Guilty Blood

by Rick Acker

  “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER 96

  Nate wandered through his apartment, vaguely feeling that he should be doing something. But there was nothing more to do, at least not today. After closing arguments, the judge had instructed the jury, and they had retired to deliberate. The case was now in their hands, not Nate’s.

  And since he had taken a leave of absence from the firm, there were no other cases clamoring for his attention. There were no emails to answer, no memos to read, no briefs to edit. His to-do list was entirely empty.

  He could clean his apartment. It certainly needed it. Highlighted transcripts, copies of court filings, half-filled notepads, and other detritus of legal battle lay scattered around, particularly in the second bedroom he had converted into his home office.

  But he was too tired to clean. The adrenaline rush of the trial had faded, and fatigue had seeped into his bones.

  He tried sitting down to read a book, but he couldn’t make his mind pay attention to the words on the page. He was too nervous. It wasn’t quite four o’clock, so the jurors wouldn’t have gone home for the day. What were they doing right now? Which way were they leaning? What evidence were they focusing on? Would his mistakes make a difference?

  He had made at least one major error: not adequately prepping Henry Weiss. If only Henry had stuck to the talking points they had discussed, Nate would have felt much better right now. But he hadn’t. Weiss was a professor, and he testified like one, giving information when he didn’t have to. That had been fine up until he admitted that the odds against Brandon’s DNA randomly matching the crime-scene DNA were very likely at least a billion to one. A little more practice, and he probably would have stuck to his guns and said it was impossible to know the odds because the FBI wouldn’t allow tests to be run in their database.

  Had Nate made other crucial mistakes? This was his first criminal trial, so the answer was doubtless yes. His closing had probably been too long and complicated, and he had reorganized it on the fly to respond to Brown’s closing. Had he lost the jury in the process? He had certainly set himself up nicely for the Occam’s razor argument in Brown’s rebuttal. He clenched his jaws and shook his head at the memory.

  Maybe he should have put Brandon on the stand. He would have made a good witness—likable, articulate, smart. But if he had gone on the stand, the prosecution would have been able to cross-examine him about his fights in jail. They probably would even have been able to show the video of Brandon killing Hector Garcia, and Nate had fought very hard to keep that out. Would the negative impact of seeing Brandon violent and out of control have outweighed the positive impact of hearing him testify?

  Should he have taken the ten-month continuance offered by Judge Whittaker? That would have allowed him to have a criminal-law expert beside him at trial. It also would have given him more time to prep Henry Weiss. And he also probably would have reached a deal with the FBI and DOJ before trial. But a continuance also would have given Lan Long and Los Reyes ten more months to kill Brandon in jail.

  He didn’t know the answers to any of those questions. His brain felt like gray mush, ready to ooze out of his ears.

  He gave up on trying to read and decided to watch a movie instead. He made some popcorn and put Raiders of the Lost Ark in the DVD player.

  Halfway through the movie, his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, but it had a 510 area code, so it might be someone calling from the court. He paused the movie and answered the call.

  CHAPTER 97

  “You need to call your lawyers, Ames,” a guard announced as he unlocked the cell door. “Let’s go.”

  Brandon followed him down the hall toward the phone room, another guard following behind. Brandon’s heart raced. Had the jury come back with a verdict? If so, was it good or bad that they made a decision in just a few hours?

  The first guard cleared the room of other prisoners, a couple of whom grumbled and looked daggers at Brandon. He ignored them and dialed Nate’s cell phone.

  Nate answered immediately. “Hello, Nate Daniels here.”

  “Nate, it’s Brandon.”

  “Good, let me patch in Sofia and your mother.” The line was silent for half a minute. “Brandon, are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jessica?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Sofia?”

  “Yep, I’m here too,” she said. It was the first time he had heard her voice since she was shot. She sounded happy and perky. Did she have good news?

  “Good,” Nate said. “Brandon, I just received a new plea offer from the District Attorney’s Office. They’ll agree to a manslaughter guilty plea and a three-year sentence.”

  “I didn’t get to see the trial, of course,” Sofia said. “But that sounds like a pretty good deal to me. It’s totally your call whether to take it, of course.”

  Brandon was silent for a moment, absorbing the news. “Does the fact that they’re offering me a good deal mean that they’re worried that the jury will come back with a not-guilty verdict?”

  “Well, they’re probably not doing it because they’re feeling generous,” Sofia said.

  Brandon nodded. That made his decision easy. “Thanks, but I’m going to stick with my earlier decision. I’m not guilty and I’m not going to say that I am. No deal.”

  CHAPTER 98

  “Jessica, the jury is back,” Nate said. “They have a verdict. I’m driving to the courthouse now.”

  “I’ll see you there,” she replied.

  She ended the call, shoved her phone into her purse, and hurried out to her car, leaving the antique shop in the care of the sales assistant.

  Her hands were jittery on the wheel as she drove to Oakland. She prayed through the entire trip. She had been praying almost every waking minute of the two days since the jury went out—asking for wisdom and discernment for the jurors and justice for Brandon. And peace for herself.

