EDDIE
'My landlord doesn't allow dogs in the building,' I said.
'No shit. You told me that yesterday. And the day before. In fact, you've said
the same thing for weeks. Ever since I started bringing Clarence to the office. I'm beginning to get the impression you don't like him,' said Harry.
He was reading the final pages of the prosecution discovery. The bundles of documents were spread out on my couch and at Harry's feet was the dog he'd met the night of his retirement party. Harry had named him Clarence. They seemed to be at one with each other. The dog lay on its side and each time Harry reached down to grab the next set of pages, his tail would beat on the floorboards. Every hour, Harry would reach into his pocket and draw out a frankfurter from a baggie that he hand-fed to Clarence. He must've been on the streets a long time. When Harry first took the dog in, it was skinny and had lost a lot of fur. Now the bald patches were beginning to disappear, and you could no longer see the poor animal's ribcage.
Harry put down the last set of papers, patted his pal and gave him a frankfurter. I got up from behind my desk, retrieved the papers scattered around the couch and the floor and piled them on my desk. We had split the discovery. I read half. Harry read half. Now we swapped.
Two hours and two and half frankfurters later, all three of us looked like we could use a drink. I filled a cereal bowl with water from the faucet in the bathroom, and left it on the floor. Clarence lapped up the water greedily.
'He doesn't look like a Clarence,' I said.
'He's a dog. I didn't name him after Darrow because of what he looks like. Clarence Darrow was the best defence attorney who ever lived. And a survivor, just like this little one.'
'And does Clarence Darrow here have any bright ideas on how to defend our client?'
Harry wasn't even looking at me. We'd both finished reading the prosecution discovery – which amounted to the entire case against our client. Harry seemed to be more focused on Clarence. He rubbed the dog's belly, while Clarence kicked his little back legs in delight.
'Clarence says he's thinking about it. This one isn't easy. A drink might
help?'
I poured Harry and I some coffee from the pot. I gave him his mug and he
stared at it with open displeasure. Like I'd given him a mug filled with the leftover water from what was now Clarence's bowl.
'I thought we were going to have a drink?'
'That is a drink.'
'That stuff will kill you. Give me a large Scotch.'
He put the coffee as far away from him as he could, while remaining seated,
and continued to massage Clarence while I poured him a real drink. He took the Scotch, sipped it, and Clarence let out a low, contented growl.
We fell quiet for a time, and I stretched my back and felt the dull ache leave the base of my spine.
'Talk to me,' said Harry. 'What are the main prosecution pillars?'
This was defense prep 101. It was up to the prosecutor to build their columns of evidence. They want to put a guilty verdict on the roof. The weaker we can make the supporting structure, the less likely it is that the roof will hold.
Simple.
'The crime scene investigator takes a single hair from one of the wounds on Avellino. This is hair that he says was partially trapped in the wound. It was a long hair, measuring nine inches. He says the only way that hair gets down into the wound is if it was trapped there when the knife made the incision. That has some logic to it.'
'On its own that's not too damning,' said Harry. 'Professor Shandler is the one who tested the hair. He's the one who really gives us the problem.'
The prosecutor's hair fiber expert – Professor Shandler – examined the hair and determined that it matched hair samples taken from Sofia.
'Hair-fiber analysis is not an exact science. There might be a way of attacking his findings. That's the only line of attack on this one.'
'Agreed,' said Harry. 'Let's ask Harper to research the good professor. With the amount of convictions overturned on unreliable hair-fiber analysis, somebody is bound to have questioned Shandler's methods before now.'
'I'll ask her to dig into the professor's personal history too. Maybe he has a few skeletons in the closet.'
'Good. So where does that leave us? The bite-mark expert says the wound on the victim's chest is consistent with Alexandra's teeth having made that mark. Good for him. Maybe we can use that to our advantage. If the bite-mark expert is good then it helps Sofia,' said Harry.
