Steven Womack - By Blood Written

Michael shrugged. “So?”

“So,” Talmadge continued, “they found the rental car you had the night you were in Nashville. They tracked it down to New Orleans, and when they examined it, they found traces of blood in the trunk. When they ran tests on the samples, they matched the blood on both the bloody garbage stuff and the murder scene.”

“But that’s impossible!” Michael said loudly. “That’s crazy. No wait, it’s not impossible, it’s bloody fucking convenient. How much trouble does it take to dab a blood sample on a piece of carpet that you already know matches the victims into a car?”

“Maybe,” Talmadge said. “It’s certainly something we can look into.”

“And how many people,” Steinberg broke in, “had rented that car in the time between when Michael had it and how long it took them to find it?”

“Yeah, how long did it take them to find it?”

Talmadge shuffled through some papers. “Just a few days shy of two months.”

“Two months,” Michael spewed. “How many people rent a car in two months? It’s crazy. They can’t tie me to it.”

“It’s weak. And we can find out how many other people had rented that car. If we can break the causal link they’re trying to establish in that fashion, then we’ve made a big dent in their case.”

“What else have they got?” Steinberg asked.

“Of substance? Not much. Some pretty wild theories.” Talmadge faced Michael and looked directly at him. “They’re going to produce a witness who says that the plots to your books are pretty similar to some other murders that have occurred around the country. I think they’re going to try and convince the jury that you’re some kind of serial killer or something like that.”

“That’s insane,” Michael said. “I’ve already explained those similarities. I’ve been researching a series of murders for years and using the material in my books.”

“In any case,” Steinberg offered, “that’s the sort of testimony that we’re never going to let them bring into court. No judge with half a brain is going to allow that kind of material in and run the risk of being overturned on appeal. We’ll get that suppressed easily.”

Talmadge nodded. “I don’t think it’s much of a threat. But the blood evidence is another matter. And, of course, the results of the DNA tests are absolutely crucial.”

“I can tell you right now, there’s nothing there for them to find,” Michael said.

“Then we’ll proceed on that premise,” Steinberg said.

“But let’s also assume, for the sake of argument, that the worst-case scenario will prevail and we’ll go to trial. What’s the next step?”

Talmadge sighed. “We have to be prepared for that, although I hope we can cut them off at that pass. But we have to start putting the team together.”

“Team?” Michael asked.

Talmadge nodded. “We’ll need to hire a jury consultant. I know the best one in the business. She’s been on 60 Minutes , Court TV, the whole package. She’ll start putting together what we need from a jury. And keep in mind, there’s every good reason to think that while we probably won’t get a change of venue, and maybe don’t even want one, that we’ll wind up going out of county to get a jury. Which means Jackson, Memphis, maybe Knoxville. And what we look for will change depending on where we go. Getting a death-qualified jury is a challenge. We want a good one.”

“I don’t know exactly what that means, but I’ll go along,”

Michael said wearily.

“And then we’ll need a good private investigator on scene in Nashville to go over everything the police have done and then some. I’ve worked with a guy in Nashville before, name’s Denton, who’s very good and very discreet.

He knows the cops, has connections inside the department, and is very thorough. And one other good thing: For some reason or other, he’s willing to work cheap.”

Michael smiled. “Well, so far he’s the only son of a bitch who is.”

“And then we’ll want a forensic pathologist to go over the autopsy, from one end to the other. And also a crime-scene expert. Police often, more often than you’d think, mishan-dle evidence in ways that would shock you. If we can catch them breaking the rules, then we can swat them down like a housefly. After all, police screwups are basically how O.

J. was acquitted.”

Michael moaned. “Please don’t mention his case in the same breath with mine.”

“Why not?” Steinberg asked, smiling. “He’s walking around swinging a nine iron. Nothing wrong with that.”

“And then we’ll have to go after the DNA analysis as well.

We need to have the best people we can find to challenge the results if they turn against us. Obviously, if they come out in our favor, we’ll punt on that. But I want them ready.”

“I know Barry Scheck,” Steinberg said. “I’ll call him today and get a referral.”

“Good. And we might even think about bringing in a psych guy.”

“Psych guy?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, a psychiatrist who’s an expert in this sort of crime and in profiling these sorts of murderers. If we can put him up on the stand and he testifies there’s no way you are even psychologically equipped to do this kind of violence, that will carry some weight.”

Michael sighed. “Okay, if you think we need it.”

“We’ll hold off on that decision, but keep it on the back burner. Now the next step,” Talmadge explained, “is the settlement date. The judge has scheduled a hearing not quite ninety days out. Now depending on what happens with the DNA tests, we’ll try to have the charges against you dismissed. The DA may try to broker a lesser charge, but I doubt it.”

“I wouldn’t take the deal anyway,” Michael said. “I won’t plead out on this.”

“Then another sixty days or so later, we’ll have a pretrial conference. At that point, the judge will ask if everybody’s good to go. If everything’s prepared, that’s when we’ll set a trial date. That’s going to be complicated, though, since a capital trial like this is going to be long and involved. Everybody will have to clear a huge hole in their calendar.”

“How long will the trial itself take?”

Talmadge considered for a moment before speaking. “A good month, six weeks,” he said.

“Jesus,” Michael said. “So we’re looking at a good six months or so before we go to trial, and then six weeks or so after that before we know.”

“That’s about it.”

“And the meter will be running the whole time,” Michael said.

Talmadge shrugged. “Cases like this are expensive to defend. I’m sorry.”

“I guess I need to get back to my laptop and start typing,”

Michael said. “I’ve got a lot of books to write if I’m going to keep you guys in the style you’ve become accustomed to.”

“There’s one other duck we need to get in order,” Talmadge said. He looked over at Steinberg, who nodded at him.

“What?” Michael asked.

Talmadge looked back at Michael. “The state of Tennessee employs what’s called a bifurcated trial system. In other words, a two-phase trial. The first phase is the guilt or innocence stage. We have every reason to believe you’ll be acquitted of this if it gets that far, but we can’t assume it. To protect you, we need a mitigator for the penalty phase.”

“A what?” Michael asked.

“A mitigator, an attorney who specializes in convincing a jury that there are reasons why even if you’ve been found guilty, you don’t deserve to die.”

This time the silence between them was painfully leaden.

Finally, Michael spoke in a voice so soft Steinberg could barely hear him.

“You know, if I’m found guilty of this, I’d almost rather be put to death. I don’t think I can stand prison. I just don’t think I could stand it.”