by David Hosp
Finn didn’t wake up that morning. He didn’t need to; he hadn’t slept. At five a.m., after leaving his third voice-mail message for Linda Flaherty, he showered, dressed in a sweater and sport jacket, threw on an overcoat, and went out walking. He had no destination in mind and felt only the need to be on the move. He walked down off Bunker Hill and out the backside of Charlestown into Cambridge. He walked up the Charles River on the north bank, past the great dome of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, through the brick thicket of Harvard University, and then back across the river through Boston’s Fenway, Back Bay, and Beacon Hill.
As he walked, he evaluated the city through new eyes—eyes that were considering abandoning the city for the first time. He had spent his entire life in Boston, never making it farther than a hundred miles from the place of his forgotten birth. And as he walked through the city, he realized something. He loved it. He loved it the way he supposed the fortunate love their parents—forgetfully, selfishly, taking for granted the splendor and warmth, the faults and failings, until the possibility that they won’t always be there feels like more than hypothetical musing. He knew then that he would never leave. He existed only here, and there was nothing that could be done to change that.
At ten o’clock he arrived back in Charlestown and ambled his way up Warren Street to his office. He was surprised to find the door open and Kozlowski sitting at the conference table. In front of him were a box of donuts and two large coffees. “Been looking for you,” Kozlowski said.
“You’re a detective. I’m not that difficult to find.”
Kozlowski shrugged. “Didn’t say I was looking very hard. You took off pretty quick yesterday. I figured you probably wanted a little time to yourself.”
“Good-looking and sensitive, too. Lissa’s one lucky girl.”
Kozlowski pushed one of the coffees toward him as Finn sat down. “That one’s yours.”
“Thanks.”
Neither of them said anything. They just sat there and let the coffee warm them. “Santa bring you anything good?” Kozlowski said after a while.
Finn shook his head. “Just a big fat chunk of coal.”
“You must have been naughty.”
“Goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
Kozlowski leaned back in his chair. “Look at it this way—given enough time, coal turns to diamonds, right? So maybe this is Santa’s
way of making a down payment.”
“It takes like a million years for coal to turn to diamonds.”
“Right. Maybe it’s just a lump of coal, then.”
Finn got up and walked over to sit behind his desk and put his feet up. “So, what are you doing down here?”
“Nothing, really. I had to clean up a few loose ends in the office, and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t jumped off a bridge or anything.”
“And people say you have no Christmas spirit. Go figure.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“You good with everything?”
Finn felt like Kozlowski was analyzing him. Kicking the tires to make sure everything was still working. “Everything? No. But I’m good with enough.”
“I guess that’ll do.”
“I guess it’ll have to.”
Just then the door opened. Vincente Salazar stood at the threshold. He nodded to both men. “Mr. Finn, may I come in?”
It took a moment for Finn to answer. “Yeah,” he said without conviction. “Sure, what the fuck.” He looked over at Kozlowski.
“Well, I’m sure you boys have lots of lawyer-client-type stuff to discuss, so I’ll be back in my office if you need me.” Kozlowski stood and walked to the door of his office.
“Detective,” Salazar said.
Kozlowski turned around at the door. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. I know you risked your life.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know that, too. Thank you anyway.”
Kozlowski nodded and disappeared into the back of the building.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday,” Salazar said to Finn. “I turned around, and you were gone.”
“I’m like the wind. Eerie, isn’t it?”
Salazar sat down in a chair across the desk from Finn. “You’re angry. I understand that. I was hoping to have the chance to explain things.”
Finn waved him off. “No big deal. It’s my job. I did it. It’s who I am. I’m fine with it. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I would like for you to understand that you did a good thing.”
Finn laughed quietly. “Good and bad don’t play into it. I’m a lawyer.”
“You aren’t curious at all?”
Finn shrugged.
“Are you still my lawyer?”
“If you want to tell me anything? Yes. For the purposes of this conversation, I am still your lawyer. Once you leave here, though, I think you’d be better off with new counsel.”
Salazar looked away as though considering his options. “In my country, in the old days, there was no law. Not really. There was only what the landlords decided—that was the law. They had the guns, and they had the power. Sometimes one of the workers would break the landlord’s law and would have to be punished. This created a dilemma for the landlord. If the worker was jailed or beaten, he wasn’t working, and the landlord would lose money. Often, as a result, someone in the worker’s family was chosen to suffer the punishment instead—maybe a wife or a favored son or daughter. In some cases, even, it would be a brother.”
