Chapter 16

 

  “Are you absolutely positive that you didn’t get the days mixed up, Mrs. Lopez?” McCoy questioned.

  “Objection,” Morgan called from behind him. “Asked and answered.”

  “Sustained,” Ianello decided.

  With a sigh of frustration, McCoy stated, “I have nothing further.”

  As soon as he had returned to his chair beside Southerlyn, Morgan stood. “The defense rests.”

  Ianello nodded. “We will commence with closing statements this afternoon at 2:00.”

  “Your Honor, if I may, I would like to request that I be allowed the rest of the day to review my closing, given the unusual circumstances of yesterday,” Morgan suggested.

  “Any objections, Mr. McCoy?”

  “No objections.”

  Picking up his gavel, Ianello said, “Then we will resume tomorrow morning at ten a.m. Court is dismissed.”

  McCoy purposely took his time gathering his meager paperwork and a notepad in order to allow Morgan to leave first. He had no desire to see the satisfaction that he was sure he would find if their eyes happened to meet.

  “Was it just my imagination or did Morgan seem a little distracted today?” Southerlyn queried from beside him.

  He turned to look at her blankly, then replied, “She seemed fine to me.”

  As they began to walk toward the door, Southerlyn noted, “I thought she appeared a bit preoccupied. Maybe she was just thinking about her closing.”

  “What’s there for her to think about? After Mrs. Lopez’s testimony, it’s a slam-dunk. No matter how hard I tap dance tomorrow, and no matter how I try to get the jury to focus on the M.E.’s time of death, I won’t be able to make them forget that Fisher was having coffee at the same time Green said the girl was killed. I’ll be surprised if they don’t bring back the not guilty verdict before lunch.”

  Southerlyn gave him a sideways look and, given his darkening mood, decided to let the subject drop.

***Briscoe pulled his chiming cell phone from his jacket pocket and touched the receive button. “Yeah?”

  “Detective, this is Calea Morgan. I was wondering if you and I could meet somewhere for a few minutes this afternoon. I’d like to talk with you about something.”

  He didn’t bother hiding the anger and suspicion in his voice. “Talk about what? About how, thanks to you, a rapist and murderer will soon be back on the streets?”

  There was a brief pause before Morgan responded in a quiet but sincere voice, “I need your help, Lennie.”

***McCoy looked up at the sound of someone tapping gently on his opened door.

  “Abbie!” he exclaimed with the first genuine smile to light his face in days. “What in the world brings you here?”

  Carmichael approached his desk, returning the smile. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop in to see how you were doing.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” he scolded, getting up to put an arm around her shoulders. Giving her a quick squeeze, he guided her to a chair beside his desk. “Have a seat.” When she had done so, he settled back into his own chair and asked, “How are things going in the U.S. Attorney’s office?”

  She nodded. “Things are good. The work is not only interesting, but satisfying as well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” McCoy responded, shaking his head sadly. “I was hoping that you were going to say things are terrible, and ask if you could come back to work with me again.” 

  With a grin, Carmichael said, “Liar. I know how happy you were to trade me for an assistant who doesn’t talk back.”

  McCoy chuckled quietly. “I think you’d be surprised to hear how Serena stands up to me lately. I’ve been wondering if maybe you put the idea into her head that doing so would somehow be appreciated.”

  “I did my best to train her right,” Carmichael acknowledged.

  Although the smile didn’t entirely leave McCoy’s face, it faded somewhat from his eyes as he asked, “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you really here?”

  Leaning an elbow on his desk, Carmichael admitted, “I’ve been hearing some things about a case you’re trying. I thought I’d come by and get the scoop straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  Despite her teasing tone, McCoy’s eyes grew serious and his expression became slightly defensive. “And what exactly have you been hearing?”

  Carmichael was curious at his response and studied him carefully for a moment. Then, deciding there was no use in beating around the bush, she asked, “How sure are you about this guy, Jack?”

  “I’m sure,” he replied, with a look and tone that left no room for doubt. “And if you were the one filling second chair on this case, you’d be sure, too.”

  “From what I heard, the case against Fisher wasn’t very strong going in.”

  “That doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty.”

  “So given what happened yesterday, is there any chance you can still win the trial?”

  “Most likely not,” he admitted, frustration seeping into his voice. “Is there some reason why you’re asking all of these questions?”

  “Like I said, I just wanted to hear things from your perspective.”

  “As opposed to Calea’s,” he suggested dryly. “And what is her perspective on the whole situation?”

  Carmichael sat back in the chair and regarded him closely. “She thinks your desire to win has sent your ethics packing.”

