“It doesn’t contradict Treadwell’s testimony, either,” Pete says. “He claims he saw Bobby running down the street at twelve ten.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I say.
“If you want to base your case on the testimony of a homeless guy.”
“And my daughter.”
My brother folds his arms. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to keep looking.”
“Fine with me. Anything else on Savage?”
“I have somebody watching him. Hannah, too.”
“And the Sunshine?”
“I’m going back there later tonight.”
My cell phone rings and I recognize Roosevelt’s number. “You got good news for me?” I ask.
“I need to see you and Rosie in my office right away.”
33/ WE FOUND SOME DISTURBING NEW EVIDENCE
Monday, June 20, 2:45 p.m.
Roosevelt places a stack of police reports on his metal desk and slides them over to me. “This is everything we have,” he says.
“I have fulfilled my legal obligation to provide every shred of evidence that might tend to exonerate your client.”
Rosie and I look at the pile. “What about evidence that would tend to show our client is guilty?” I ask.
“I have fulfilled my legal obligation,” he repeats.
“You said there was something we needed to talk about.”
“There is. We finished our forensic investigation of Judge Fairchild’s house. We found some disturbing new evidence.”
We wait.
He lowers his voice. “We found Grace’s fingerprints in Judge Fairchild’s living room, dining room, and kitchen. We also found them on the banister.”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Rosie says. “Grace has been to Bobby’s house several times.”
Roosevelt clears his throat. “We also found her prints on the nightstand in Bobby’s bedroom.”
“That proves she visited Bobby’s house,” Rosie says. “Nothing more.”
“We think it might mean more.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“There is more to this case than meets the eye. You’d better figure out what happened on Friday night.”
“Anything else?”
Roosevelt glances around the empty room that houses the homicide cops. “In terms of legal advice, no. In terms of parental advice, yes. I have a sixteen-year-old granddaughter. I have explained to her on several occasions why I think it’s a bad idea for her to spend time in her boyfriend’s bedroom.”
34/ HAVE YOU BEEN SLEEPING WITH OUR DAUGHTER?
Monday, June 20, 3:25 p.m.
“What happened?” I ask Bobby.
We’ve taken our usual positions in the attorney consultation room. His right cheek is swollen and he looks at me through puffy red eyes.
“Nothing,” he whispers.
In the Glamour Slammer, like every jail, the streetwise thugs prey on the uninitiated. Bobby’s youth, intelligence, and good looks are of little practical value in a facility filled with everyone from career felons to small-time shoplifters.
“Come on,” I say. “That wasn’t an accident.”
His voice fills with an unnerving combination of fear and resignation. “I don’t want to talk about it. It will only make it worse.”
“You need to tell me what happened.”
“You have to get me out of here,” he says. “They’re going to kill me.”
“Who?”
“The people in the lockup.”
“Can you identify the person who hit you?”
“Only if I want to die. Were you able to talk to the judge again about bail?”
“We won’t have another chance until Wednesday,” I say.
“Damn it. I’m not going to make it to the prelim.”
“You have to hang in there for a few more days.”
“Does that mean you can get the charges dropped?”
“That’s probably going to be tough.”
“You’re going to put on a defense, right?”
“Of course, but we may not want to show too many of our cards at the prelim. We don’t want to telegraph our defense strategy if we move forward to trial.”
“There isn’t going to be a trial. They’re going to kill me if you can’t get the charges dropped.”
“I know this is difficult, Bobby.”
“No, you don’t.” The last vestiges of the poised young man disappear into a fury of anger and fear. “It’s more than difficult. It’s impossible.”
“Then give us something to work with.”
“Like what?”
“Somebody who can verify that you weren’t at your father’s house on Friday night.”
“Grace.”
“Somebody who isn’t your girlfriend and my daughter.”
“I thought you said you could make this go away if we can prove that the time of death was sometime before I got home.”
“Keith Treadwell is going to testify that he saw you running down Grattan at twelve ten.”
“He’s wrong. You need to find somebody who can refute his testimony.”
“We’re trying. We found a witness who walked by your father’s house at twelve-oh-five and again at twelve fifteen. He said he didn’t see anybody.”
“That’s good.”
“He should have seen you and Grace.”
“Maybe he got the time wrong.”
“The witness may not be terribly credible.”
“Who is it?”
“A guy named Lenny Stone.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah. He’s a homeless guy who got some bad drugs. He’s delusional.”
“Did you see him Friday night?”
“Of course not.” He pauses to gather himself. “Does this mean you’re going to base my defense on the testimony of a homeless drug addict?”
“It may be part of our case.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“It’s all we have so far, Bobby.”
