Eight In The Box Part 13

"Hey, Mr. Darget. Better luck next time."

Connie turned to see Jesse Wilc.o.x smiling as he stepped out of the courtroom with his lawyer. Wilc.o.x was sporting a loud, thick-striped s.h.i.+rt-yellow and lime green-probably from the Pink store downtown, with baggy jeans and brand-new Timberland boots. The vein near Connie's temple throbbed. He wanted to kick the punk's a.s.s, and he knew he could, but he had to remind himself that they were in the courthouse hallway and he was a prosecutor. Wilc.o.x knew he'd knocked Angel Alves's reputation around. And Connie didn't like it. "This one's not over yet, Jesse," Connie said.

"It was over before it started." Wilc.o.x laughed.

"What does that mean?" Connie took measured steps toward Wilc.o.x.

"Shut up, Jesse," his lawyer said. He grabbed Wilc.o.x's arm, leading him toward the stairs. "Let's go."

"Sorry, Mr. Darget, my lawyer says I gotsta go."

Connie had done the right thing staying calm, but Jesse Wilc.o.x was a little too happy and a little too c.o.c.ky.

CHAPTER 46.

Andi Norton poked her head into Professor Roger Olsen's office. He was on the phone but gestured for her to take a seat. was on the phone but gestured for her to take a seat.

It was hard to say how old Professor Olsen was, his closely cropped hair the color of galvanized nails. His skin was dusty-looking, his hands elegant with their long fingers-piano fingers, as Andi's mother would say. He had the habit of adjusting his steel-rimmed gla.s.ses-tight to his face, if he was pleased, down toward the end of his long nose, if he was not. Right now his gla.s.ses were so far toward the end of his nose Andi couldn't figure out how they were clinging to his face. Professor Olsen had become her mentor since she'd taken his Criminal Procedure cla.s.s her first year of law school. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

"h.e.l.lo, Andi. How are you doing?" he said as he hung up the phone.

"I'm doing fine." She could tell he was trying to exchange pleasantries before getting into what he really wanted to talk about.

"How's Rachel?" he said. He was one of the few people at school who knew about her daughter. Outside of a small circle, her private life was private.

"Fine," she said. "She's a handful."

"How old is she now?"

"Three."

"That's great. I remember when my Ally was that age. It's a wonderful age."

"Look, Professor, I know you didn't call me in here to talk about my daughter and how things are going for me at home. So feel free to get to the real reason you wanted to see me."

"I didn't mean to upset you by asking about Rachel," he said, leaning forward in his chair, "but I a.s.sure you, my concern for her is genuine. Are you all right, Andi? You sound stressed."

"I'm fine. And I didn't mean to snap at you, but I know there's another reason you called me up here."

"You're right, Andi. I want to know what's been going on with you lately."

"I apologize for not getting involved in cla.s.s today, but I was thinking about a motion I have coming up in court."

"Your lack of involvement in today's cla.s.s discussion is the least of my concerns. After your initial comment, you weren't even paying attention. Be thankful I didn't call on you and embarra.s.s you. You're lucky I know you well enough to recognize that your recent behavior is out of character."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I've been busy with the DA's office. It's exciting getting a chance to handle my own cases."

"That's great, but you're not a lawyer yet. And if you flunk out of law school, you'll never become one. I wouldn't be making such a big deal out of it if your performance in cla.s.s today was an isolated incident, but this isn't the first time it's happened this semester. Last week you never made it to cla.s.s."

"I was held on a jury trial all week. The jury was out deliberating for three days."

"You mean you missed all all your cla.s.ses last week?" your cla.s.ses last week?"

"Yes, but I had a jury trial and I won."

"You can't just stop coming to school. You're about to graduate."

"But they keep asking me to do more work. I don't want to say no to anything. I want them to know how much I love the work. I'm hoping to get hired after I graduate."

"First of all, if you don't start coming to school and paying attention in cla.s.s, you're not going to graduate. Secondly, the DA's office isn't going to hire you just because you graduated from law school. You still have to pa.s.s the bar exam. And finally, I told you before that the people you're working with now aren't going to be making any hiring decisions in that office. The district attorney is a politician and his decisions are politically motivated. I'm glad that you're doing a good job over there, and that will certainly help when the DA asks his people about you, but his final decision will come down to who who you know rather than you know rather than what what you know." you know."

"I still don't want to disappoint the people I'm working with. I don't want them to think I'm not a team player."

