Nothing But the Truth (11 page)

Officer Stanton shifted in his seat. Ryan knew he was feeling boxed in. Now that he admitted he didn’t have evidence of drugs prior to the search, and hadn’t followed the procedure to inventory the vehicle, which would have revealed the presence of drugs, there was only one argument left. Ryan hoped Sheri had prepped him on the recent change in the law.

“We have a right to search the car to make sure no contraband is destroyed, and ensure our safety.”

“Sure you do, officer. I apologize. I should have asked this before. Were there any other passengers in the car?”

Ryan could tell Brett already knew the answer to the question. She could also tell Officer Stanton hadn’t received proper training regarding the recent Supreme Court’s opinion in
Arizona v. Gant
, issued several months earlier. For decades, police had been able to search vehicles they’d stopped for just about any reason, especially the contention that the defendant might either pull out a weapon or loose powdered drugs into the atmosphere to avoid detection. A recent challenge to that aspect of the law had won on the grounds that a defendant, already removed from the vehicle, especially one in handcuffs seated in a patrol car, was not in a position to brandish weapons or destroy anything. Now that Brett had eliminated all the exceptions that might be advanced by the police, the judge was likely to rule the evidence be tossed on the grounds the police had violated his constitutional rights. Ryan watched while the judge heard each side’s arguments, promising to issue a decision by the next day.

Ryan approached the rail to shake Brett’s hand. She craved the contact and welcomed the opportunity to disguise her motive behind simple professional courtesy, but before Ryan could reach her, Brett dashed off toward the rear door of the courtroom that led to the judge’s chambers. Ryan watched her go. She felt strangely blue about the missed opportunity for a connection with Brett, but she didn’t allow her attention to linger on the unfamiliar sentiment. Instead, she shrugged and turned to deliver a lecture about proper preparation to her subordinate.

*

Judge Langston made a quick exit through the door behind her bench. Brett grabbed the papers off her table, jammed them in her briefcase, and made a beeline through the clerk’s office so she could catch the judge in chambers before she shut her office door. Brett slipped into her office as the judge was hanging up her robe. Beneath the robe, she wore a smart tailored suit in deep crimson.

“Judge, may I talk to you for a moment?”

“Do we need Ms. Archer?” The judge referred to the prosecutor. Brett realized the judge thought she wanted to talk about the case she had just argued. She quickly assured her she wasn’t trying for an
ex parte
communication. “No, ma’am. I have a question about an altogether different matter.”

“All right then.” Judge Langston reached behind her desk for a tray containing a dainty china tea set. “Cup of tea?”

Brett smiled and nodded. She knew she was invading the judge’s standard morning break. Every day, no matter what was going on in the courtroom, she broke at ten thirty and retired to her chamber for a twenty-minute tea break. No one, including the judge’s coordinator, dared interrupt once the tea pouring began, but if you could catch her before she got started, you were likely to be invited to join. Tea with the judge was an invitation not to be declined.

Brett waited until the tea was poured and prepared. Finally, the judge took a deep sip, set her cup down, and leaned toward Brett. “What can I do for you, Ms. Logan?”

“Judge, if an individual was arrested for a serious crime and qualified as indigent, you would appoint counsel, correct?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I do. Here’s a question I don’t know the answer to. If an individual committed a serious crime, but no one suspected them, yet they wanted to turn themselves in, would you appoint counsel before they had their first contact with anyone from law enforcement or the district’s attorney’s office?”

“This individual is indigent?”

“Yes.”

The judge revisited her teacup. Brett waited. She was well acquainted with Judge Langston’s habits. Thinking while drinking was one of her calling cards.

“How serious is this crime?”

“Capital murder.”

Langston didn’t flinch, but Brett caught a glint in her eye and realized the judge understood this whole line of questioning was not hypothetical.

“A logical course of action might be to talk to someone in the public defender’s office. They might be able to facilitate whatever this individual needs.”

