by Carsen Taite
“But isn’t the goal to raise that number, and doesn’t doing so benefit society as a whole? The more incentive offenders have to give up other criminals, the safer we will all ultimately be?” Meredith kept her tone even and her gaze trained on Stevie, but she shifted in her chair as she asked the questions, unaccustomed to the sudden and stirring attraction Stevie roused in her.
“It makes for a nice sound bite, but it’s not that simple,” Stevie replied. “Basically, you’re rewarding people involved in big conspiracies and slamming the door shut on solo operators or the low-level participants unlikely to have any useful information. The current system only benefits people who have a bunch of bad friends. If I have a client who was going it on their own or too incidental to the conspiracy to know much, they are sh—” Stevie grinned. “Well, let’s just say they out of luck.”
Meredith cocked her head, wishing Stevie had gone ahead and uttered the curse if only to see how the Republicans on the committee would react. Most of them were predisposed to think someone like Stevie, a public defender who argued for the rights of accused criminals, was de facto wrong about anything having to do with public policy. As a former assistant US attorney, she didn’t necessarily agree with Stevie’s arguments, but she wasn’t about to dismiss them out of hand either. “Do you object to the imposition of mandatory minimum sentences or only the effect they have?”
“Both. There’s no denying that the result of minimums is unfair and not just to offenders who happen to be loners, but there are other issues as well. Studies show that the very act of incarceration increases recidivism. Close to forty-five percent of offenders convicted of an offense that carries a mandatory minimum have no criminal history yet they will be detained at higher rates than many who are repeat offenders. That is not just.”
Meredith admired Stevie’s certainty, and brushed away the internal voice that whispered she might be letting attraction get in the way of objectivity. She sparred with Stevie a few more rounds and was surprised when Connie signaled their time was up by gaveling the session to a close. Meredith remained seated while her colleagues fled the building, everyone anxious to get out of town for the weekend. She noticed Stevie talking to another one of the committee members, Bob Lawton. She could’ve predicted Bob would home in on Stevie. He had a habit of sleeping with every attractive woman inside the Beltway whether they were available or not—the bonus of never aspiring to higher office. Wondering if Stevie were available and wishing she had Bob’s kind of freedom, Meredith tucked her head down, organized her notes, and filed them in her briefcase so they’d be easy for her secretary to locate and type up for the file.
“That was quite the grilling.”
She looked up to see Stevie standing next to her, and her heart raced. “That was nothing. I barely got warmed up.”
Stevie grinned. “Duly noted.” She folded her arms. “I’m not a fan of this format. It’s extremely limiting when it comes to sharing information. I don’t suppose you have time for a cup of coffee, or are you headed out of town with everyone else?”
Meredith silently gave thanks for her plans to stay in DC for the weekend, but still she hesitated. Coffee was harmless. Coffee was easy. There was a coffee shop right here in the building. A couple of grande somethings, some casual conversation, and then they’d go their separate ways. Anyone observing would think it was exactly what it looked like—a business meeting like the dozens she conducted every day in the Russell Building across the street from the nation’s Capitol. But she wanted more and decided to be bold. “Let’s have dinner. I have a table at the Old Ebbitt. Meet you there at seven?”
“The Old Ebbitt? I’m up for dinner, but I’d prefer someplace a bit more casual.”
“I like casual.” Meredith did her best not to sound too eager.
Stevie leaned down and plucked a pen off of the table and scrawled a note. She handed it over. “Perfect. I’ll meet you there at eight.”
Stevie turned and started walking toward the door before Meredith could answer, but it didn’t really matter because there was only one possible response, and Stevie clearly knew she was going to say yes. That kind of confidence was intoxicating, and Meredith couldn’t wait to have another drink.
* * *
Stevie could barely believe her own nerve, but hell, it wasn’t like she had anything to lose. She knew the hearing hadn’t gone her way, but maybe if she had a chance to talk to the senator without C-SPAN filming their every word, she could convince her to see the light. It didn’t hurt that Meredith Mitchell was breathtakingly beautiful.
