by Joel Goldman
“It won’t, but I’ll talk to Mitch Fowler. He’s the commander of the Homicide Unit. I’ll ask him to put Detective Rossi on Reed. If Reed comes close to Bonnie, Rossi will take him down.”
Alex lowered her chin, her voice soft. “Thanks.”
Bradshaw pulled the other chair close to hers. “Listen. You and I have a lot of history. I know we go in the courtroom and beat each other’s brains out and I know why we do it. And I know all that noble bullshit about the Constitution isn’t just a cliché. I know it matters. But we’re friends and Bonnie and I are friends. That matters to me just as much as the system, and when the system can’t protect our friends or the Hendersons or even for that matter garbage like Kyrie Chapman, we can’t just shrug it off and say that’s the way it goes. We’ve got to do something about it.”
Alex raised her head, her eyes moist. “I get it.”
Bradshaw stood. “Do you? I hope so. There’s a lot at stake.”
“So what happens next? You do your job while I do mine and hope that Rossi does his?”
Bradshaw stood and opened the door. “I know what Rossi is going to do and I know what I’m going to do. As for you, well, I guess you’ve got a decision to make.”
Alex rose. “What are you’re saying? That I should tank my client’s case to get him off the street?”
“I’d never tell you to do that. The system sucks, but it isn’t broken beyond repair.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll knock the drug charge down to a Class C felony for simple possession. He does a minimum of three years.”
“That’s it?”
“No. He stays in jail, enters the plea tomorrow, and starts serving his sentence immediately. That’s how we’ll get him off the streets. Convince him to take it and we’ll all sleep a lot better.”
“What about the murders?”
“The investigations are ongoing, but tell him that if he confesses now I’ll drop the drug charge. He gets life for the murders, but I don’t mean the get-out-in-thirty-years life. I mean consecutive life sentences for each murder so that he never sees the outside again. If he says no, tell him that I’ll make it my life’s work to see that he’s convicted and sentenced to death.”
Alex sighed. His plan made sense.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. Say hi to Bonnie,” he said.
Chapter Eighteen
ALEX HURRIED BACK TO THE COURTROOM. Judge Upton had finished with the last case and returned to his chambers. Four sheriff’s deputies were leading the defendants out a side door and into a hallway. From there, the deputies would herd them back to the jail. Alex caught up to them in the hall, grateful that she recognized one of the deputies.
“Deputy Paulson, hang on,” she said.
Paulson had spent his career escorting prisoners back and forth from the jail to the courthouse. He had a slight, stoop-shouldered frame, a thin face, and arthritic hands, relying on his badge and the prisoners’ shackles to maintain order. Paulson turned toward her and smiled when she called his name.
“What can I do for you, Counselor?”
Alex pointed to Dwayne. “I need a moment with my client.”
“You can follow along. Talk to him back at the jail.”
“I wish I could, but I’ve got to be in court in fifteen minutes, and this won’t take long. I promise.”
Paulson looked at one of the other deputies. “Jerry, come with me. Tom and Ralph, you guys take the rest on back. We’ll be along in a minute.”
“Thanks,” Alex said. “I need some privacy. There’s a witness room right around the corner. You and the other deputy can wait outside the door.”
Paulson shook his head. “I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t worry. I’m his favorite lawyer and his arms and legs are shackled. I can handle him.”
She reassured Paulson without any of the sarcasm she heard in her head. The thought of being Dwayne’s favorite anything made her skin crawl.
Paulson held up one hand, fingers spread. “Five minutes. That’s it. You want more than that, you’ll have to come to the jail.”
Back in the witness room, Alex pointed to one of the plastic chairs. She wanted the advantage of Dwayne looking up at her. “Sit.”
Dwayne dropped into the chair, head angled to one side, disinterested and cocky. “What up?”
“The prosecutor is offering you a deal.”
Dwayne narrowed his eyes. “How come?”
“What do you mean, how come? This is good news.”
“Sounds like good news to him if I take it. How that make it good news for me?”
“You’re charged with a Class A felony for possession with intent to distribute. That carries a minimum of ten years and a maximum of thirty or life. Bradshaw is offering to knock it down to a Class C, simple possession. Maximum sentence is seven years. He’ll settle for three but you stay in jail today. You’ll enter the plea tomorrow and immediately start serving your sentence.”
“Why I agree to stay in jail when you got me out? That shit don’t make no sense.”
“You’re only out until your trial.”
“When that gonna be?”
“Six months, maybe sooner, maybe later.”
“Why I wanna take that deal when you gonna get me off?”
“You can’t count on that, not after the police found enough crack in your pockets to get everyone on your block high.”
He smiled. “Shit, girl. You got me off for killin’ Wilfred, you sure as shit get me off for havin’ my mama’s crack in my jeans, ’specially since I never smoked that shit one time in my whole fuckin’ life.”
“The prosecutor never offered you a deal in Wilfred’s case, so you had nothing to lose by going to trial. Now you’ve got a choice. Do three years instead of taking the chance of doing ten to life. If the crack really was your mother’s and if you were just keeping her from using it, all you had to do was flush it down the toilet. Since you didn’t, there’s a good chance the jury will think it was yours and that you intended to sell it, and if they do, you’re going away for a long, long time.”
