance—the prosecutor who kept valuable, exculpatory evidence from the defense team. Cory Lance—the reason the case was overturned.

The article wouldn’t contain a single statement from her about the appeal and subsequent dismissal of charges. Not for lack of trying on the part of the press. For days following the entry of the Innocence Project team, reporters had dogged her every move from her house to the courthouse. She’d finally stopped repeating the officially sanctioned two-word response, “no comment,” and maintained a stoic façade, when all she’d really wanted to do was shout, “You don’t know anything about how the justice system works.” Ray Nelson was a danger to society. She knew it, the cops knew it, the judge and jury had known it. Now, because of what was perceived as prosecutorial misconduct, he’d be walking the streets of Dallas again. Free to offend again. She for one wouldn’t be sleeping until he got himself locked up again.

She tossed the paper aside. The stories in the media sensationalized everything. “Ray Nelson may be a lot of things, but innocent isn’t one of them.”

Melinda shoved her toward a chair at the kitchen table. “That’s better, Tiger. Talk it out. If it makes you feel any better, I did see at least one story about the case that didn’t mention your name.” She looked around. “You have wine?”

Cory sighed and pointed to a rack on the counter. “The Pinot is the best. Corkscrew in the drawer.”

Melinda poured two glasses and settled in at the table. “Drink and spill.”

Cory took a sip of the wine to delay the inevitable interrogation. The Nelson case was the last thing she wanted to talk about, especially with Melinda. She wouldn’t be satisfied with cursory answers. “Nothing to it. We had him, dead to rights. Judge knew it. Jury took less than an hour to find him guilty.”

“And?”

“And an appellate lawyer got him off on a technicality.”

“Technicality?”

“The police had a suspect prior to arresting Nelson. They liked the other guy. A lot. We didn’t give that information to the defense.” Cory had gotten used to the “we” word. Melinda called her on it.

“Didn’t Julie try that case with you?”

Cory hesitated as she considered how to answer. “She did, but the case was mine.” She silently willed Melinda to drop the subject. No such luck.

“Uh huh. So you didn’t tell the other side the cops were on to someone else?”

“Sounds worse when you say it.”

“Sounds like a little more than a technicality to me.”

“I’ve worked dozens of these cases. I’ve seen cops chase their tails more often than not.”

“Ever heard of Brady?”

Every lawyer knew about the seminal U.S. Supreme Court case,
Brady v. Maryland
, which required the prosecution to turn over exculpatory evidence to the defense. The fact the police had pursued other suspects qualified as Brady information, but this case had been different. She wasn’t ready or willing to explain why.

“Trust me.” She hoped Melinda wouldn’t dwell on the irony of her request. “Nelson did the crime. That he’s walking the street today is a travesty. He beat his wife on a regular basis, and she wasn’t strong enough to fight back, with her fists or in the courtroom. It was a miracle we ever got an assault conviction on him before he killed her. Was the evidence against him circumstantial? Yes, but so was the evidence they say proves he’s innocent.” Even though she was riled, she carefully worded her next statement. “The defense may not have been given some of the evidence, but I’m still not convinced the guy is innocent.”

“Tell me why you think you got tagged as the bad guy in this mess?”

Cory shook her head. She had no intention of getting into the exact details with Melinda or anyone else. All she cared about was minimizing the damage. She didn’t have any hope of making the situation go away. “My case, my consequences. Doesn’t matter now. All I care about is putting this behind me and getting back to work.”

“Okay. Got it. The question now, is how are we going to accomplish that?” Melinda’s response signaled she’d caught Cory’s “this subject is closed tone.”

Cory purposefully ignored the “we.” “I don’t have many choices. I got a letter from the state bar requesting my response slash explanation. Pretty sure it’s for show. They can’t wait to hang me out to dry so the press will die down.”

“And that’s where I come in. I’ve got a letter here for you to sign stating I represent you. I’ll fax that in tomorrow, but we should start planning for your hearing right away. I have some ideas, but I’ll want you to be totally involved in your own representation.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. I thought you were here to drink my wine, not hustle a new client. Besides, I can’t afford you.” Melinda had carved out a specialty over the years, representing lawyers and other professionals in administrative hearings. Her success rate was unparalleled, and Cory imagined her fees were as well.

“You’ll be my pro bono case this month.” Although Cory had barely sipped her wine, Melinda topped off her glass. “Seriously, let me help you. Pay me what you can, when you can. Say yes, or I’ll bail and leave you on the hook to pay the delivery guy.”

