Scott Pratt - An Innocent Client

“Where’s Caroline’s necklace?”

“Gone.”

“Gone where? Who’d you sell it to?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“Did you sell it or trade it?”

“What difference does it make?”

“I’d like to get it back.”

“Not a chance.”

“Are you really that far gone, Sarah? Do you really not care at all about anything any more? That necklace may mean nothing but a quick fix to you, but it meant a lot to Caroline, and I’d like to have it back.”

She uncovered her face and glared at me.

“The only person that necklace meant anything to was you. It was just you showing everyone what a successful big shot you were, buying an expensive trinket. Do you really think it meant anything to her? You tried the same crap with me. Oh, come live with us, Sarah. Come stay with my perfect little family. We’ll buy you stuff if you don’t get high. We’ll take care of you. What a crock. You can’t buy people, Joey. You’re so pathetic.”

I’d gotten up and was leaning against the block wall, contemplating my fingernails. Sarah had long ago perfected the art of the addict’s vitriolic tirade. The words floated past me like tiny ghosts. I didn’t allow them to linger.

“I came up here for a couple of reasons,” I said. “The first is to tell you what you’ve done, in case you don’t fully understand the situation. Stealing the car was a C felony, minimum three years, maximum six in your range. Stealing the necklace was another C felony, same sentence. With your priors and my connections at the district attorney’s office, I think I can convince them to push for consecutive sentences at the top of the range. No more six months in the county jail and you’re out to do it again, Sarah. You’re going to the penitentiary for twelve years. You’ll be at least fifty when you get out, if you live that long. I’m going to see to it personally.”

I’d represented her five times in the past, each time telling myself I’d never do it again. I’d always managed to get her sentences reduced, to get them to go as easy on her as possible. But this time was different. I felt genuinely betrayed, and although I wasn’t proud of it, I wanted a little retribution. The words I’d spoken seemed to sink slowly into her addled brain. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rocked against the wall. Then she began to whimper.

“You can’t do that to me, Joey. You can’t. I won’t survive.”

“Sure you will. You always have.”

“I’m sick, Joey. You know I’m sick. Tell Lilly and Caroline I’m sorry. I’ll get a job and pay you back.”

“Too late. Last straw, Sarah. I’m through with you.”

“You’ve said that before. You don’t mean it. You’re the one person who’s never given up on me. You can’t give up on me, Joey.”

“My name is Joe,” I said. “I stopped being Joey a long time ago, when I grew up. You should give it a try.”

The crying turned into a mournful wailing. Tears were streaming down her face and she was banging her head against the wall. The guard came to the doorway.

“Everything all right in here?”

“Yeah, I was just leaving. Mind letting me out?”

He unlocked the steel door and I stepped through. Sarah’s sobs were almost unbearable. I quickened my pace as I walked down the hall to the stairwell and pushed the door open. Just before it closed, I heard her yell.

“Joey! You’re supposed to protect me!”

June 12

2:15 p.m.

News travels fast in the law enforcement community, both good and bad. The word was that Joe Dillard’s sister had been popped again, only this time Dillard and his family were the victims.

Agent Landers regarded Dillard as a self-righteous jerkoff who spent his life defending the scumbags Landers was trying to put away. As far as Landers was concerned, Dillard was as bad as the people he represented. When Landers heard Dillard had been hired to represent Angel Christian, he almost puked. He hated the thought of having to deal with Dillard through discovery and through a trial. But when Landers heard Dillard’s sister had been arrested, it cheered him up. He immediately called the jail and found out she hadn’t made bond. Then he called the jail administrator and asked her to move Dillard’s sister into the same cell block as Angel Christian. The administrator said it would be no problem, so Landers waited a couple of days and then went down to pay Miss Dillard a little visit.

He had the guards bring her to an interrogation room. Her shoulders were rounded and slumped and her eyes were blank. Still, she was definitely good-looking. Maybe, if everything went right, he might seduce her when this was over. And wouldn’t that be sweet? Laying the wood to Dillard’s sister.

She sat there like a stone, not looking at Landers. He thought he’d wait her out and let her talk first, but after a few minutes it was obvious she wasn’t going to say a word.

“You’re Joe Dillard’s sister,” Landers finally said.

“What about it?” she said without looking up.

“I hear he had you locked up.”

She didn’t respond. Landers watched her closely, trying to see whether she was silently agreeing with him.

“You haven’t asked who I am, Miss Dillard.”

“I don’t care who you are.”

“You should. I’m the man who could get you out of here.”

She looked up for the first time. “And why would you do that?”

“I need some help. You need some help. You help me, I’ll help you. Simple as that. I can offer you two things: a ticket out of jail and a chance to get back at your brother. Should I keep talking?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust lawyers.”

“I’m not a lawyer. I’m an agent with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”

“I trust cops even less than I trust lawyers.”

“Suit yourself. I’m sure I can find somebody else up there in the cell block who wants to get out of here. I just thought you might like a shot at your brother.” Landers got up from the chair, walked to the door, and acted like he was about to push the button to call the guard.

“Wait,” she said. “What do you want from me?”

“Like I said, I need a little help.”

“What kind of help?”

Landers sat back down at the table. “Information. I need information. Your brother is defending a murderer named Angel Christian. She’s in your cell block. Have you met her?”

“I keep to myself.”

“Here’s my problem. I don’t know anything about her. I need to be able to check her out, you know what I mean? For starters, Angel Christian isn’t her real name. I need to know what her name is. I need to know where she’s from. I need to know where she went to school, whether she’s ever had a driver’s license in another name, whether she’s ever been in trouble before, who her parents are, that kind of thing, and if she happens to bring up the murder, I wouldn’t mind hearing about it. Do you think you might be willing to help me out with that?”

It was as though the Christian girl didn’t exist. The only person who knew anything about her was Julie Hayes, and all Hayes knew was that she’d picked her up at the Greyhound bus terminal in Dallas back in February. Hayes said the girl wouldn’t tell her what her name was, so she gave her the name Angel Christian on the bus. She thought the name was funny and ironic since Angel would be working in a strip club. Landers desperately needed to come up with something. For all he knew, Angel might be a serial killer. But she wouldn’t talk to him, the Barlowe woman wouldn’t talk to him, and the people they’d interviewed at the strip club hadn’t helped at all.

“So you want me to snitch for you?” Dillard’s sister said.