Joel Goldman - Stone Cold

Alex shook her head, her face reddening. “No. I didn’t see the point. It would only have made things worse, especially now, since Upton let him go. Why didn’t you tell Upton that Dwayne had threatened Bonnie? That might have been enough for him to impose a bond that would have kept Dwayne locked up.”

“I didn’t think it would be necessary and I didn’t want to take the chance that Dwayne would find out about your relationship with Bonnie. That’s the wrong kind of leverage to give someone like him. He’d have you jumping through every hoop imaginable.”

“He’d have been in jail.”

“Like that would matter, or don’t you know how gangs work? If he or another gangbanger wanted something from you, all he’d have to do is whisper Bonnie’s name in your ear.”

Alex pressed her hands together, raising them to her mouth. Dwayne had bragged to her about killing Wilfred Donaire, and she believed even without proof that he killed Kyrie Chapman and the Hendersons. Which meant that Bradshaw was right not to have told the judge about Bonnie. She might one day convince herself that she wasn’t at least partly responsible for the Chapman and Henderson murders, but if Dwayne ever made good on his threats to Bonnie, she’d never find forgiveness or peace.

“And by lunchtime, he’ll be on the street again. What am I going to tell Bonnie?”

“Tell her it’s not your fault. That you were just doing your job.”

“Funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. But that’s what you have to tell her.”

“How’s that going to make her feel better?”

“It won’t, but I’ll talk to Mitch Fowler. He’s the commander of the Homicide Unit. I’ll ask him to put Detective Rossi on Reed. If Reed comes close to Bonnie, Rossi will take him down.”

Alex lowered her chin, her voice soft. “Thanks.”

Bradshaw pulled the other chair close to hers. “Listen. You and I have a lot of history. I know we go in the courtroom and beat each other’s brains out and I know why we do it. And I know all that noble bullshit about the Constitution isn’t just a cliche. I know it matters. But we’re friends and Bonnie and I are friends. That matters to me just as much as the system, and when the system can’t protect our friends or the Hendersons or even for that matter garbage like Kyrie Chapman, we can’t just shrug it off and say that’s the way it goes. We’ve got to do something about it.”

Alex raised her head, her eyes moist. “I get it.”

Bradshaw stood. “Do you? I hope so. There’s a lot at stake.”

“So what happens next? You do your job while I do mine and hope that Rossi does his?”

Bradshaw stood and opened the door. “I know what Rossi is going to do and I know what I’m going to do. As for you, well, I guess you’ve got a decision to make.”

Alex rose. “What are you’re saying? That I should tank my client’s case to get him off the street?”

“I’d never tell you to do that. The system sucks, but it isn’t broken beyond repair.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll knock the drug charge down to a Class C felony for simple possession. He does a minimum of three years.”

“That’s it?”

“No. He stays in jail, enters the plea tomorrow, and starts serving his sentence immediately. That’s how we’ll get him off the streets. Convince him to take it and we’ll all sleep a lot better.”

“What about the murders?”

“The investigations are ongoing, but tell him that if he confesses now I’ll drop the drug charge. He gets life for the murders, but I don’t mean the get-out-in-thirty-years life. I mean consecutive life sentences for each murder so that he never sees the outside again. If he says no, tell him that I’ll make it my life’s work to see that he’s convicted and sentenced to death.”

Alex sighed. His plan made sense.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. Say hi to Bonnie,” he said.

Alex hurried back to the courtroom. Judge Upton had finished with the last case and returned to his chambers. Four sheriff’s deputies were leading the defendants out a side door and into a hallway. From there, the deputies would herd them back to the jail. Alex caught up to them in the hall, grateful that she recognized one of the deputies.

“Deputy Paulson, hang on,” she said.

Paulson had spent his career escorting prisoners back and forth from the jail to the courthouse. He had a slight, stoop-shouldered frame, a thin face, and arthritic hands, relying on his badge and the prisoners’ shackles to maintain order. Paulson turned toward her and smiled when she called his name.

“What can I do for you, Counselor?”

Alex pointed to Dwayne. “I need a moment with my client.”

“You can follow along. Talk to him back at the jail.”

“I wish I could, but I’ve got to be in court in fifteen minutes, and this won’t take long. I promise.”

Paulson looked at one of the other deputies. “Jerry, come with me. Tom and Ralph, you guys take the rest on back. We’ll be along in a minute.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “I need some privacy. There’s a witness room right around the corner. You and the other deputy can wait outside the door.”

Paulson shook his head. “I don’t know about that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m his favorite lawyer and his arms and legs are shackled. I can handle him.”

She reassured Paulson without any of the sarcasm she heard in her head. The thought of being Dwayne’s favorite anything made her skin crawl.

Paulson held up one hand, fingers spread. “Five minutes. That’s it. You want more than that, you’ll have to come to the jail.”

Back in the witness room, Alex pointed to one of the plastic chairs. She wanted the advantage of Dwayne looking up at her. “Sit.”

Dwayne dropped into the chair, head angled to one side, disinterested and cocky. “What up?”

“The prosecutor is offering you a deal.”

Dwayne narrowed his eyes. “How come?”

“What do you mean, how come? This is good news.”

“Sounds like good news to him if I take it. How that make it good news for me?”

“You’re charged with a Class A felony for possession with intent to distribute. That carries a minimum of ten years and a maximum of thirty or life. Bradshaw is offering to knock it down to a Class C, simple possession. Maximum sentence is seven years. He’ll settle for three but you stay in jail today. You’ll enter the plea tomorrow and immediately start serving your sentence.”

“Why I agree to stay in jail when you got me out? That shit don’t make no sense.”

“You’re only out until your trial.”

“When that gonna be?”

“Six months, maybe sooner, maybe later.”

“Why I wanna take that deal when you gonna get me off?”

“You can’t count on that, not after the police found enough crack in your pockets to get everyone on your block high.”

He smiled. “Shit, girl. You got me off for killin’ Wilfred, you sure as shit get me off for havin’ my mama’s crack in my jeans, ’specially since I never smoked that shit one time in my whole fuckin’ life.”

“The prosecutor never offered you a deal in Wilfred’s case, so you had nothing to lose by going to trial. Now you’ve got a choice. Do three years instead of taking the chance of doing ten to life. If the crack really was your mother’s and if you were just keeping her from using it, all you had to do was flush it down the toilet. Since you didn’t, there’s a good chance the jury will think it was yours and that you intended to sell it, and if they do, you’re going away for a long, long time.”

Dwayne was silent, thinking about what Alex had said. She liked the way the conversation was going. No one could fault her for the advice she was giving him. It was realistic and in his best interests. She’d be home free, her soul intact, if Dwayne took the deal. Her heart sank when he shook his head.