False Convictions (13 page)

Before too long, they got off the highway, and after a few blocks Jake realized they were heading right back to the warehouse
area on the river.

It wasn’t until he turned down Ganson Street, well behind Fabrizio and Napoli, that Jake’s heart began to pound in earnest.
The pulse of blood hammered through his damaged head, heightening the pain again. With his focus on the G55, Jake hadn’t bothered
to even look behind him. Now, with the cereal factory looming big in his rearview mirror, he realized that as he had followed
the G55, two men in a dark sedan had been following him. Up ahead, a massive dump truck pulled out into the street, blocking
his way. As Jake pulled to a stop, the sedan crept right up to his bumper, pinning his Cadillac before the two men hopped
out with guns.

C
ASEY SHOWERED and changed into a dark brown Donna Karan business suit with a cream silk blouse and heels. She pulled her hair
back tight and pinned it up with a comb, giving herself the more serious look she reserved for juries and judges. Marty had
informed her that Judge Kollar would see her in his chambers around ten, after he completed a jury selection. Robert Graham
waited in the hotel lobby and looked unusually good in dress slacks and a pin-striped shirt. On his wrist was a silver Cartier
watch. His face was clean shaven.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“I figured for the judge,” Graham said.

“He told me it’s all about the law,” Casey said.

“Money is nine-tenths of the law,” Graham said.

“You’re thinking of possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Right, and money is how you possess,” Graham said, offering her his arm and escorting her out to a waiting Town Car.

“No Ralph?” Casey asked.

“Everyone needs a day off, right?” Graham said. “And I’m here if you need anything.”

“Coffee?”

“Anything you need, Casey,” he said, handing her into the back of the car. “I mean that.”

On the way to the courthouse, Graham asked Casey about the projects waiting for her back in Texas. She loved talking about
her work and he seemed interested in the people she helped as much as the processes her clinic had set up to deal with a constant
influx of clients. They stopped talking when they arrived at the courthouse. Marty, who had been waiting on the steps, opened
the door for Casey and helped her out before Graham could get around the car. The two men shook hands.

“I told you he’d do good,” Graham said, slapping the young lawyer on the back.

“Don’t say that until we see how the judge rules,” Marty said, his brow furrowed. “I saw Flynn going in a few minutes ago
and he looked pretty happy. I don’t know.”

They followed Marty inside and were shown into the judge’s chambers. Flynn was nowhere to be seen. Graham kept quizzing Casey
about her clinic and that made the time pass a little quicker. Still, it was nearly eleven before the door swung open and
the massive judge swept in with a swish of his black robes. He sat down without greeting them and whipped out a tiny pair
of silver reading glasses before lifting what looked like Casey’s brief from his desk and studying it, his lips quivering
in the silent formation of words before he looked up over the tops of his lenses without raising his head.

“This works,” he said.

Casey let out a long breath. Graham reached over and clasped his hand over the top of hers and they looked at each other,
grinning.

“Politics had nothing to do with it,” the judge said, still sour. “I hope you know that. This is a damn good brief and I don’t
like getting overturned on appeal.”

Casey stood, wanting to shake the judge’s hand, but he didn’t even look up. He drew another piece of paper to the center of
his desk, picked up his pen, and signed it with a flourish before he handed it to her.

“I know it’s not about politics,” Graham said. “But I’ve always believed in supporting good judges who know the law.”

“You should get with Marty on that,” the judge said, nodding Marty’s way. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The three of them walked out together and hugged each other all around as soon as they hit the courthouse steps.

“Let’s celebrate,” Graham said.

“I want to get this to the hospital,” Casey said, waving the order.

“Let me take it,” Marty said. “You two go ahead. I’ll join you after I check in at the office.”

“You’re getting a bonus for this, my friend,” Graham said, pointing a finger at Marty like it was a gun and pulling the imaginary
trigger.

“Time out,” Casey said. “I want to stop at the prison and see what we’ll have to do to arrange for a blood sample from Dwayne.
I want this DNA work done yesterday.”

“Perfect,” Graham said, heading down the steps. “We’ll do that and then have lunch at Balloons. It’s right there. You know
where, right, Marty?”

