by Carsen Taite
She’d woken before the dream could progress. A loud noise from the neighboring room had been to blame for the interruption. She considered closing her eyes and trying to recapture the pleasure she’d been robbed of, but she knew the chance that she’d drift back to the same dream was slight. Better to take a cold shower and forget the dream since that was all it was. But it was hard to forget. She’d always gone further in her fantasies than in real life, and up until now she’d been okay with that. Convinced that women who wanted to get in her bed, would want to be a part of every aspect of her life, she was content to keep things light. She’d kiss them, touch them, but naked and steamy wasn’t part of the deal. Her education, her job, her entire approach to life was sensible and cautious. After witnessing firsthand what a life of abandon had brought to her mother, she wouldn’t give everything she had to offer until she was ready. Was she ready now?
Rather than face the question, she considered going back to sleep. No, better to leave her dreams and face reality. She’d promised Cory she’d help her while she worked on Eric’s brief. As much as it pained her to think about being in close proximity to Cory all day, knowing Cory wanted her and knowing she wanted her as well, she had work to do and it was more important than satisfying her cravings.
After she showered and changed, Serena grabbed her purse and phone and started to head out the door when she heard her phone beep, signaling she had a voice message. She listened to Cory’s message that she had gone to see a witness with Skye and wouldn’t be at the office until later, and sighed with relief. Cory’s message said that Paul had given the rest of the staff the day off after working solid the past forty-eight hours. She ended with a promise to call later to check in.
Serena wasn’t sure what to do. She’d finished all her personal errands the day before. She could explore Dallas, but for once, she wasn’t in the mood to be alone. She wished she had some family or even a friend here, some tangible connection to the city where the most formative events in her life had occurred.
She realized she did have family, and even though he wasn’t in Dallas, he was close enough. She glanced at the calendar on her phone and confirmed that today was a visitor’s day. Who knew how many more times she might get to see Eric alive? She needed to make the most of whatever time they had. The thought resonated on more than one level. What she felt for Cory wasn’t the bond of family. Why did it have an even stronger pull?
*
Cory pulled up to the open parking lot outside of the Lew Sterrett Justice Center. Fancy name for the Dallas County jail. She’d been uncomfortable about this visit from the moment she’d gotten Skye’s message telling her where to meet. The building in front of the jail was the Frank Crowley Criminal Court Building, and she hadn’t been back there since the hearing that set Ray Nelson free.
She still had a parking card to the garage that connected to the court building, but she didn’t want to risk running into any of her fellow prosecutors who also parked there. Better to slip into the jail without being noticed.
Skye was waiting for her in the courtyard between the court building and the jail. She shook her hand. “He’s in the south tower, thank goodness.” She led the way without waiting for a response. The south tower, also known as the Kays unit, was the newest addition to one of the largest county jail facilities in the country. The unit was the easiest to access, and it hadn’t been open long enough to acquire the sour scent and layers of grime of the other two towers.
Cory jogged to catch up. “How do you know he’ll talk to us?
Skye stopped. “Oh, I guess I forgot to mention we’re not going to see Bolton. I have a little surprise for you.”
She started to walk off, but Cory tapped her on the shoulder. She hated surprises. “Hold it. I need a little more intel. I thought you were tracking down Bolton.”
“Oh, I found him. He’s here.”
“What’s he in for?” Cory asked.
“Aggravated sexual assault. It’s not his first.”
“Tell me Bolton didn’t have a felony conviction when he testified at Eric’s trial.” If he had and Eric’s trial team hadn’t been told, that was an egregious offense. The DA’s office had an obligation to provide the defense with any criminal history information on Bolton, a witness they sponsored. The record showed that Bolton only had a couple of misdemeanor convictions that the defense hadn’t been allowed to use to impeach him. Only certain misdemeanors could be used to challenge the credibility of a witness and Bolton’s DWI and marijuana possession convictions had been deemed not relevant by the trial judge. A felony conviction would have been a different story.
“He didn’t. At least not technically. He was on deferred adjudication probation for his first sexual assault. State didn’t disclose, but I’m not sure they had to. That case was from Michigan.”
Deferred adjudication was a special kind of probation, a huge carrot with an even bigger stick. If the defendant completed his probation successfully, he would not have a conviction on his record. If he fucked up, then the judge could haul him back into court and sentence him to the maximum prison term. “Gray area. Eric’s lawyers wouldn’t have been able to mention the sexual assault since he wasn’t actually convicted, but if I were them, I sure would have wanted to know about it. Do we know any of the details?”
Skye handed her a folded up piece of paper.
“What’s this?”
“Ann Arbor police report. You’re going to love this. He picked his victim up at a bar. Got into her car, rode back to her place, raped her, and took off.”
“You’re right. I do love it.” The similarities to Eric’s case were several—using the victim’s car, her house, the rape. “But he didn’t kill her.”
“Didn’t have to. She couldn’t remember anything beyond being at the bar and meeting him there. Cops suspected he used a date rape drug, but since those flush out of your system in about twelve hours, they couldn’t prove it. He claimed any contact was consensual.”
