by Carsen Taite
She didn’t wait for Cory’s response before she shut the door behind her and walked to the car. As she drove away, the image foremost in her mind was the huge bouquet of deep red roses and Cory’s reaction to them. There were layers to Cory she may never see.
But she wanted to.
Chapter Seven
Cory called a cab the next morning. She’d be glad when her car was out of the shop and she had more freedom. Dallas wasn’t a city designed for those without wheels.
While she waited for the cab she filled a travel mug with a third cup of coffee. She needed at least that much to get through the first half of the day. No sleep. All she wanted was to crawl back in bed, but bed hadn’t been her friend the night before. She’d tossed and turned most of the night. Thoughts of her future, feelings about Serena—both had conspired to rob her of sleep.
Julie had left two messages on her phone, both stating she was lonely and urging her to call. She’d ignored the pleas. The massive arrangement of roses sat on her dining room table. Cory passed it on her way out the door and fingered the card. She’d read it several times yesterday, after Serena had left. “You deserve the best. Always.” It wasn’t signed.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t decipher a secret message in the sparse phrase. How like Julie, to be guarded even when expressing affection.
When she arrived at the clinic, she felt out of sorts. Other than foisting her off on Serena the day before, Paul hadn’t really discussed what her role would be while she lived out her sentence here at the clinic. The receptionist wasn’t at her desk, so Cory wandered the halls of the office in search of Paul. She found him in a makeshift library, hunched over what looked like several volumes of trial transcripts.
“Hi, Cory. Glad to see you back for another day.” Paul’s smile was infectious, and Cory couldn’t help but smile back. He tapped the shoulder of the man next to him and motioned for him to turn around. “Greg Levin, meet Cory Lance. Cory, Greg’s our senior writ counsel and he’s going to take the lead on the Eric Washington case.”
Greg offered his hand and Cory shook it. Would she be working with Greg? What would Serena think about him? Senior writ counsel. He certainly sounded experienced. Serena would want the best working on her brother’s case. She should be happy for her.
“Nice to meet you, Greg. I introduced Serena to an investigator yesterday, and I’m ready to get started. Just let me know what you’d like me to do.”
Greg shot a puzzled look at Paul who intervened. “Cory, I thought we’d have you work in our intake division. We have a few interns who could use guidance from a pro about evaluating whether a case fits our services. I’m sure Greg will let you know if he needs help on the Washington case, but why don’t you come with me now and I can introduce you to the rest of the staff.”
They were halfway down the hall before it hit her. She wasn’t going to be working on cases. She’d be pushing paper to serve her time. Paper about strangers. Not Eric. Not Serena.
She went through the motions as Paul introduced her around the office. She could barely remember anyone’s names, but then again, it didn’t seem important since she wouldn’t be sticking around. She did notice that Paul used delicate phrasing to describe her experience. She was by turns a “veteran trial attorney” and a “seasoned litigator.” Did the clinic employees know who she really was? Her name had been splashed all over the papers for a few weeks. Kind of hard to imagine they wouldn’t have a clue that the enemy was in their midst. Yet, Paul treated her like an equal, no judgment, no animus.
“Here’s where we have the students set up.” He motioned her into a small room, sparsely furnished with three folding tables and a scattering of mismatched chairs. “The interns usually don’t show up until after their morning classes, around ten. I’ll stick around until then and help you get started.” He pointed to a brass coat stand in the corner. “Make yourself comfortable. I realize it’s not the kind of space you’re used to, but we use most of the donations we receive for legal talent, not for furnishings.”
“No problem. I’m used to county digs. Not much plush about the offices at the courthouse.” Cory hung up her coat and settled in at one of the tables. Paul pulled over a box and sat beside her. He reached in and pulled out a rubber-banded stack of mail.
“We get literally hundreds of requests for help every month. The first step is weeding through the letters to figure out if there might be a viable claim. Next, we identify which cases need immediate attention. You might say intake is a bit like triage.”
“Except I won’t be doing any actual treatment.”
Paul folded his hands on the table and fixed her with a stare. “No, you won’t. It’s not because of where you come from; it’s mostly because I don’t know how long you’ll be with us.” He stopped and appeared to consider his next words carefully. “I’m not going to lie. I know all about the Nelson case. We didn’t work on it, but the indigent defense community is small. Word gets around. But here’s the deal: I believe in the inherent good of people. I believe that someone can make a mistake and live to redeem themselves another day. Maybe that’s why I don’t believe in the death penalty. It forecloses all possibilities.” He sighed. “Sorry, I get on a tear sometimes. All I meant to say is, here you start fresh. You’re a lawyer and you’re here to help us out. I don’t care where you came from and where you’re going. While you’re here, work hard, work smart, and keep an open mind. That’s all I ask.”
Cory had spent her entire professional career prosecuting criminals of all shapes and sizes. She’d stared evil in the face and raised many a glass of whisky in celebration of guilty verdicts, long prison sentences, and capital punishment. She believed in the death penalty, even considered it necessary. She didn’t agree with Paul’s ideology, but his request was fair. She could do this. It wasn’t forever.