The judge was right, and Brett had considered that option after Kenneth left her office the previous afternoon. A few clicks of her mouse later she learned the public defender’s office couldn’t help Kenneth Phillips. The Dallas County PD’s office had at least one attorney assigned to each court, but that wasn’t enough personnel to cover all the cases where defendants qualified for appointed counsel. To supplement the roster of public defenders, the county judges had a list of attorneys who voluntarily agreed to take cases for much less than they could charge in their private practice. Brett was on the wheel, as it was called, as were most of her colleagues. Many of the most interesting felony cases had at their center defendants who couldn’t afford to hire what they not so affectionately called a free world lawyer.

There were generally two reasons judges reached for a name on the wheel of court-appointed attorneys: the public defender’s caseload was too high or the public defender’s office had a conflict. Conflict was the reason Kenneth Phillips couldn’t get assistance from the PD’s office. Although Ross Edwards was currently represented by an attorney in private practice, his first counsel had been an attorney employed by the public defender’s office. Since all the attorneys employed by the PD’s office were technically part of the same firm, they couldn’t represent two defendants whose interests were opposed to each other. Kenneth’s confession was certainly in Ross Edwards’s best interests, but their prior representation of Edwards could come into conflict with Kenneth’s. It was too soon to tell and too much to risk.

Judge Langston greeted the news that the PD’s office was conflicted out by pouring herself a second cup of tea. Once she prepared it to her satisfaction, she ventured a question that had obviously been nagging at her.

“I assume you are talking to me because this case is pending in my court?”

Brett nodded. She knew it wouldn’t take the judge long to sort through the possibilities of which pending case Brett’s not so hypothetical questions were about. At this point, she just wanted to get to the point. She wanted the judge to appoint someone to represent Kenneth. Then she could wash her hands of the affair. The young man and his confession would be in capable hands, and she could go back to her moneymaking health care fraud cases. The last thing she needed was to get bogged down in a capital murder case for a pittance of a fee.

“Yes, Judge. I was hoping—“

Judge Langston interrupted her. “Don’t tell me anything else about it. I trust your judgment that this individual of which you speak would qualify for appointed counsel. Just do whatever you need to do to provide quality representation and submit a bill when you’re done. Understood?”

“Judge, I don’t think I was clear. I’m not trying to get appointed to the case. In fact, I’m not on the death penalty certified list anymore.”

“Well, you used to be, right?”

Brett nodded, but rushed to add, “I chose to take myself off the list. I didn’t come here bargaining for this case. I just want this person to have good legal representation at the earliest possible stage.”

Brett had stopped taking capital cases when she came home one day to find that her last girlfriend, Stephanie, had quickly and quietly moved every one of her belongings out of the townhome they shared. Stephanie Whistler had a demanding job as a doctor at Parkland, the bustling Dallas county hospital. As busy as she was, Stephanie had been able to shed the emotional aspects of her caseload when she crossed the threshold of their cozy home. Brett, on the other hand, had scattered the detritus of her clients’ troubles throughout their house, and their desperation eclipsed her happiness. Brett often thought it ironic. They were both trying to save lives, but Brett’s methods were the death knell of her own relationship. With Stephanie’s departure, Brett swore off putting others’ lives before her own. Her oath was of little consequence. She hadn’t wanted for female company, but she hadn’t dated anyone she would consider cohabiting with either. It wasn’t long before she fell back into her old ways. She may not work on death penalty cases anymore, but she did throw herself completely into the cases she did work, cutting herself off from the possibility of lasting relationships. So far, no one had tempted her from that path. The sad thought was accompanied by a flash of a memory. Ryan Foster was similarly focused on work and appeared to be similarly alone.

“I have no doubt you’ll provide him with the best representation,” the judge said. “I can get you back on the list, but frankly, if your client wants to confess, a fine attorney like yourself should be able to negotiate the death penalty off the table.” The judge started to clear up the evidence of their tea party as if the subject were concluded. Brett knew the judge expected her to leave now, but she couldn’t resist one more shot.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I’ve taken on a pretty heavy federal caseload lately. I think there are lawyers whose certification is current who would be in a better position to handle this case.”