Stevie walked out of the Russell Building and cut across Constitution Avenue to stroll by the Supreme Court building. It was already getting dark outside, and the lights on the building captured the majesty of this place in a way that daylight never did. She took a few moments to enjoy twilight before she walked to the Metro and took the Orange Line to her office. She’d welcomed the opportunity to appear before the Senate committee, but the day spent waiting to testify meant that her desk was likely piled high with work. For a brief moment, she regretted challenging the senator to meet her for dinner. What she should do is make a sandwich from whatever random fixings she could find in the fridge at the office and get caught up on her files, but it was too late now. She wasn’t about to call the senator’s office and cancel. The look in Meredith Mitchell’s eyes told her she was intrigued, and a little intrigue could go a long way toward persuasion.
She strode through the door of her office and shoved the stack of files on her dinged up wooden desk to the side. Everything was as she’d left it that morning with the exception of one new file with a neon green Post-it prominently placed that read “See me before you do anything on this.” She picked up the file and walked to her boss’s office and knocked.
“Joe, what’s up with this?”
“Have a seat.” He waved her toward a chair. “Tell me about the hearing. How did it go?”
“Fine, I guess. I don’t think we changed any minds, but I felt like they were listening at least.”
“How about Mitchell? Was she as rough as I’ve heard?”
“She played the part of a former prosecutor to a tee, but I felt like she was actually listening.” Stevie toyed with mentioning their dinner date, but date was too strong a word, and she didn’t feel like giving him a play-by-play of how it had come about. “Convincing her or anyone else that offenders have rights is an uphill battle, but I remain confident everyone will eventually see the light.”
“You’re such a glass half full kind of gal.” He pointed at the file in her hand. “Which is exactly why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve reassigned this case and it’s yours now. Defendant refused to talk to pretrial services, so he’s sitting in a cell when, based on how he looks on paper, he should be out on bond. I sent Santos to talk to him,” he said, referring to another public defender in the office, “but the guy wouldn’t talk to him either, and when I say wouldn’t talk to him, I mean would not utter a word. Judge continued the detention hearing to Monday afternoon.”
Stevie opened the file and scanned the scant information, noting the client’s name was William Barkley. “It says here he works in IT for Folsom Enterprises. Shouldn’t he be able to afford an attorney of his own?”
“Worked for Folsom, past tense. He was fired because of this case, and his credit report doesn’t paint a pretty picture. The magistrate has appointed us for now.”
“Any idea if he’s just stubborn or is there some competency issue?”
Joe shrugged. “Opinions vary, but I don’t think we’re going to get very far on his case if we don’t make a good faith effort to check it out. I know you’re busy, but I need someone with experience to assess the situation. These new kids are killing me—too much energy and not enough savvy. Go see him Monday and let me know what you think.”
Stevie answered quickly to keep from having to hear his usual lament about the more inexperienced attorneys at the office. “I’ll look at the file this w
eekend, and we’ll go from there.”
Joe gave her a curious look. “You calling it a day already?”
“After the grilling I just had, I think I deserve to leave before ten o’clock on a Friday night for once.”
“Fair enough. You want to grab a beer? Some of us are headed to Quarry House.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to bow out tonight. Believe it or not I have plans.” The minute she spoke the words, she was sorry. The folks who worked at the public defender’s office were a tight-knit group, and her peers knew she hadn’t been out on a date in forever. She could see Joe starting to form a question, and she beat him to the punch. “Not for public consumption yet. Probably never. If there’s ever anything serious going on in my life, I promise you all will be the first to know.”
“Sure, yeah.” He play-punched her on the shoulder. “Have fun, you deserve it.”