“How did he wind up on deferred?”
“With his claim she asked for it and her inability to remember anything, could’ve gone either way at a trial, so the state offered him probation.”
Cory nodded. A plea in a case like this saved everyone, especially the victim, the pain and anguish of a public trial. Getting rape victims to the stand was an arduous process, and while they wanted justice, closure was often more of a priority. “You think he may have been involved in McGowan’s case, don’t you?”
“After hearing more about Bolton’s past, don’t you?”
“Yep. He’d be a fool to talk to us.”
“And that’s why we’re going to talk to his cellmate instead. I reached out to a guard I know. He said Bolton’s got a big mouth. Guard put a bug in his cellmate’s ear and cellmate said he’d be happy to talk to us. Guy’s name is Derek Lanard.”
“Does he have a lawyer?”
“Yep. Johnson Lithgow with the PD’s office. I already spoke with him. He gave the go-ahead for us to talk to Lanard. Told me to steer clear of any questions about his new case, which is fine.”
“Guess Johnson trusts you.” Many public defenders viewed both current and former police officers as enemies.
“I have a lot of friends in the defense bar now. More so than prosecutors. Funny how things change.”
Real funny. Skye’s remark sparked an idea, but Cory stowed the thought away and focused on the reason for their visit. She had enough to deal with today. After they showed their credentials to the guard and received their visitor badges, they took the elevator up to Derek Lanard’s floor and settled in to wait for the guards to bring Lanard to the attorney visitation room.
“What makes you think he’ll talk to us?”
“It’s a gamble. What have we got to lose?”
Skye was right. In this uphill battle, every shot fired was a chance at victory. Of course, victory was subject to interpretation. At a minimum, a writ in Eric’s case would net a stay of his current ex
ecution date to allow for a hearing. If they were lucky enough to get a hearing, the end result might be a recommendation from the court that the case be retried. New lawyers would be appointed, new jurors selected, and the entire affair would begin again, maybe a year from now depending on the court’s docket. Serena would go home to Florida, and perhaps return to watch some other lawyer fight for her brother’s freedom.
In the meantime, Cory would return to the DA’s office, her relationship with Julie, both personal and professional, and the steadfast conviction that she could do the most good on the right side of law and order. A month ago, the prospect would have been exciting. Now all she could think about was how Serena didn’t fit into her future. The realization dulled her enthusiasm.
The loud click of the bolt on the other side of the room jolted her out of her pity party. A tall white man shuffled into the room and settled on the steel stool. He picked up the phone handset on his side of the Plexiglas and Cory did the same. She took a moment before she spoke to size him up. His skin hung in folds where she imagined muscle used to be. Bulked up, he would be a formidable opponent. He stared at her with cold, dark brown eyes. She waited him out, knowing that whoever spoke first would lose leverage in their exchange.
He blinked first. “Visitor slip says you’re an attorney. You’re not a PD. You’re dressed too nice.”
“My name’s Cory Lance. This is my investigator, Skye Keaton. We were hoping you would talk to us about an old case.”
He leaned back on the stool and flexed his legs. “Why not? I got all the time in the world. Johnson says we’re going to have to go to trial. Prosecutor’s not being very friendly toward me.”
Likely an understatement. “Who is the prosecutor?”
“Can’t remember. It’s changed a few times. Whoever it is has been giving Johnson the runaround. Maybe a free world lawyer like you could do a better job than him.” Cory had worked in the system long enough to know defendants preferred lawyers in private practice. No small wonder, when she considered Eric’s case. The problem occurred when defendants assumed a public defender wasn’t going to do a good job before they ever had a chance to prove otherwise. This guy was in good hands. Johnson Lithgow was one of the more experienced public defenders, and contrary to general misconception, she didn’t know many who worked harder. When she’d had to do battle with him, she came prepared.
“I’m not in the market for a client. Just want to talk to you about an old case.”
“What’s the story?”
“Nancy McGowan, you ever heard anything about that case?”
He scrunched his forehead in a show of brain activity. “Need a few more details.”
Skye cut in. “Nancy McGowan was raped and murdered over in Rinson County, about six years ago. Eric Washington is waiting on the needle. Ring any bells?”
“Oh, yeah, that case.” He tapped the glass with his finger. “I heard about it. What do you want to know?”
Cory took back the reins. “Anything you can tell us.” She was extra careful not to lead him. The testimony of a jailhouse snitch wasn’t the strongest foundation on which to build a case. Whatever he had to say had to be corroborated in order to be admissible in the courtroom.
“I might know a thing or two. My cellie’s Dale Bolton. Word is he was a star witness in that case.”
“I heard the same thing,” Cory responded. “I wasn’t there. I’m more interested in whether he’s saying anything about the case now.”
“He’s got plenty to say. You tell me what you want to hear and I’ll let you know if he had anything to say on the subject.”