Salazar let what he was saying sink in. “When we fled to this country, it was the second time Miguel had his life ripped away. The first was when our father died and Miguel and my mother came to live with me. He was sixteen when we arrived here—young and passionate and angry.”
“Not a great combination,” Finn commented.
“No,” Salazar agreed. “When Miguel found out that we might be deported—sent back to El Salvador to face the death squads—something snapped. He wanted to scare her, and he thought if he used a machete, the police would assume that VDS was responsible.”
“He thought right. That’s exactly what Macintyre assumed. That’s why he framed you.”
“God has an ironic sense of justice,” Salazar observed.
“Apparently, he’s not alone. Even if Miguel only meant to scare her, do you really think that justifies the fact that your brother attacked Madeline Steele?”
“No. Nothing justifies what he did. It does explain it, though. As young and foolish as he was, he saw it as self-defense. More than that, he saw it as defending his family.”
“Did you know?” Finn heard the accusation in his own voice.
“No. I didn’t really know until you told me about the DNA tests. But I think at some level, I always suspected.”
“You spent fifteen years in prison for a crime he committed.”
“I did. But perhaps that was the right thing. He was like a son to me. He was forced to come to this country because of my mistakes. Perhaps I was more responsible for his crime than I would like to admit. In any case, he is my family, and if I had the choice, I don’t know that I would have changed the outcome.”
“Why not?” Finn asked. “In this country, you are not responsible for the crimes of your family.”
Salazar smiled. “That is a uniquely American and strangely naive point of view. In any event, my brother has spent the last fifteen years atoning for his sins. He has raised my daughter. He has cared for our mother. He has healed the sick, and he has even saved the life of a promising young lawyer, no?” Salazar raised his eyebrow at Finn. “And now he has willingly put his freedom in jeopardy to secure mine.”
Finn shook his head. “I doubt it will ever come to that. The DA’s office has already convicted you once. Even though the judge threw that conviction out, you still haven’t been acquitted or exonerated. The DNA evidence matches both of you, so there is no way to prove which one of you
did it. Ironically, that means that neither one of you will ever be convicted, because there will always be a reasonable doubt that it is the other one who is really guilty. Plus, given the scandal and the way the police framed you the first time, I would be surprised if the DA’s office wants to open up this fifteen-year-old can of worms. Better for them to let the furor die down and be done with it. Let the two of you go on with your lives.”
“What if they run more DNA tests? If they can isolate more points of comparison, they may be able to prove that Miguel was responsible.”
“It’s unlikely,” Finn said. “They were small skin samples, and I’m not sure there are any left.”
“It’s possible. The technology used in DNA analysis is advancing rapidly.”
“You could be right,” Finn said. “Maybe that’s an uncertainty that will hang over Miguel’s head for the rest of his life.” He took some satisfaction in the notion.
“Perhaps that is his punishment. Perhaps it is enough.”
“You spent fifteen years in jail. Do you really think uncertainty is enough punishment?”
“I don’t know,” Salazar admitted. “It is enough for me—for my sense of justice. Have my brother and my daughter and I together not paid sufficiently for my brother’s crime?”
“It’s not my job to make those calls,” Finn said. “I’m not a judge, and I’m not a jury. I’m a lawyer. My job is to represent my clients.”
“Yes,” Salazar agreed. “You are a lawyer. A good lawyer.” He stood and extended his hand. Finn sat still, looking at his client; then he stood and shook the man’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Finn,” Salazar said. “On behalf of my family, thank you.”
Finn nodded but said nothing. Salazar turned and walked out the door. He didn’t look back.
z
Kozlowski stood out back behind the tiny brick office building. The temperature was still below freezing, but the sun was heating the asphalt shingles on the roof, causing a steady drip from the eaves protecting the back doorway. He had remained in his office for a few minutes, but in reality, he had no work to do, and he thought a breath of cold, fresh winter air would do him good. He was looking out across the street when he heard the door open behind him. Finn stepped out without saying anything.
“You believe him?” Kozlowski asked.
“I think so,” Finn said. “It’s easier to, I suppose.” He took out a cigarette and lit it.
“Celebratory smoke?”
“I guess,” Finn said. “Doesn’t really feel like a celebration, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Kozlowski turned and looked at him. “Got an extra?”
“You don’t smoke.”
