Tim Green - False Convictions

“Would you be willing to sit down and talk with me about all this on camera?” Jake asked.

The judge gave him a dirty look and slammed the door.

CASEY SWATTED at a stray wasp as the Suburban roiled the dust on the shoulder of the road and disappeared around the bend up ahead.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Casey asked.

“Tell her what?”

“That Graham was behind that PAC,” Casey said.

“Robert Graham?” Jake said with a grin, his eyebrows disappearing up under the wisps of blond hair. “The Savior from Seattle? He would never be involved in something like that. It’s all just coincidence, I’m sure.”

“Well, if this story doesn’t pan out for you,” Casey said, “I’m sure you’ll be able to get a gig with The Daily Show. Comedy works for you. Shows off your dimples. Go ahead, say it.”

Jake dropped his smile and opened the Cadillac’s door. They both got in.

“Honestly?” Jake said. “I don’t believe anything she says any more than I do Graham. You think because she’s singing the sad mommy song that she’s not capable of fabricating all this shit, too? I don’t trust her as far as I can spit.

“In a way,” Jake continued, starting the engine, “I’m not unlike a lawyer. I hold my cards close and play them when they’ll have the most impact.”

“How about that bull about swapping DNA samples?” Casey asked, climbing in beside him.

“I felt like a matador,” Jake said.

“You’re on a roll.”

“Except it’s something I could see Graham doing,” Jake said.

“Be serious. How?”

Jake shrugged and pulled away from the decrepit house. “Lots of ways.”

“Name one.”

“How about he has his one-legged buddy zip down to Turks and get a semen sample from Nelson Rivers?” Jake said.

“How?” Casey said, wrinkling her brow.

“Do I really have to explain?”

“Ralph? Yes, you do. How does Ralph get a semen sample?” Casey asked, her mouth souring with the thought.

“Even if his cornucopia of talents doesn’t include something like that, he only needs two things: a condom and a hooker,” Jake said. “I happen to know that Graham’s plane flew to the Caribbean the night before the hospital produced the slide.”

Casey narrowed her eyes at the road ahead. “The same night Ralph went missing. Graham gave me a ride that morning.”

“And before that, Ralph stuck to you pretty damn tight,” Jake said, nodding.

“But how could they have switched the slides?” Casey asked.

“I’ve seen ten thousand dollars in a paper bag go a long way with those watchman types,” Jake said. “And with these morons, it could have been a handshake palming a fifty-dollar bill.”

“Could they have done it that fast?” Casey asked, remembering Ralph’s exhausted face.

“Fastest nonmilitary jet in the world,” Jake said, “and I’m quoting from my interview. I love the modesty of a guy in flannel shirts and Timberlands. I bet you he has a loyal dog that loves him.”

“There are still a lot of loose ends in this story,” Casey said, shaking her head.

“So now we close them.”

“We?”

“Well, I do,” Jake said, glancing at her. “You’re welcome to join me. I know you’ve got other worlds to save.”

Casey’s face felt warm at the thought of kissing Graham in the moonlight and nearly going to him in the middle of the night, wanting to go to him, but not going because she thought it could become something special.

“Special, all right,” she said in a mutter. “Goddamn, I can pick ’em.”

“What’d you say?” Jake asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Except that if what Patricia Rivers says is true, I just turned loose the second psychotic killer in my illustrious career.”

“Can’t we undo it?” Jake asked.

“God, what kind of a shit pile did I kick up with this one?”

“Nothing we can’t tamp back down,” Jake said. “Come on. We’ll get it worked out.”

“How?”

“Find the connection between Graham and the Marcellus Shale Formation,” Jake said. “We pull that thread and his whole flannel shirt comes unraveled.”

“So,” Casey said, “we start with The Nature Conservancy v. Eastern Oil & Gas.”

“Know any good law libraries around this place?” Jake asked, smirking and turning onto the main road and heading into town.

“You know, Marty works for Graham,” Casey said.

“Wouldn’t it be beautiful if that fat money really ended up funding a good cause after all?”

“What’s the good cause?” Casey asked.

“Putting his ass in jail.”

LOOK,” CASEY SAID, “I’m not as gleeful about this as you, and I’m not as certain, either. The web is pretty thick here, and you know from TV as much as I know from the law that when things get sticky, the truth has a funny way of losing itself in the slime.”

“I won’t say he’s providing the slime,” Jake said. “But, goddamn, there’s a trail of it wherever he goes.”

“You want to call Marty, or me?” Casey asked.

“I’ll do it,” Jake said. “Keep you clean in case this whole thing pans out for your savior.”

“Your top lip quivers when you’re nasty. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Jake winked at her and dialed Marty as he drove. “Marty? You still at the office? Good, I need in. Just turn me loose in your law library and I’m a pig in shit. No, you don’t have to stick around. I got it. Thanks.”

“You said it,” Casey said.

“What?”

“The pig part.”

“Want odds on who the real bad guy is?” Jake asked. “Ten will get you twenty.”

“I don’t gamble.”

“No, you’re too steady for that.”

When they arrived, Jake suggested that Casey wait outside until Marty went home, then he could let her in. “No sense in you spoiling your million-dollar baby if I’m wrong. He said he’s on his way out, so it won’t be long. I’ll ring you.”

Casey agreed and watched him go before she went across the street for a piece of broccoli pizza and a Diet Coke at a place called Daddabbo’s. As she waited for her food, CNN opened its half-hour news cycle with the Freedom Project press conference on the Auburn Courthouse steps. The restaurant began to buzz with excitement and when Casey’s face appeared, many of the patrons turned to her with knowing and gleeful looks. Most of the face time, though, along with the biggest sound bites, went to Brad Pitt and Al Gore, with Dwayne and Graham making appearances about as brief as Casey’s. Judge Kollar made the B-roll, smiling broadly and mugging with Jesse Jackson at the hors d’oeuvres table. She sighed and shook her head.

When her pizza came, the waiter pointed to the TV and asked Casey if it was really her. She nodded and sprinkled some red pepper on her slice. Two bites into her food the phone rang and she snapped it open.

“That was quick,” she said.

“I knew you wanted to get back, so I pushed it to drinks instead of a dinner.”

“Robert?” Casey said. “Oh.”

“I’m about twenty minutes away,” he said. “I ordered a couple lobster tails and filets for the jet, and a nice bottle of Silver Oak Cabernet, which you’ll love. The tails aren’t as fresh as on Turks, but you’ll be surprised.”

Casey pushed her pizza away. “Actually, I think I’m going to stick around for a few days.”

The chatter of other early diners around her seemed amplified in the silence of the phone. Finally, he spoke.

“What does that mean? You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I really am going to stay.”

“Why?”

“Just some loose ends,” she said, her stomach constricting.