"I understand that too, but when it comes time for me to make some phone calls on your behalf to my friends up on Beacon Hill, it would help if you had decent grades to complement your work experience in the DA's office. What about the young lawyer you told me about? The one you've been seeing. What was his name again?"

"Connie. Conrad Darget."

"Yes, Conrad Darget. He seems to be supportive. Hasn't he told you to focus on your studies?"

"I think he a.s.sumes that I'm doing my schoolwork. He's been a big help to me on my cases, always taking time to make sure I'm prepared for court. He's letting me second-seat him on a big trial in June."

"He needs to make sure that you're prepared for cla.s.s. You can tell him I said that. Now, I don't want to belabor the point, I just want you to know that I'm concerned about your grades slipping. I expect this to be a wake-up call. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Now that we have that out of the way, why don't you tell me about the motion that kept you from paying attention in cla.s.s?"

"It's a drug case where the police arrested a guy selling heroin to an undercover officer in a school playground. When he was arrested he only had two gla.s.sine bags of heroin left in his sock. The officers read him his Miranda rights and asked him where the rest of his stash was. He already had an attorney from a previous drug case, so he asked to speak to that attorney."

"You know that the officers had to stop questioning him?"

"Right. Because I'm familiar with the Christian Burial case."

"But they didn't stop questioning him, did they?"

"They didn't really ask any questions. One of the officers said, 'It would be a shame if a five-year-old kid got ahold of those heroin packets and put some of that poison in his mouth.' The defendant sat and thought about it for a few minutes before he told the officers that they'd find the stash in a fence pipe near the edge of the playground."

"Now, I know you weren't paying attention in cla.s.s today, but you do know that the police officer's statement, although not a question, was meant to elicit a response from the defendant after he had already asked for a lawyer. You know that you're going to lose the motion, don't you?"

"I did think it was a tough one to win. I planned to argue that there was no interrogation and even if the judge did find there was an interrogation, I'd argue that the drugs would have eventually been found because the officers knew the area well."

"Andi, whenever a judge hears the 'inevitable discovery' argument from a prosecutor, they know it's an argument of last resort. It sets off bells, telling the judge you don't have a solid legal argument. Don't fight too hard with the judge on that one, because you'll lose your credibility with the court."

"But I have to make the argument. I'm not going to concede the fact that the police violated the defendant's rights. Then I'll lose my credibility with the cops."

"You're right," he said as he tilted back in his chair and pushed his gla.s.ses up on the bridge of his nose. "But think, Andi. Even if the stash of drugs is suppressed, you still have a very strong case of illegal distribution of heroin, which is the original offense the defendant was arrested for, right?"

"Yeah." Andi felt her face flush. She had overlooked the obvious. The defendant sold to an undercover cop. It's tough to get a case any stronger than that. She smiled, more a sign of relief than happiness. "So even if the drugs in the fence pipe are suppressed, I still have a case against the defendant and he doesn't get off scot-free."

"Exactly," he said.

"I still wish that they hadn't gotten sloppy by asking him a question after he'd asked to speak to his lawyer."

Professor Olsen took off his gla.s.ses. "That wasn't sloppy. It wasn't just a line to get him to talk. It was good police work. What if a child did find the heroin, and took it or handed it out to his friends? The police officer had to make a split-second decision and he decided it was better to have drugs possibly get suppressed than to lose a child's life."

"I hadn't thought of it like that."

"It's easy for lawyers and judges to sit in courtrooms surrounded by court officers, metal detectors and security guards and criticize the work of police officers. But those officers are the ones on the street that have to make the tough decisions. As a prosecutor, it's your job to fight to defend their behavior. Not in every case, but certainly in a case like this, where the police had a genuine concern for public safety. You're probably going to lose, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't fight. Make it clear that, regardless of what the court finds, the officers would not change their actions if presented with the same situation again."

Professor Olsen was right. Her motion wasn't a chess match with a clear winner and loser. Decisions and actions were more complex than that, some outcomes more important than a win-loss record.

CHAPTER 47.

Angel Alves sat in the shadows of the last pew. Saint Margaret's Church in Jamaica Plain was almost empty early on a weekday afternoon. The only other figure was a small woman dressed in black, the light through the stained-gla.s.s windows creating an aura of blue as she moved toward the side of the altar. Church in Jamaica Plain was almost empty early on a weekday afternoon. The only other figure was a small woman dressed in black, the light through the stained-gla.s.s windows creating an aura of blue as she moved toward the side of the altar.