“I smoke cigars every now and then. How much worse can this be?”
Finn slid the pack out of his pocket and slipped a cigarette out, handing it to Kozlowski. “Careful. I hear they’re addictive.” He tossed Kozlowski his Zippo.
Kozlowski put the cigarette between his lips and flipped the lighter open. It took him two tries to get it lit, and when he held up the flame to the tobacco and inhaled, a rush of smoke attacked his lungs through the frigid air, forcing a muffled cough.
“It’s good, huh?” Finn asked.
Kozlowski gave the lighter back. “Did you and Flaherty get things worked out?”
Finn shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll keep trying, though, I hope.”
“You could always move down there with her.”
“No, I can’t.”
Kozlowski took another drag and managed to keep this one down.
He exhaled a long stream of blue smoke. “No, I guess not. But she’s an appointee, right? So I guess you can always hope for a change of administration. She might come back.”
“She might. You never know.” It was clear that Finn wasn’t in the mood to talk about his love life. “How about you? Everything okay with Lissa?”
“I suppose. It’ll take time, but she’ll get through it.”
“It’s Christmas. Shouldn’t you be with her?”
“She’s Jewish. Turns out Christmas isn’t such a big deal when you’re Jewish.”
Finn grunted. “Who knew.”
“She gets out later today, and I’m going to pick her up and take her home. We’ll see where it goes from there.” Kozlowski looked at Finn as he thought about Lissa. He remembered what she’d said about how much Finn needed him, and he looked away again. He felt uncomfortable when he thought about putting his feelings into words, but he also knew that she was right. More than that, he was coming to recognize that he needed Finn as much as Finn needed him. “I’m gonna say something,” he said. Then he went silent, trying to formulate the words.
“Good to know,” Finn replied after a moment. “Keep me updated.”
“I don’t want you to think it’s weird or make a big deal out of it.”
“Okay. I suppose it depends on what you’re planning on saying, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
It took another drag off the cigarette before Kozlowski spoke again. “What would you think if I told you I cared about you?”
Finn said nothing. He stood there, inhaling his smoke. “I don’t know,” he said at last. Then he smiled. “I guess I’d think you were going queer on me.”
“Right.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The world takes all kinds.”
“Point made. Thanks.”
“Does Lissa know?”
“Fuck you.”
Finn’s smile widened.
Kozlowski took another drag, and his body was racked with a coughing fit. “I don’t know how you suck on this shit.”
“It’s an acquired taste.”
The two of them stood there for a few more minutes, saying nothing. The sun was low in the sky, and it felt good on Kozlowski’s face. “O’Doul’s stays open on Christmas,” he said.
“Trust the Irish to make sure everyone is shitfaced for the Lord’s birthday.”
“You got plans, or you wanna go over and grab a drink?”
Finn looked at him. “You buying?”
“Yeah.”
Finn raised his eyebrow. “A good drink?”
Kozlowski closed his eyes as he let the sun warm his face. “Yeah,” he said. “A good drink.”
Afterword
Innocence is a work of fiction, and any similarities between any characters in the novel and any actual people are purely coincidental. The premise of the story, however, has its roots in fact and experience. Over the past ten years, nearly two hundred individuals in the United States have had their convictions vacated after DNA testing established that they were innocent of the crimes for which they had been convicted and imprisoned. David Hosp, the author of Innocence, is a trial lawyer at the Boston-based law firm of Goodwin Procter, LLP. For the past two years, he has worked with a team of attorneys representing Stephan Cowans in civil lawsuits resulting from Mr. Cowans’s 1997 wrongful conviction for the shooting and attempted murder of a Boston police officer. Mr. Cowans was exonerated and released in 2004 through the work of attorneys and staff at the New England Innocence Project (“NEIP”).
Based on information developed during an internal investigation following Mr. Cowans’s release, the Boston Police Department’s Latent Fingerprint Unit was shut down from 2004 through 2006 due to the inadequate training and expertise of the police officers serving as fingerprint experts. Since its reopening last year, the Fingerprint Unit has been staffed exclusively with civilian technicians and experts.
NEIP is a charitable organization dedicated to providing pro bono legal services to individuals seeking to prove their innocence of crimes for which they have been convicted. NEIP works to redress the causes of wrongful convictions, and is coordinated on a pro bono basis by attorneys and staff from Goodwin Procter’s Boston office.
chive.