'Yeah, and if the hair-fiber guy is good then it cuts both ways. We could try and bolster the prosecution case on that point, throw their expert a few softballs
in cross-examination and do real damage to Alexandra, but you know that just doesn't feel right to me.'
'What doesn't?' said Harry.
'We're defense lawyers. Anything that I might do to help a prosecutor just makes me sick to my stomach.'
'But it helps your client.'
'Maybe, but it doesn't feel right. From now on, let's focus on the case against Sofia. We have to forget about Alexandra.'
'I thought you wanted the guilty to be punished. Wasn't that always your way?'
It was part of the system – and it was part of my DNA. The innocent go free, the guilty pay for their crimes. If Sofia was innocent, then Alexandra had to be the killer. I should have been baying for Alexandra's blood.
But this case was different. It felt different. I believed Sofia didn't kill her father. When I'd seen Alexandra that night at the station, I couldn't say she looked like a killer, either.
'Do you believe Sofia is innocent?' I asked.
'It doesn't matter what I believe. She's our client. I know it matters to you a lot. It just so happens that I do believe Sofia. I can't see her doing that to her father.'
'That means it must've been Alexandra,' I said, but without much conviction. I believed Sofia was innocent. Trouble was I didn't yet believe Alexandra was the killer. There was evidence pointing to her, but I didn't yet feel it, in my gut.
Harry leaned forward, said, 'What about you? Having doubts?'
I shook my head, unsure whether I was trying to convince Harry or myself that there were no doubts in my mind. Clarence got up off the floor, nuzzled in beside Harry and used his snout to flick his hand off his lap and then leapt into the space. Clarence wanted some Harry time.
Harry stroked the dog, gently, and sipped his whiskey.
'Both sets of prints lifted from the knife match Sofia and Alexandra. Easy enough to explain. They both cooked for their father. Makes sense they both handled the knife. I'm not worried about that too much. Both Alexandra and Sofia were in the house that night, so opportunity is shared but ...'
'But we're the only defendant with a documented history of mental health issues, drug addiction and violence. Alexandra is a poster child for stability and success. The murder looks like it was carried out by a raving lunatic. That's another big problem,' said Harry.
'Should I get a psychiatrist to minimize the damage?'
'You'd be wasting your time. I say we don't make a big deal out of her mental
health. It doesn't prove anything, I suppose. The more we draw attention to it, the more it looks like there really is a problem.'
Harry had a good point.
Harper opened the office door and came inside. She ignored Harry and me and bent down to Clarence who leapt from Harry's lap and began rubbing his sides against Harper's legs. He whimpered and wagged his tail in excitement as Harper cooed and talked to him, telling him he was a good boy.
'Hey, defense attorneys are people too, you know?' I said.
'You're kidding. Not even you believe that,' said Harper.
'Is Sofia ready for tomorrow?' I asked.
She stood and said, 'She's gonna take the polygraph. She's calm, I've taught
her stress management techniques I learned in the Bureau.'
'You think she'll hold up?' I asked.
'Polygraphs are all about managing stress so as not to give false positives.
Some people who are naturally jittery can skew results – the data can't really determine between someone who is a nervous wreck and a liar. We'll see. She's as ready as she'll ever be. Big day tomorrow. I just got a call from the precinct. They're going to allow us into the Avellino house tomorrow night to look over the scene.'
'Great,' said Harry.
'It's a joint inspection. Lawyers and staff only. No discussing the case at the house – the DA is video-recording the whole thing.'
'He's being very careful,' I said.
'Wouldn't you be? This is a monster case. Last thing he needs is one of the defendants interfering with the scene, or worse – planting something to implicate the other. The co-defendant's counsel gets to see our inspection video, and vice versa. At least we can see what they're focusing on. Might give us a heads up.'
'Kate Brooks is probably thinking the same thing,' I said.
'Ah, I've already thought of that,' said Harper. She had a backpack slung over one shoulder. She removed it and handed Harry a large camera with a lens attached.
