Daddy's Girl

by Lisa Scottoline

"Nevertheless, she has been placed on suspension as a result."

  "She didn't do anything wrong." Nat felt terrible. She'd gotten Tanisa in trouble after all.

  "You lack standing, Nat. We don't operate the prison."

  "But she's being punished for nothing."

  "You're missing my point." McConnell's gaze hardened behind his bifocals. "The warden has requested that neither you nor Angus be permitted back into the prison, until further notice."

  "What? He can't do that." Nat took it like a blow, for Angus. "He teaches that class, and there are prisoners with active cases."

  "The warden has contacted Widener Law School, which agreed to take over the pending cases."

  "But Angus cares about those prisoners. His class. They know him. They love him there."

  "They'll get to know another lawyer. Clients change representation all the time." McConnell eased back in his chair, eyeing her as if from a great distance. He wore the same suit as yesterday, with a different rep tie. "May I speak personally to you?"

  No. "Yes."

  "It's almost your tenureship year, Nat. We'll begin meetings soon. Evaluations are being gathered as we speak." McConnell hunched forward again. "I've read your articles on legal history and I've always thought of you as one of our finest young legal scholars. We value true scholarship on this faculty. We're one of the best law schools in the country, and we made our reputation on the excellence of our academic credentials, not our clinical programs."

  Thank you? Nat didn't like getting props at Angus's expense.

  "I admit I didn't appreciate your seminar the other day, the dressing up and such. It's not my cup of tea. But I understand the need to be relevant. I'm not a relic."

  Uh, yes you are.

  "All this running around, at a county prison." McConnell sniffed. "This isn't like you, Nat. Not at all."

  "Maybe I'm changing." Who said that?

  "You may want to reconsider the wisdom of that, dear. Particularly at this juncture in your career." McConnell smiled politely, and Nat got the message.

  Stay outta Chester County.

  "Let me tell you a story," Nat began, standing on the stage before her seminar class. It was her third class of the day, but she felt amazingly energized, still jiggered up after her meeting with McConnell. She'd tried to reach Barb Saunders and Angus again, but no dice. For the time being, she set it aside.

  "One day in January, 1962, a prisoner in a Florida jail sat down with a pencil and paper to write a letter. He was fifty-one years old, white, poor, self-educated, a drifter, and by all accounts, stubborn to a fault. He'd been convicted for breaking into the Bay Harbor Pool Room in Panama City, Florida, and stealing money from the cigarette machine and jukebox."

  Anderson tapped away on her laptop, as did Carling, Chu, Gupta and Wykoff.

  "Wait a minute, stop typing." Nat raised a palm. "Everybody stop typing and look up. It's a story. Just listen."

  Anderson lifted her gaze, as did the others, one by one, reentering.

  "Good. Thanks. As I was saying, the prisoner couldn't afford a lawyer, so at the trial, he asked the judge to appoint one for him. The judge said no and told him that under the law, the poor were entitled to a lawyer only in capital cases or in exceptional circumstances. The judge was right, because that was the law at the time. So the prisoner defended himself at trial, making an array of mistakes, such as calling as his witness the very police officer who had arrested him. He was convicted and sentenced to five years."

  Wykoff frowned, and Chu blinked. Warren's hand never strayed to her keyboard, for IM-ing. Kewl.

  "But the prisoner studied law books in the prison library, and no matter how many times the inmate read the Sixth Amendment, he couldn't square it with the judge's refusal to give him a lawyer. So he wrote his own habeas petition to the Florida Supreme Court, which was denied, and then, undeterred, he handwrote a letter to the U.S. Supreme Court itself."

  Gupta and McIlhargey were paying attention, at least apparently The Supreme Court took his case and, as was their custom, appointed him a lawyer, one who couldn't have been more different from the prisoner. Abe Fortas was the quintessential Washing-ton insider, a major partner in a prestigious law firm. He drove a Rolls Royce, and his hero was Justice Brandeis. Fortas would say of Brandeis, 'He is an angry man—angry at injustice.'" Bischoff and Warren were listening, "Fortas got angry about injustice, too, and he argued the prisoner's case before the Supreme Court. He argued that the Sixth Amendment requires that the indigent be appointed counsel in all state criminal trials. The prisoner and the lawyer were asking the Supreme Court to revolutionize the law of the land. And the Court answered yes."

  Nat spoke without notes because the case always hit home for her, though today she was powered by something extra. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

  "In the end, the prisoner got justice. He received a new trial in the Florida court, and a lawyer was appointed to represent him. His lawyer discovered that the state's star witness, the policeman, had himself been arrested for beating up and robbing another man outside the very same pool room. The prisoner was found innocent. His name was Clarence Earl Gideon. The case was Gideon v. Wainwright!'

  Gupta and Anderson exchanged glances, and a slow smile spread across Chu's face.

