True Colors (50 page)

D.R. loves V.G.R. 8/21/92
. She stared at the carving in the tree, remembering everything about that day. The girl who’d been here had believed in love and happy endings. She’d been strong and sure of herself, having married the man she loved even if the whole world despised her for it. That girl, like her son, would have fought for the DNA test and dared to believe in the truth. “I was wrong and you were right. You can’t run away from what’s in your heart. That was the mistake I made.”

“I know why you didn’t want Aunt Winona and me to reopen everything. I get it now.” Noah leaned against the tree. “He’s never getting out, is he?”

Vivi Ann put her hand on his cheek, seeing Dallas in his son’s face. “No, Noah. He’s never getting out of prison.”

For most of her life, Winona had been sure of one thing: her intellectual superiority. She might worry about her weight, or bend over backward for her father’s approval, or worry that no man would ever truly love her, but from her earliest memory, she’d felt she was the smartest person in any room.

That certainty had been one of the many recent casualties. Now she agonized constantly, second-guessed herself, wondered what she’d overlooked, how she’d screwed up. The memory of her day in court, when the judge hadn’t been moved enough by her argument to take the matter under advisement, rankled.

All her life, people had said she barreled forward, her eyes always on the prize, her hands outstretched to grab hold of what she wanted.

This year, however, had taught her caution. And humility. Even fear. She wondered sometimes at night how it would feel if this was her new life; if caution and anxiety were to be her companions from this year on. How would she handle never being certain again?

She sat in her car now, staring through the rainy windshield at the county courthouse. An American flag hung listlessly against the pole, the only splash of color amid all the gray: the sky, the clouds, the building. A mist rose up from the road, blurring it, too. Across the street, the autumn colors were muted and obscured by the weather.

Winona reached for the briefcase beside her. Clutching the leather handle, she left the safety of her car and walked forward, feeling as if every step were taking her into enemy territory. She tried to salvage some of her former confidence, but it was slippery in the rain.

At the desk, she said, “Winona Grey to see Sara Hamm. I have a ten o’clock appointment.”

The receptionist nodded and set Winona on her way through the layers of security that had become commonplace in even the most out-of-the-way counties. She put on her visitor’s tag, went through the metal detector, showed her ID twice, and was escorted to the prosecuting attorney’s office.

It was a cool, professional-looking space, with no plants in pretty pots, no family photographs on the desk. A big window looked out over the parking lot.

But it was the woman sitting behind the desk who commanded Winona’s attention.

The years had been kind to Sara Hamm. She was tall and thin, with the wiry look of a long-distance runner. Winona pegged her as the kind of woman who, when stressed, reached for her running shoes instead of the refrigerator handle.

“Ms. Grey,” she said, pushing back from her desk. The wheels of her chair rumbled on the hardwood floor. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

Winona sat down. “I appreciate your willingness to see me on such short notice. I couldn’t have made too good an impression the first time we met.”

That seemed to surprise Sara. Her perfectly arched eyebrows drew slightly together. “On the contrary, I found your passion impressive, even if it was misplaced. You’re his sister-in-law. I’d expect no less. May I ask why you didn’t take his case initially? Since you obviously care so much.”

“The easy answer is that I’d had no criminal experience to speak of.”

“And you have more now?”

No wonder this woman had risen in her field; she saw everything. “No.” Winona leaned forward. “What did you think of Roy’s defense?”

“It was competent.”

“Barely, and we both know it.”

“Are you going to go after him? That’s a tough criteria. Basically he needs to have fallen asleep during the proceedings, and I’m not sure even that would do it.”

“I know.” Winona sighed. “Believe me, I’ve researched every possible appellate avenue.”

“And the DNA was your best shot.”

Winona wasn’t certain if that had been a question. Perhaps. Either way, this was the moment. She steeled herself and said, “I don’t think it was. My best chance, I mean.”

Another infinitesimal frown. “Really?”

