Tim Green - False Convictions

Casey stood, wanting to shake the judge’s hand, but he didn’t even look up. He drew another piece of paper to the center of his desk, picked up his pen, and signed it with a flourish before he handed it to her.

“I know it’s not about politics,” Graham said. “But I’ve always believed in supporting good judges who know the law.”

“You should get with Marty on that,” the judge said, nodding Marty’s way. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The three of them walked out together and hugged each other all around as soon as they hit the courthouse steps.

“Let’s celebrate,” Graham said.

“I want to get this to the hospital,” Casey said, waving the order.

“Let me take it,” Marty said. “You two go ahead. I’ll join you after I check in at the office.”

“You’re getting a bonus for this, my friend,” Graham said, pointing a finger at Marty like it was a gun and pulling the imaginary trigger.

“Time out,” Casey said. “I want to stop at the prison and see what we’ll have to do to arrange for a blood sample from Dwayne. I want this DNA work done yesterday.”

“Perfect,” Graham said, heading down the steps. “We’ll do that and then have lunch at Balloons. It’s right there. You know where, right, Marty?”

“Of course,” Marty said. “Right next to the wall. Good choice.”

“And ask Dr. Prescott how long it will take to dig up this sample, Marty,” Casey said, stopping on the curb as their Town Car pulled up. “I want it today. He gives you any grief, tell him I’ll be in myself.”

“I’ll get him going,” Marty said. “He’s a good guy, the doc. He’s just covering himself. You’ll see.”

Casey nodded and asked, “How are your contacts at the county forensics lab?”

“They use the lab in Monroe County. I’ve never had to ask,” Marty said. “Obviously, the DA has most of the swing there.”

“So we’re screwed,” Casey said, remembering her bitter meeting with Merideth.

“Maybe my uncle can help,” Marty said.

“Does it have to be the lab the Auburn DA uses?” Graham asked.

“No,” Casey said. “Another county lab could do it, or the Feds. If you’ve got a contact, maybe we can get it done in the next couple weeks.”

“Why that long?” Graham asked. “How long can a DNA analysis really take?”

“It’s not the analysis,” Casey said, “it’s getting an accredited lab to do it sooner than later. They’re always backed up. Usually, it takes months.”

“I know, but it doesn’t have to,” Graham said. “I’d like to wrap this up for Dwayne, and for you. With my contacts, there’s no reason why we can’t accelerate things.”

“How fast are you thinking?” Casey asked.

“How about a day or two?” Graham said, opening the car door for her.

Casey raised her eyebrows. “That would take some serious grease.”

“Go big or go home, right?” Graham said, circling the car and climbing in on the other side. “I’ve got a couple congressmen who owe me.”

“And I’ve got an assistant warden who told me ‘whatever you need,’ ” Casey said, producing Collin Mallard’s card from the bottom of her briefcase.

“I think he was talking about a cheeseburger,” Graham said.

“What about the power of celebrity?” she said. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Graham told the driver to take them to the prison.

WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the prison, Graham held up his cell phone to Casey and said, “I’ll wait here and work on lining up the lab. You don’t need me in there, do you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Casey walked in between the castle turrets and asked through the small speaker in the Plexiglas if she could see the assistant warden. The burly uniformed woman behind the desk looked up from her crossword puzzle.

“You have an appointment with Mr. Mallard?” she asked.

“I don’t,” Casey said, “but he’ll want to see me. I’m with the Freedom Project, working on the Dwayne Hubbard case.”

The woman stared for a minute, then shrugged and picked up her phone. When she finished, she compressed her lips, leaned into her microphone, pointed over to a bench against the wall, and said, “You can have a seat. His secretary will be right down.”

Casey paced the floor until an elderly woman in a flower-print dress shuffled into view and led her through the metal detectors and into the administration building. Mallard had a cramped office with one small window and his secretary sat down at a desk right outside the door. Mallard jumped up from a pile of papers and shook her hand with both of his. He wore an out-of-date double-breasted gray suit with a pink tie.

“Back again. I am honored, Ms. Jordan,” he said, his smile outshining the bald dome of his head. “I was telling friends at dinner just last night about our meeting. How can I help?”

“I’d like to get a blood sample from Dwayne Hubbard and have it sent to a lab right away,” she said. “I think we’ve actually found the proof that will set him free.”

Mallard’s smile turned painful, as if turning someone loose rubbed against his grain.

“I am with the Freedom Project,” she said.

“Of course,” Mallard said. “He’s an unstable man, though, Ms. Jordan. I have to say that.”

“He doesn’t look that way to me,” she said.

Mallard almost frowned.

“I know looks can be deceiving,” she said. “And I know you have a job to do.”

“Four-hundred and sixty-three of the most vicious men in the state,” Mallard said.

“And not an escape since the new wall went up almost a hundred years ago, I’m told,” Casey said.

“Well, just one, actually,” Mallard said.

“And a blood test?” Casey said. “Do you have someone who could do that?”

“We have our own infirmary,” Mallard said.

“I would be glad to sign anything you need from our end,” she said, giving him her best smile. It was a dynamite smile and she reserved it for such occasions.

Mallard sat up straight. His cheeks flushed, somehow increasing the brilliance of the shine atop his head, and he said, “I can handle it.”

Mallard picked up his phone and with an important-sounding voice asked to speak with the captain of the guards. He told the man to retrieve Dwayne Hubbard and bring him to the infirmary right away.

“That fast?” Casey said.

“Would you like to speak with him there?” Mallard asked. “Explain things to him? We’ll need his permission and Dwayne has somewhat of a reputation.”

“He looks like a math teacher,” Casey said.

“Right,” Mallard said, nodding in agreement, “I meant more as a slick talker. He’ll argue with you about the color of the sky if you let him.”

“I wondered before about him being chained up when we first met,” Casey said. “The guard said something about his file.”

Mallard shrugged. “We like to do things by the book. He’s been here quite some time. Someone back in the day may have checked the wrong box. That happens. Better safe than sorry, though.”

Casey followed the assistant warden through a maze of hallways with mint green walls and dull gray floor tiles cracked and waffled at the corners. They descended a stairway, footsteps echoing through the empty space, before a guard let them through a barred doorway that clanked shut behind them. Beds bolted to the floor lined the walls of the infirmary. The crisp white sheets would have looked ordinary but for the manacles hanging from the four corners of each bed. The room’s only occupant lay in the far corner, his face wrapped like a mummy’s in white gauze.

Mallard nodded toward the man and said, “The other guy stuck a hose down the gas tank of a food service truck, sucked out a mouthful, and pulled a circus act on our friend down here.”