by Carsen Taite
She pushed through the doors of the building and took a look around. The reception area was cozier and more welcoming than she would’ve expected from a well-known attorney. The attorney who’d represented her father at his trial had been court appointed, and although he had an office, he’d always wanted to meet with them at the courthouse, crammed into one of the rooms for defense attorneys at the back of the courtroom. They’d stood in a corner listening to his summary of the evidence and plea negotiations, her mother asking questions while she kept her mouth shut like a good girl. Later she learned the attorney was court appointed because her father lost his job when he’d been arrested, and he’d already spent their savings on his affair and the drugs he used to be someone else—someone who forgot he had a family to care for. How had he, an inmate of the Texas Department of Corrections, afforded these attorneys with their fancy office?
“Can I help you?”
Riley looked up to see a gorgeous redhead standing a few feet from her, and she wondered how long she’d been standing in the middle of the reception area lost in thought. “I’m here to see Morgan Bradley. My name is Riley Flynn.”
The woman smiled and it was full of warmth. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Morgan. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Riley.” She motioned to a door. “Come on back.”
Riley followed her to a beautiful conference room. On the conference room table were stacks of files, in neat rows. “Looks like you’re in the middle of a big case.”
Morgan chuckled. “Always, but this one is about to be over. These are your father’s files. He asked me to give you access to everything and answer any questions you have. I’ve blocked out some time today, and we can make an appointment for next week after his hearing if you have more questions.”
Riley stared at the files, overwhelmed by the amount of material. She wouldn’t even know where to begin. “Could we start with a rundown of what next week’s hearing is about?”
“Sure.” Morgan motioned to one of the chairs. “Have a seat.” She waited until Riley was settled. “Hearing is probably not the best word for it since it’s unlikely there will be any witnesses for the judge to hear. Basically, we’ve filed motions asking the judge, in light of the issues with your father’s case that led to the conviction being overturned, to declare him actually innocent.”
“I’m pretty sure I know the answer to this, but how is that different from having the conviction overturned?”
“In theory, if the conviction is nullified, the DA’s office can start over with a new trial and try again because there was essentially no verdict. But if the judge declares him innocent, then jeopardy attaches, and he can’t be tried again. Plus, and this hasn’t been important to Frank, but he is eligible for a heightened level of compensation for his wrongful incarceration if he’s found to have been innocent.”
“He’ll get money?”
“Yes. It’s usually a set amount for the number of years he served.”
Riley let the information gel for a moment. “How did he afford to pay you, or is he counting on this money to pay your fees?”
“Our firm took his case pro bono. We take on at least one big appellate case a year in consultation with the Innocence Project. They don’t have the resources to handle every case that comes to them, and although our contribution is small, we feel like it’s important to do our part.”
“You keep saying ‘we.’” Riley looked around for reference to who else she might be talking about. “Who else worked with you on my father’s case?”
Morgan smiled broadly. “My law partner, Parker Casey. I’d introduce you, but she’s in trial this week. Parker was a big help on your father’s case. She used to be a homicide detective with the Dallas Police Department, as is the investigator we use, and they are both very familiar with the proper procedures and protocols for handling evidence.”
“Parker sounds like a valuable resource.”
“She is.” Morgan smiled broadly. “She also happens to be my wife, so I can vouch for her personally.” She leaned forward and crossed her hands on the table. “I realize that might not mean much to you since you don’t know me very well, but feel free to ask around. I have a reputation for getting to the truth, and that’s what happened in this case.”
“Why didn’t his original attorney learn all of this?”
“I don’t know. I don’t mean to cast aspersions in hindsight, but I can’t excuse the fact he didn’t dig very deep at all. Unfortunately, there are some attorneys who take on more than they can handle. The court appointed system unwittingly supports that when judges load up attorneys with lots of cases and the attorneys are making so little on each case, they are motivated to take on too much. But it’s not entirely his fault. The detectives assigned to the case appear to have actively hidden information from him. It’s much harder to get to the truth if you don’t know it exists.”
“The DNA?”
“Yes.”
Riley took a moment to process this information. “What makes a cop do something like that?”
“Good question. And let me be the first to say, I think most police officers are honorable people who risk their lives every day for very little money or recognition. That said, I think we’re all motivated by a desire to be right, to find confirmation of our beliefs. These detectives were convinced your father was the killer, and they weren’t wrong to look at him as a suspect. Their shortfall was their failure to look beyond their initial beliefs and check their assumptions. If they had, they likely would’ve found the real killer, but to do so would’ve resulted in difficulty for one of them.”
“The one whose sister-in-law was the parole officer?”
“Right. I think both detectives were at fault here, but when it comes to the more active cover-up, he’s the one who had the most to lose.”
“You said the hearing would consist primarily of motions. Can I get copies of those?”