  "In a November 13 letter to Abe Fortas, Gideon wrote, 'I believe that each era finds an improvement in law, each year brings something new for the benefit of mankind. Maybe this will be one of those small steps forward.'" Nat paused. "Clarence Earl Gideon believed that a single person could change the world, if he had justice on his side. He made history, because he was right"

  The huge hall fell silent. The students remained looking at her. Nat had given this lecture for two years and had never gotten this response. It thrilled her, affirming her, the class, and Clarence Earl Gideon, all at once. In the next instant, she put her finger on that something extra.

  And finally began to learn something she had been trying to teach.

  Chapter 21

  Students in peaked Tibetan hats, red-and-white-checked keffiyeh scarves, and multicolored hand-knit sweaters clogged Angus's hospital room. They turned when Nat walked in, looking at her like she was the one dressed crazily, in confidence boots and a black Armani coat. Truth to tell, the coat was a little pretentious, but after losing her toggle coat and camelhair coat, Nat was down to her dress coat, reserved for funerals and foreign films.

  Deidre lifted an untweezed eyebrow. "Hi, Professor Greco," she said coolly, standing nearest the bed. All the other students parted deferentially.

  "Natalie! You're just in time for ice chips." Angus craned his neck from his pillow in his hospital gown. He sported a new bandage and wasn't on an IV any longer, but he still had the splint in the crook of his arm and that golden tangle at his collar.

  Hey, pal." Nat made her way to the bed, and Angus's eyes lit up. "You look pretty."

  Nat's cheeks warmed. "Thanks. How're you feeling?" Good news! I may get to keep my spleen."

  "Juice included?"

  Angus laughed, and so did the students, though they hadn't been present for the joke.

  "I worried when I couldn't get through."

  "No, I'm alive. I slept all morning. I think one of the nurses put a Rune in my apple juice."

  Deirdre shoved Angus's arm playfully. "That's sexist."

  "Really? Guess what? You flunk." Angus smiled wearily. "Deidre, why don't you take everybody to the vending machines and give me a few minutes with Professor Greco."

  "Woot, woot!" hooted one of male students, triggering new laughter.

  Deidre quickly masked a scowl. "We'll be right back," she said, as they shuffled out en masse, laughing and talking.

  "Hey, you," Angus said softly. The room fell quiet, and the window behind him showed an evening sky the color of frozen blueberries.

  "Hey back at you." Nat pulled over a chair, vaguely uneasy. It felt as if something had changed between them, but she figured it was her ima
gination.

  "Love the boots."

  Or not. "Now I see why you wear yours."

  "Why?"

  "Attitude."

  "No, laziness. Attitude, I was born with." Angus cocked his head, eyeing her. "You look so happy. What's going on with you, girl?"

  Damned if I know. "I had a couple of good classes today, and even my seminar went really well."

  "Good for you! Making inroads, huh? I knew you would. They're coming around."

  "Maybe." Nat felt happy inside. "It's just nice, is all. To connect that way."

  "It's why we teach, isn't it?"

  "Exactly." Nat hadn't realized it before today.

  "What was the class about?" Angus shifted up on his pillow, interested.

  "Gideon."

  "Great case. Wonderful movie, too, with Henry Fonda."

  "I believe it, because it's a great story."

  "All cases are great stories, I think."

  Nat nodded. It was fun to talk about work without having to explain everything.

  "So what happened?"

  "So when I told them the story of the case, we actually had a moment. I don't even really know what happened myself."

  "They got it."

  "Yes, right." Nat thought about it. "I taught it, and they understood it, and for a minute, we met somewhere in the space between us, between me on the stage and them in their seats. It was like the lecture had an academic hang time." She shrugged. "That's the only way I can describe it."

  "How about love?"

  Gulp? "What do you mean?"

  "It's love. It's not that the students love us or that we love them. It's that we both love the same material—whatever principle you're trying to teach them—and in turn, it connects us." Angus made a full-circle movement with his hand. "We actually share that moment in time. It's a connection of human minds, and souls."

  "Right." Nat felt caught up in his words, then stopped herself. Was she losing it? She had to get off the topic. "Well. Anyway, did you really mean it when you said that the car accident might not be an accident?"

  "Yes. It's not a coincidence." Angus shook his head. "We were warned off, and the next day we almost got killed. If we put it together with what we think about Upchurch's murder, it makes sense. Some-body doesn't want us digging any deeper, somebody associated with Graf or the prison."

  Nat thought of her meeting with McConnell. "Then here's another coincidence, one you won't like." She told Angus the news that he was banned from the prison, and his cheeks flushed as red as his bruises.

  "Damn him! That bastard! He can't do that."

  "McConnell or Machik?"

  "Both! Either!" Angus's eyes flashed a brilliant blue. "That extern-ship program has served almost every inmate at the prison at one time or another. They can't just cut it off."

  "Widener's going to step in."

  "The hell they are! That's my program! What about my students? Those kids?" Angus pointed at the door, wincing as he tried to get up from the bed. "They benefit from representing inmates there. They came to us because of the clinic!"

  "Don't get upset." Nat felt for him. "Lie back. Let me get you some water."

