Beyond Innocence (16 page)

“You must think I’m crazy,” Cory said.

You must be a mind reader.
“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“I hear a big ‘but.’”

Serena bit back a grin at the double entendre. Focus. “I don’t know what to think about you.”

Cory leaned back in her chair, her expression serious. “Ask me anything you want to know.”

“Why are you working for the clinic?”

“I think you already know that I was a prosecutor for the Dallas County District Attorney’s Office.” Serena nodded. “And I imagine you also know that I got into some trouble over a recent case.”

Some trouble
. Serena resisted the urge to point out the understatement. “The Nelson case. I’ve read about it.”

“The disciplinary committee of the state bar placed my license on probationary status, and working at the clinic is how I earn my way back into their good graces.”

Serena heard a hint of anger in Cory’s admission. Did a deeper resentment lurk beneath the surface? Only one way to find out. “If it were up to you, you wouldn’t be volunteering at the clinic?”

“If it were up to me, I’d still be working in my old job. That doesn’t mean that I’m not capable of doing the work at the clinic.”

“Capable?”

“Probably not the best choice of words. Look, I’m committed to doing the best work I know how while I’m working at the clinic. That includes making sure your brother gets the best representation possible.”

“And you think that you, a former prosecutor, can provide him with the best representation?”

“I think the fact that I’m a prosecutor gives me unique insight. So, yes, I do.”

The shift in tense wasn’t lost on Serena. Cory was still a prosecutor, probably always would be. “What happens when you’re done at the clinic?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. When your time is up? When your sentence is served? What will you do then?”

Cory fiddled with the wrapper on her burger, avoiding Serena’s piercing stare. She wasn’t getting off that easy. Serena needed to know exactly how committed Cory was. “You’ll go back to what you do best, won’t you? Back to the DA’s office. Back to sending people to prison. Whatever it takes.”

Cory put the rest of her burger down and stood. “I should go.” She shrugged into her coat and strode to the door. “I don’t know what the future holds. I do know this. I will do my level best for your brother. No matter what happens, he will know that I did everything possible to make sure he got a fair shot at justice. If you want to see for yourself, then meet me in the morning. Eight a.m., at the clinic.”

And then she was gone, and Serena was left with more questions than answers.

Cory peered into Paul’s office. She couldn’t swear, but she was willing to bet he was wearing the same clothes this morning as when she’d seen him the evening before. “Do you ever go home?”

“Occasionally.” He motioned to the briefcase she held. “Where are you headed this morning?”

“To file a discovery request in Judge Fowler’s court.”

“You don’t need to do that yourself. One of the interns can run it over.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather deliver it myself.” She hesitated, unsure about her next question. “If it’s okay with you, I plan to take Serena with me.”

“Kind of unusual don’t you think?”

“I suppose. I think she needs some reassurance that we’re doing everything we can to help Eric. Especially since Greg’s out of the picture.”

“You don’t have anything to prove.”

Paul’s laser perception took her off guard. She scrambled for a strong response. “I don’t think I do. Do you?”

His gentle smile broke the ice. “Not in the least. Actually, I think it’s a good idea for you to take Serena along. She’s a smart, capable woman and she’s offered to help out while she’s in town.”

Cory winced at his use of the word “capable.” “She seems like she could be very helpful.”

“I’m certain. And, Cory?”

“Yes?”

“She’ll come around.”

Moments later, Cory found Serena standing in the reception area, reading the framed newspaper clippings of clinic success stories. She was beautiful, and Cory’s gut twisted with desire. She should have handled last night differently. Been less abrupt, more understanding. And what would have happened then? Didn’t matter. She’d said her piece, hopefully cleared the air. They’d work together, and professionalism would define their relationship. Cory would pretend to like the idea until she got used to it. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Serena pointed at the frames on the wall. “The clinic has a stellar reputation.”

“The people here work hard. But not all reputations are built on truth.”

“Is that so? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. You have something to say, say it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers.” Cory hastily changed the subject. “Are you ready to go?”

Thankfully, Serena followed her lead into the change in subject. “Where are we going?”

“The Rinson County courthouse. If you’re going to help out around here, you should see how things work, firsthand.”

“Lead the way.”

Neither spoke much during the car ride. Cory occasionally referenced points of interest along the way, but otherwise, the forty-five minute trip dragged. Serena stared out the window and Cory flirted with danger as she spent more time looking at Serena’s profile than the road ahead. She shouldn’t be captivated by the sister of a client, a woman who had no respect for her. She should remain focused on the case, especially if she wanted to earn Serena’s respect. Which she did.

Why did she care so much about this stranger’s opinion? Maybe because she’d lost the respect of everyone else. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Julie respected her. Didn’t she? Of course she did. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have made the promises she had. But Julie didn’t make her feel the way Serena did. And she wanted Serena’s respect more than she wanted Julie’s. Crazy. Any respect she’d get from Serena would be fleeting. No matter how talented she was, Eric’s case was a loser, and she was destined to have another albatross around her neck the day the state put him to death. Cory Lance, can’t keep people in prison or out of it.

“Aren’t you going to ask any questions about what’s on the agenda?”

“You didn’t seem like you were in the mood to talk, so I’m saving them up in my head.”

“And here I thought you were the one administering the silent treatment.” Cory shook her head as she played the statement back in her head. She sounded like a five-year-old. “I’m sorry, that was unnecessary.”

“But probably not far off the mark.” Serena turned in her seat. “As I recall, you were the one who walked out last night.”

“I probably shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“Don’t want to get too close to the real people involved, right?”

If you only knew.
Cory pretended to ignore the comment. “Do you want to know the plan for this morning or not?”