Morgan reached toward the closest stack of paper. “I had a feeling you might ask and I’ve prepared a binder with all of the appeal filings. Most of it is fairly boring legalese, but you’ll get the gist.” She handed a thick black binder to Riley.
“Thank you. One more question, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“What are his chances? Of being declared innocent, I mean?”
“If the DA’s office follows through with their decision not to retry the case, I think the judge will take that as a strong signal they do not have a solid case, but it’s not a guarantee of innocence. That said, I think the chances are good.” Morgan paused. “Do you plan to be at the hearing?”
Riley’s skin started to crawl as the memory of being in court for the reading of her father’s trial verdict came surging back to her. She’d been in the front row of the courtroom, seated next to her mother, standing directly behind her father when the jury filed back into the courtroom. Even though her father’s attorney had said not to read anything from their expressions, their downcast eyes spoke volumes, and she felt her knees lock and her palms grew sweaty. Her father looked back and gave her a comforting smile, reminiscent of a time in her childhood when their relationship was close, but she could see the edge of fear in his eyes and knew he was as worried as she was. She remembered thinking he’d been missing from her life for a while now; why did she suddenly care about the prospect of losing him completely?
“Are you okay?”
Morgan’s gentle voice penetrated her thoughts and she shook away the memory. She was an adult now and she’d done without her father for the majority of her life. Whatever happened next week, she could handle it with the same fortitude she’d handled what had come before, but she didn’t need to be in the room when it happened. In the meantime, she had her own legal issues.
“Do you know Detective Claire Hanlon?”
“I do,” Morgan said. “But she wasn’t involved in your father’s case. I don’t think she was even in the department back then.”
“I didn’t thi
nk so,” Riley said, torn between wishing she’d kept her mouth shut and wanting to know everything possible about the woman who had been dogging her every move. She ignored the roaring anxiety that came with wondering about Claire and pressed on. “I guess I’m just curious about your impression of her overall. She’s investigating two recent murders. The one from Deep Ellum and the one—”
“By the Margaret Hunt Hill Bridge,” Morgan said, finishing her sentence. She cocked her head. “Detective Hanlon is a cop’s cop. She is very loyal to the department and is on her way up the ranks from what I hear. Do you mind me asking how you know she’s involved in those investigations?”
Riley hesitated, uncomfortable about sharing Claire’s fixation with her and her father with a stranger when she hadn’t even mentioned it to her father. She’d considered calling him, but every time she got close to picking up the phone, she experienced a sense of dread at the idea of reconnecting over the very kind of thing that had severed their relationship in the first place. Hey, Dad, Dallas cops think you might be guilty of murder again. Okay, bye. No matter how many times she played potential scripts, she couldn’t see the conversation leading anywhere good. But she could tell Morgan. After all, she’d voluntarily taken on his legal battles. What was one more to add to the list?
“Claire, uh, Detective Hanlon, has asked questions about my father. Whether I think he really killed Linda Bradshaw. Whether I’ve been in contact with him.” She took a breath and realized she needed to give more context. “I’m in an urban sketch group and we were in Deep Ellum at the exact spot where Jill Shasta was discovered earlier that day. Detective Hanlon and her partner have questioned most of us who were there that day, but they—she’s—taken a particular interest in me. I don’t know if she thinks I’m involved, but I suspect it’s because I’m Frank Flynn’s daughter.”
Morgan asked a few questions and made some notes of every conversation Riley had with Claire about Frank. “Thank you for telling me about this. Have you spoken to your father about it?”
“No, I’ll let you handle that. We’re not exactly close.”
“I imagine fifteen years apart will do that.”
“It’s more than the span of time. We’d grown apart before he went to prison. He’d changed.”
“I get it.”
They sat for a few moments in silence, and Riley appreciated that Morgan didn’t feed her a bunch of platitudes about how he might be different now. “I should probably go.”
“What are you going to do about Detective Hanlon?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if she’s got her sights on you for this case, she’s not likely to let go.”
“I’m not worried. I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Said half the people who hire me,” Morgan said. “Trust me. Claire Hanlon is tenacious. You’re better off not talking to her at all.” Morgan handed her a business card. “If she contacts you again, tell her you’d be happy to talk to her, but to go through me. I’ll get her off your back.”
Riley stared at the card in Morgan’s hand, tempted to turn it down, but she took it out of courtesy. “I should get going. I have a class to teach this afternoon.” She stood to leave.
“Art class?” At Riley’s surprised look, Morgan added, “Your dad mentioned you are a very talented artist and that you’re teaching at Richards College.”
“It pays the bills until I make it big.”
“I’d love to see your work.”
The echo of Claire’s request was disconcerting. Riley started to invite Morgan to the gallery opening, but she stopped. The invite seemed too intimate for someone associated with her father.
Morgan seemed to sense her discomfort and pushed past the unanswered request. She pointed at the card in Riley’s hand. “Call me anytime. Seriously, I’ve really enjoyed working on your dad’s case and I’m happy to answer any questions you have that might come up later. Let me know if you change your mind about attending the hearing. I’m meeting with your mom and dad before it starts, and I know a semi-secret way to get past the press. You’re welcome to join us.”
