An Imperfect Process (10 page)

After a long silence, Monroe released his breath in a ragged sigh. "Okay, Miss Covington. For Kendra's sake. I don't want her carryin' no regrets when I'm gone."

"Good. And please, call me Val. We are going to get to know each other very well." Val pulled a legal tablet from her briefcase. "I know you've told your story a thousand times before, but would you mind doing it again?"

"Not much to say. I was never no saint. As a kid, I got into trouble with the law a couple of times. I never did nothin' violent, but I did have a record and the cops knew me. After I served six months for swipin' a car to go joyridin', I decided it was time I grew up. Kendra gave me another chance, and I got a job working in a warehouse. They treated me right and were going to make me a supervisor. I got me a GED and was set to take some night school courses at the community college.

"Then one night the cops came bangin' on the door. When I opened it, they charged in and slammed me against a wall. I moved real, real slow so they wouldn't get itchy trigger fingers. They said I had to come down to the station for some questions. When I left, I told Kendra I'd be back soon 'cause I knew I hadn't done nothin' wrong." There was a bitter edge to his voice. "I said good-bye to Kendra and the baby, and I been locked up ever since."

"What happened at the station?" Val asked softly.

"They kept askin' questions about what I'd done that night. Didn't know what was going on until one of the detectives got in my face and screamed why did I kill Officer Malloy? That's when I knew I was in deep shit—a policeman killed.

"I told 'em the truth, over and over. Then they put me in a lineup, a couple of witnesses said I was the shooter, and it was all over. I was charged, tried, and convicted. People cheered when I was sentenced to death."

His flat voice was chilling. Rob asked, "No one believed Kendra's testimony that you were with her?"

"The shooting took place only a couple of blocks from where we lived, so the prosecutor claimed there was time for me to sneak out and back without her knowing." Monroe snorted. "As if I'd leave Kendra to attack another woman, blow a cop's brains out, then calmly come home to play with my baby. But common sense didn't matter. They wanted to convict someone real bad, and I was handy."

"There was an attempt several years ago to commute your sentence to life imprisonment," Val said.

"The victim's family wouldn't hear of it, and what they think matters." Monroe's expression tightened. "Some smart folks tried to help me, Miss Val, and didn't get anywhere. It's time to let go and let God."

"We've already had this discussion, and you agreed to let us see what we can do. Personally, I prefer to think God helps those who help themselves. I'm not a criminal lawyer, but I'm a damned good attorney and maybe I can bring a fresh eye to the case." Val flipped to the next page of her tablet, revealing questions she'd written in advance. "Are you ready for a preliminary discussion of the evidence?"

Monroe gave a faint, rueful smile. "You sayin' that resistance is futile, and it will be a whole lot easier if I cooperate?"

Val smiled back. "That's about it, Daniel. Let's give it a try and see what happens. What have you got to lose?"

He rubbed a hand over his bald head, revealing the edge of a tattoo below his sleeve. "Nothin', long as I'm not fool enough to hope, and talkin' to you is a break in the boredom. Ask away."

Val obeyed, asking probing questions about the crime, the evidence, and the people involved. Rob watched in silence, simultaneously learning about the case and observing Monroe's reactions. Val's grasp of the material was remarkable, especially since she'd only just taken the case on and was working on multiple projects.

When their time was up, they left the SuperMax in silence. He inhaled deeply as they reached the street, thinking that even exhaust-tinged air tasted wonderful after the suffocating atmosphere of the prison.

He took his companion's cool demeanor at face value until they reached the privacy of the pickup truck. As he closed his door, she buried her head in her hands. "What a ghastly place! It's... it's like walking into a cloud of poison gas."

"Worse," he said grimly. "Prisons are soul-destroying for everyone in them."

"Seeing Daniel made capital punishment
real
. Kendra showed me a picture from before his imprisonment. He was a real teddy bear of a guy, very different from the way he looks now. As he talked, I couldn't stop thinking that his days are literally numbered. One day in September, the state intends to strap him to a gurney, stick a needle in his arm, and murder him." A wrenching sob escaped her. "It's barbaric.
Barbaric
."

Throat tight, he put an arm around her shoulders. "That's the worst of executing people. It makes us all barbarians."

She turned into him, shuddering from her sobs. Her intense reaction was a startling contrast to the composure she had shown in the prison.

His own reaction was equally intense. As he circled her with his other arm, he realized with a fierceness beyond anything he had felt in years that he wanted her. He wanted to have and hold her, protect her and seek comfort from her. He wanted to connect with another human being as he never had before. He had been attracted to her physically from the start, and soon came to admire her intelligence and charm. But her vulnerability touched some deep, long- frozen part of his soul.

Unable to bear the cascade of his emotions, he sought for a way to restore normalcy. "Maybe you're the one who can keep the barbarians at bay this time, Val."

"Maybe." She raised her head wearily. "Sorry to cry all over you. I never do things like that, but meeting a condemned man pushed buttons I didn't know I had."

"I won't tell anyone that the SuperMax got under your skin. It got to me just as badly." He pulled out his handkerchief for her, at the same time easing away, putting as much space between them as was possible in the cab of a small truck. "I'm amazed at how much you've learned about the case so quickly."

"There are three keys to being a good lawyer—preparation, preparation, preparation. Boring, but true. The more homework I do, the better the results, and I learned early how to do my homework well."

