Sidebar

by Carsen Taite

  Lloyd looked at West and then back at her. “Who do you want to write the memo?”

  Camille started to say West. She was already impressed with her work and it was only the first day, but she wasn’t certain her motivation was solely work-related. Guarding against any impulse that could tank her reputation before she’d had a chance to form one, she waved a hand in the air like it made no difference to her. “Toss a coin. Write it together. Whatever. Just have it on my desk by Wednesday morning.”

  She barely had the words out of her mouth before they started to leave, but she stopped them before they reached the door. “Did either of you leave this for me?” She held up the envelope but kept the message beneath covered with her hand. Both of them shook their heads, and she saw nothing in their eyes that gave her pause. When she finished in court, she’d notify the marshal’s service about the note, but it was probably nothing. Hell, it might not have even been meant for her.

  Back in the courtroom, she listened patiently to defense counsel’s heated objections to the government’s motion, and then announced her decision to schedule the matter for a full hearing to hear both sides. Things were about to get messy, and for a brief moment, she wondered if she’d made the right decision by insisting on keeping this case.

  Chapter Five

  “Where’s Lloyd?”

  West looked up to see Camille framed in the doorway. She hadn’t realized Camille was still in the office since everyone else had gone home a couple of hours ago. “Home probably.”

  “And he doesn’t care that you’re showing him up by working late?”

  West laughed. “I doubt he knows. I walked downstairs with him and then pretended I forgot my car keys.”

  “Trying to impress me?”

  “Is that a trick question?” West leaned back in her chair. It felt odd to be the one sitting comfortably while Camille stood. “Come in and sit down. You’re freaking me out with the whole towering over me thing.” She watched as Camille strode into the room and slipped into the chair Lloyd had occupied all afternoon, happy she’d chosen to stay.

  “You’re staring.”

  Damn. Caught. But Camille didn’t sound displeased. “You’re much more fun to look at than Lloyd.”

  “West.”

  Camille’s tone was quiet and held a touch of reproach, but West wasn’t buying it. “Is there some reason we can’t be honest when no one else is around?”

  “Honest?”

  “Don’t pretend like there isn’t something going on here.” West waved a finger between them.

  “If only it were that easy.”

  “It’s as easy as you make it.”

  Camille shook her head. “That’s a nice thought, but not very realistic.” She started to get up. “I’ll leave you to what you’re doing.”

  West reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder, and was pleased when Camille didn’t pull away. “Wait. Don’t go. We can talk about the case if you want. I could use someone to bounce ideas off of.”

  “Any particular reason you didn’t want to do that with Lloyd?”

  “I think he views me more as competition than a colleague. Either that or he just doesn’t like me. Doesn’t really matter to me either way.” West instantly felt she’d over-shared. “Anyway, he does his thing, and I do mine.”

  Camille sat back down. “Tell me what you’ve got so far.”

  West moved the file so it was situated between them. “This case would make the perfect hypothetical for a law school exam in Criminal Procedure.” She turned to the first tab in the notebook she’d started putting together, conscious of Camille’s steady gaze and determined not to let the heavy portent between them interfere with her analysis of the case. “Mr. Wilson has quite the past. He’s forty-eight years old, but when he was twenty, he went to the state pen for murder.”

  “Really? How much time did he serve?”

  “Twenty-five years. He was paroled a week before his forty-sixth birthday.”

  “Some parole officer hasn’t been doing a very good job of watching Mr. Wilson.”

  “That’s for sure. Apparently, he reported like a trouper until he was arrested on this case, but he lied about his employment, even showed fake pay stubs. The PO never verified his job situation, never did a home visit. If he had, he would have figured out there was a problem long before Leslie Silver went missing.”

  Camille pushed the file away. “I’m not sure I want to get too heavily into the facts. That’s for the jury.”

  “I hear you, but you’re probably going to have to make more evidentiary rulings in this case than most, and a lot of the issues are fact dependent.”

  “You think the government is going to try to get in evidence of his prior conviction? I don’t see how they can unless he takes the stand, and he’d be a fool if he did.”

  “True, but I do think they are going to try to get in evidence of a bunch of bad acts, and not just the rape allegations.”

  “What else is there?”

  “Years ago, just before he was involved in the shooting that led to his arrest for murder in Texas, he was charged with murder in Michigan. Nasty case, but he wasn’t arrested until the Texas case, so Michigan opted to let him be tried here first.”

  “What happened with the Michigan case?”

  “Flood at police headquarters. They lost a bunch of evidence including the DNA that tied Wilson to the murder. The loss pretty much decimated their case.”

  “So he served his time here and Michigan let it go?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, tell me why I need to know all this?”