  She arrived at the courthouse and went through security, which seemed to take an unreasonably long time. She rushed toward Judge Whittaker’s courtroom, but a deputy called after her, saying she’d forgotten her cell phone. She went back for it, then hurried off again.

  She was slightly out of breath as she pushed open the heavy doors to Judge Whittaker’s courtroom and found everyone there—except the judge, the jury, and Brandon.

  Nate got up from his table and came over to her. He put his hand in the middle of her back and guided her out into the hall again.

  “Brandon needs to be here when the verdict is read,” he said. “They just left the jail with him five minutes ago, so it will be at least half an hour before the jury comes in and we get the verdict. I apologize—I should have told you there was no need to rush.”

  “That’s fine,” she said automatically, then paused to catch her breath. “Do you know anything?”

  He shook his head. “None of us gets any advance notice of the verdict. Everyone in that courtroom will find out at exactly the same time.”

  “Oh.” She looked at the courtroom doors, unsure what to do.

  “If you’d like to get a cup of coffee or go for a walk, I can text you when Brandon arrives.”

  “No, I want to be there when he comes in,” she said. “He’s going to be nervous and scared—even more nervous and scared than I am.”

  Nate gave her a sympathetic smile. “Of course. Well, at least it won’t be long now.”

  But it was long. Agonizingly long. The minutes crawled by like snails. Slow snails.

  Jessica sat in her usual spot, alone with her thoughts. The courtroom was silent except for the little background sounds that she never noticed before—the buzz of the lights, the whir of the ventilation, the little creaks whenever someone moved, the soft clicks as the clerk tapped on her keyboard.

  The side door of the courtroom opened, and Jessica jumped. A policeman came in and took a position by the door. Brandon followed. For the first time, he wore his red jail uniform to court. She won
dered whether she would ever see him in it again. Another policeman came in behind him, and everyone took the positions they had become accustomed to over the past week.

  The clerk picked up a phone handset and said. “Everyone’s here.”

  A moment later, the judge appeared.

  “All rise,” the bailiff intoned.

  Then the jury filed in and took their places in the box. They didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

  “Have you reached a verdict?” Judge Whittaker asked.

  “We have,” said one of the jurors, who held a sheet of paper. She was a short woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a bun. Jessica couldn’t remember her name.

  “Please read the verdict,” the judge said.

  The woman nodded. “We, the jury, find the defendant, Brandon Ames, guilty of second-degree murder.”

  CHAPTER 99

  Brandon felt like he had taken a hard punch to the head. His ears rang and his brain stopped functioning. The only thing that registered in his mind was the sound of his mother’s gasp behind him.

  People were talking, but he couldn’t follow what was going on. Nate asked each juror whether they agreed with the verdict, and they all said yes. Then the jurors all left. The judge, Nate, and the prosecutor had a conversation about schedules and sentences and hearings, but it all blurred together in Brandon’s head. Then Nate was saying something to him about an appeal and not worrying.

  Someone tugged at Brandon’s arm. He looked up and saw it was one of the policemen, who was now standing. He looked irritated. “I said, let’s go.”

  Brandon nodded dumbly and got to his feet. They led him out of the courtroom and down the corridor that would take him to the van that would take him back to jail.

  That’s when it really hit him. He was going back to jail. He was going to spend at least the next decade and a half behind bars. He started to shake.

  CHAPTER 100

  Failure swept over Nate like a tidal wave of fetid water. He had lost. And an innocent young man was going to prison for a long, long time as a result.

  He braced himself and turned to face Jessica. She sat on the bench behind him, still and pale. She was staring at the door her son had gone through, as if he might suddenly come back.

  “Come on, Jess,” he said gently. “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t move.

  He touched her shoulder and she looked up at him. “It’s time to go.”

  She nodded and got to her feet. She walked slowly down the aisle, like she was sleepwalking. He got ahead of her and opened the door, holding it for her.

  Once they were outside, he turned to her, mouthing the same hollow words he had spoken to Brandon a few minutes earlier. “Don’t get discouraged, Jess. This isn’t over. We’ll file a motion for a new trial. And if we lose that, we’ll appeal. I’m sure—”

  She looked down and her breath caught. She put her face in her hands.

  “I’m sorry, Jess,” he said.

  She started to sob.

  He took her in his arms and she buried her face in his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  CHAPTER 101

  Brandon sat on his bed, staring at the wall. It was dark in his cell, but the door let in slivers of harsh light, creating a grim chiaroscuro effect.

  His lips curled in a small, humorless smile. Chiaroscuro—there was a word he wouldn’t be using again for a long time, if ever. He had learned it from his mother, who was describing the dramatic light-and-dark look she was trying to create in a house she was decorating. That had been a year and a half ago, but in an entirely different life.