Winona tried to take a deep breath without being noticeable about it.
Please let me be doing the right thing, in the right way
. She’d floated her new information past the lawyers at the Innocence Project and they’d advised her to handle this motion carefully. If she could convince Sara Hamm—really convince her—a dual motion was the best way to get Dallas’s conviction overturned. Any other way would create a fight, and Winona didn’t want to fight the state again if she could help it. “Let me tell you what I believe first. Roy was an ineffective counsel at best. He never hired an investigator to study the scene or do background work. If he had, he might have found the discrepancy in Myrtle Michaelian’s testimony. She testified that she recognized Dallas’s tattoo that night, but she couldn’t have. His tattoo is on the left arm—”

“You presented all this in your petition, Ms. Grey. I don’t need to hear it again.”

“I know. I just want you to keep it in mind. Along with the fact that the DNA sample wasn’t Dallas’s. And you and I both know that the hair sample was junk science. There has been plenty of precedent set on that issue in the past ten years. If he gets a new trial, I’m certain I could get it excluded.”

“A new trial? Am I missing something? This is all old news. It’s been ruled on. The court upheld his conviction.”

Winona reached down into her briefcase and pulled out a file. Putting it on Sara’s desk, she pushed it forward. “This is new.”

Sara opened the manila file, reading the top document. “A second petition to vacate the judgment and sentence and to dismiss? And you’ve included this office? You think I’m going to join you in this motion? You’re delusional, Ms. Grey.”

“Keep reading,” Winona added. “Please.” Her last, best chance—maybe her only chance—lay in convincing this woman. If the state agreed to vacate the judgment and dismiss the case, the court would go along.

Sara turned the page and looked up sharply. “When did this come in?”

Winona knew exactly what had gotten the prosecutor’s attention. It was the test results she’d waited almost a month for. “Yesterday.”

“Oh, my God,” Sara said.

“It occurred to me that all I’d done was test the semen sample to see if it was a DNA match with my client’s. As you know, it wasn’t. I was so inexperienced, I ran with that result, certain it was enough to exonerate him. Then, about a month ago, I was talking to my sister. His wife. Anyway, she made a comment about that DNA and I realized that I’d never checked whose it was. So I sent the sample to the national database, and it matched a man named Gary Kirschner, who is currently serving a nine-year sentence at the Spring Creek Correctional Center in Seward. For rape in the first. Once we had a name, we checked the gun. Remember that unidentified fingerprint?”

“Of course,” Sara said, frowning.

“Turns out it belongs to Gary Kirschner, too.”

“Why didn’t his prints show up in 1996?”

“He hadn’t been arrested yet. He was a drifter. Meth addict who made his way through a bunch of towns around here on his way north. And before you ask, I’ll tell you that Dallas Raintree has never met Gary Kirschner.”

Sara stared down at the papers, reading through them again. “I’ll need to research this. We won’t make a snap decision. It may take some time.”

Winona stood up. “Thank you, Ms. Hamm.”

Sara nodded and kept reading.

Winona let herself out.

The big Halloween carnival at Water’s Edge is this weekend. Yippee. I hope you can read my sarcasm, Mrs. I. Not that you’re reading this journal anymore. It’s weird. I still write it to you. Why is that? I guess it’s one of your big life questions. Maybe someday I’ll ask you
.

Anyway, after school I came right home to help out around the ranch. Some kids would have been pissed off by that, but they’re the kids who have friends. When you don’t, it’s totally okay to go home after school. There’s nothing worse than the ten minutes after the bell rings. Everyone meets up then. That can be lonely when you’re standing there all by yourself
.

The only one I care about is Cissy. Today she almost smiled at me and my heart practically came to a stop. I know I’m totally insane but sometimes I think she still loves me
.

Like it matters. She’s too scared to go against her loser dad. Oh, who cares anyway?