Stevie considered his words later as she walked from the Metro stop to her house in Maryland. She didn’t know about the deserving part. She took time from her demanding schedule to fit in a personal life now and then, but this wasn’t that. She was meeting a US senator to sway her to her side on an issue that had become politicized. A business meeting and nothing more.
Then why hadn’t she just stayed in the city instead of coming home to change, and why was she exhilarated at the prospect of seeing Meredith again? And when had she started thinking about her as Meredith instead of Senator Mitchell?
She peeled off her suit and hung it back in the closet. Dressed only in boy shorts and a tank, she wandered into the kitchen and debated whether or not to have a drink before she headed out to meet Senator Hotness. Opting to keep her wits about her, she fixed a glass of ice water and did a mental inventory of everything she knew about the senator.
Meredith Mitchell was the youngest of four children, and had been born into a family full of political power players. Her father, the former governor of New York, served three consecutive terms before stepping down to run a nonprofit foundation whose stated goals were to create economic opportunities and inspire civic service. Her oldest brother was the current governor of Massachusetts, and her other siblings, Michael and Jennifer, had spent their lives working in politics, but out of all of them, Meredith was the golden child. Two thirds of the way into her freshman term as senator, rumors swirled that she might enter next year’s presidential race.
Stevie didn’t believe the rumors. She hated politics, but living in DC, they were impossible to avoid, and even she knew that with the primaries starting just a few months away, Meredith would have a lot of catching up to do if she entered the race now. The current slate of presidential candidates had been working for months to lay the groundwork to hit the campaign trail full-on right after the first of the year, and filing deadlines for most states were only a couple of weeks away. Besides, the Democratic party already had their darling picked out, the senior senator from Texas, the feisty Senator Connie Armstrong.
Stevie glanced at her phone and realized she’d drifted off. She’d have to rush to get ready in time. She dressed quickly in jeans, a sweater, and a pair of boots, and grabbed a leather jacket on her way out the door. The Metro ride was quick, and she spent the few minutes on the train wondering if Meredith would show up and questioning whether she should’ve chosen a different spot if she’d really wanted to discuss business. Of course someone like Meredith would rather meet in a more traditional venue like the Old Ebbit where power plays were discussed on the daily. She was beginning to think this entire exercise was silly and she should go back home and dive into her work, when the train lurched to a halt, and the conductor announced her stop. Stevie shrugged off her second guesses and stepped off the train.
A few minutes later, when she walked into The Saloon, she spotted Meredith, seated at the bar. She was pleasantly surprised Meredith had beaten her here, but she tried not to read too much into her early arrival. Stevie stopped in the doorway, taking a moment to take in the juxtaposition of Meredith, still dressed in her business suit, holding a beer and chatting with the usually reticent bartender. Despite her formal clothes, she looked relaxed, casual, and utterly charming, and if Stevie really was here for a date, she couldn’t have asked for more.
* * *
The minute she walked into The Saloon, Meredith felt a sense of relief. At the Old Ebbit, she would’ve been stopped at least five times on the way to her table by shout-outs ranging from attagirls to blunt requests for favors, but here the patrons were more interested in the people at their own tables than whoever else might be inhabiting the same space.
She didn’t spot Stevie, so she took a seat at the bar and debated whether she should order a drink. Lord knew she needed one. She placed her cell phone on the bar, pulled out her credit card to start a tab, and smiled at the bartender who strode her way.
“You’re going to need to put that away,” he said in a gruff voice, pointing at a sign on the wall.
She followed the direction of his gaze. No cell phones, No TV, No standing, No martinis, No American Express. She palmed her platinum card and shoved her phone into her purse. Obviously, this place didn’t cater to politicians, but that was a good thing, right? Since her usual Hendricks martini was also off the table, she decided to embrace the challenge and put her beverage fortune in this guy’s hands. “Give me whatever you drink.”
He grunted and stepped to the row of tabs, pulled a beer, and clunked the glass onto the bar. Meredith set a twenty-dollar bill next to the glass and took note of the bartender’s slight nod. Well, she’d gotten that part right at least.