“Of course,” Marty said. “Right next to the wall. Good choice.”

“And ask Dr. Prescott how long it will take to dig up this sample, Marty,” Casey said, stopping on the curb as their Town
Car pulled up. “I want it today. He gives you any grief, tell him I’ll be in myself.”

“I’ll get him going,” Marty said. “He’s a good guy, the doc. He’s just covering himself. You’ll see.”

Casey nodded and asked, “How are your contacts at the county forensics lab?”

“They use the lab in Monroe County. I’ve never had to ask,” Marty said. “Obviously, the DA has most of the swing there.”

“So we’re screwed,” Casey said, remembering her bitter meeting with Merideth.

“Maybe my uncle can help,” Marty said.

“Does it have to be the lab the Auburn DA uses?” Graham asked.

“No,” Casey said. “Another county lab could do it, or the Feds. If you’ve got a contact, maybe we can get it done in the next
couple weeks.”

“Why that long?” Graham asked. “How long can a DNA analysis really take?”

“It’s not the analysis,” Casey said, “it’s getting an accredited lab to do it sooner than later. They’re always backed up.
Usually, it takes months.”

“I know, but it doesn’t have to,” Graham said. “I’d like to wrap this up for Dwayne, and for you. With my contacts, there’s
no reason why we can’t accelerate things.”

“How fast are you thinking?” Casey asked.

“How about a day or two?” Graham said, opening the car door for her.

Casey raised her eyebrows. “That would take some serious grease.”

“Go big or go home, right?” Graham said, circling the car and climbing in on the other side. “I’ve got a couple congressmen
who owe me.”

“And I’ve got an assistant warden who told me ‘whatever you need,’ ” Casey said, producing Collin Mallard’s card from the
bottom of her briefcase.

“I think he was talking about a cheeseburger,” Graham said.

“What about the power of celebrity?” she said. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Graham told the driver to take them to the prison.

W
HEN THEY ARRIVED at the prison, Graham held up his cell phone to Casey and said, “I’ll wait here and work on lining up the
lab. You don’t need me in there, do you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Casey walked in between the castle turrets and asked through the small speaker in the Plexiglas if she could see the assistant
warden. The burly uniformed woman behind the desk looked up from her crossword puzzle.

“You have an appointment with Mr. Mallard?” she asked.

“I don’t,” Casey said, “but he’ll want to see me. I’m with the Freedom Project, working on the Dwayne Hubbard case.”

The woman stared for a minute, then shrugged and picked up her phone. When she finished, she compressed her lips, leaned into
her microphone, pointed over to a bench against the wall, and said, “You can have a seat. His secretary will be right down.”

Casey paced the floor until an elderly woman in a flower-print dress shuffled into view and led her through the metal detectors
and into the administration building. Mallard had a cramped office with one small window and his secretary sat down at a desk
right outside the door. Mallard jumped up from a pile of papers and shook her hand with both of his. He wore an out-of-date
double-breasted gray suit with a pink tie.

“Back again. I am honored, Ms. Jordan,” he said, his smile outshining the bald dome of his head. “I was telling friends at
dinner just last night about our meeting. How can I help?”

“I’d like to get a blood sample from Dwayne Hubbard and have it sent to a lab right away,” she said. “I think we’ve actually
found the proof that will set him free.”

Mallard’s smile turned painful, as if turning someone loose rubbed against his grain.

“I am with the Freedom Project,” she said.

“Of course,” Mallard said. “He’s an unstable man, though, Ms. Jordan. I have to say that.”

“He doesn’t look that way to me,” she said.

Mallard almost frowned.

“I know looks can be deceiving,” she said. “And I know you have a job to do.”

“Four-hundred and sixty-three of the most vicious men in the state,” Mallard said.

“And not an escape since the new wall went up almost a hundred years ago, I’m told,” Casey said.

“Well, just one, actually,” Mallard said.

“And a blood test?” Casey said. “Do you have someone who could do that?”

“We have our own infirmary,” Mallard said.

“I would be glad to sign anything you need from our end,” she said, giving him her best smile. It was a dynamite smile and
she reserved it for such occasions.