“What about Savage? What about Hannah? What about my mother’s boyfriend?”
“We haven’t been able to place any of them at your father’s house.”
Rosie makes her presence felt. “We need to talk about something else,” she says.
Bobby tenses. “What now?”
“They found fingerprints in your father’s house.”
“Whose?”
“You, your father, and your brother.” She recites the rest of the list: Julie; the cleaning people; two neighbors; a couple of Bobby’s friends. “They also found Grace’s prints.”
“She’s been to my father’s house,” he says.
“I know. That’s why it didn’t surprise me when they found her prints in the living room, kitchen, and family room. It did surprise me, however, when they found her prints in your bedroom.”
He swallows. “We’ve spent some time downstairs.”
“Doing what?”
“Stuff on the computer.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Rosie looks my way. I lower my voice and say, “Was Grace in your bedroom on Friday night?”
“No.”
“We’re going to ask her the same question.”
His tone turns more adamant. “She wasn’t.”
“This conversation is covered by the attorney-client privilege, Bobby. It will be a disaster if we find out in open court that you’re lying. So far, the prosecutors have given us no evidence proving you were inside your father’s house on Friday night, but they may be holding something back. As your lawyers, we need to know if there’s anything else.”
“There isn’t.”
“Good. I need to ask you one more question.” I look straight into his eyes. "Have you been sleeping with our daughter?”
“What does that have to do with my defense?”
“Nothing. I’m not asking as your lawyer. I’m asking as Grace’s father.”
“No,” he says simply.
If you’re lying, the murder charges will be the least of your problems.
# # #
“They found your fingerprints in Bobby’s bedroom,” I say to Grace. She’s sitting on the gray sofa in Rosie’s airless office at four thirty on Monday afternoon.
“He’s my boyfriend,” she says. “We spend a lot of time together.”
“In his bedroom?”
“We’ve spent some time down there.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. Bobby’s computer is in his room. You can probably find his fingerprints in my room. It doesn’t mean we were doing anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Your implication was crystal clear.”
Yes, it was. It’s been a long, difficult day with little to show for it. Sylvia brought Grace downtown so we could start preparing her for her testimony. Sylvia had to bring Tommy along with them. He’s busy watching cartoons in our conference room. Murder cases are hard enough without a stressed-out teenager and a four-year-old in your office.
“Were you at Judge Fairchild’s house on Friday night?” I ask.
Grace shoots daggers in my direction. “How many times do I have to say this? We weren’t there, Dad.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Bobby was with me the entire time. End of story.”
“And you’re prepared to testify to that effect?”
“Of course. It’s the truth.”
“The prosecutors on this case are very good,” Rosie says. “They’re going to try to poke holes in your story.”
“I have nothing to hide.” Grace takes a moment to gather herself. “Are we done?”
“Not quite,” Rosie says. “How serious is your relationship with Bobby?”
“Pretty serious.” Grace swallows. “I think I love him, Mother.”
“You’re only sixteen.”
“So what?”
“Let me put it more bluntly: you aren’t allowed to have sex.”
Grace responds with a stony silence.
“The police are looking at you very suspiciously,” Rosie says. “We need to know the entire story.”
“I’ve already told you the entire story.”
“Not quite.”
“Are you asking me if Bobby and I were sleeping together?”
This time Rosie hesitates. “Yes.”
“What does that have to do with Bobby’s case?”
“Maybe nothing, but you’re Bobby’s alibi. We need to know if they’re going to be able to attack your credibility because he’s your boyfriend.”
“I’ll do everything I can to protect him,” Grace says, “but I won’t lie.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Rosie says.
“It’s none of your business.”
“It is now.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I’d rather talk about it now than ask you about it in open court.”
Our daughter’s lips shrink to the size of a tiny ball. Her voice fills with a level of indignation similar to the tone Rosie reserves for arrogant prosecutors and incompetent judges. “No, Mother,” she says. “Bobby and I have not been sleeping together.”
# # #
“Tommy fell asleep,” Sylvia says. “I’ll wake him up and take him home.”
“Thanks, Mama,” Rosie replies.
“Are you finished with Grace?”
“For now.”
“Then I’ll take her home, too.”
Sylvia is seated in the spot where Grace was sitting a few minutes earlier. Her expression clearly indicates she’s as unhappy as Grace, who stormed down the hall a few minutes ago. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” Rosie says.
“Why are you going after her?”
“How much of our little discussion did you hear?”
“All of it. Grace has been through hell the past three days. She’s scared to death. Why are you making it harder?”
“We have to, Mama. It’s our job.”
“No, you don’t. Her boyfriend is in trouble. She isn’t.”
“She’s his alibi. This case may turn on her testimony. They’re going to go after her.”
