Judgement Calls

by Alafair Burke

  tomorrow, and Landry and Taylor should be out by that afternoon. We

  need to talk about tying up the loose ends. We'll have problems going

  after Culver. You know that, don't you?"

  I told him I did, but he still seemed to think he needed to convince

  me.

  "Even if your victim can ID him, we're gonna have the same problems you

  had with Derringer. No physical evidence. No corroborating testimony,

  because everything you heard between the Derringers is hearsay. No

  direct evidence of intent to kill. Not to mention the time that's

  passed since the offense."

  "I know," I said.

  "You think this guy's attorney will go for a pre indictment deal?" he

  asked.

  "Depends on the terms," I said, "but, yeah. Culver's scared. Now that

  he knows the Derringers aren't going to kill him, I think he'd like to

  take his lumps and get it over with."

  "Alright. I was thinking of something like Rape Three. Have him do a

  few years but no Measure Eleven charges. Part of the deal could be a

  scholarship account for the girl, since this guy's got a business.

  How's that sound?"

  We both knew Culver deserved to go away for good. The Derringers may

  have pretended that the violence was staged, but it took people like

  Culver and O'Donnell to choose to believe it. The reality was that

  Griffith had come up with a deal that was the most we could hope for

  under the circumstances. Sometimes that's as close to fair as we get

  around here.

  "I'll call Henry Lee with it. He'll be happy to hear he doesn't have

  to try an actual case."

  "Then why don't you take the rest of the day off? I'd say you've

  earned it."

  I turned back before leaving the office. "Tim said he didn't give

  anything to Landry, that he assumed Forbes did," I said.

  "She gets out either way, Sam. Unless you think Forbes is a long-term

  problem, it's cleaner this way."

  "I can't make that call right now."

  "I know. That's why I made it."

  I started to leave again but stopped at the door.

  "Now what?" he said.

  "Thanks, Duncan."

  "Anytime, Deputy Kincaid."

  I ignored the stares again on the way back out of the courthouse. Let

  'em think I was in trouble. Tomorrow, I'd be a hero.

  I wanted to go home and sleep for the next twenty hours, but there was

  someone I needed to see.

  Like most prisons, the Oregon Women's Correctional Institute had been

  dumped in the middle of nowhere to avoid public outrage and plummeting

  property values. The only other buildings within a three-mile radius

  were two similarly ostracized yet essential enterprises, a casino and

  an outlet mall. Needless to say, the combination made for an

  interesting mix of soccer moms, prison families, and senior citizens in

  RVs.

  The guard brought Margaret Landry to meet me in one of the sterile

  rooms used for attorney-client conferences. As I had requested, he

  moved her in leg shackles and handcuffs.

  When he brought her into the room, I said, "I don't really think those

  are necessary, Deputy. Would you mind removing them and leaving us

  alone? I'm sure Ms. Landry and I will be just fine here without all

  of this."

  If the guard ever got tired of corrections, he should try Hollywood.

  His best attempt to look worried about my request was pretty realistic.

  He removed the cuffs and shackles and left us alone.

  I'd seen pictures of Margaret Landry, of course, but she'd aged

  considerably during her two years in prison. Assisted by too many

  cigarettes and too little sleep, she'd gone from looking well fed and

  nurturing to haggard and crotchety.

  After I introduced myself, she said, "I been dealing with someone in

  your office named O'Donnell."

  I dropped the bomb on her and announced that O'Donnell was dead. To

  simplify things, I told her that Jamie Zimmerman's murderers had been

  identified and killed, but not before they had shot Tim O'Donnell. I

  figured it might be hard to earn her trust if I revealed that a member

  of my office was a homicidal rapist. She'd get the details from

  someone else down the road, anyway.

  "Because of everything that's happened, you'll be getting out of here

  tomorrow," I said.

  "Where are they moving me to?"

  "You can stay wherever you want. Maybe with your daughters until you

  adjust to things. You're being pardoned, Margaret. You'll be free,

  with no criminal record."

  Her lower lip began to shake, and pretty soon she was crying.

  When she'd finally stopped trembling, she lifted her head to the

  ceiling. I couldn't tell if she was looking for answers or trying to

  thank someone, but I could tell she hadn't felt however she was feeling

  for a long, long time.

  "I never meant this to happen," she said. "I kept calling the police

  on Jesse, but wouldn't no one help me. When Jamie's body turned up and

  I saw her in the paper, I thought I'd finally get that son of a bitch

  out from under my roof, but they didn't believe me. They told me I

  didn't have no corroboration." I kept digging myself in deeper and

  deeper, and next thing I know I'm under arrest myself and can't take

  any of it back."

  "I feel bad for you, Margaret, but you put an innocent man in prison

  and kept the police from looking for the men who actually killed Jamie

  Zimmerman."

  "Jesse Taylor ain't no innocent, but you're right about that last part.

  As sorry as I feel for myself, I can't help thinking that them other

  girls would be alive if I hadn'ta done all this."