Paul spent the next hour explaining the process they’d set up for reviewing and prioritizing the requests for assistance. By the time he left, Cory felt overwhelmed by the volume of correspondence and the level of care required to evaluate each cry for help. Most of the cases were hopeless, and had been so from the start. Once a defendant was convicted at trial, the burden to overcome the jury’s guilty verdict rested entirely on his or her shoulders. And it was a heavy burden. The cases Cory had to review had already wound their way through several sets of appeals, from the trial judge who had originally heard the case to the two layers of appeals courts in Texas. Some had gone even further, all the way to the United States Supreme Court before seeking their last chance with the Justice Clinic.
The appeals for help generally recognized they were running out of hope, and they were heart wrenching. Cory was deep into an emotional letter from the mother of an inmate when she heard a familiar voice.
“Working hard, as usual.” Skye Keaton stood in the doorway. Except for the day before at the bar, Cory hadn’t seen her in over a year. Skye had been a regular lead witness in many of the cases she prosecuted until her abrupt departure from the Dallas Police Department. Cory knew the official story. Skye had decided to pursue other interests, but she also knew the scuttlebutt. Skye had been asked to resign after she disclosed mishandling of evidence to a defense attorney on a prominent case. Cory figured the truth fell somewhere in between. She wondered what the gossips were saying about her own sudden departure from the side of law and order.
“Come on in. I could use a break.” Cory gestured at the boxes on the floor beside her. “Lots of bleeding heart pleas for justice.”
Skye slid into one of the chairs and crossed her legs. “You so sure some don’t deserve a second look?”
She wasn’t, but she didn’t feel like admitting it. Hell, if she couldn’t trust a former cop, who could she trust? “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what to think about most of these letters. I guess I figure if someone’s sitting on death row or spending the rest of their life in prison, they’ll probably say anything to get someone to take a second look.”
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“Would you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Would you say anything if it meant you could get your case a second look?”
The knowing expression on Skye’s face urged Cory to tread cautiously with her response. “I don’t have a case. Not sure what I’d do, but I’d like to think I’d have a fair perspective.”
“We all would, but when you’re in the middle of a case, it’s hard to be objective. Doesn’t mean what you see isn’t right.”
“I guess that’s true.”
Skye leaned across her chair and shut the door. “How about you? I’m willing to bet you got a bum deal. How long are you out for?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” And she didn’t.
“Doesn’t do any good to keep it to yourself.” Skye’s stare was intense, and Cory did her best not to flinch under the scrutiny. Keeping it to herself was working just fine. She was biding her time here, with these files, with these pseudo victims. Soon, she’d be back doing what she did best. Back in a courtroom, seated at the prosecution table.
She thought about the roses. Julie would keep her promise. She had to believe that or she’d never make it through. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I just did my job.”
Skye stood. “The line between job and justice gets blurry sometimes. Take it from someone who knows. I let things get blurry. Nowadays, I can see clearly. You want to know what I learned?”
Cory wanted the uncomfortable conversation to be over, but Skye wasn’t going to let it be until she’d said her piece. She didn’t have to act interested though. She projected as much apathy as she could into her tone. “Sure, Skye, what have you learned?”
“We’re working in a blurry business. You may think everything can be defined as right and wrong, good and evil. It’s not that simple and things aren’t always what they appear. I was asked to resign after what I did on the Burke case. At first, I was angry. I lost everything, and the people who took it from me were convinced they were justified, that I was wrong. I don’t blame them. I’d thought just like they did until my moment of clarity. I did the right thing, even if I had to go against everything I’d believed in to find my way there.”
Skye’s confession moved her, but not enough to confide her own secrets. Skye had cut all ties to the life she’d led. Cory hadn’t. She wasn’t about to burn the bridge that would lead her back to the career she’d dedicated her whole life to. No matter how many bleeding hearts crossed her path. Not even if they intrigued her as much as Serena Washington did.
*
Serena pulled into the parking lot of the clinic and glanced at the cars already there. Did one of them belong to Cory? Her hope was mixed with apprehension. What did Cory think of her after she’d bared her soul the night before? Or would Cory be too preoccupied thinking about whoever had sent the beautiful flowers to give her and her problems a second thought?
Paul met her at the receptionist’s desk. “Serena, good to see you again. I understand you’ve hired Skye Keaton to work on your brother’s case.”
“Yes, I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t run it by you first. Cory recommended her, and we met with her yesterday. She seems very competent, and since she and Cory have worked together in the past, I thought she’d be a good fit.” Skye had intrigued her, but Cory’s recommendation was what sealed the deal. She barely knew Cory, but she trusted her. Completely at odds with her usual mode of operation. She didn’t make a habit of trusting folks, especially not ones she barely knew. Yet Cory had invited her into her house. Treated her like a real person, despite the fact she knew her brother was a convicted felon, a death row inmate.
Eric’s fate would be in good hands, and she realized she’d done all she could at this point. She hadn’t expected to hire an investigator so quickly, but now that she had, she should go home and let the professionals do their work, let her personal feelings go. But she needed to see Cory one more time before she left. “Is Cory here?”