“Then help her.”
“We’re trying. We need to be sure her story will hold up.”
“By browbeating her?”
“By preparing her. We need to know the truth, Mama.”
“I’m all for the truth, Rosita. On the other hand, if you keep treating Grace like a criminal, you may end up winning your case and losing your daughter.”
35/ WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?
Monday, June 20, 6:05 p.m.
An uninvited visitor arrives shortly after Sylvia has departed with Grace and Tommy. An irate Julie Fairchild storms into Rosie’s office and picks up where Sylvia left off. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snaps.
“Calm down, Julie,” I say.
“No, I won’t. I just saw Bobby. Where do you get off calling him a liar?”
“I didn’t,” I say.
“Yes, you did.”
“I asked him what happened on Friday night.”
“You asked him whether he’s been sleeping with your daughter.”
Well, that, too. “Is he?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“What does that have to do with his defense?”
“The police found Grace’s fingerprints in Bobby’s room.”
“So what?”
“We wanted to know how they got there.”
“She’s been spending a lot of time there. They’d have found her fingerprints in his bedroom at my house, too. It doesn’t mean they were sleeping together.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“Your implication was quite clear.”
Suddenly, everybody is an expert at interpreting my implications.
Rosie joins the discussion. “Julie,” she says, “let me ask you something—parent-to-parent, off the record.”
Bobby’s mother responds with a cold silence.
“Has Bobby been sexually active?”
Julie pauses before she answers in a muted tone. “Maybe,” she says. “I don’t know for sure.”
“Have you asked him about it?”
“He won’t discuss it. We haven’t talked much since the divorce. He’s a little more communicative than Sean, but not much.”
“We’re familiar with the problem. Will you do me a favor?”
“It depends.”
“If you find out Bobby has been sleeping with Grace, will you tell us?”
“Will you do the same for me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“What else did Bobby tell you?” Rosie asks.
“He’s scared.”
“With good reason. The Glamour Slammer is a rough place. We got the judge to issue an order to separate him from the other prisoners. He’ll get his meals in his cell. It isn’t a perfect solution, but he should be reasonably safe until the prelim.”
Julie swallows hard. “Realistically,” she says, “what are the chances that you’ll be able to get the charges dropped?”
Rosie answers her honestly. “Probably not so good. Preliminary hearings are the prosecutor’s show. They just have to show enough evidence to provide a reasonable implication that Bobby may have committed a crime.”
“Then you’ll have to prove them wrong.”
“We’ll do everything we can. Strategically, it’s usually better to see what the prosecutors have and not telegraph our entire defense for the trial.”
“There can’t be a trial.”
“You have to start preparing yourself—and Bobby—for that possibility.”
“He’ll be killed in jail.”
“No, he won’t.”
The esteemed surgeon inhales the musty air
in Rosie’s office. In the operating room, she’s in charge. In the judicial system, she’s just a spectator. “Maybe Jack was wrong about you. Maybe you’re more interested in protecting your daughter than my son.”
“That isn’t true,” Rosie says. “We’re doing everything we possibly can to help Bobby.”
“Even if it implicates your daughter?”
“We have no evidence she had any involvement in this case.”
“Except she was with Bobby on Friday night.”
“Which makes her a witness. And Bobby’s alibi.”
“Which brings me back to my original question: Are you prepared to do whatever it takes to defend my son, even if it implicates your daughter?”
“We’ve been through this,” Rosie says. “If there is a conflict of interest, we’ll have to withdraw.”
“In other words, your answer is no.”
An overwhelming silence envelops Rosie’s office.
Julie’s voice fills with disdain when she finally speaks again. “I guess it’s the answer I should have expected,” she says.
“We’ll understand if you decide to hire another lawyer,” Rosie says.
“I want to think about it.”
“That’s fine.”
“In the meantime, let me be very clear about my expectations for the next few days. I expect you to put on a full defense for my son at the prelim.”
“But Julie—"
She cuts her off. “I’m not interested in lawyerly parsing or worthless excuses. My son’s life is in danger. You haven’t been able to get him out on bail. He’s been beaten up in jail. I’m giving you one more chance— because I have no choice. If you can’t get the charges against Bobby dropped at the prelim, I’m going to find him another lawyer.”
# # #
“Where does that leave us?” I ask Rosie.
“I think Julie has made her position quite clear.”
“She’s under a lot of stress. She’ll calm down.”
“Maybe,” she replies. “Let’s try to keep this in perspective. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“Bobby is convicted of murder.”
“No, that’s the second-worst thing. The worst thing is if Grace is somehow implicated.”
MD07 - Perfect Alibi Page 15