  “My ethics are fine. If they weren’t I’d be facing sanctions as we speak, considering that Calea did her best to convince a judge to impose them.” He shook his head. “I’ve acted no differently in this case than I have in any other. If she expected special treatment because of our past friendship, I’m sorry she was disappointed. She should’ve known I wouldn’t pull any punches just because she was the one sitting at the other table.”

  “I think you know her better than that. All she expected was for you to act fairly.”

  “And she thinks I’ve done otherwise?”

  “Actually, she thinks you have now, in fact, treated her exactly as you do other defense attorneys. She thinks you’ve shown your true colors during this case and that she was wrong to think you were any different than every other prosecutor hell-bent on winning at any cost.”

  Carmichael saw a faint look of surprise in McCoy’s eyes before he turned slightly away from her. “Everyone’s entitled to their opinion.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?” she asked.

  Shrugging, he replied with a light smile, “Probably not, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.” 

  Ignoring his attempt at humor, Carmichael said, “I think you’re upset with Calea for some reason and taking it out on her by doing anything you can to beat her.”

  He moved his chair closer to his desk and picked up a pencil. “I’m doing nothing of the sort. And if that’s what you came here to say, then consider your mission accomplished. I have work to do.”

  “Are you sure that isn’t what you’re doing? Because after listening to her side of the story, that’s the impression I got even though she thinks otherwise.”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with something I may or may not feel towards Calea. This is about doing everything I can to keep a murderer from walking,” he insisted.

  “That’s a load of b.s. and you know it,” Carmichael retorted. She sighed and reached out to place her hand on his arm. “You’re talking to the person who fought on the same side of the courtroom with you for three years. I want to know what’s really going on, Jack.”

  McCoy looked into her dark eyes, contemplating. After several seconds, he said, “She chose the case, Abbie. She knows better than anyone what that girl suffered in the last few minutes of her life and still she chose to represent a man accused of rape and murder.”

  “You make it sound like she took out an ad. She didn’t choose the case. She was roped into it. Representing Fisher was a trade-off with Brenda Radcliffe to get Sara Grayson’s case.”

  He studied her for a moment, considering her explanation. Then he shook his head. “She could’ve said no. She worked on our side of the courtroom while representing Peter Fairchild. It certainly shouldn’t have bothered her to turn down a case like this.”

  “So you’re disappointed in her.”

  Without acknowledging her comment, he leaned toward her, his eyes intense. “You know her. What do you think it’s going to do to her when she gets Fisher off and he goes out and murders another young girl? She won’t be able to live with herself. She’ll feel responsible and it will kill her.”

  “Now you’re trying to tell me that you’re pulling out all the stops and bending the rules – what? For her sake?” Carmichael suggested disbelievingly. “At least admit it to yourself, Jack. You’re angry with her for representing a man you feel doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us. And if you can’t prove he’s guilty on the facts alone, you’re still going to get even with Calea.”

  “And her taking me to the Disciplinary Committee for doing nothing more than my job is any different?”

  She leaned forward, contending pointedly, “She isn’t going to file a complaint. She decided against it. You’re going to ruin a friendship with someone you care about simply because she did something you’re taking as some sort of personal betrayal.”

  Before McCoy could reply, Southerlyn appeared at his door. “I thought I heard a familiar voice. What are you doing here, Abbie?”

  Carmichael turned to give her a slight smile. “I was just talking to Jack about something.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Southerlyn apologized, turning to leave. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You aren’t,” Carmichael assured her as she stood up. Giving McCoy a disappointed look she added, “I don’t have anything else to say.”

***The noise-filled bar was considerably darker than the sunlit brightness he had walked in from and it took Briscoe’s eyes several seconds to adjust. Once he could make out basic shapes, he realized that it was more crowded than he had expected for an early afternoon work day. It took a few more seconds to spot a familiar figure seated at a table past the bar.

  As he approached the table and sat down he said gruffly, “I’m here.”

  With a look that seemed genuinely grateful, Morgan replied, “Thanks for coming, Lennie. I really appreciate it.” She chewed the inside of her lip for a second before adding, “I need to talk to you about my client.”

  “I don’t really see the point, Counselor. You and I aren’t exactly on the same team, here.”

  “I think we are,” she argued. “We may have different jobs to do but we both want to see justice done.”

  With a smirk, Briscoe responded, “My idea of justice is to see Fisher fry for what he did to that little girl. Your idea is to see him walk away a free man. That doesn’t leave us much to talk about.”

  Morgan let out a sigh. “Look, I explained to my client from the start that in order to help him I had to know the truth. And just between the two of us, he has consistently maintained his innocence, even though he fully understands that there’s no point in lying to me about his involvement. If he had even hinted to me that he committed the crime, we wouldn’t be here now. I would’ve talked him into taking a plea long ago.”