  I thought about letting her in on the truth about the Long Hauler, but

  the fact of the matter was, her actions had cleared the way for the

  Derringers to hurt Kendra and countless other girls. The rest of the

  story was minutiae.

  "The pardon will make it clear that you're innocent, Margaret. When

  you get out tomorrow, you'll not only be free, you'll have your good

  name back. It must have been awful for you these past years, having

  people think you did something so horrible, knowing you were

  innocent."

  Her eyes started to well up again.

  "And when you get out tomorrow, everyone's going to hear that you were

  telling the truth at your trial. They'll know that that detective,

  Chuck Forbes, helped you come up with corroboration to set up Jesse."

  Mid-sob, she went silent, and I heard her breath catch in her throat.

  It was time to ask the question that had brought me here.

  "You knew her, didn't you, Margaret? You knew Jamie Zimmerman. That's

  how you knew what kind of earrings to buy, how you knew her mother's

  phone number?"

  I'd seen the look on her face countless times. It's the look witnesses

  get when they want to talk but they're scared, even though they know

  you already know what they have to say.

  "After what you've been through, no one's going to prosecute you for

  trying to help yourself out a little on the stand. The only thing that

  changes here is what people are going to make of Chuck Forbes, whether

>   they're going to assume he did something that maybe he didn't do. The

  choice is yours, Margaret. You're getting out tomorrow either way."

  She was tough, but one more push should do it.

  "How'd you know her?"

  "She'd come into Harry's Place sometimes when she was trying to go

  straight." She started to explain that Harry's was the teen homeless

  shelter, but I let her know with a nod that I was familiar with it.

  "I went to Harry's for a while when I was volunteering for Art

  Therapy," she said. "They sent us out to different nursing homes and

  shelters to paint ceramics, arts and crafts, that kind of thing. Jamie

  was such a sweet girl. She stopped coming in for such a long time, and

  then I saw her in the paper. They found her body and they were looking

  for information. I started wondering who could do something like that

  to her. Then I started thinking that I lived with someone who could do

  that. A few days went by, and they still hadn't found her. I thought

  I could mess Jesse up with his parole officer, but then it just

  snowballed. I thought it would look even worse if they knew I knew

  Jamie, so I said I got it from that young cop. I'm so sorry. I'm just

  so sorry."

  I left her there crying. I needed the emotional energy for myself.

  When I got to my car, I found a message from Ray Johnson on my cell

  phone. He had run all the names of Frank and Derrick's known

  associates. Turned out that one of Derrick's old bunkmates was on

  probation for driving a brown Toyota Tercel with a suspended license.

  He spilled his guts the minute he heard Derrick and Frank were dead. He

  owed Derrick money and was repaying the debt by following me around and

  reporting back to Derrick. Derrick used the information about my

  whereabouts to break into my house, crank-call me, and feed the

  Oregonian anonymous tips about my sex life. Funniest thing was, a

  search of the guy's belongings turned up a dollar bill with his license

  plate number scrawled on it. He must've followed me on one of my many

  food stops.

  I thought the guy deserved a life sentence for helping the Derringers

  scare the shit out of me and publicly exposing my sex life, but in the

  end I wasn't sure he'd done anything illegal. Maybe I'd think about it

  later when my brain started to work again.

  For now, all I wanted was to go home and go to sleep. But I had one

  more thing to do. I sat in my car in the prison parking lot, staring

  at my cell phone, before mustering the courage to dial.

  The sound of his recorded voice was anticlimactic. I did my best at

  the beep, but I knew it was going to take more than a phone call.

  When I pulled into the driveway, he was waiting on the front porch. I

  had a lot to make up to him, if he'd give me the chance. It would

  start with a kiss on the forehead and, I hoped, a very long nap.

  Acknowledgments

  Judgment Calls is the product of the tremendous support I've been

  fortunate enough to enjoy throughout my legal career and during my work

  on this first novel.

  I am especially grateful to my colleagues at Hofstra Law School;

  Multnomah County Senior Deputy District Attorney John Bradley; Michael

  Connelly, Jonathon King, and Maggie Griffin for convincing me my

  manuscript would be finished; Jennifer Barth, editor-in-chief at Henry

  Holt, for her incredible work, intelligence, and creativity; Philip

  Spitzer, the most loyal and supportive agent on the planet; Scott

  Sroka; and, above all, my phenomenal family.

  Samantha's dedication and humanitarianism are modeled on the hard work

  I observed among former coworkers at the Multnomah County DA's Office.

  You know who you are.

  About the Author

  A former deputy district attorney in Portland, Oregon, Alafair Burke

  now teaches criminal law at Hofstra School of Law and lives on Long

  Island and in western New York. She is the daughter of acclaimed crime

  writer James Lee Burke. Judgment Calls is the first in a series

  featuring Samantha Kincaid.

  A former deputy district attorney in Portland, Alafair Burke now

  teaches criminal law at Hofstra School of Law and lives in Long Island,

  New York. She is the daughter of acclaimed crime writer James Lee

  Burke.

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