An Imperfect Process (27 page)

"Society needs to remember that justice should be about freeing the innocent and giving just punishment to the guilty. It can't be about revenge, because most criminals will get out of prison someday, and we better hope they've turned themselves around, which they're unlikely to do if they're bitter because they were hammered by a judge or thrown by their counsel or screwed by the police. If there's to be any hope at all, there has to be
justice
, dammit.
Justice
. And that means people like me fighting the good fight on behalf of people who don't always deserve it, but justice is worth the fight, always."

Val stared at him, and all she could think to say was, "Wow."

He stopped, embarrassed. "God, I'm preaching. Sorry, but you did ask."

"I'm glad I did. I just remembered one of the reasons I went to law school. It's easy to forget in the daily grind of a legal practice."

"You're in it for justice?" His mouth quirked up. "Most of my female classmates claimed they wanted to be lawyers for the money."

"That was another factor for me, but not the biggest." She rose and offered her hand. "Thanks, Cal. I'll do what I can for Daniel, and prayer goes at the top of the list, because if you couldn't save him, it will take a miracle for us to do it now."

"I hope you get one, because that's a case that's haunted me. Maybe eighty percent of the time the courts get it right, but I don't think this was one of them, and death is different from other penalties. So... final." He shook her hand, then dropped into his chair and returned to his computer screen. By the time Val reached his office door, he'd forgotten her existence.

Thoughtfully she left the building and walked along busy St. Paul Place. She was only a few blocks from Crouse, Resnick, but very different kinds of law were practiced in the two locations. Both were needed. Neither was exactly right for her.

In a matter of days she would officially open her own office, and it was up to her to develop the kind of practice that would suit her best. The prospect was still a little scary, but exhilarating. She could do this. She just wished that she could begin by freeing Daniel.

Crouse, Resnick was quiet. Kendra had officially left and was setting up the new office. Val had a lot of loose ends to tie up, but for all intents and purposes, her uptown law firm career was over. The biggest event left was her going-away luncheon.

After returning a couple of Crouse, Resnick calls, she checked her cell phone for personal messages. One number was Rob's. Glad to have an excuse to talk to him, she called his cell phone. "Hi, handsome, what's up?"

His deep voice had the remarkable ability to soothe and arouse at the same time. "I've located Joe Cady. Still alive, barely, at a nursing home in South Baltimore. Since you wanted to go with me, will tomorrow afternoon be okay?"

She felt a rush of excitement. "It would have to be first thing in the morning—tomorrow is my farewell luncheon." She jotted a note on her schedule. "I hope we get something useful from Cady. This morning I talked to the public defender who handled Daniel's case. He's a cool guy who gave a rant on justice that curled my toes. He also thought Cady might be our best chance for new evidence."

"Let's hope the poor schlub is well enough to talk."

"What's on your schedule for this afternoon?"

"I'm visiting Brenda Harris, the assault victim. If I can persuade her to admit that she wasn't absolutely sure Daniel was the attacker, it would add weight to the case."

Worth a try. "Have you had any luck investigating the other two witnesses' backgrounds?"

"I sure have. Though neither Long nor Cady had an adult arrest record at the time of the trial, they both had juvenile records, and they lied about their circumstances at the time of Daniel's trial. Long said he was a student at Coppin State College, but they never heard of him, and Cady claimed that he worked at Johns Hopkins, only he had been fired months earlier after about two weeks on the job. Will this undermine their credibility?"

"It might help support any stronger evidence we find." She sighed. "Cal Murphy suggested we pray for a miracle."

"If that's what it takes, I'll give it a try."

She wondered if he was joking. They had yet to discuss spiritual beliefs, which was odd considering how spirituality—or lack thereof—was a vital part of one's character. "Are you free for dinner tonight? Or a late night snack?" When he hesitated, she said, "I sleep better when you're with me, and it's been three whole days."

He chuckled. "That's a romantic proposal if I ever heard one. I'd love to come, but I'm not sure yet what time that will be. I'll call you."

She smiled. At least the day wouldn't be a total waste if she would see Rob later.

* * *

Petite and blond, Brenda Harris was an attractive woman in her late forties. She allowed Rob into her suburban home with a certain wariness. "I don't know what you want to talk about, Mr. Smith. Everything I have to say about Daniel Monroe and the murder trial is a matter of public record."

"An investigator needs to be thorough." It hadn't been easy to persuade Brenda Harris to see him, and Rob wasn't surprised to find a large man in the Harris living room.

"Marty," she said, "this is Rob Smith, that investigator I told you about."

As the men shook hands, Rob got the clear message that if he upset Marty's wife, he was in big trouble. "My intention isn't to disturb you, Mrs. Harris. I only want to hear in your own words what happened when you were assaulted, and Officer Malloy was killed. Maybe there's some small detail that didn't seem important or that you didn't remember till after the trial. Anything like that might be useful to my investigation."

Marty snorted. "How can this not be disturbing? She couldn't stand living in Kensington any more, which is why we sold that house and moved here to Essex."

"My mother worked nights, and she was assaulted once when I was a kid," Rob said soberly. "She fought back and ended up in the hospital." After that, she started carrying a gun. "It's a crime that women can't walk the streets in safety."