Judge Langston finished replacing her tea tray exactly as it had been when she had started her break. When she finished, she turned and fixed Brett with a penetrating stare. “This individual found his or her way to you. Unless you have a conflict yourself, I don’t see any reason you wouldn’t be the best person to handle this case. I’ll look forward to seeing even more of you in my courtroom.” She reached for her robe, slipped it on, and made her way back to the bench. Brett followed. She had no response to the judge’s assessment. No acceptable one anyway. To keep protesting would make her seem like a whiner. Besides, it wasn’t like the distraction of a capital case would be an imposition on her personal life, such as it was. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that the only true conflict she had was the combination of attraction and challenge she felt for the new lead prosecutor on the case.

*

Ryan knew Brett hadn’t left the courtroom yet, but she nevertheless felt a tingle of surprise when she saw Brett walking toward her. Their brief coffee meeting, date… Ryan wasn’t sure what to call it, but it had been strange. She suspected Brett was reaching out to her that day, but the time they spent together was too short for her to assess the motive. Ryan wanted Brett’s objective to be a desire to get to know her personally, but she reasoned it was more likely Brett was jockeying for a good position with the next district attorney.

Ryan had certainly experienced plenty of similar attention lately even though she had not officially announced her candidacy. The past month had been full of what Leonard liked to call fishing trips. He had squired her around the county like a matchmaker looking for the perfect spouse, except she was the suitor, pledging her faith to multiple partners. She had stopped protesting. Leonard waved off all her protests that she wasn’t cut out for politics. “Politics isn’t something you choose. It chooses you,” he said. He insisted that Dallas County was poised to host its first female elected DA, and Ryan was perfect for the position. Whatever she lacked in terms of politicking prowess, he was happy to provide. After eighteen years in office, Leonard Duncan knew all the available sources of support, legitimate and otherwise. Ryan imagined there wasn’t much Leonard didn’t know about what went on in Dallas County, and his knowledge of where the powerful people kept their skeletons hidden only fueled his own power. Not for the first time, Ryan speculated that Leonard certainly must know about the parties some of his most select constituents attended. She pushed the thought away, unwilling to acknowledge how it made her feel to consider the possibility her mentor might know her secret. Surely he didn’t.

“Can I talk to you? Privately?”

Ryan noted again the undercurrent of command present in Brett’s soft tones. The result was a gentle authority she wanted to obey. Brett probably won many hearings like the one she had just witnessed.

“Sure. Shall we go upstairs?” At Brett’s nod, she led the way out of the courtroom. While they waited at the bank of elevators, Ryan watched Brett stare intently through the wall of glass that fronted the Frank Crowley court building. Local magazines rated the view from the criminal court building as the number one way to see the magnificent Dallas skyline. Positioned on the western border of downtown, the criminal court building offered an excellent view of not only the striking skyline, but some of Dallas’s most notorious landmarks, including the grassy knoll and the Texas School Book Depository. The irony of the view wasn’t lost on Ryan. Her goal was to put away the accused individuals that either walked these halls or were in residence across the street at the Lew Sterrett Justice Center, aka the Dallas County jail. If their last view of freedom was one of the best, then they would just regret their loss all the more.

Normally visitors had to sign in and obtain a badge before being admitted to the offices of the district attorney, but Ryan took Brett the opposite direction of the reception area. She punched her code into the keypad and held the door open for her. Ryan chose not to examine why she was not observing protocol. She walked through the narrow hallways, past the tiny offices that lined the corridor, nodding to the few prosecutors who happened to be upstairs during morning docket. Once they reached her office, she ushered Brett in and shut the door behind them. As Brett looked around, Ryan recognized she was proud to have Brett witness the level of power she possessed, symbolized by the well-appointed corner office. She may never garner the kind of dollars a private practice attorney could command, but a flash of her badge would bring to bear the might of all the police power available in a large city. Money wasn’t everything.