Cory hadn’t given the state bar procedure much thought. In the back of her mind, she supposed she thought she’d represent herself. Fall on her sword and hope for the best. Probably not a great idea, but she didn’t want Melinda or anyone else witnessing her disintegration. She had another reason for going it alone, but she wasn’t ready to reveal it now. Or ever. She knew she was supposed to try to avoid a hearing, but no one had offered any guidance about how to make that work with her personal goal of keeping her license. She was only just beginning to realize how adrift she was. Maybe Melinda, who knew the system better than anyone, could be valuable after all.

“I’ll say yes, under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Negotiate the best possible outcome short of a full-blown hearing. I don’t want this to drag on. I want to put it behind me as quickly as possible. I’ll do whatever it takes, as long as there’s no permanent suspension.”

Melinda opened her mouth, but Cory held up a hand, palm out. “Say yes. I mean it.” Melinda lifted her wine glass and touched it to Cory’s. “Fine. You’re the client. But promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”

“Deal.” Easier to say what she wanted to hear than argue the point. Quick and easy. The faster this was over, the faster she could resume her life. Right now, all she wanted was a big plate of Thai food and something stronger than the glass of wine in front of her.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Melinda reached for her purse, and then shoved a couple of twenties into Cory’s hand. “Tip him big. Someone should have fun tonight.”

Cory headed for the door, wondering if she’d ever have fun again.

Serena had spent the last several weeks trying her best to contain the seething mix of emotions she’d brought back from Texas. She’d worked hard to defy the odds of her past and become the first of her blood relatives to graduate from college, hold a steady job. Her achievements were a credit to her ability to compartmentalize her life. No one at the credit union where she worked knew more about her than she cared to show. One simple, framed photo on her desk was the only allusion to her personal life. Don and Marion Clark hugged their adopted daughter on the day she graduated from college, the pride on their faces beamed off the page. Serena loved the photo for the journey it represented. From the projects to the middle class. From a junkie mother and no known father to the care of two individuals who’d sacrifice anything for her happiness. The framed picture was an anchor that kept her from drifting back to her roots.

But her roots still had pull. Her birth mother was long dead. She’d never known any of her other blood relatives. Eric was the single thread connecting what she’d become to what she’d been. And his days were numbered.

Serena reached into her purse and pulled out a small notebook. On one of the pages were the copious notes she’d taken when she met with Ian Taylor, the attorney who’d been appointed by the court to represent Eric on his direct appeal. That part of the appeal process had been exhausted, but armed with the information she’d gleaned from him and the newspaper article about the Innocence Project that she’d devoured on the plane, she had plenty of ideas. She spent the time since she’d returned from Texas working hard to put a plan in motion. She knew it was a bad time to take off work again, but she needed to make another trip to Dallas.

She touched the intercom button on her phone. “Nancy, would you see if Mr. Rutgers is available? I need a few minutes of his time.”

As she left her tiny, neat office, she glanced at the space where she spent so much time. As head teller, she’d achieved stability, which is all she thought she’d ever wanted. Over the years, she’d been offered various promotions, but she’d politely declined positions further up the ladder, content to trade security for what others perceived as success. This space and her small apartment down the street were all the success she thought she wanted.

Rutgers’s office was the polar opposite of hers. The bank president’s desk was cluttered with pictures of family and children’s clay artwork. Whatever couldn’t be identified as an ashtray or pencil holder, served as a paperweight. The desk was full of paperweights. Serena looked around the room and swiftly calculated that, unlike her, it would take him hours to vacate his office. Of course, he wouldn’t ever need to. Time to get to the point of her visit.

“Mr. Rutgers, I need a favor.”

“Have a seat, Serena. And please, call me Jerry. There’re no customers here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rutgers.” She did sit, but perched on the edge of her chair.

“You want some coffee, water?” He smiled. “Something stronger?”

She smiled back, because she knew he expected it. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look like you’re here to deliver bad news.”

“Depends. I need another few days off. I realize this isn’t a good time, and I know I just took time off a few weeks ago, but it can’t wait.” She had plenty of vacation time accrued, since she rarely took time off, but they were short-handed and she knew he depended on her to take up the slack. She didn’t expect his reaction.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

“I appreciate the offer. Really, I do, but this is something personal. Private. I hope you understand I need to take care of it on my own.”