"It's a crime that murdering bastard Monroe is still alive when Officer Malloy is dead," Marty said vehemently. "Malloy never got to see his kids grow up. He never got to play ball with his son, or give his daughter away at her wedding. It's a damned crying shame that it takes so long for a murderer to get executed in this state."

"There's no question that Malloy's killer deserves punishment, but I'm conducting this investigation because there's evidence Daniel Monroe wasn't the killer. An innocent man might die, and no one wants that." He caught Brenda's gaze. "Mrs. Harris, the lighting was poor that evening, and you testified that the attack seemed to come out of nowhere. Have you ever wondered if it was Monroe who attacked you?"

"Never. It was him," she said flatly.

"Yet when you saw him in a photo lineup, you couldn't identify him," Rob said, careful not to sound confrontational.

"I was too upset then! I couldn't have identified my own mother. Later, when I saw the real lineup, I knew it was him. I could feel his filthy hands on me again. And he had that tattoo on his wrist, a nasty snake..." Her voice broke. "I still dream about that poor man screaming as Monroe shot him. And the blood... there was so much blood. It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen."

Even after all these years, pain was vividly real in her eyes. That still didn't mean her identification was correct. The police should never have put Daniel's picture in the photo lineup, then included him with a bunch of strangers in the real lineup. Seeing his face a second time had turned Daniel from a man she didn't recognize into a familiar face. But Brenda Harris was not going to concede the point.

"According to the case files, you were knocked to the ground in the cross alley beside the corner of the house on the south side. Is that correct?" When she nodded, Rob continued, "You would have seen the killer silhouetted against the only street light nearby. Were you able to see the man's features clearly?"

For an instant he thought he saw uncertainty in her expression. Then she shook her head. "It was Daniel Monroe I saw. I've never doubted it for a moment. I recognized his face and his tattoo."

"It was common then for young men in prison to get tattoos on their wrists," Rob said. "I've been looking up police files on possible suspects, and I've already found three men who had tattoos of the same general type as the one Daniel Monroe had."

"I recognized this one! Monroe is the one who attacked me and killed Malloy."

Rob would get nothing more from her. Suppressing a sigh, he got to his feet. "Thanks very much for taking the time to see me, Mrs. Harris. If you should think of anything else, here's my card."

But he would never hear from her. She might be wrong, but even if the memory had been artificially constructed after the fact, after all these years it was as firmly rooted, as convincing to her, as a genuine memory.

A pity the human mind was so suggestible, and so stubborn.

* * *

Though tempted by Val's offer of dinner, Rob finished his work before calling her to say that he was on his way over. It was after eleven o'clock when he rang her doorbell. If they were a couple, which they seemed to be, having a key would be handy, but he hadn't asked for one because he didn't want to spook her again.

Within seconds, the door swung open and she tugged him inside so the door could be shut to prevent the cats from escaping. Then she was in his arms, hugging him hard. "It's soooooo nice to see you," she murmured into his shoulder.

"Ditto." He wrapped her close, feeling the tension ease. "Did the mugging make you uncomfortable here alone? I can come over every night until you're okay again."

"No, I wasn't afraid of being alone." She stepped back and slid her arm around his waist, guiding him toward the kitchen. "I just—missed seeing you. Hungry? I've got some nice sliced corned beef and cheese from the best deli in Pikesville."

He laughed. "When you were little, did your mother teach you that the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach?"

"Nope, I figured it out for myself." They reached the kitchen, and she headed for the refrigerator. "I also picked up a six-pack of that microbrewery beer you said you liked, and some German potato salad. Interested?"

He kissed the back of her neck. "Very. Many thanks."

As he sat at the table, he told himself that he should stop trying to analyze how Val felt about him. She might feel skittish about getting serious too quickly, but surely her consideration and pampering was proof of caring. In time, they would get this right.

He had to believe that.

Chapter 19

Joe Cady was alive, though only just. He lay on his hospital bed like a cadaver, eyes closed and tubes in his arms. Outside the small room could be heard the voices and rattling crockery of the nursing home, but here the quiet of near death prevailed. Only Cady's labored breathing proved that he still lived.

While Val hung back, Rob turned off the wall-mounted television and said quietly, "Mr. Cady?"

The sunken eyes opened. His dark skin had a yellowish tinge and deep lines were carved in his face. He looked a hundred years old. If he lived until October, he would turn forty. "Who are you?" His voice was as thin and lifeless as the rest of him.

"My name is Rob Smith, and I'm looking into something that happened a long time ago." He nodded toward Val. "This is Val Covington, my partner."

A flicker of life showed in Cady's eyes when he looked at Val, who couldn't help but look sexy even in her lawyer clothes. The patient wasn't dead yet. "Why'd you come here? Nobody ever comes to see me." His mouth twisted. "Even my own family don't visit 'cause they're afraid I'll give 'em AIDS."

"We came because you're the key to understanding what happened the night Officer James Malloy was killed."

Cady's gaze shifted away. "Don't know nothin' about that."

Rob pulled a chair next to the bed and sat so he wouldn't loom over Cady. "Are you sure? It's been over seventeen years, but it was a big deal then. A police officer was shot and killed, and you and your friend Darrell Long were key witnesses at the trial."

Cady plucked fretfully at the bed covers. "Darrell weren't no friend of mine. Stole my money and shot my cousin."