Cory shot a what the hell look at Skye. Skye prodded him. “I heard you had stuff to say. Guess I was wrong. Cory, let’s get going.” She stood and waited, but Lanard wasn’t finished.
He jabbed a finger in Cory’s direction. “What’s your name again?”
The question caught Cory off guard for a moment. She chose to respond honestly. “Cory Lance.”
“I heard of you. Aren’t you that prosecutor that’s been in the news?”
Of course her name was probably a regular topic of conversation at the jail. Cory turned to Skye. She should’ve sent Skye alone instead of risking their chance at information by showing her face back in the Dallas County system before memories faded. She decided to shade the truth a bit in her reply. “I used to be a prosecutor. Now, I’m helping out on the other side. I represent Eric Washington.”
“You like representing killers?”
“I like finding out the truth. You want to help me with that or should I leave?” The back-and-forth was tiring. She’d already decided they weren’t going to get anything from this guy. If his only motive to talk to her was what he could get out of it, she had nothing to offer. She stood to emphasize her point. She motioned to Skye that she was leaving. She only made it two steps before Lanard called out.
“I wanna help you.”
She stopped, but didn’t sit back down. “Okay.” She’d caught the inflection in his statement and she waited for what he hadn’t yet said.
“I’ll help you, if you’ll help me.”
Decision time. She could bluff him into talking. His earlier reference, that he knew who she was, hung in the air. She could barter her prosecutor credentials, her reputation that she’d do anything for a win. Why not do what everyone thought she’d already done in Nelson’s case for the benefit of Eric? She could do it for Serena.
Like a slap back to reality, she could hear Serena’s protests. What about honesty? Integrity? Doing the right thing? Values Cory had clung to, both personally and professionally even though everyone else thought she’d compromised. Her only compromise had been that she’d allowed everyone to believe she was someone she wasn’t—a scheming, end-justifies-the-means shark. For once, Cory found only cold comfort in the fact she’d considered using those tactics now in a selfless act, a way to protect someone she cared about, respected.
Serena’s face flashed in her mind. Serena would never ask her to do the things she’d done for Julie. She had too much honor. Cory desperately wanted to deserve Serena’s respect, so she said, “I can’t help you. Not the way you want. I’m not a prosecutor any—” She stopped before she said anymore, and changed course. “I’m defending Eric Washington, and I need information that can help him, but I don’t have anything to barter.”
She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t tanked her chance with this guy. He stared her down, but she couldn’t get a read on whether she’d passed his appraisal until he spoke. “I’ll talk. But you gotta at least tell Johnson what a stand-up guy I am. Maybe he’ll treat me better if it comes from you.”
Small price to pay. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Okay. This Bolton guy’s a scary dude. Doesn’t really care what he says out loud. Guy like that, been in the joint before, should know better about watching his mouth.”
“Some people don’t ever learn. What’s he saying?”
“He dances around it, but he talks about his case then says he got away with more than they’ll ever know about.”
“What makes you think he’s talking about anything we’d be interested in?” Cory didn’t hold out much hope for anything solid. As a prosecutor, she’d dealt with jailhouse snitches on a regular basis, especially among the defendants in the county jail where they weren’t likely to be around long enough to reap much in the way of nasty consequences from ratting out their cellmate. At least half the time, the snitch didn’t have anything useful to report.
“Female bartender, black guy went down for it? That all sound familiar?”
“Sure. Also sounds like details anyone could read in the paper, some of which we mentioned when we showed up here today. Maybe Bolton likes to read.” She spoke her next words carefully, deliberately. “Maybe you do too.” If this guy was jacking them around, Cory wanted him to know she wasn’t in the mood.
He took the hint. “Okay, I got you. You need proof he knew something no one else would know. A
m I right?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “How about this? He says she had a stack of Playboy magazines in the trunk of her car. Said he took one when he was done, to remember her by.”
Cory forced her features to remain casual, but inside she was shouting. Finally, they had what they needed. The court record she’d reviewed meticulously over the past month contained a sealed motion, and the sealed transcript of a hearing in the judge’s chambers on the subject of those magazines. The defense had argued they should be able to bring up evidence that Nancy was no stranger to sex and, since one of the issues had a particularly racy story about rape fantasy, the magazines were relevant to whether she’d consented to the play that had turned deadly. Cory remembered thinking the theory was crazy—to assert the defense, they’d have to admit Eric had been at the scene of the crime, but hadn’t meant to force sex or kill his sex partner. The point had quickly become moot. Because rape shield laws protect the personal lives of rape victims, the judge had ruled neither side could bring up the magazines, and he’d ordered the record on the issue sealed. Cory had scoured the clinic’s file, and she was confident the issue had never hit the press. Yet, Bolton knew. Bolton, a known rapist who was currently awaiting trial on another violent crime. She had what she needed to file the writ. She let Skye ask all the follow-up questions while she mentally ticked off the points she’d make in her brief. Or at least she tried. Her ability to concentrate was divided between the work she had to do and the person she wanted to tell about it.