Mallard sat up straight. His cheeks flushed, somehow increasing the brilliance of the shine atop his head, and he said, “I
can handle it.”

Mallard picked up his phone and with an important-sounding voice asked to speak with the captain of the guards. He told the
man to retrieve Dwayne Hubbard and bring him to the infirmary right away.

“That fast?” Casey said.

“Would you like to speak with him there?” Mallard asked. “Explain things to him? We’ll need his permission and Dwayne has
somewhat of a reputation.”

“He looks like a math teacher,” Casey said.

“Right,” Mallard said, nodding in agreement, “I meant more as a slick talker. He’ll argue with you about the color of the
sky if you let him.”

“I wondered before about him being chained up when we first met,” Casey said. “The guard said something about his file.”

Mallard shrugged. “We like to do things by the book. He’s been here quite some time. Someone back in the day may have checked
the wrong box. That happens. Better safe than sorry, though.”

Casey followed the assistant warden through a maze of hallways with mint green walls and dull gray floor tiles cracked and
waffled at the corners. They descended a stairway, footsteps echoing through the empty space, before a guard let them through
a barred doorway that clanked shut behind them. Beds bolted to the floor lined the walls of the infirmary. The crisp white
sheets would have looked ordinary but for the manacles hanging from the four corners of each bed. The room’s only occupant
lay in the far corner, his face wrapped like a mummy’s in white gauze.

Mallard nodded toward the man and said, “The other guy stuck a hose down the gas tank of a food service truck, sucked out
a mouthful, and pulled a circus act on our friend down here.”

“Fire-eater?”

“Spit it out at him over a cigarette,” Mallard said. “Doesn’t need his face, really. He’s a lifer.”

A bulky nurse entered, checked the burned man’s pulse, and waddled toward them.

Through a doorway on the far side of the infirmary, Casey heard the clash of bars rolling open and Dwayne appeared in shackles,
followed by a guard. Casey held Dwayne’s indifferent stare as she explained why she was there and what she needed from him.
While his expression never changed, her voice rose with enthusiasm.

“Robert Graham, whom you met with me last time,” she said, “is working on pulling some strings to get this lab work moved
to the top of the pile. Dwayne, we could have you out of here in a matter of days.”

The nurse reappeared with a test tube, needle, and a rubber strap.

But instead of holding out his arm, Dwayne Hubbard shook his head hard enough to jangle his chains.

“Oh, no,” he said. “You don’t get
my
blood.”

C
ASEY’S MOUTH DROPPED open. She blinked and said, “Dwayne, we need this to get you out of here. You get that, right?”

“The machine has worked against me since the day I was born,” Hubbard said, his eyes glittering at her. “Now you’re here to
tell me it’s different? You think I’m like the rest of these cattle? I have an imagination. It runs wild with the possibilities
for what you could do with my blood, other unfinished business to be tagged on me.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Casey said.

“Because you’re here to help me?” he said, holding her in his gaze. “That’s what my original lawyer said, too. That’s what
they said with my appeals. All of a sudden, some media lawyer shows up with her billionaire boyfriend? When it seems like
it’s too good to be true, it’s because it is.”

“Jesus,” Casey said.

Dwayne turned to go, but with a nod from Mallard his guard stepped in front of him and blocked his path, raising his baton.

“Wait,” Casey said, appealing to Mallard as she stepped toward Dwayne. “Even if you’re right—let’s say it’s someone’s game—why
wouldn’t you let me
try
? If I can show your DNA isn’t a match to whoever raped that girl, you go free. If there’s a game, you’re still here, but
you’re here anyway.”

Dwayne grinned at her. “Lady, you want something from me. I might be locked away, but I know an opportunity when I see one.
You want what I got? Okay. Maybe. What do I get?”

“You get out of here,” Casey said, her smile crooked with disbelief.

Dwayne’s smile faded. “I want something in case I don’t.”

Casey studied his face.

“You killed her, didn’t you?” she asked, the words spilling from her mouth without thought.

Dwayne’s face lost all expression. “I
told
you I didn’t.”