'If there's something we need to look at without the DA noticing, then we split up. Harry can use the camera, we use our phones. The cameraman can't follow three of us,' she said.
'I love you, Harper,' I said, and instantly regretted it.
It was meant as something flippant. A way to tell her I thought she was the smartest of all of us in this room. It came out wrong. It came out like it meant something else.
'I meant, I-I ...'
'Who is the hair-fiber expert?' said Harper, ignoring my embarrassment. 'Professor Shandler,' said Harry.
Shaking her head, Harper said, 'Shit. He's legit. No adverse findings that I
know of, but I'll check again.'
Hair-fiber analysis has been the subject of some criticism in appellate courts
and there were several hair-fiber analysts who had been responsible for wrongful convictions. As their reputations went down the toilet, all of the cases they worked on went under scrutiny. We had been hoping the DA's expert would be one of those tarnished few. Harper had done her homework – she knew every hair-fiber expert on the East Coast who had a bad reputation. Shandler wasn't one of them.
Harper took her laptop from her bag, sat on the couch beside Harry.
'He's got a website,' she said. 'Lot of articles on his work. He's got a great rep. One of the top-ranked forensic fiber experts in the country. He's helped design a forensic lab for spectrometer analysis in Quantico. He built the Bureau's lab, basically. We're not going to get any dirt on this guy – he's the real deal.'
I finished my coffee, but instead of reaching for the pot for a refill, I picked up the bottle of Scotch. Unscrewed the cap. Began to angle the bottle to pour some into my cup. The liquid came to the neck of the bottle and I stopped. Alcohol rehab seemed a long time ago. I could drink in moderation now, but there was always the possibility that I might start to pour a glass of Scotch and never stop. I got up. Refilled Harry's glass with a smile on my face and then put the bottle back on my desk.
'The basis of any good con is a single principle – everyone wants to make a free buck. Greed and green. If Shandler is clean, looks like we'll have to dirty him up a little.'
'How?' said Harry.
'We'll get him to do what he does best.'
She looked up at me, momentarily confused.
'I'm not going to be involved in something illegal, if that's what you have in
mind.'
'Don't worry.'
She looked concerned, her head went down, and her hair fell over her eyes. I
didn't want anything to trouble her. Without thinking, my hand reached out and my fingers gently smoothed her hair away from her face.
Whatever thoughts or feelings she was having, they seemed to float away as she caught herself staring back at me. Her eyes darted around the floor, she took a step back and laughed nervously.
Now we were both embarrassed.
I could see a vein pulsing in her throat. She always wore a gold crucifix that hung around her neck on a thin gold chain. The chain looked cheap and the crucifix old and slightly tarnished at the base. I always thought it had been a gift from someone special. She wore it every day. I didn't know who had given it to her, or why. I wanted to know. I wanted to know every little personal thing about her. Every detail.
Fear held me back. I knew there was a line that I shouldn't cross. No matter how much I wanted to do it, and no matter how strongly I suspected she wanted me to step right over that line.
'Clarence, let's go for a walk,' said Harry.
Clarence got up immediately and followed Harry to the door. Before Harry left he said, 'You should try going on a date.'
I laughed, feeling like a sixteen-year-old kid again. The embarrassment, the sickening nerves.
'He has to ask me out, first,' said Harper, shouting though the door at Harry.
I could hear Harry's laughter in the hallway, and Clarence's paws on the wooden floor getting fainter as they got closer to the stairs.
'Hypothetically, if I were to ask you out, would that be a good thing?' I asked, trying to smile through the nerves turning my stomach to jelly.
'It depends,' said Harper. 'You'd have to make an effort. My dad bought flowers once in his life – when he asked my mom out on their first date. He wasn't the romantic type, so he must have really been in love. My mom talked about that bunch of flowers a lot. It didn't matter that they were cheap roses from the gas station. It was the thought that counted.'
'I'll see what I can do,' I said.