“Yes. She showed up early this morning. Let me take you back to meet the attorney who’ll be working on your brother’s case and then you can stop in and see her.”
Serena followed Paul, slowly digesting his words. By the time he introduced her to Greg Levin, she’d figured it out. Cory wasn’t going to be working on Eric’s case. Was it a sudden change? Had her outpouring of personal information the night before sent Cory packing? She knew she’d shared too much. Now she’d have to relate the whole story of her and Eric’s childhood to another stranger. This time she’d give the short version, with none of the emotion she’d shared with Cory.
Cory. She’d counted on seeing her this morning. Even worn the navy wool suit and green silk blouse everyone said looked good against her mocha skin. She hoped the outfit would be comfortable later on the plane since she’d already checked out of the hotel. She risked a question. “I’m sure Greg’s a great attorney, but I thought Cory would be working on Eric’s case.”
Paul looked surprised. “Cory Lance?” At Serena’s nod, he added, “Cory’s just helping us out temporarily. I apologize if I gave you the impression she’d be taking the lead on Eric’s case.”
“You didn’t. My misunderstanding. I’m sure whoever you assign will be perfect.” She wasn’t sure of any such thing, but it seemed like the right thing to say. She wanted Cory, but she wasn’t sure if that desire had anything to do with her legal skills. It was probably better that she deal with this Greg guy instead. Less dangerous.
Greg Levine was young. At least he was younger than she expected. The little information she knew about the legal profession told her that even if someone went straight from college to law school, the soonest they’d graduate would be around twenty-five years old. Greg didn’t look much older than that, and Serena said as much after they shook hands.
“Good genes. I’m forty, just well preserved.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I get that a lot.” Greg laughed. “You have every right to ask about the man who’s going to represent your brother.” His expression turned serious. “And you should.”
Serena caught the undercurrent in his tone. “If someone had asked some questions of that pair who claimed to represent Eric at his trial, he might not be on death row. Is that what you mean to say?”
“I may not have been that blunt, and I’m certainly not here to lay blame, but whatever you can tell me about Eric and what happened at his trial might be helpful. The more information I have, the more tools I’ll have at my disposal.”
Serena sighed and then recounted for Greg the reasons she’d lost touch with her brother, why she wasn’t at his trial. Greg was a good listener, but matter-of-fact. Different than Cory. Probably a good thing. The way her emotions were rocketing all over the place, matter-of-fact was what she needed right now. And for facts, she wanted to get an idea of the next steps in her brother’s case. “Greg, I may not have a personal account of Eric’s trial, but I’ve read every piece of paper associated with Eric’s case. I know what’s been done and what hasn’t. What I need from you before I head back to Florida is a step-by-step of what comes next.”
“Fair enough.” Greg started drawing on a piece of paper. “Here’s the plan. Stop me if you have questions.” He sketched out a flowchart. “Ian has already taken your brother’s case as far as it can go through direct appeal channels. He also helped your brother file a writ of habeas corpus, claiming ineffective assistance of counsel, which was denied.”
“I don’t understand why that claim failed. If it’s apparent to a lay person like myself, shouldn’t it be easy for a judge to be able to tell those lawyers didn’t do everything they should have to defend Eric?”
“Short answer, yes. Complicated answer is that judges are lawyers and lawyers stick together. A lawyer would pretty much have to stand up during trial and scream ‘my client’s guilty’ before an appeals court would decide they were ineffective. I’m exaggerating, but not by much.”
“Why do th
ese claims even exist if no one can prove them?”
“Good question. I don’t have a good answer. In the meantime, here’s where we are—in order to get a stay, we need one of two things: proof that your brother isn’t competent and/or evidence that he’s innocent that either was withheld from the defense at the time of trial or that is newly available.”
Serena had read extensively on the subject of competence and knew how narrow the law defined the term. In order to qualify, Eric would have to be unable to understand the proceedings against him or assist in his defense. He may not have the best judgment, but he knew what was happening to him and he had shared all the information he had with his lawyers and urged them to investigate his defenses. “Eric is a lot of things, but incompetent isn’t one of them.”
“Agreed. Ian met with Eric on numerous occasions and had the same impression. In fact, it seems like Eric was very interested in assisting his lawyers during trial, but they didn’t follow-up on the points he made.”
“Again, I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t they listen to him? His life was on the line.”
Greg folded his hands over the chart, and faced her. “I have a probable explanation. You’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
“Eric has an extensive criminal history. He was acquainted with the victim. He had no verifiable alibi. A jailhouse snitch testified that Eric expressed remorse over his actions. I hate to say this, but I think his defense team went through the motions, but they believed he killed her.”
Serena struggled to contain her outrage. She was angry at the lawyers, angry at the system, but she was also angry with herself. After all, she’d come to believe Eric was capable of pretty much anything. She’d written him off, refused to believe he would ever become a productive member of society. Was it so hard to believe that two strangers, who’d been appointed to represent Eric and received very little money in exchange for a colossal drain on their time, might not bother to dig a little deeper? Who was she to judge?