Tim Green - False Convictions

“I got something for you,” Casey said.

Ralph nodded, but said nothing.

“Cassandra Thornton,” Casey said, “the woman Dwayne Hubbard went to jail for? See if you can find her relatives and ask them if they’ll sign a release that gives us access to her hospital records the night she was killed.”

Ralph squinted at Jake, then nodded and said, “We can do that.”

“Great,” Casey said. She turned and crossed the street with Jake, taking out her phone and dialing Marty Barrone. He was in his office, which was less than three blocks away. They left Jake’s car on the street and walked to the office, taking an elevator up to the third floor. The offices of Barrone & Barrone were nice enough for a high-end firm in Manhattan. Blond wood and contemporary leather chairs had just the right blend of sophistication and success, with some subtle modern art to suggest a progressiveness she didn’t expect to find in Auburn, New York. Marty’s office, however, was a small space with a narrow window. Casey and Jake barely had room for their knees as they sat in chairs facing his desk with their backs to a bookcase.

He had one of those posters on the wall about success, with an eagle soaring in the clouds. The poster was a bit sun-faded and showed it had been tacked to a wall before being framed.

“My fiancée is going to flip,” Marty said, sitting down across from them, wagging his head, and talking fast. “I wish I had a dollar for every time Linda told me about one of your stories and how great you are. I usually golf with my dad and uncle on Sundays, but she TiVo’s them and makes me watch. Not that I don’t want to watch, but hitting it around on Sundays kind of goes along with the program around here. Jeez, man. Did that nun really rock out like that? She was amazing when she played ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ ”

Casey sighed. “Okay, Marty, we need to get Judge Kollar to give us an order. We need to compel the Auburn Hospital to give up swab samples they may have taken from Cassandra Thornton that would have her attacker’s DNA.”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Marty said, the blotches on his face blooming across his pale cheeks. “You think they even have that?”

“I know they do,” Casey said. “We just have to get it. Can you get us in to see the judge?”

“I can try,” Marty said, stroking the dark fuzz on his upper lip. “The Rotary is having a fund-raiser for him today, a lunch. Even if we can’t get into his chambers, we could grab him there.”

“I don’t care where,” Casey said. “I just need to see him and I need to have him in our corner.”

“I got both of those covered,” Marty said. “It would be good if you bought a ticket, though. They’re only fifty dollars, but things like that go a long way with the judge.”

Casey bit her tongue and said, “We can do the lunch. Tickets are no problem, but try to get us into his chambers if you can. I want this done right.”

“How’d you like my brief?” Marty asked, thin and eager in his white shirtsleeves, his black suit coat having been hung over the back of his chair.

Casey hesitated, then said, “It needs a little work, but I got the general idea. Besides, if we get this order, I’m not going to even bother to spank the chief. We can work right around him.”

“I’m glad,” Marty said. “My uncle said I’d have to withdraw if it came to that.”

“Your uncle?” Casey said.

“He heard about the brief I was working on,” Marty said.

Casey glanced at Jake, then said, “Marty, I can’t have you talking to anyone about what I’m doing.”

Marty’s blotches turned a deeper red. “My uncle’s the head of the firm. Everything we do is in confidence. That’s basic ethics, right?”

“We’re talking about a man’s life here,” Casey said. “I’ve worked in a firm, too. When people know, things slip, I’m not saying intentionally, but we can’t have the other side knowing our next move.”

“What other side?” Marty asked.

“Whoever is trying to keep us from setting Dwayne Hubbard free,” Casey said, studying him. “For whatever reason.”

“The police said getting rid of the evidence was just part of normal procedure,” Marty said. “You know that, right?”

“And I don’t believe them,” Casey said, leaning forward. “You know that, right?”

“But my brief,” Marty said quietly. “I’m no Shakespeare, but you got it that the police have no legal duty to preserve evidence once all the appeals are done, right?”

“I got that, finally, yes,” Casey said calmly. “What I couldn’t get a clear handle on, and what I doubt you have a clear handle on, is whether or not their mismanaged approach-destroying evidence from 1989 before they’d finished with 1988-violated our client’s civil rights or the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments.”

Marty wrinkled his face.

“Exactly,” Casey said. “So, since you’re not in tune with the gravity of what’s going on, and since everything you say to other people in this firm-especially your uncle, the judge’s fund-raiser-might as well be on the front page of the Auburn Citizen, I need you to keep everything strictly confidential. If your uncle wants you to withdraw, then do it now, but don’t compromise what I’m doing here.”

Marty swallowed and clutched a pen in his hand. He glanced guiltily at Jake as he nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“All right,” Casey said, standing. “Let’s forget it and move on. We get the DNA from these swab samples and it all might not matter.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marty said, looking up at her and digging in his ear.

“I know. It’s okay,” Casey said. “We’ve got some other things to do, but I’ll be expecting your call after you line up the judge.”

When they got back out on the street, Jake asked, “How did you end up with him?”

Casey explained the political grease Marty’s firm provided and how Graham had teed them up.

“Why not have the uncle himself working for you?” Jake asked.

“That’s what I said,” Casey said.

“And what’d Graham say to that?”

“He never answered me.”

Casey’s cell phone rang before they reached Jake’s car.

“He’ll see us after the lunch,” Marty said.

“You tried for his chambers?” Casey asked.

“He’s going into court,” Marty said. “He wasn’t even going to see us afterward, but I told him it was a personal favor.”

“For you?” Casey asked.

Marty was quiet for a moment, before he said, “Well, yeah. I’m engaged to his daughter. That’s Linda.”

“Does that help us or hurt us?” Casey asked.

Marty laughed at the joke and said, “I got the meeting and I’m not saying anything to anyone else at the firm about it.”

“Great,” Casey said. “We’ll meet you there at noon.”

THE SPRINGSIDE INN was nestled at the foot of a wooded hill just outside of town near the lake. Jake circled the parking lot twice before pulling over on the grassy edge of the broad circular drive.

“The judge packs them in,” Casey said as they approached the old inn.

Marty met them just inside the door with their name tags and asked Casey if she had the check. Casey took the checkbook from her briefcase and laid it down on the table where two older women looked on as she filled it out for one hundred dollars to the Friends of Judge Kollar. Waitresses hurried about the banquet room, and four plates full of food already waited for them at a small card table hastily thrown up in the back.

“They were sold out,” Marty said, “but I pulled some strings. Trust me, the judge appreciates it.”

“I just can’t wait to hear him sing,” Jake said.