Dwayne was silent, thinking about what Alex had said. She liked the way the conversation was going. No one could fault her for the advice she was giving him. It was realistic and in his best interests. She’d be home free, her soul intact, if Dwayne took the deal. Her heart sank when he shook his head.
“This shit ain’t right. Bradshaw wants my ass for them murders. That’s why he tol’ the judge not to let me out. All he doin’ is tryin’ to squeeze me, get me to roll on that other shit. You tell him to go fuck himself.”
“You’re right about that. He does want you for the murders. He’ll drop the drug charge if you confess to killing Kyrie Chapman and the Hendersons. Do that and he won’t ask for the death penalty. You’ll get consecutive life sentences. No parole. You’ll die in prison but it won’t be on a gurney with a needle in your arm.”
Dwayne slammed his hands on the table and bolted from his chair, banging into Alex and knocking her against the wall. She was stunned for an instant, her breath taken away at how fast and fierce he was when provoked.
“Man! That shit is fucked up!”
Deputy Paulson swung the door open, one hand on the baton strapped to his hip. Dwayne retreated to the far corner of the witness room as Alex straightened and ran her hands across her jacket and slacks.
“You okay, Counselor?”
Alex’s heart was pounding. It was the first time she’d seen Dwayne explode with such violence, making it easy to imagine him savaging the Henderson family and erasing any doubt she may have had about his threat against Bonnie. She took a deep breath, not wanting to let Dwayne see how badly he’d shaken her.
“Fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. My client got a little excited and accidentally bumped into me. Nothing to be concerned about.”
Paulson glared at Dwayne. “Let’s wrap this up.”
Alex put her hand on the door. “We’re almost
done. I promise. Give me a few more minutes.”
Paulson waited a moment before nodding and closing the door. Alex turned to Dwayne. He was breathing hard, like he was pumping himself up, ready to go to war. She hoped he’d calm down, but the fire in his eyes didn’t fade and his jaw was clenched so tight that the muscles in his face were twitching, convincing her that he was a bomb that would blow up if she made one wrong move.
“Let’s at least talk about this, okay?”
“I said, tell that muthafucker to go fuck himself.”
“You’re sure about that? Because you’re taking a hell of a chance, not just on the drug charge, but if they can put the murders on you, the jury will give you the needle.”
He closed his eyes as if realizing that he had almost lost it, reining himself in, then opening his eyes, quieter and in control again.
“I like my chances wit’ you. Anyway.” He shrugged. “I got somethin’ I got to take care of.”
“What’s so important that you’d risk the death penalty?”
He gave her a half smile with his lips pressed tight together, his eyes hard, sending shivers through her. Cool Dwayne was as frightening as Exploding Dwayne, leaving her afraid of his answer.
“I promised a friend of mine I’d pay her a visit when she get home. Can’t keep my promise if I’m sittin’ in jail, and I always keep my promises, you feel me?”
Alex shuddered, fighting to keep her composure. She couldn’t ask whom he’d promised to visit without risking that he’d find out about her relationship with Bonnie, but she could ask another question that was just as important, breaking her rule again.
“Did you kill those people—the Hendersons and Kyrie Chapman?”
Dwayne cocked his head at her, the corners of his mouth curling into a cruel mask.
“Don’t matter, not if you my lawyer, do it?”
Deputy Paulson opened the door before she could answer. “Time’s up. You finished?”
“We finished,” Dwayne said and followed him out the door.
Alone in the cramped room, she could smell Dwayne’s raw scent. She closed her eyes, and it was strong enough to make her feel like he was standing next to her. He’d gotten inside her head and under her skin, infecting her with fear. Certain that his promise was the one he’d made to Bonnie, she sent a text to Bradshaw.
Dwayne said no. Said he promised to pay a friend a visit when she gets home. Has to be Bonnie. Tell Rossi! Please!
She sent another text, this one to Bonnie, asking her to call as soon as she could. She had to tell Bonnie what was going on, but she wasn’t certain how to say it, except she knew she couldn’t tell her in a text because Bonnie would freak out. Life in the ER could swing from slow to crazy in an instant. If nothing was going on, Bonnie would respond right away. If they were slammed, it could be hours.
She took a lap around the weathered wooden table, her fingers trailing across the surface, past carved initials and cigarette burns, past gouge marks and water stains. How many lawyers, she wondered, had sat at this table wrestling with a difficult case, weighing the merits of one decision or another? How many of them had made a choice that pushed them past the ethical canons, either justifying their breach by claiming a righteous purpose or merely surrendering to a baser impulse?
And what happened to them? Did it all work out? Did the client get what she needed, wanted, or deserved? Was anyone but the lawyer the wiser? And could such a thing ever truly work out as long as the lawyer had a conscience?
She knew one thing for certain. Bonnie would kill Dwayne Reed to protect her. It was time to find out what she would do to save Bonnie.
Chapter Nineteen
EVERY CASE HAD PROBLEMS. Alex knew that. If the facts were bad, she focused on the law. If the law was unfavorable, she focused on the facts. If both were against her, she’d make the best deal she could. That was life in the criminal justice system. Sometimes justice was blind and other times it was a sausage grinder churning out imperfect solutions to impossible problems.
