Chapter 10

Despite the off-and-on-again drizzle, Carmichael chose to leave her umbrella on the passenger seat when she got out of her car. After making sure she wasn’t parked in a tow zone, she walked close to the wall of the office building and managed to make it to the front door relatively dry.

After signing in with the security guard, she took the stairs up to the third floor. Upon entering the designated office, she was greeted by a receptionist.

“May I help you?”

“I’m Abbie Carmichael. I’m here to see Calea Morgan.”

The other woman smiled broadly. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Abbie. I’m Melissa Cranston. Calea talks about you so much, I feel I already know you.”

Carmichael returned the smile. “She’s told me a lot about you too, Melissa. She said you have a little boy named Jace who is absolutely adorable.”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about the ‘adorable’ part. Last night while I was studying, he drew a beautiful picture with markers for me. Unfortunately, it was on the kitchen wall.” As Carmichael laughed, she reached for the phone. “I’ll let Calea know you’re here.”

Seconds later, she hung up the receiver. “She said to send you back. It’s the office at the end of the hallway.”

“Thank you,” Carmichael replied.

Upon reaching Morgan’s office, she found the door open.

“Hey, Stranger,” Morgan greeted her from a paper-strewn desk. “What brings you here?”

Carmichael scanned the room and said, “You’re my excuse for cutting out early today.” She strolled to the window behind Morgan’s desk and added, “Nice view of the parking lot.”

“At least my office has a window,” Morgan retorted as Carmichael took a seat across from her. “And this way I can keep an eye on my car. Although, lately, I’ve been thinking of not watching it so closely. You know, once they’ve been wrecked, cars are never quite the same again.”

“Well if you decide to ‘accidentally’ leave the keys in it, make sure you lock it first. Otherwise, the insurance won’t pay up.”

Morgan grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Growing more serious, Carmichael said, “I’m here to talk with you about Sara Grayson.”

“What’s the verdict?”

“I’ve spent the last few days checking out her story and it doesn’t look good for her. No one can back up the abuse claim. Besides Sandy Hamilton, no one else even suspected. She didn’t talk to any coworkers, former neighbors, or her brother and sister-in-law about it. Her medical records show that of all the doctor’s visits and the one trip to the hospital she had in the last five years, there was never a hint that her husband was the cause of any injuries. To be honest, I’m finding it difficult to believe her claim. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone made something up to talk their way out of a murder charge.”

“You can’t expect evidence of abuse to fall out of the sky,” Morgan argued. She studied Carmichael for a moment before adding quietly, “You and I know all too well that most victims are very good at hiding what has or is happening to them.”

Carmichael’s gaze dropped quickly to the floor and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair at the pointed personal remark.

Morgan continued, “It’s all part of the cycle. The one being abused is embarrassed and feels at least partly to blame because the abuser destroys their self-esteem and rational thought. Spousal and child abuse are crimes of secrecy, which is one of the things that makes them so difficult to fight. The fact that you can’t find anything to back up Sara’s claim should help convince you she is telling the truth. If she had simply planned to get rid of her husband and use abuse as a defense, it stands to reason that she would have claimed he was beating her to anyone who would listen in order to establish justification.” Morgan chewed her lip in indecision for a moment before adding, “Strictly off the record, the oldest daughter confirms the abuse.”

“You spoke with her?”

Morgan nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“You know I have to hear it from her to use it as a consideration. If I’m satisfied that she’s telling the truth, I’ll consider knocking the charges down.”

“Knocking them down as in eliminating them?”

“That’s unrealistic. No matter what her husband did, your client took the law into her own hands. If she had handled things properly, Mitchell Grayson might be the one sitting in Riker’s right now instead of Sara. She can’t expect to get off scot-free after killing him in his sleep.”

“Then the children are off limits. These kids are shell-shocked, Abbie; they are emotional wrecks. Alissa was barely coherent when I spoke with her. They’ve come from living in one horrible situation to dealing with one that’s even worse. If you could give me some assurance the charges would be dropped, it would be worth it to let you speak with them. But without that guarantee, letting a jury decide whether or not Sara is telling the truth is a better option for us.”

Shaking her head, Carmichael said, “I don’t think a jury is going to be as forgiving as you think. Not after hearing from Mitchell’s coworkers and friends about what a devoted family man he was, or how Sara started making plans weeks before she actually killed him, then carried out her plan at a time when he couldn't fight back.”

“The Courts are on my side,” Morgan insisted. “If the Massachusetts Supreme Court can allow Deborah Conaghan to use battered-woman-syndrome to explain why she helped her abusive boyfriend beat her own five year old to death, Sara can certainly use the same defense to explain her actions.”

“So this is going to turn into a war of the psychobabble experts,” Carmichael suggested dryly.