Riley nodded, but she had no intention of taking her up on the offer. As she walked back to her car, she reflected on the meeting. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she’d set up the meeting with her father’s attorney, but a smart, savvy, sharp woman like Morgan Bradley hadn’t been it. Everything about Morgan, including her passion for her point of view, reminded Riley of a slightly older version of Claire. Morgan’s advice about not talking to Claire again replayed in her mind. It was good advice and she resolved to follow it, because talking to Claire always left her with a jumbled mix of feelings, part annoyed, but mostly intrigued.
Chapter Thirteen
Claire glanced over at Nick who was staring straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel. It was Wednesday evening, and they were on their way to Buster Creel’s house. They’d been stuck in traffic for thirty minutes with little but the music from the radio to fill the tense air between them. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words in the last two days, and Claire missed their playful banter. It was quickly becoming clear that it would be up to her to break the ice.
She reached into her bag. “I found these new energy bars. They’re made of pretzels, sriracha, honey, and peanuts. Sweet and savory, the perfect combo.” She set one on the console. “Thank me later.”
“I’m good.”
“Seriously, Nick, are you going to stay mad at me forever?”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Annoyed then.”
“Maybe a little.” He looked over at her. “Can you blame me?”
She couldn’t. If he’d been sneaking around, talking to witnesses and ordering surveillance on suspects without checking with her first, she would’ve given him an ultimatum—work with her or find a new partner. Whatever she tried to tell herself, her encounters with Riley Flynn should be out front and open, and hiding them meant the feelings she was concerned might take over already had. If she were in a twelve-step program, it would be time for the one about admitting the exact nature of her wrongs. And it must be wrong, or she wouldn’t be trying to hide it, right?
There was only one way to make sure she didn’t do any permanent damage to her relationship with Nick. “Since you’re already annoyed, I may as well tell you everything.” Claire took a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to Riley Flynn. Without you. I was with her the night before Wendy Hyatt’s body was found.”
Nick didn’t react except to tighten his grip on the steering wheel. Claire watched him carefully as he slowed the car and pulled over into the parking lot of a convenience store on the corner of the intersection. Once the car stopped, he shifted into park and turned to face her directly.
“What did you say?”
There was no going back into hiding now. Claire plunged ahead. “I ran into Riley when I was headed into Jill Shasta’s funeral. She was on her way to teach a class and I caught up with her after, hoping she might be more willing to talk one-on-one. We went to Mia’s and ate dinner and I asked her about the case. She didn’t tell me jack shit.”
“I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”
“Well, say something because I can tell you’re mad.”
“You’re the one who’s mad, like mad crazy. What time did you finish dinner? Where did she go afterward? You know that Reyes said the time of death could be as early as Thursday evening, right? Riley could’ve left you, killed Hyatt, and dumped her at the bridge that night. And you’re worried about me being mad?”
Claire wanted to argue with him, tell him the Riley she’d spent time with was unlikely to be the killer, but he was right that she’d been careless, and she was tired of being out of sorts with her partner. “I should’ve told you.”
“You think?” Nick’s voice was raised, a rare occurrence. “Okay, maybe I was mad. You should’ve told me, but more than that, what were you thinking having dinner with her?�
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She hadn’t been thinking, but there was no sense pointing out the obvious. She didn’t have anything to say other than it felt right at the time, which was the real issue distilled down to its finest point. Her attraction to Riley felt right no matter how much she knew it wasn’t. She didn’t expect anyone else to understand, not even Nick who knew her better than most. She settled on a partial truth. “I thought if I met with her one-on-one, in a casual setting, she might open up.”
“Did she?”
“Not really. I don’t get the impression she’s close to her father, which makes sense since he’s been away for fifteen years, but she’s also oddly protective of his reputation.”
“Family ties are strong.”
“I guess. She seems pretty conflicted about him overall.”
“Did it occur to you that might be a cover?”
“Since when are you convinced she might be involved in these killings?” Claire asked. “You gave me shit for considering her in the first place.”
“Yep. I dismissed your theory and that was wrong, but no more wrong than you having your own private eye party without telling me. How about we agree to work together and share information like partners are supposed to?”
Claire relaxed, relieved at the overture. “Deal. And I am sorry.”
“Noted.” He pulled back out onto the road. “Now that I know about the surveillance, tell me what you’ve found out.”
“I wish I had something to report.” Claire pulled up the email she’d received this morning. “Yesterday, Riley left her house around two and returned around six. She had a class downtown in the afternoon, which is likely where she was. The patrol unit didn’t spot Frank leaving the house at all, but apparently he doesn’t have a car, so he’s a little harder to keep tabs on.” She thumbed through the message. “No signs of movement at either house today.”