Tim Green - False Convictions

“How do I look?” he asked.

“You look like you need a shower,” Dora said, running a hand over her short curly hair, “and you’ve got time. We lost our girl and I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

“Come again?” Jake said.

“Don’t give me that look,” Dora said, stomping out her cigarette under the combat boots she wore beneath her army fatigues. “I kept her for over an hour, sitting there with her BlackBerry and looking at her watch before she blew out of here bitching about wasting her time.”

“Newark,” Jake said, undoing the top button again. “What else do I need to say? Where is she?”

“She said something about a plate of spaghetti, and I don’t think she’ll understand the Newark thing,” Dora said. “Our buddy Graham is flying her around in his jet, so go easy on the airline woes.”

Jake studied her. “I know the type.”

Dora shrugged and said, “She’s pretty, she’s smart, and I think she knows it.”

“Well,” Jake said, hefting his bag from the backseat, “I’ll put an iron to this jacket and wash my face. That should charm the hell out of her. Maybe some deodorant, too.”

“I got sandwiches in there if you’re hungry,” Dora said as he entered the lobby.

“Remember those little finger sandwiches in Los Angeles?”

“You can settle for Subway,” she said. “And we’re set up just down this hall.”

Jake checked in and cleaned up, then had a sandwich while a young woman worked on his face and Dora rechecked her shots. Jake leafed back through his file on Casey Jordan while he waited.

“Why don’t you close your mouth while you look,” Dora said, leaning over his shoulder and nodding at a color photo of Casey standing next to a courthouse column that filled an entire page of TIME magazine.

“How smart can she really be?” Jake asked, his eyes on the photo and the lean lines beneath the skirt. “She looks like a model.”

“Smart enough to whisper if the door’s open.”

Casey Jordan stood in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. The camera crew busied themselves with their cables and wires and Jake’s face warmed and then broke into a grin.

“A very intelligent model,” Jake said with an embarrassed smile. “You know Elle Macpherson has a PhD in nuclear physics?”

“That’s not true.”

“She doesn’t like to brag about it.”

Casey walked into the midst of the lights and cameras and cables, plunked herself down in the chair opposite Jake, and crossed her shapely legs. “So should I assume that if I have a hot story that goes way beyond your puff piece on Robert Graham that you’re not the one I should talk to? You do realize you’re wearing makeup.”

“It hides my insecurity.”

She stared at him and Jake waited for a grin that never appeared.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jake said, “there were thunderstorms in New York.”

“No problem,” Casey said, looking at him expectantly as she fished the microphone up through her blouse like a pro. “But let’s get this done. I just got handed a brief that needs to be completely rewritten.”

“What story are you talking about?” Jake asked.

“Hey, are those teeth capped?”

“I got these from my mom,” Jake said, widening his lips and tapping the front teeth, “and despite the stylish haircut, I’ve got all the credentials you’ll need if you’re looking to kick up another scandal.”

“Another?” Casey said.

Jake touched the folder. “I read your background. Growing up dirt-poor in a hick town. The Lifetime movie. Taking on a US senator. I get it. A true Texas hellcat, if you don’t mind the expression.”

“How about an entire town that put a black man away for a murder he didn’t commit?”

“Sounds like a rerun,” Jake said. “Let’s talk about Robert Graham’s empathy for small animals and kids. We have a video of him feeding a goat with a bottle. It’s cute stuff. I mean, a baby goat. How can you go wrong?”

“What about nearly twenty years later?” Casey said, recrossing her legs. “There’s a new DA, a new chief of police, new judge, new everything. So why would they destroy the evidence that would right a wrong from the past?”

“Whew,” Jake said and pursed his lips. “Lady, you don’t mince words. Tell you what. You help me make Graham look like Mother Teresa and I’ll talk to Charlie Gibson. Nightly News might go for something like this, and that’s what you want, right? Lots of attention?”

“I like how you toss out some locker room talk about my qualifications and now you’re running for your daddy’s leg when I offer a real story.”

“Come on,” Jake said, turning to Dora. “We set?”

Casey looked at him for a long moment and held the stare. Jake was annoyed but could not help smiling back at her.

Dora gave a thumbs-up and Jake said, “Tell us how you first met Robert Graham.”

Casey didn’t answer for a moment, still staring, and then as Jake was about to turn to Dora, her face softened into a pleasant smile and she readjusted in her seat.

“He called me-out of the blue, really,” Casey said. “He’d heard about some of my work-I run a legal clinic for underprivileged women-and he asked if I’d help the Freedom Project by taking on a couple cases each year.”

“Why you?” Jake asked.

Casey shrugged and blushed lightly, then said, “I think he felt like I’d bring some visibility to the cases and the cause.”

“And didn’t he also offer to help your own charitable foundation?” Jake asked.

Casey shifted in her seat. “He did. And I was grateful to accept.”

“Do you think he likes the attention?” Jake asked.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You said visibility,” Jake said, “like this, the media, doing stories. Do you think that has something to do with it?”

“I think it helps raise more money for good causes,” Casey said.

“Would you like to hear some other reasons?” Jake asked.

Casey wrinkled her brow. “Is that a question you want me to answer?”

“Not for the camera,” Jake said, putting his hand up in front of the camera directed at her. “I’m just asking between us. Would you? I’ll buy you a drink.”

Casey looked at Dora Pine, who wore a pair of headphones and looked up from her monitor.

“Is this how he operates?” Casey asked her.

“Pretty much,” Dora said. “Ain’t he clever?”

Jake retreated and lobbed some softballs at her, more questions about Robert Graham, his connection with the Freedom Project, and how swell it was that a man with his kind of money gave a shit about the little people. Casey answered everything by the book, saying neither too much nor too little, and always wearing a fixed smile. They both knew the game and the dance and he needed only a couple quotes in the can.

“That’ll work,” Jake said, extending a hand to Casey as he removed his microphone.

She shook it, removed the mic, and said, “So you want to hear more?”

“Hotel bar?” Jake asked.

“Too depressing,” Casey said.

“There’s a place just down the road,” Jake said. “The New York Times calls it one of the top three spas in the world.”

Casey gave him a look. “What if it doesn’t match up to the other two?”

“I’m serious.” he said. “You’ll like it.”

“In Texas all you need for a bar is some whiskey and Shiner on tap,” Casey said. “I don’t know about a spa.”

“Come on,” he said.

Just outside the hotel lobby, a man with a crew cut emerged from a Lexus and limped toward them, his eyes on Casey.

“Are we ready?” he asked her, ignoring Jake.

“Thanks, Ralph,” she said. “How’s your homework assignment coming?”