But she’d never had a case with a problem like this. There was no point in going to the law library to research similar cases. There wouldn’t be any. She couldn’t ask her boss, Robin Norris, for advice because Robin would pull her off Dwayne’s case in a heartbeat and she’d lose whatever leverage she had to influence the outcome. And she couldn’t have a come-to-Jesus meeting with her client to convince him to do the right thing because that wasn’t in Dwayne’s DNA.
She needed someone to talk to, someone who’d rummage around in the dark corners of her problem and dig out a solution. There was one person she thought she could ask for help: Judge West.
Though he hadn’t come right out and urged her to cross the line in her defense of hard-core criminals, he’d implied as much. If she was right about his intent, he might show her a way out of the wilderness. If she was wrong, she’d be more lost than she already was, if that was possible.
Judge West was on the bench when she walked into his courtroom. Two lawyers were arguing a motion over admissibility of evidence in an upcoming trial. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes half closed, as the lawyers droned on. She approached the rail separating the judge and lawyers from the pews, not taking a seat, waiting for him to notice her. When he did, he sat up, interrupting the lawyer who was talking.
“Thank you, Counsel. I’ll take the matter under advisement.”
“But, Your Honor,” the lawyer said. “I haven’t finished my argument.”
“That is where you and I differ, Counsel. We’re adjourned.”
He banged his gavel, rose, and looked at Alex, cocking his head toward the door to his chambers. Alex nodded, passing the lawyers without making eye contact as they packed their briefcases.
Seated behind his desk, Judge West opened a drawer, retrieving his bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses.
“No, thanks, Judge. Too early in the day for me,” Alex said, standing behind one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“The way you came in my courtroom looking like Little Girl Lost, I figured a drink was exactly what you needed. Especially after what happened over the weekend. I have to say when I saw the news that I wasn’t surprised. Then again, I’m guessing you weren’t either. Must have been tough walking in on those bodies.”
“Very tough, Your Honor. Beyond tough, in fact.”
He studied her for a moment as she gripped the back of the chair, her knuckles turning white, her face flushed and her belly churning, pretending that it was the most natural thing in the world to be standing in his chambers deciding whether to take the first step down a path from which she’d never be able to turn back.
“Yes, I see that. Well, if you won’t have a drink, at least have a seat and tell me why you’re here.”
Alex nodded, loosened her grip, and eased into the chair. She looked at her hands like she didn’t recognize them and had no idea what to do with them, at last dropping them in her lap. She had the same uncertainty about what to do next, knowing that whatever she said could not be unsaid and that whatever she did would be forever done.
She considered how she had arrived at this moment, comparing herself to her clients. There was no mystery in how they found their way into trouble. Most of them saw crime as a logical, inescapable career choice. Being born was their first step.
She thought about those who were born into better circumstances, growing up privileged and powerful, having it all, only to fall from grace. What, she wondered, had the moment been like when they took their first step toward ruin? Did they recognize it for what it was? What rationalization clouded their vision, or did they rationalize at all, instead leaping into the abyss buoyed by certain invulnerability or encouraged by a conviction of entitlement? Or were they driven by a suspicion that they were unworthy of their station in life, secretly hoping to be caught?
Perhaps she had stepped onto this path that first day of law school when she and Tommy Bradshaw had fought over the meaning of justice. Or maybe her de
scent began the moment she realized she couldn’t live without Bonnie.
There was no way to know for certain, and it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the next words out of her mouth. She took a deep breath and looked Judge West square in the eye.
“I need your advice. Off the record.”
He poured himself a drink, sipped, and cradled the glass in both hands.
“If I can help you, I will. Off the record.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then this conversation never happened.”
She took another breath, wringing her hands.
“Thank you.”
She hesitated, turning her head from side to side, glancing around his chambers.
“It’s just you and me, Alex. I promise you. No hidden cameras or microphones.”
“I know. I know. It’s just that this is so hard.”
“Always is. Supposed to get easier, but I’m not so sure.”
She furrowed her brow. “Are we talking about the same thing?”
He took another sip. “I believe we are. We’re talking about your client, Mr. Reed, and what you’re going to do about him. Isn’t that so?”
She took another deep breath, this one filled with relief at not having to broach the subject. “How did you know?”
“You’re passionate about what you do. You’ve got to be when you represent the worst of the worst. But when that passion collides head-on with the harsh reality of a bad actor like Dwayne Reed, well, young lady, that is the worst kind of train wreck. You can’t help but question what the hell you’re doing.”
She swallowed hard. “That’s an understatement.”
“Tommy Bradshaw must have been fit to be tied when Judge Upton released Dwayne on his own recognizance.”
“How did you know about that?”
“There are some things I take a personal interest in. Your client is one of them. When something happens, people let me know. That’s one of the perks of having been around here as long as I have. Bradshaw should’ve known better than to go after Upton with that ridiculous residency complaint just because one of his moneymen got his feelings hurt. And now your client is back on the street and you’re worried about what he’s going to do next.”