  “Context.” West pushed back from the table, stood, and began pacing the room. “The government is out for blood on this guy. He murdered someone and walked out of prison with half a life ahead of him. They allege he murdered someone else and the evidence was destroyed. Now they think he’s a rapist, but they can’t make the charges stick, and a young, rich co-ed who was last seen alive at his house shows up dead. They know deep in their sincere little law-abiding hearts that he had something to do with her death, but they also know they don’t have enough evidence to charge him with murder again, so they’ll do everything they can to stick him with the most time they can. If he’s found guilty in this case, the max is life and you’ll be the one deciding punishment, not a jury. So if nothing else, they are trying to sway you, early and often, to convince you to throw the book at him.”

  West stopped talking, certain she’d probably overstepped. Camille didn’t say anything at first, instead she reached over and started flipping through the file.

  “You’ve gotten a lot done on your first day.”

  “I guess so,” West said, feeling a little silly about grandstanding.

  “I might be a little impressed. Did you really take all this in today or did you already know about this case?”

  West flashed back to the day she’d met Camille. The day Hank had collapsed. “I was here watching the last time Wilson was in court.” She paused. “It was the day we first met.”

  Camille’s eyes lit up. “I remember. I was here to interview for the magistrate court position. Were you here interviewing too?”

  “Not exactly. I’ve had this job since before I went to law school, whether I wanted it or not.”

  “I remember what you told me the day we met when I asked if you worked in the building. ‘Not if I can help it.’ Yet here you are. Care to elaborate?”

  West started to do what she always did when the conversation turned personal—change the subject, but the earnest expression on Camille’s face drew her in. Camille was here, sitting down with her, treating her like an equal. They had nothing in common other than dedication to the law and a strong pull of attraction, but West wanted to bridge the gap of age, class, and position that loomed between them.

  But not here. Not with files spread out between them and a print of the presidential portrait on the wall. “Actually, I’d be happy to answer, but I’m hungry. I know a p
lace that serves great burgers and beer, if you’re game.”

  She braced the moment the words left her lips, ready to draw back and run if her advance was rejected. She wasn’t sure why she felt so vulnerable. After all, Camille was the one seeking answers, but she held her breath. One, two, three beats passed.

  “I’m game.”

  * * *

  The minute she walked into the bar, Camille felt out of place, and wished she’d stopped at home to change clothes. Of course, if she had, she probably would’ve decided against this little adventure as the bad idea it was. West, on the other hand, dressed in her funky mix of modern casual and vintage style, fit right in with the millennials thronging the bar.

  Deep Ellum wasn’t seedy, but it was eclectic. Warehouses gentrified into lofts lined the streets alongside hip restaurants and clubs trying not to be too trendy to scare off the beatnik nightlife that had made the neighborhood the go-to spot it was today. Camille came down here once in a while, but usually during the day for a visit to the Mozzarella Company to pick up artisanal cheeses or lunch at Cane Rosso Pizzeria.

  “You come here often?” she asked, cringing at the cheesy phrase that evoked a sly grin from West.

  “Used to,” West said, “Haven’t been here for a while, but I know the bartender and he’ll take care of us.” West took off toward the bar, and Camille had no choice but to follow or be crushed by the crowd. By the time she caught up to West, she was leaning over the bar, talking to a ginger-haired guy with a ruddy complexion and full beard.

  “Joe, can we get two…hang on a minute.” West turned to Camille. “Stout okay?”

  “Actually,” Camille demurred for a moment, looking around at the drinks in the hands of the people around them. She didn’t usually drink beer, but she seemed to be surrounded by it now. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to branch out from her usual wine or martini, she put her fate in West’s hands. “Stout sounds great.”

  West leaned over the bar. “Two Temptresses.” She shot a wicked grin Camille’s way. “Is your table open?”

  “It is, but you better hurry. Go on and I’ll bring these.”

  Camille felt a firm clutch and looked down at West’s hand in hers. “Come on,” West said. She didn’t wait for an answer, and Camille was being tugged into the crowd, while a dozen different thoughts swirled around in her brain. The top two were: I shouldn’t be holding hands with my clerk, and I shouldn’t be at a bar with her either.

  Get a grip. She’d gone out for drinks with her staff many times when she’d been a judge before, enjoying several cocktails with her court reporter, coordinator, bailiff, and clerks, particularly after an arduous case. But being alone with West was decidedly different than decompressing with a group of co-workers, none of whom she’d been attracted to. Deciding that acting like a lovesick teenager wasn’t going to improve matters, she started acting like this little outing was a normal occurrence. The first thing she did was let go of West’s hand.

  If West registered the disconnection, she didn’t show it. She continued to move through the crowd like she owned the place until they were across the room. West pushed through the steel door that clearly said No Exit, and suddenly they were looking out over a patio lined with a few clustered tables. She pointed to a table in the far right corner and motioned for Camille to lead the way.

  Camille climbed onto the high stool and pulled it closer to the table. A glance around the patio told her this was a different crowd than the young, loud gathering inside. She even spied a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on a table nearby and started to mention it to West when the bartender appeared with two pint glasses full of dark liquid.

  “Two Bourbon Barrel Temptresses.”