“Sure, if you have a plan, I’d love to hear about it.” Serena managed to inject a subtle inference into every statement. Trouble was, Cory wasn’t entirely sure she knew what she was doing. She’d handled death penalty cases before, at trial. This part of the process was foreign. At least in a big county like Dallas, her work was over once the trial concluded. The post-conviction process was handled by the appellate division, and a lawyer from that unit handled all interaction with the defendant’s appellate counsel. The newly elected DA had added another layer to the process. He’d formed a Conviction Integrity Unit. That unit, which consisted of one lawyer and one investigator, was responsible for her suspension. They’d opened the files to Nelson’s attorneys and provided full access. All her trial notes and preparatory investigation, normally considered privileged attorney work product, was produced to the other side. Talk about arming your enemies.

As much as she resented the process, the motion in her briefcase essentially asked for the same access in Eric’s case. She didn’t think she had a chance, but she had to do something to get the ball rolling. “I’ve prepared a discovery motion, a request for access to the district attorney’s files regarding Eric’s case.”

“Hasn’t anyone had access to them before?”

“Partly. Generally, the defense isn’t entitled to full review of the prosecutor’s files. The files often contain what’s called attorney work product. Notes, ideas, strategies—things that aren’t considered evidence. Prior to trial, all we’re entitled to is the evidence in the case, like the police report, witness statements, copies of photo lineups.”

“I recall seeing most of those things in the trial attorney’s files and in the trial transcript.”

“You’re right. We have the stuff that was produced to Eric’s attorneys and/or entered into evidence.”

“But you’re looking for something different.”

“Exactly. Reports, statements, evidence of lineups that weren’t produced or used at trial because they wouldn’t have been favorable to your brother’s case.”

“Aren’t they supposed to share that information anyway? I remember reading about a law that requires them to.”

“If it were written on the books as a law, it would be easier to tell. What should be produced in pretrial discovery can be a gray area.”

“Lawyers love gray areas.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that when an attorney doesn’t want to do something, it’s complicated, but when they’ve made up their minds, then everything’s black and white.”

“That’s a fairly broad generalization.”

“Just my observation.”

“Well, you’re right about the evidence part. There is a Supreme Court case that says that the prosecution is supposed to turn over exculpatory evidence, evidence that would tend to show that the defendant didn’t do what he’s accused of doing, to the defense.”

“And apparently, most prosecutors don’t feel like they need to comply.”

“Wow. Talk about black and white. I think most prosecutors do the best they can.”

“The best they can? Seriously, how hard can it be?”

“Harder than you think.” With every sentence, Cory hoped Serena would lose interest in the subject. No chance.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why don’t you say what you really mean?” Cory cracked a smile to lighten the atmosphere, but Serena wasn’t buying. She took a different tack. “Consider this. You’re a prosecutor and the complaining witness in your case is a little girl who claims her dad molested her. Her mother files for divorce, and when the little girl learns that her family is breaking up, she says that she made up the abuse. She talks to a counselor, and finally, realizes she’s not responsible for her mother’s decision to end the marriage and admits she said she lied about making up the story so her parents would get back together. Do you have an obligation to tell defense counsel about the brief change of story?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you so sure? What if the defense attorney makes such a big deal out of it that the child molester goes free? She’s a child, for crying out loud. She’s susceptible to suggestion.”

“Sounds like you’re arguing for the other side. Of course a child is suggestible. That doesn’t mean they are not capable of telling the truth and sticking to it. The truth is what the truth is. It’s that simple.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“I have to.”

Cory thought but didn’t speak the logical connection to Eric’s case. If Eric really raped and killed Nancy McGowan, then did Serena think he deserved to die? “I don’t think things are that simple.”

“You sure about that? I bet when you’re working at the DA’s office you believe the folks you’re prosecuting are all bad.”

“Most of them are.”

Serena shook her head. “Seems simple then. If the bad guys are so bad, they’ll get convicted even if you share all the information you have.”

“That’s a thought, but sometimes you don’t have all the facts. Sometimes law enforcement doesn’t share the exculpatory information with the ADA working the case.”

“Okay, well, that seems like a different situation. Is that what happened to you?”

Cory shifted in her seat, her gaze firmly focused on the road in front of her. They were close to the courthouse, but not close enough for her to dodge the question. “It was a complicated situation.” She wanted to shout the answers, clear the air, get Serena to stop looking at her like she was a paragon of evil. Every time she started to share details, she heard Julie’s voice in her head, telling her to wait it out, promising redemption. “It’s complicated,” she repeated.

Serena turned away from her and gazed out the passenger side window. “So what’s the plan for today? You march in and ask the prosecutor to just hand over the contents of his file to you?”

“Something like that.”

“And you think he will?”

“Not in a million years. But if he doesn’t agree, I’m going to ask the judge.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at the Rinson County Courthouse. The turn-of-the-century building sat in the center of the town and they parked across the street. As they got out of the car, Serena asked, “Quaint building. Have you been here before?”

“Once, to visit a prosecutor on a case related to one I was prosecuting. It’s been a long time.”

Serena looked around. “This town seems very…conservative.”

Cory followed her gaze. Almost every car on the square sported a bumper sticker supporting Republican candidates, and every face they saw was white. Rinson County was staunch middle-class, and solidly red. “It is. Very.”

“Doesn’t seem like a good place for a black man from the big city to be on trial for killing a hometown white girl.”

And rape. Don’t forget the rape. “As much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably right. Any idea why Eric was working out this direction?”

“He said that he had trouble getting work in Dallas. I guess small town folks don’t run background checks.”

“Makes sense.” Cory led the way up the steep stairs outside of the courthouse. “When we get inside, I’ll do the talking. I’d rather they didn’t know you’re Eric’s sister, so I’m just going to say that you’re a paralegal. Okay?”