"Do you think Monroe is innocent?"

"Quite possibly." Her expression hardened. "But even if he's guilty as sin, I'm going to do my damnedest to get him off death row. I've just become a convert to the cause of ending capital punishment."

"There's nothing like personal experience to make the horror of it sink in." Before Val could wonder about his remark, he continued, "If I understand this right, remove the eyewitness testimony and the case against Monroe collapses. No physical evidence ties him to the murder—no blood, and the weapon was never found. His only crime might be that he was roughly the same size and shape of the real shooter."

"Like he said, with a policeman dead, they had to convict someone and he was handy." She wiped her eyes with his handkerchief. "Are you still up for investigating this case? It's not going to be fun, and the potential for pain and depression are huge. If you're unsure, now is the time to bail out."

"I'm sure." He turned the key in the ignition and the truck's engine lurched to life. "Tonight I'll start work on the files you gave me. When I'm up to speed, we can talk strategy."

"It's a deal." She smiled wearily. "We're off to a good start, I think."

Rob hoped so, or Daniel Monroe was doomed. But as Rob turned into the afternoon traffic and headed downtown, it was Val who dominated his mind. Now that he knew just how much he wanted her, what, if anything, was he going to do about it?

Chapter 7

Sunday afternoon in the park. Enjoying the lazy sunshine, Val pulled into the grassy lot and parked at the end of an irregular line of vehicles. In the last eight days she had decided to open her own office, committed herself to what was going to be a gut-wrenching case with little chance of success, spent far too much time fantasizing about her new landlord, and learned that a local Big Sister/Little Sister organization was having a potluck picnic. She wasn't sure whether so much change was exciting or terrifying.

No, she was sure. It was both.

She climbed from her car, telling herself that attending a picnic was not a commitment. Anita Perez, the social worker who coordinated the group, had explained the program over the phone and invited her to the outing. The other people were mostly existing Big/Little pairings along with other family members, but there would also be kids in need of partners and a few other women interested in becoming Big Sisters.

Val removed the bakery fudge cake she'd brought as a contribution and headed toward the sizable crowd picnicking under the oak trees. A card table held blank nametags, so she stopped to print her first name on a tag.

She was following the scent of broiling hamburgers when she was approached by a relaxed middle-aged woman with shrewd eyes and an easy smile. Glancing at the tag, the woman said, "Hi, Val. I've been hoping you would make it. I'm Anita Perez."

"It's nice to meet you in person. I feel ridiculously nervous about today."

Anita laughed. "No need. Have some food, meet people, talk to some Bigs and Littles to see what they think of the program. The girls who need a Big Sister are wearing red T-shirts that say I'M SOOOOO COOL on them. If you want to strike up a conversation with one, that's fine, but no pressure. We take a lot of pains to make a match that will work for both parties." Anita took Val to the nearest grill and made some introductions, then moved on to greet others.

Val's nerves began to unwind. Her friends used to say that she could strike up a conversation with a flagpole, so the fact that she didn't know anyone was not a problem. These were nice people. It took a generous spirit to reach out to a child who needed some extra attention, and if Val was any judge, the relationship benefited both sides. Certainly they all enjoyed telling her what a great program this was.

After hot dogs, hamburgers, salads, and sodas had been demolished, picnickers fell upon the dessert table, where her fudge cake was rapidly reduced to crumbs. In the lazy lull after eating, the more energetic in the group decided to play softball. Teams were formed with much teasing and giggling.

Val was considering whether to volunteer for shortstop when she noticed a spot of red at the far end of the grove of trees. A girl was perched on the most distant picnic table, feet on the bench and nose in a book. She looked frail and very alone.

For an addicted reader, hiding with a good book was the most fun possible. Still, Val decided to go investigate.

The little girl was maybe ten or eleven, with a wild tangle of dark hair and one of the I'M SOOOOO COOL T-shirts. Her nametag read LYSSIE, and the wiry hair and caramel-colored skin suggested that she was of mixed race.

Val hitched herself up onto the picnic table, sitting as far from the girl as possible so as not to invade her space. "Hi. Good book?"

The girl looked up. She was not pretty. Thick glasses distorted her dark eyes, and her face was thin and wary. "My father murdered my mother and then killed himself," she said in a flat voice. "You can go away now." Her gaze returned to her book.

Val's jaw dropped, which of course was exactly the reaction Lyssie wanted. Mastering her shock, she said, "That's a real conversation-stopper, but I don't see why what happened to your parents means I should go away. I admit that a good book is usually more fun than anything, but this is a picnic. Meeting new people can also be fun."

The girl looked up again. "My parents weren't married, so I'm a bastard."

Val guessed that Lyssie had been taunted, rejected, and singled out so often that she had decided to do the rejecting herself. The combination of belligerence and vulnerability touched Val's heart. "That gives us something in common. My parents weren't married, either."

"You're a bastard, too?"

"Yes, though my mother preferred to call me a love child, which means the same but sounds nicer." Wanting to retain the girl's interest, Val added, "We have something else in common—crazy curly hair. Being illegitimate never caused me any trouble, but this hair was the bane of my existence when I was your age." She tugged on a lock. "As curly as yours, and red-orange like a carrot. I stood out in a crowd like an orange sheep."

"Now that you're grown-up, why don't you do something with it? Straighten it. Color it."