  This was his life now. Boxed in by hard concrete and surrounded by harder men. Months of boredom and tedium punctuated by moments of blood and terror. That’s what he had to look forward to, quite possibly for the rest of his life. He hadn’t been sentenced yet, but he knew that the law on second-degree murder called for a sentence of fifteen years to life.

  The thought of all those years behind bars was suddenly a crushing, suffocating weight on his soul. He had known that it was possible that he would be convicted, of course. But he hadn’t felt it. Not really. Not until now.

  He wasn’t even angry anymore. Anger took energy, and he had none. He was numb and empty. Defeated.

  Even if he got out after fifteen years, he would be unemployable. Who in their right mind would hire a murderer? He pictured himself middle-aged, semihomeless, eking out an existence by collecting cans and bottles for a few bucks in recycling deposits. He’d probably need to dumpster dive to keep from going hungry.

  It would be an unendurable life.

  So why endure it?

  His gaze traveled over the shadowy interior of his cell. A pipe ran along the ceiling over the sink and toilet. He had used it for pull-ups, so he knew it was strong enough to hold his weight. He could easily make a noose out of his sheet. No one would check on him for hours, by which time it would be too late to interfere.

  His mind traveled back to the moment his life really ended, when the jury pronounced him guilty. One minute, he had been a bundle of nerves, but hopeful. The next, he was an empty shell, a dead man walking.

  Then he remembered what happened the next instant. His mother gasped. It was a small sound but full of feeling. Full of pain.

  How would she feel if he killed himself?

  He couldn’t do that to her, no matter how hard things got. He abandoned the thought of suicide and lay down. He closed his eyes and did his best not to think about the future.

  CHAPTER 102

  Nate hadn’t been looking forward to the transition meeting at the Public Defender’s Office. He hated the idea of handing off a case after losing a jury verdict. He felt like he was asking someone else to clean up his mess. Well, they’d probably do a better job than he could.

  That was fine. He had a lot of work to do back at B&B, and the fewer distractions he had, the better. It was time to simplify his life, focus on the things he did well and that made him happy—and eliminate everything else. The sale of his house closed yesterday, and that had been a step in the right direction. Disentangling himself from Brandon’s case was another.

  He and Jessica sat on one side of the table in the public defender’s conference room, and Eric Jameson and Sofia sat on the other side. Eric was finally done with his other case and was turning to Brandon’s. Sofia wasn’t on the case anymore—or even officially back at work yet—but she wanted to be part of the meeting. She was pale and thinner, and she moved slowly—but she was as bright and energetic as ever. Jessica, however, was still subdued, over a week after the jury’s verdict. He could hardly blame her.

  The meeting was businesslike and somewhat perfunctory. Eric was polite and complimented Nate’s work, but it was clear that he didn’t think there was much more for Nate to do. Eric could handle the rest of the trial-court proceedings and any appeals on his own. If he had any questions, he would call.

  Nate wondered whether Jessica would ask that he stay actively involved in the case. But she didn’t. That was probably the right decision. Eric seemed competent and focused, and he had done this sort of thing a dozen times before, whereas Nate would be learning—and making more errors—on the fly. His name would stay on the pleadings, but Eric would take over the case.

  The meeting broke up at noon. Eric headed back to his office, and Sofia escorted Nate and Jessica to the elevator.

  “If you have time, I’d be happy to buy you two lunch at your family’s restaurant,” Nate said. “I’ve been missing Pescadero’s crab cakes.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Sofia patted her slender belly. “Taking a bullet through the stomach puts you on the most boring diet imaginable, especially if you’ve got a hyperconservative doctor. So, no spicy crab cakes for a while. But on the bright side, I’ve lost fifteen pounds. I should write a book called The .38-Caliber Diet.”

  Nate laughed and Jessica smiled. “Well, let me know when you’re ready for a meal of good seafood,” he
said. “I’m buying.”

  “Oh, I will,” Sofia said as the elevator arrived.

  Nate and Jessica rode down together. “Can I buy you lunch, Jess?”

  “Thanks, but I have to get back to the shop,” she said. “I’ve been taking a lot of time off because of Brandon’s case, and I need to make it up.”

  He nodded. “Come to think of it, I should also get back to the office. It’s remarkable how much work was waiting for me when I came back from my leave of absence.”

  The elevator doors opened and they walked through the lobby in silence. They reached the street, where their paths separated.

  “Goodbye, Jess,” he said.

  With relief, he turned toward the BART station that would take him back into San Francisco, back to his life.

  This whole thing had been a mistake—or rather a series of mistakes—from the moment he agreed to get involved until the jury’s verdict. It had been a mistake to represent Brandon, especially when he already had Sofia. It had been a mistake to stay in the case after Jade showed up. It had been a mistake to reject the ten-month continuance and take the case to trial on his own. And most of all, it had been a mistake to let himself get close to Jessica again. His feelings for her had undermined his judgment at every step along the way.

  He couldn’t fix any of those mistakes, but he could at least stop making new ones. It was time for him to walk away, both literally and figuratively.