  Camille reached for her purse, but West placed her hand on hers. “Your money’s no good here, Judge.” Camille resisted the urge to curl her fingers into West’s palm to prolong the heat of their connection, but she was acutely conscious the bartender was standing over them, so she nodded her assent and pushed her purse away.

  West took both the drinks and set one in front of Camille. “Camille, meet my favorite bartender in all of Dallas, Joe Duncan.”

  “Just Dallas?” Joe said. “I thought I was your favorite bartender in the world.”

  “The world’s a big place Joe.”

  “Whatever,” he said, feigning a frown. “Camille, it’s nice to meet you. Any friend of West’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Thanks.” Camille took a sip from the glass, letting the silky notes of the creamy brew caress her taste buds. “Oh, wow, this is fantastic.”

  “Local brew. Wish I could hook you up with a growler, but the alcohol content’s too high. Drink enough and I can hook you up with an Uber.” He cried out when West punched him in the side. “What?”

  “Thanks for the beer, Joe.”

  He did a mock bow. “That’s my cue. Enjoy. Text me if you need anything.”

  Camille took another drink until he was out of sight. “Nice guy. Do you have many bartenders on speed dial?”

  “Just the one.” West looked in the direction Joe had gone, her expression melancholy.

  “Old friend?”

  West appeared to snap out of her reverie. “Yes. One of the best.”

  “Good friends are important.” Camille raised her glass. “To friends?”

  West raised her glass. “You don’t need to keep saying it. I promised I wouldn’t make a pass at you again and I meant it. My word is my bond and all that.”

  The attorney oath being used to make a promise about romance struck Camille as oddly hilarious, and she let loose a light laugh that quickly turned into an uncontrollable mirth. West started laughing too, and Camille was certain the people at the other tables thought they’d lost their minds.

  When they finally ran out of steam, West was the first who managed to speak. “I have no idea what that was about, but I think I needed a good laugh.”

  “Me too,” Camille echoed. “Is it really only Monday?”

  “That’s not really a good attitude since you signed up to do this for the rest of your life.”

  “I suppose. And you only have a year. Speaking of which, I think you promised me beer, burgers, and a story about why you’re working this job.” She raised her glass. “One out of three isn’t going to cut it.”

  “Fair enough.” West sent a text to Joe about the burgers and held it up for Camille to see before she slipped her phone back in her pocket. “The short story about the job is that I promised Judge Blair I would do a one-year clerkship for him the year after law school.”

  “Okay, so you do keep your promises. How do you know Judge Blair? Family friend?” The minute the word family fell from her lips, West’s eyes narrowed. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “I don’t really have a family.” West took a deep draught from her glass and then rushed her next words. “I grew up in the foster care system. Judge Blair—I call him Hank—was appointed by the court to be my guardian ad litem when I was eleven.”

  Camille slowly digested the information and focused on keeping her expression neutral, concerned West was a bit like a deer in the forest, likely to run at the sound of a twig cracking beneath her feet. Meanwhile her mind was whirring through facts. A guardian ad litem was an attorney appointed by the court to represent the interests of a child, usually one that had been removed from her parents or was in the process of being removed. Before Blair had taken the bench, he’d been in private practice at one of the large, venerable firms in Dallas, handling mostly corporate litigation. Many of these firms had requirements that their attorneys do a certain amount of pro bono work. Had West been one of Blair’s community service projects?

  No matter how many questions she had, and there were definitely more now than there were before West’s revelation, Camille knew it was none of her business. “You don’t have to tell me any of this.”

  West cracked a half-smile. “I know, but I want to. I don’t know why you agreed to keep me on instead of han
dpicking a clerk for yourself, but you should at least know why you got stuck with me.”

  “I hardly consider myself stuck with you.”

  “I know you promised Hank you would keep me on.”

  Camille heard a note of dissonance in West’s voice, and it took her a minute to figure out what she was trying to tell her. It wasn’t the obvious, thanks for letting me keep my job. No, West sounded wistful, which was strange, unless… “You didn’t want this job, did you?”

  “Not really.”

  “You’re kidding.” The idea West wouldn’t have wanted what was considered to be one of the most coveted positions a new lawyer could land was completely foreign to Camille. “Do you know how many law school graduates would kill to be in your position?”

  “I do.” West sighed. “I get it and I’d gladly hand this job over, but I promised Hank I would do it. Remember what I said about keeping my promises.”

  “Okay.” Camille fished around for something to say besides pointing out West was taking the place of someone who might really enjoy the position, not to mention how lucky she was to have it herself. When it came to promises, she’d made one of her own to Blair, and West’s revelation shouldn’t affect her keeping her word. “What would you rather be doing?”

  “Railing against the system instead of being a part of it,” West said. “I spent the summer interning at the Southern Poverty Law Center. There’s still a lot of work to do especially after so much hatred was exposed during the last election. I’d like to work for the Center full-time, but they didn’t have a position open right now. But there are other places I could apply. ACLU, Lambda Legal—I have a long list of potential employers.”