He watched as Mrs. Stokes lit one of the candles. The small gla.s.s holder flickered with a red flame he could see even from his position at the back of the church. As he watched her kneel at the altar to pray, he knew what she was asking G.o.d for. The woman accepted that her daughter was dead. She knew it in her mother's heart. All she could pray for now was that Robyn's body would be found and she could give her child a proper burial. With the trust that older people have in authority, Mrs. Stokes believed that the police would find her daughter's body. That he he would bring her little girl home. would bring her little girl home.

Alves blessed himself and headed out the heavy oak doors into the bright spring sun.

CHAPTER 48.

Mitch Beaulieu stood next to a stool in his apartment's small living room. It was just after noon, and the Red Sox were closing in on another victory. The Sox played an early game every Patriots' Day, Boston Marathon Monday. Mitch wasn't much into watching sports, but Connie had convinced him to have the guys over. It would help take his mind off work. He had spent most of the weekend cleaning the apartment, which he'd let go for months. room. It was just after noon, and the Red Sox were closing in on another victory. The Sox played an early game every Patriots' Day, Boston Marathon Monday. Mitch wasn't much into watching sports, but Connie had convinced him to have the guys over. It would help take his mind off work. He had spent most of the weekend cleaning the apartment, which he'd let go for months.

Lying down with a throw pillow as his headrest, Connie took up most of the couch. Across the room, Brendan was sprawled in a La-Z-Boy chair. Nick was relaxing on a chaise longue Mitch had taken from his father's house. As a child it had been his favorite reading seat.

Mitch was trying to enjoy the company, but he was just too nerved up that someone was going to accidentally break a family heirloom or put a drink down on his father's antique coffee table. He needed to stop obsessing. If he would just let himself relax, he could have fun with this sports party. They were happy with pizza and a fridge full of beer.

"Hey, Mitch," Connie said. "Why don't you have a seat? You're making me nervous."

"I'd rather stand and stretch my legs." He wanted to be ready in case he needed to make a quick move with a coaster or extra napkins for the greasy pizza.

"We're not going to break anything," Connie said. "Haven't we all been on good behavior?"

"I'm not nervous about that. I just feel like standing."

Brendan turned to Mitch, holding an empty bottle. "If you're just going to stand there you may as well make yourself useful and grab me another beer."

"What do I look like, your girlfriend?" Mitch joked.

"She'd be more than glad to get me a beer. C'mon, man. You're already up, and you are the host." Brendan laughed.

"Miller or Bud?"

"The High Life, of course. The Champagne of Beers. It was the first beer I ever drank as a kid in Southie. We used to sit on the rocks out by Castle Island and share a six-pack and get totally trashed. Those were the days. Hanging out with you guys reminds me of those summer nights, when the biggest concern was getting caught drunk by my mom or throwing up from the bed spins."

"From what I've seen, you still get trashed from two beers," Nick said.

"The Greek kid from Rozzie is going to talk to me about drinking. I tell you what, why don't you go have a couple of shots of Metaxa and shut the h.e.l.l up?"

"How does an Irish guy from Southie even know what Metaxa is? Oh, never mind. Liquor is the one thing the Irish do do know about." know about."

"That's the best you could come up with?" said Brendan. "Another Irish alcohol joke? You need some new material, buddy." Brendan stood up as Mitch handed him a beer. "This is a great apartment, Mitch. What's your rent, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Eight hundred."

"You're kidding. For an apartment in Harvard Square?"

"Welcome to the People's Republic of Cambridge." Mitch smiled. "I got this place when I was in law school. I don't think I'll ever move out."

Brendan walked over and tapped a door that was off to the right of the television. "What's back here?"

"My bedroom. I wouldn't go in there if I were you. It's a mess. I cleaned up by throwing half my s.h.i.+t in there."

Brendan opened the door and looked in the room. "Bedroom? I can't even see a bed."

"I told you. Now, get out of there."

"Whew! It stinks worse than a locker room." Brendan pulled his s.h.i.+rt up and held it over his nose. "You need to do the laundry before that stuff comes to life."

"Close the door. I'm serious."

"Okay. Don't get your bloomers in a twist. What about this room?" Brendan reached for another door at the foot of the couch, where Connie was sitting. "What's with the dead bolt?"

"That room's really off-limits," Mitch said. "I've got personal family stuff in there." He suddenly realized that this was what he was worried about: someone trying to intrude on his private life. Having people over was one thing, but having them pry into his secrets was another. He wasn't sure what their reaction would be if they saw what was in the room, but he was certain they wouldn't understand it. That room was the one sanctuary he had in his life. It was the place he could go to when he wanted to be alone, but not feel alone.