  "No, thanks." Angus smacked the bedsheets in frustration. "I have to get out of here. I'm so cut off. My cell phone died. I lost my Black-Berry in the crash. I'm lying here like a fish, and they're undoing everything I've done."

  "We'll take care of it when the dean gets back." Nat went to the bedside tray table, poured water from a tan plastic pitcher into a Styrofoam cup, and handed it to him, which was when she noticed a wetness in his eyes, a sheen that he blinked rapidly away. Her heart went out to him. "Here you go."

  Angus nodded and accepted it, drinking thirstily. He cleared his throat, keeping his head down. Nat remained silent, standing over him. She couldn't see his face from this angle, only his tawny strands of hair. She let her gaze travel to the muscular roundness of his heavy shoulder, the cut of a thick bicep, and the freckles covering his arm, then felt her throat catch with a distinct, albeit unwanted, thought:

  What a beautiful man.

  "Thanks." Angus recovered and handed her the cup.

  "You're welcome," Nat answered, getting back in control. "More water?"

  "No. Thanks."

  "Feel better?" She set the cup on the table, and suddenly Angus reached for her free hand. His hand felt warm on top of hers, connecting them, and she didn't move her hand away.

  "Natalie, listen," he said, his voice husky. He looked up, his eyes dry and intensely blue. "I have to tell you—"

  "Excuse me?" came a female voice from the door.

  Angus dropped Nat's hand, and they both turned. It was Deirdre, leading the Mongol horde of students. She looked from Angus to Nat and scowled.

  "Sorry to interrupt, but your dinner has arrived."

  "Dinner?" Angus checked the wall clock. "It's only five o'clock."

  Natalie, listen, I have to tell you ... what?

  "The trays are here." Deidre helped the orderly slide a full tray of food from the tall rack and brought it to the bedside table herself. "Dinner is served," she said. "Roast chicken, peas, and a salad. Yum."

  Rrring! Rrring! Nat startled. It was her cell phone. She pulled it from her purse.

  "You can't answer that here," Deirdre said. "Cell phones aren't allowed."

  Thank you, India. Nat checked the display, praying it wasn't Hank, not here. But she didn't recognize the phone number. She opened the phone.

  In the background, Angus was saying, "I'm sure it's fine, Deirdre. We won't bust Professor Greco."

  "Hello?" Nat put her hand over her other ear and walked toward the door, while a woman's voice came on the line.

  "Ms. Greco? This is Barb Saunders."

  Nat turned and caught Angus's eye, mouthing "Barb." Into the phone, she asked, "How are you?"

  "Not great. Can you come over tonight?" Barb's voice sounded so choked that Nat almost felt like crying herself. "I need to talk to you. There's so much I want to know, about, you know, the end."

  "Yes, I'll come. What time?"

  "How long will it take you to get here? I'm sorry about the short notice, but I can't risk another headache."

  "I'm halfway there now. It'll take me half an hour or so."

  "Thanks so much. See you soon," Barb said, and hung up.

  Nat flipped the phone closed.

  "You gonna go?" Angus asked, and Nat didn't hesitate.

  "Yes."

  "Please wait until I can go with you," he said, and the students looked back and forth, like stepkids between Daddy and New Mommy.

  "She can't wait. Sorry."

  "Then be careful." Angus looked disapproving. "Look out for black Ford pickups. Call me here as soon as you can."

  "Okay," Nat said, grabbing her bag, as Deidre and the students closed the circle.

  Natalie, listen.

  Chapter 22

  Nat steered the Volvo along the last stretch of country road on the way to the Saunders house. Raindrops pounded on the hood of the car and sliced the night in front of her headlights, which froze them like a camera flash, making vision difficult. She'd checked for pickups on the way, but none had a Delaware plate. Still, she was relieved to finally reach Barb Saunders's house. She parked, grabbed her purse, and, putting it over her head, got out of the Volvo and ran up the driveway to the front door. She rang the bell. The door was opened quickly by Barb's sister Jennifer.

  "Come in! It's pouring!" she said, hurrying Nat inside. "Can I take your coat?"

  "Yes, thanks." Nat slid out of her coat, trying not to get water everywhere, and while Jennifer left to hang it up, she scanned the living room. Duct tape crisscrossed the couch cushions where they had been slashed, and the computer workstation looked bizarre without the computer, like an eye socket without an eye. The children's books and DVDs had been returned to the shelves, but one of the drawers In the credenza hung by a screw, broken.

  It's under the floor.

  "I know wha
t you're thinking," Jennifer said, returning, and Nat looked over in alarm.

  "You do?"

  "You wonder what's wrong with people. To burglarize a house during a funeral. It's sick."

  "I know." Nat could see that the family had tried to put the room back together. Soft yellow lights shone from a remaining lamp, the TV played on mute, and sharp red Legos and large Tonka trucks were strewn across the shag rug. From the kitchen came the shouts of little boys and the homey aroma of boiled hot dogs.