them."
"It just seems weird to call someone you don't know, leave a message,
and not say what you're calling about," I said. "And that number she
left you was her cell, by the way."
"It was?" Jessicas tone told me she found that unusual too.
They say murder cases are like any other criminal case, but with one
important difference: Your most important witness, the victim, is gone
forever. The reason for Clarissa's phone call was lost with her death,
along with all the other information she took with her.
We picked up the pace as we passed the courtyard at the north end of
the waterfront, then began the slow jog through downtown back to the
courthouse. She stopped at the Plaza Blocks to stretch, and I put in
about thirty seconds with her before I grew impatient. My doctor says
I've got the heart of a healthy horse but the bones of a
ninety-year-old man. Regardless of his warnings, I still spend every
exercise minute I can spare going after every calorie I can burn.
"I stuck Alice Gerstein with some last-minute custodies and told her
I'd bring her back some lunch, so I better get a move on," I said,
explaining my abrupt departure.
"Don't let Frist know you're being so considerate," she said. "Makes
everyone else in the unit look even worse."
I was happy to find the Mexican food cart parked outside the
courthouse. I got fish tacos on corn tortillas for me and a chicken
burrito for Alice, then climbed the stairs to the eighth floor to
polish off my workout.
Alice accepted the bag with the burrito in it and thanked me. "Sorry
to break this to you, but you've got another visitor."
Still out of breath and in my sticky running gear, I was in no
condition to have a meeting. "Who is it?" I asked.
"Melvin Jackson's mother. She's been here about twenty minutes."
"Can you tell her to schedule an appointment? I'm a mess, and I have
some work I need to do before the death penalty meeting on that
case."
"I'll do it if you want me to," Alice said, "but I can tell you right
now it won't be pretty. She threw a fit when I told her no one was
here to talk to her. We finally calmed her down by telling her you
were on your way back."
"We don't usually meet with a defendant's family members. Maybe she
should call the defense attorney."
Alice was patient, but the look on her face reminded me of that plumber
I'd hired when I told him to try adjusting the flu shy chain doohickey.
"I tried that," Alice said, "but I believe her response was, "I don't
need to talk to some lazy-ass public defender. I need to talk to the
lady who's buying all this bullshit about my son.""
Given Walker's description from the night of Jackson's arrest, it
sounded like the last two days had actually done wonders for Mrs.
Jackson's forbearance.
"Fine. I'll be ready in a few minutes."
When I'm not distracted by the television, the refrigerator, or singing
in the shower, I can get ready in seven minutes flat. It's one of the
advantages of never learning how to put on makeup or do my hair. A
shower, a hair clip, and a change of clothes are all I need to
transform back into my regular everyday self.
Martha Jackson was in the reception area, shifting in her seat and
tsk-ing every time someone walked by for a reason other than to see
her. She was short for her weight, a trait that was only accentuated
by the hot pink lilies on her dress that appeared to bloom from her
generous bosom and broad hips.
I managed to get my name out, but she was off and running before I had
a chance to offer her some water and a seat in the conference room.
"You got a hundred lawyers in this office. How come I got to wait half
an hour to talk to someone about a case that's been on the news every
day of the week?"
I tried to explain that not all the lawyers work on each individual
case, but she was looking for a fight.
"You trying to tell me you'd leave someone waiting here if they ready
to say they seen Melvin Jackson do it?"
"Is that what you're here to say?" I asked.
That did the trick. "Hell, no. No way Melvin could kill that woman."
It was exactly what I expected to hear, and I herded her into a
conference room while she repeated it every way she could think to say
it. I hoped the closed door would at least buffer the outburst that
was sure to greet the bad news: I wasn't going to drop the charges and
send Melvin home with her.
When she was done saying her piece, I did my best to say mine
sympathetically. For all I knew, she had nothing to do with her son
turning out to be the kind of man he was.
"I can't pretend that I understand how difficult this must be for you,
Mrs. Jackson, but the police have compelling evidence suggesting that
your son, as hard as it must be for you to accept, was responsible for
Clarissa Easterbrook's death. I would not be doing my job if I ignored
that evidence simply because a loving mother told me her son was
innocent. If he claims he's innocent, he has his own attorney to help
him defend against the charges. You might want to call his lawyer and
see how you can help."
In a capital case, the bulk of the defense work often goes into the
penalty phase. If Slip could calm Martha Jackson down long enough to
put her on the stand, a mother's plea for mercy can sway a jury to
spare a son's life.
"Oh, trust me, I'll be talking to that man too, but I know there's only
so much he can do. Only you people can shut off this assembly line of
a court system once it gets to going. You say you wouldn't be doing
your job to ignore evidence, but let me ask you this, Ms. Kincaid.
Isn't part of your job to pay attention to evidence that's looking you
right in the face?"
Given the circumstances her son was in and my role in that process, I
showed her more patience that I normally would. "Of course it is, and
I'm doing that."
"You probably went to some fancy law school, didn't you?" she asked.
"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Mrs. Jackson."
"I'm pointing out that you a smart woman, but you only looking at what
you want to see."
I was getting frustrated. She was going to have to come to terms with
this eventually, so it may as well be now. "I'm very sorry for your
situation, but, ma'am, you know where the police found the murder
weapon, and your son's fingerprints were on the victim's front door."
"C'mon now, my boy was just trying to get the woman to talk to him. He
wanted to sit down, look her in the eye, and ask how in the world
someone can lose his home and children because of something his cousin
did."