Winona was on the phone with Luke when her doorbell rang. “Oh, great. Someone is here,” she said sarcastically. She’d been in the middle of whining about how long the prosecuting attorney was taking to make her decision. He was the only one she could talk to about it so sometimes she went overboard. Big surprise there. The only real surprise was that he kept calling her anyway. Almost every Saturday night in September and October, like clockwork, she sat out on her porch, or in front of her fireplace, and talked to him about their lives. The easy way of their conversations had come rushing back.

“You have to be patient,” Luke said. He’d been saying the same thing to her for weeks. “It’s still October. She’ll call. I know she will.”

“The waiting is killing me,” she said. “I’m actually losing weight for the first time since sixth grade. Maybe I’ll get lucky and finally get pretty while Dallas rots in that cell.”

“You were always pretty, Win.”

The doorbell rang again.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered. “That’s why you fell in love with my sister when I was standing right there. Look, Luke, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, I’m officially worried about you now.”

“That means a lot to me. Truly,” she said, and then: “I’ve got to go. Call me tomorrow night.” Before he could answer, she hung up the phone and headed for the door. “Keep your pants on. I’m coming.” She opened the door and found her sisters standing there. Aurora was dressed as if for a walk across the frozen tundra—jeans, winter boots, a big fake-fur-lined parka. In her gloved hands was a big silver thermos. Beside her, Vivi Ann stood holding coffee cups.

“You’re coming with us. Dress warmly,” Aurora said.

“No, thanks,” Winona said. In truth, she was too anxious lately to behave normally around her sisters.

“She’s confused,” Aurora said, shooting an I-told-you-so look at Vivi Ann. “That’s often the case, lately. I said, you’re coming with us. Get dressed.”

“What’s in the thermos?”

“Irish coffee. Now hurry.”

“Fine. But I’m taking my phone,” Winona said. She hadn’t been away from her phone for more than ten minutes since her meeting with Sara Hamm.

“Who are you? Condoleezza Rice?” Aurora muttered.

Winona left them in her entryway and went upstairs to change her clothes. Five minutes later she came down dressed in old jeans tucked into ice-blue UGG boots, a heavy Irish cable-knit sweater, and her coat. Her purse (with the phone in it) was slung over her shoulder.

“Where’s Vivi Ann?” she asked Aurora when she was coming down the stairs.

“Bathroom.” Aurora waved her over, whispered, “Hurry.” At Winona’s arrival, she said, “Spill it. Now.”

“What?”

“You’ve been avoiding Vivi and me for weeks. I know you. That means you haven’t let it go.”

“It?” Winona said, stalling.

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

Winona took a deep breath. “I found some new evidence. I’m waiting to hear if it will matter.”

“If it does?”

“He could get out.”

“And if it doesn’t work, he stays put.” Aurora crossed her arms. “Thank God you didn’t tell her. She’s hanging on by a thread as it is. But don’t keep me out of the loop, damn it. I want to help.”

Winona hugged her sister. “Thanks.”

Vivi Ann returned just as they drew apart. “Okay,” she said, “let’s go.”

Winona followed them out to Aurora’s car and got into the passenger seat. Now that she was out of the house, it felt good. She couldn’t really remember the last time she’d gone somewhere for fun. “Where are we going?”

Aurora turned into the ranch’s driveway.

“This is our big outing with a thermos of caffeine and booze?”

Aurora pulled up into the driveway and parked. She got a blanket, two small boxes, and a boom box out of the trunk. Then the three of them started walking: past the ghost-and-witch-decorated barn, past the automatic walker draped in faux spiderwebs.

Winona knew immediately where they were going. It was a small rise beyond Renegade’s paddock, a grassy hillock positioned beneath a huge old madrona tree. From there, one could see almost all of the ranch, the flat waters of the Canal, and the distant mountains. A salmon stream ran alongside it, changing course with the seasons and changing strength, but like every aspect of Water’s Edge, its existence remained constant.