Tim Green - False Convictions

“I don’t work with people, Ms. Jordan,” Kollar said, twisting his lips and glancing back at his golfing buddy to see that he was in on the fun. “I’m a judge.”

“Not only does Dwayne Hubbard’s DNA not match the swabs from the hospital,” Casey said in a low tone, “the person who does match is Patricia Rivers’s son, Nelson.”

The judge’s scowl intensified and he glanced back over his shoulder before lowering his own voice. “I figured it was you in the paper yesterday, but I thought you’d want your name in there.”

“I’m part of the Freedom Project,” Casey said. “It’s not just me, but, yes, we found the information on Judge Rivers and her son. He drove a white BMW that my client saw near the scene, and he was romantically linked to the girl. That gave us the hint, but we’ve got the DNA now. It’s over. The only question is, how painful do you want to make this?”

“Because I have lots of latitude as the trial judge,” Kollar said, pointing the grip of the five iron at her as though the club were an enormous pistol.

“If you’re fool enough to use it,” Casey said, looking up at the judge without blinking. “Then you can go down with the rest of them.”

“Rest of who?” Kollar said, contorting his entire face.

Casey shrugged. “Rivers and her son. He’ll go to jail. She’ll be removed from the bench, if not put in jail herself.”

“I have nothing to do with them.”

“You can perpetuate their crime,” Casey said. “Put your club down and think. You should be racing me to the prison with your own set of keys to free that man. It’s a disgrace. Incompetence? Racism? Horrible realities that put innocent people behind bars, but this? This is an evil so deep there’s no bottom. A district attorney, police, a judge, officers of the court, who knows who else? It’s a smear on this town and if you toy with it, the smut will stick to you like pinesap, like skunk spray. You won’t get it off, and you won’t get reelected. I don’t care how strong your party is. You’ll be done.”

Kollar snarled silently.

“But why can’t you just ride in on your white horse and save the day, Judge?” Casey asked. “Righting a wrong, no matter who it’s to. Everyone respects that. And when Rivers’s seat goes empty, who better to fill that spot than a man with high morals who transcends things like race and gender?”

“But I’m still a conservative,” Kollar said, musing to himself and looking over at Marty as if daring him to disagree. “Not soft on crime.”

“A compassionate conservative,” Casey said. “What we need more of.”

“What are you thinking?” Kollar said, his voice almost too low to make out.

“Sign the order to overturn his conviction right now, without waiting,” Casey said. “I’ll have the lab results sent to your chambers this afternoon. Issue a statement, something about the horror of justice turned inside out and making things right as quickly as possible. A man who spent twenty years of an innocent life behind bars doesn’t deserve to spend another day there. People will love it. You’ll be part of the story, the good part.”

Kollar gritted his teeth. “I don’t want any fucking stories.”

“The curtain is already up,” Casey said. “Whether you like or not, whether you want it or not. Now it’s all about your lines. Judge.”

YOU WANT TO see it?” Jake asked.

Casey sat on the end of the bed in his hotel room at the Holiday Inn and crossed her legs, tugging down the hem of her skirt. In his hand, Jake held a long black TV remote.

“Yes.”

“’Cause, technically, I shouldn’t,” Jake said. “You know, keeping the parts of the story separate and all that.”

“I can do a Chinese wall in my brain,” she said.

“A what, in your brain?”

“When you have an ethical conflict in part of your firm, you create a Chinese wall to keep certain lawyers separated from the information, like the Great Wall of China. It’s just a way of keeping confidences, that’s all.”

He aimed the remote at the disc player atop the TV and played for her the interview with Myron Kissle. Casey let out a low whistle.

“You like?” he asked, feeling good not only from his work but from the painkillers for his head.

“And I was proud of my angle on this,” she said.

“DNA trumps a surly old cop,” Jake said. “That’s what’s setting your man free.”

“But Kissle completes it,” she said. “I mean, Nelson Rivers actually stalking her? You were right about no one else having the complete story. The mom issuing a mandate on a murder investigation? Personally threatening the cops? I can’t believe she got away with it.”

“Small town, right?”

“I know, but.”

“Anyway,” Jake said, “I guess it’s back to Texas now?”

“We’re doing a big press conference tomorrow afternoon,” she said.

“I know,” Jake said. “My bosses love it. Everyone will be talking about the scandal, upset and ready to make someone pay, then we’ll hit prime time Friday night and introduce everyone to the villain. It’s classic. So, are you leaving right after that? I’d like to sit down with you again, nothing big, just to add some depth to what I’ve already got on Hubbard, the racial angle.”

“No problem,” Casey said, “but it’ll depend on Graham’s jet. I think we’re out of here right after the press conference. This whole thing was faster than I ever thought it’d be. It’ll be strange to watch this thing play out without me. Like leaving the fireworks before the grand finale, but I have a lot to do back home.”

“Maybe I could do a story on that sometime?” Jake said, sitting down on the end of the second bed and facing her with his hands in his lap. “Your clinic, I mean. It’s the kind of thing I like.”

“Anything that helps the cause,” she said, unable to keep her eyes from traveling across the chiseled lines of his face.

“And it’d be good to see me?”

“Of course,” she said. “Everyone loves a celebrity, Jake. You probably know that too well.”

“I wanted to explain what happened to me on Friday,” Jake said.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, picking a piece of lint free from her navy skirt.

“I do, though,” he said. “I got tripped up.”

Jake turned his head and parted the curtain of blond hair in the back of his head, revealing the wound. He’d seen it in the mirror, gruesome and purple and stitched shut with black thread, still oozing coagulated lumps of blood.

“Jesus,” Casey said, standing up.

“It’s okay,” Jake said. “I hit my head, running from Graham and his goons.”

“Robert did it?”

“No. I did, a stupid mistake,” Jake said, letting the hair fall back over the wound and turning his eyes back to her. “Well, maybe not stupid, but a mistake. Your guy Graham has something going on outside the lines. I know that. It’s just not what I thought.”

They sat back down on the corners of the beds, Casey with her hands folded in her lap, her knees pressed together. Jake told her again what he knew about the shipload of manufacturing equipment and how Massimo stood to make a lot of money if the deal went through.

“And that’s exactly what he told me,” Casey said, holding Jake’s steady gaze.

“But I still think something is up with him and those people,” Jake said. “I could tell, just by the… I don’t know. My gut. Those people are not good.”

“They’re in toxic waste and city politics,” Casey said. “What’d you think?”

“More than that,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. This is the story now, but I wanted you to know I tried to reach out to you once my head cleared, but I got no answer.”