  Briscoe shook his head. “If you’re trying to convince me he’s innocent, you’re wasting your time.”

  “I’m not trying to convince you.”

  Giving her a curious look, he asked, “Then what are we doing here?”

  She studied her hands for a second, then looked up at him and explained, “Before I stand in front of that jury tomorrow and point out that there is more than a little reasonable doubt as to Fisher’s guilt, I have to know without a doubt that he really is innocent. I have to prove it to myself before I can convince anyone else.”

  He scrutinized her for a second before observing, “Something has made you question whether he is.” When she looked down and avoided his eyes, he leaned forward and demanded, “You have to tell me what it is!”

  Shaking her head, Morgan said, “I don’t know that it’s anything. All I can tell you is that there’s something I need to look into.” After a second, she asked, “When you arrested him, did he have any keys with him?”

  With a blank look, Briscoe answered, “Sure. Most people do.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They’re in the property room at the precinct. Why?”

  Biting her lip again, Morgan replied hesitantly, “I know it’s asking a lot, but I need you to get them for me.”

  Briscoe huffed out a breath. “Yeah, right.” After several seconds of silence, during which he noted her determined expression, he asked incredulously, “Are you crazy? I’m not gonna waltz in there and ask for Fisher’s personal affects, then hand them over to his lawyer. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?”

  “I’m not asking as Fisher’s lawyer,” Morgan contended. “I’m asking for your help as one friend to another.” Seeing that he was still unwilling to even entertain he request, she asked, “Do you remember what you said to me when you came to my office and asked if I would consider representing Sara Grayson?”

  With a shrug, Briscoe replied, “I said a lot of things. What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

  “You told me Sara needed help and that you felt I was the person who could help her. I fought to get that case based on your word. And I’m glad I did – things worked out well for everyone concerned. But the circumstances surrounding it weren’t what persuaded me to take the case. It was you, saying that you trusted me,” Morgan reminded him intently. “I’m asking you to trust me now.”

  “Look, Counselor, setting aside the obvious conflict of interest here, we’re talking about putting my butt on the line. A prisoner’s personal affects that are unrelated to a crime are off-limits to anyone except the prisoner himself once he’s been released, or to someone with a judge’s okay. If I hand those keys over to you and someone finds out, are you gonna pay my pension when I get canned?”

  “No one will find out,” Morgan insisted. “I only need them for a couple of hours, at most. I’ll have them back to you no later than the end of the day. The only ones who will know about it are you and me.”

  “And the officer at the sign-out desk, who is going to make me put my name on a sheet explaining why I need the keys.”

  “Put down that you need to search Fisher’s apartment again,” she suggested.

  “So you’re asking me to lie.”

  “I’m asking you to be creative.”

  Briscoe shook his head. “I’m not going to just blindly go along with some scheme of yours. If you want my help, you’re going to have to tell me why you want the keys. I need to know that it isn’t for something that’s going to get us both hauled up before a judge.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Morgan flatly refused.

  “Is it because you’re going to use them to do something illegal?”

  At Morgan’s silence, he sat back and shook his head. “Without knowing what you plan to do, I’m not willing to risk my career, Counselor.”

  Leaning forward and placing her hand over his, Morgan pleaded, “There’s no one else I can trust with this. If there was any other way, I wouldn’t ask you. I’m begging you to help me here, Lennie.”

  Briscoe regarded her cautiously, trying not to allow himself to be persuaded by her deep blue eyes or the warmth of her hand touching his. “I should have my head examined for even listening to this,” he declared. As she continued to focus on him expectantly, he asked, “Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

  She shook her head. “It has to be today, right now. Tomorrow morning I give my closing statements. I have to do this before then.”

  After contemplating for another moment, he shrugged. “What the hell? It’s only my future we’re talking about.”

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Morgan closed her eyes briefly. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Opening her eyes, she added, “I’ll wait here for you while you go get them.”

***The clock hanging on the wall behind the bar was illuminated by a neon beer logo. Briscoe held his arm up and compared it to the time his watch showed. It had been forty minutes since Morgan had called to tell him she would meet him in twenty. Even though she had only been gone for the promised couple of hours when she let him know she was ready to meet, he still felt nervous. After spending the better part of that time wondering what she could possibly be doing with the keys he had supplied her with, he was anxious to return them to the property room and put the escapade behind him.

  In the reflection of the mirror behind the bar, he saw Morgan come in and glance around. 

  He swiveled the stool around to face her as she approached. But due to the dim lighting, it wasn’t until she was standing in front of him that he noticed something wasn’t quite right.

  “You look like you just saw a ghost,” he observed.

  Without looking directly at him, Morgan pulled the set of keys from the pocket of her jacket and placed them on the bar in front of him.