Morgan shrugged. “We’ll do what we have to. Sara Grayson doesn’t deserve to be punished for what she’s done. And I’ll use whatever means are at my disposal to make sure she isn’t.”

Carmichael crossed her arms and studied Morgan for a moment. “I’m surprised at you. It sounds like you condone anything any woman does in response to an abusive situation, real or imagined.”

“On the record, I’m simply doing my job by representing my client as diligently as possible.” Morgan leaned forward on her elbows. “Off the record, I think any woman who participates in the injury or death of her own child, for any reason, deserves the maximum punishment the law allows. The welfare of a woman’s children should be the single most important consideration in her life. And if someone is threatening those children, a woman is not only justified, but obligated to use whatever force is necessary to eliminate that threat.”

“Mitchell Grayson wasn’t threatening their children,” Carmichael reminded her.

Morgan turned her chair and stood up, walking over to stand in front of the window. “I’ve spent three days talking with her now. I don’t say I agree with what she did, but there is one thing I’m absolutely convinced of: Sara’s children are more important to her than her own life or well-being. She never would have taken the action she did just to protect herself. Whether anyone else can see it or not, she reacted to what she perceived to be a threat to her kids. No one else walked in her shoes. It isn’t for us to say there was no threat. In Sara’s eyes, there was. And I will defend her accordingly, whatever my personal feelings may be.”

With a deep sigh, Carmichael leaned back. “Then I guess we take this to a jury. I suppose you’ll want a quick trial date.”

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner my client returns to her children,” Morgan agreed.

“I’ll see how quickly we can get placed on the court docket. Jack isn’t going to be too happy about this. He all but threatened my life if I didn’t work something out with you this afternoon.”

Returning to her chair, Morgan asked, “Why? What’s the problem?”

“The problem is I won’t be filling the second chair for him on a trial he’s starting tomorrow.” At Morgan’s questioning look, she explained, “Jack is going to be tied up with the Armstrong trial for at least four or five weeks. Nora and I have talked it over, and I’m going to try this case myself.”

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “You and I are going to face off on this one?”

“Yeah, why?” Carmichael asked with a challenging smile. “You think I’m going to be a push-over for you?”

“Not at all. I think it’s great. A female defendant, defense, and prosecutor. All we need now is a female judge to complete the set. So who is going to fill Jack’s second chair?”

“My assistant, Serena. It will be her first trial.”

“Uh-oh. He can’t be too thrilled about that,” Morgan observed. “No wonder he wanted us to come to terms.”

“That reminds me, I need to call and let him know the outcome of our conversation. Is there a phone I can use where I’ll have some privacy, in case he pitches a fit?”

“Sure. You can use the one in the conference room. And you can blame the lack of a plea agreement on my stubbornness. You know he’ll buy that.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Carmichael promised. “How much longer are you going to work? I was hoping to drag you out of here early so we could run while it’s still daylight.”

Morgan surveyed her messy desk and sighed. “It’s going to take at least a couple more hours to finish all of this.” She looked up at Carmichael and smiled. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

***“I did everything I could. You know how she is once she’s made up her mind. She wouldn’t even have agreed to probation with no jail time. And there’s no way we can drop the charges on this one.”

McCoy gritted his teeth as he held the phone. He considered suggesting that he take a run at persuading Morgan, but thought better of it considering his and Carmichael’s last few tense conversations. “The Armstrong trial is going to be a tough one, Abbie. I need all the help I can get.”

“You told me Serena did well during voir dire. For the last three days, I’ve spent time coaching her on what to do at trial. I’ll talk with her in the morning before you leave for court and give her some more pointers. She’ll do fine.”

He huffed out a breath. “Your pointers can’t compensate for her lack of experience. And you can’t tell her everything she needs to know in three days.”

“She learns very quickly and she’s really excited about working with you on this. Be patient with her, Jack. I know she’ll be great.”

With a resigned sigh, he asked, “Who’s going to fill your second chair on the Grayson trial?”

“I’m thinking of asking Todd Penland.”

“So you take the A.D.A. with six years of experience, and stick me with Serena? That hardly seems fair.”

Carmichael grinned. “Funny how that worked out.”

“Oh, it’s hysterical. I can hardly stop laughing,” McCoy grumped. “Are you coming back to the office today?”

“No. By the time I fought the traffic get there, it would be time to turn around and go home. Calea and I are going to take off for our run in a few minutes.”

“It’s raining,” McCoy pointed out.

“Like she says, we’re not made of sugar, we won’t melt.”

“You won’t hear an argument from me on that subject. The two of you have thoroughly convinced me of your lack of sweetness today,” he noted. With a smile softening his voice he added, “Tell her I said that if I lose the Armstrong trial, it will be her fault for stealing my second chair. And both of you be careful this evening.”

“See you in the morning, Jack.”

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