She sipped her beer while keeping watch on the front door. No matter what Stevie had said about this being a chance to discuss the pending legislation, she’d agreed to take the meeting because Stevie intrigued her. Anyone else and she would’ve told them to schedule an appointment with her staff. At exactly eight o’clock, the door opened and Stevie walked into the bar. She was no longer dressed in the sharp black suit she’d had on at the hearing, but the sportier look she was wearing now suited her like a second skin. Meredith envied the casual comfort—she couldn’t remember the last time she’d appeared in public in anything but senator-drag.
“I see you found the place,” Stevie said with a grin. She waved at the bartender and pointed to Meredith’s glass. “You like?”
“The beer’s amazing, but I’m a little surprised at your choice of venue.”
“Is that so?”
Meredith gestured toward the wall of rules. “This speaks more prosecutor than defense attorney.”
Stevie settled into the seat beside her. “Ah, that’s right. You worked for the US Attorney’s office once upon a time.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Did you like it?” Stevie asked.
Interesting question. Meredith couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked her about her time as a prosecutor. “Looking back, yes, but at the time I remember feeling boxed in. Young AUSAs don’t get to exercise a lot of discretion.”
“Interesting observation. I would’ve expected you to say something about how your time as a prosecutor gave you valuable perspective and all that.”
“Oh, I can say all that,” Meredith said, “but I get the impression you aren’t really impressed by political bullshit.”
“Would it be bullshit?”
“Not entirely, but there’s not a ton of room for nuance when it comes to sound bites. Which brings me to the subject of this meeting. I get the feeling you were feeling a little boxed in with the time limits during the hearing.”
“You read that right,” Stevie said. “If something’s important enough, it seems like you would want to hear everything there is to say on the subject.”
“And you think we don’t get much done now. Just wait and see how little we’d accomplish if everyone got to say their piece.” As she spoke, Meredith studied Stevie’s face, certain she’d seen a twinge of disappointment after she’d brought up the hearing. Maybe she wasn’t the only
one who’d had an ulterior motive for tonight’s meeting. Before she could test the water further, Stevie smiled and said, “Are you hungry?”
Meredith’s head spun at the abrupt change in subject, but she didn’t let it show. “Starving. Is the food good here?”
“Basic bar food, but yes. Trust me to order?”
“Absolutely.” Meredith sat back and watched Stevie negotiate with the bartender, occasionally looking over to confirm that she was okay with the selections. Meredith didn’t say anything other than to nod her assent. She was used to everyone deferring to her choices, and it was nice to have someone else take control for a night.
“We can move to a table if you want,” Stevie said once she’d completed their order.
Sensing that Stevie was only making the offer for her benefit, she demurred. “I’m fine here if you are.”
“Good.”
A moment of silence slipped between them, but instead of being uncomfortable, it felt natural, like they were old friends enjoying a night out with the knowledge there would be many more. Meredith raised her glass and took a drink, enjoying the idea of spending more time with Stevie.
“Do you really believe that mandatory minimums work?”
Again with the abrupt change in subject. Meredith took a moment to consider before shaking her head. “Not always, no.”
“Then why the fuss about getting rid of them?”
“What do you suggest in their place?”
“Better treatment options for prison populations. More options for probation with treatment. Stop filling the prisons with low-level drug offenders.”
“I agree with you in theory.”
“I hear a but.”
“But nothing is ever as simple as it seems. Treatment programs have their own issues.” Meredith ticked off the points. “Cost. Recidivism. When treatment is dangled as a way to get out of prison early, people will do or say anything to get a clean bill of health. Put them back on the streets and they’ll be using again in no time without ongoing treatment which most convicts do not continue once they get their get out of jail free card. Then there’s the problem that many times the people you want to help avoid mandatory minimums aren’t addicts at all so they don’t qualify for the sentence reduction a treatment program would give them.”