  “Here you go. Thanks for your help,” she said in a shaky voice, and then turned to leave.

  “Hey, whoa!” he exclaimed, grabbing her by the hand. When he did so, he could clearly feel it trembling. Scrutinizing her, he asked, “What’s wrong, Calea?”

  She kept her eyes focused somewhere around the third button on his shirt. “Nothing. I just have to go.”

  Briscoe frowned and ducked his head slightly, trying to get a clear look at her face. “If nothing’s wrong, then why are you shaking like a leaf?”

  Morgan swallowed hard and tried to tug her hand from his. “I have to go, Lennie,” she insisted.

  Without releasing her, he pocketed the keys with his other hand and slid from the stool. “Come on,” he coaxed. “You don’t look like you should be driving right now.” He led her to an empty booth at the back of the bar. “Sit down,” he commanded firmly but gently. He didn’t loosen his grip on her hand until she had done so. Then, taking a seat opposite her, he asked, “What happened? Did you find something in Fisher’s apartment that we missed?”

  For the first time since she had entered the bar, she looked directly at him. Briscoe could clearly see fear in her eyes, but along with it, something else he couldn’t quite identify. She lifted a shaky hand and brushed a few strands of hair from her face. “You know I can’t tell you.”

  He studied her for a moment longer, then decided, “What you need is a drink. What can I get for you?”

  “Just some water would be fine,” she answered.

  “Water? Are you sure you don’t want something a little stronger? You look like you could use a good stiff belt.”

  When Morgan shook her head, Briscoe looked around for a waitress. Spotting none, he got up and made his way to the bar. Returning seconds later with her request, he placed the glass in front of her and sat down again.

  He watched her drink almost all of the water, holding the glass with both hands to steady it. After she set it back on the table, he asked, “Better?”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Look, if you can’t tell me what happened, can you at least tell me if you did what you intended?” At Morgan’s blank look, he asked, “Did you prove to yourself whether or not Fisher is guilty?”

  Morgan looked down at the table and remained silent, turning her glass around in her hands.

  Briscoe reached out and touched her arm. “You know, whatever happened, you’ll feel a lot better if you share it with someone. And like you said, only the two of us have to know.”

  “What I’ve done is bad enough. I can’t drag you any farther into this. You should go and return the keys now.”

  “I know you found something,” he insisted. “Tell me what it is or just point me in the right direction. No one has to know it came from you. I’ll figure out a way to make it look like Ed and I found it on our own.” When Morgan began to shake her head, he snapped, “If you know Fisher is guilty, you can’t let him walk!”

  She leaned her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t want to, but I don’t have any other choice.”

  Seeing how upset she was, Briscoe decided that wanting to nail Fisher himself wasn’t as important as making sure he was nailed, period. “If you can’t tell me, then go to McCoy,” he urged. “He’ll know what to do.”

  “No!” Morgan reacted immediately. “He can’t know about this, Lennie! Do you understand? Promise me you won’t say a word to him about anything!”

  “He’d do whatever he could to help you, Calea, you know that.”

  She shook her head and insisted adamantly, “What I did tonight could get me disbarred, and if Jack finds out he’ll make sure that happens. He’s obsessed with winning this case and he’s ticked at me for taking it in the first place. If he had the opportunity to see me sanctioned, he’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  “He isn’t like that,” Briscoe argued. “He’d find a way to make it work without you getting hurt.”

  Morgan slid to the edge of the seat. “He’s the last person in the world I would talk to about this, and you don’t know anything to tell him. If you go to him with what I asked you to do this afternoon, I’ll deny it.”

  As she began to stand up, Briscoe reached across the table and took her by the arm. “All right. I won’t say anything.” As she regarded him warily, he asked, “What are you going to do about Fisher?”

  With a shaky sigh, she slowly shook her head. “I don’t know yet. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do.”

***Since he was already stuck in traffic, Briscoe fiddled with his car radio, trying to find a station playing something other than traffic reports and advertisements. He had crept up a whole two feet more when his cell phone rang.

  “Briscoe.”

  “Lennie, it’s Calea.”

  “Hey, I’ve been worried about you. You were still pretty shaky when you took off. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Did you get the keys back without any trouble?”

  “Yeah, piece of cake.”

  “What time is your shift tomorrow?”

  “Ed and I go in at 9:00 in the morning. Why?”

  Morgan paused a second before saying, “You should probably be there a little earlier than that.”

  “Why?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he asked eagerly, “Did you figure out something?”

  After another pause, Morgan replied, “If you’re there by 8:00 that should be early enough. And this is just between the two of us, okay?”

  “My lips are sealed,” he assured her.

  “Thanks, Lennie. And thanks for what you did today. I won’t forget it,” Morgan promised.

 

Chapter 17