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Authors: Michael Connelly
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fine. I don’t need a lot of your time at this point.”
We walked single file down a hall that had been narrowed because of a row of file cabinets pushed against the right wall and extending its entire length. I was sure it was a fire code violation. This was the kind of detail I would normally put in my back pocket for a rainy day. Public Defenders Work in Fire Trap . But I was no longer worried about headlines or coming up with stories for the slow days. I had one last story to write and that was it.
“In here,” Meyer said.
I followed him into a communal office, a twenty-by-twelve room with desks in every corner and sound partitions between them.
“Home sweet home,” he said. “Pull over one of those chairs.”
There was another lawyer, sitting at the desk catty-corner to Meyer’s. I pulled the chair over from the empty desk next to his and we sat down.
“Alonzo Winslow,” Meyer said. “His grandmother is an interesting lady, isn’t she?”
“Especially in her own environment.”
“Did she tell you how proud she was to have a Jew lawyer?”
“Yeah, actually she did.”
“Turns out I’m Irish, but I didn’t want to spoil it for her. What are you looking to do for Alonzo?”
I pulled a microrecorder out of my pocket and turned it on. It was about the size of a disposable cigarette lighter. I reached over and placed it on his desk between us.
“You mind if I record this?”
“Not at all. I would like there to be a record myself.”
“Well, like I told you on the phone, Zo’s grandmother is pretty convinced the cops picked up the wrong guy. I said I would look into it because I wrote the story in which the cops said he did it. Mrs. Sessums, who is Zo’s legal guardian, has given me full access to him and his case.”
“She might be his legal guardian, and I would have to check on that, but her granting you full access means nothing in legal terms and therefore means nothing to me. You understand that, right?”
This was not what he had said on the phone when I’d had Wanda Sessums speak to him. I was about to call him on that and his promise of cooperation when I saw him throw a quick glance over his shoulder and realized he might be talking for the benefit of the other lawyer in the room.
“Sure,” I said instead. “And I know you have rules in regard to what you can tell me.”
“As long as we understand that, I can try to work with you. I can answer your questions to a point but I am not at liberty at this stage of the case to turn over any of the discovery to you.”
As he said this he swiveled in his seat to check that the other lawyer’s back was still to us and then quickly handed me a flash drive, a data-storage stick with a USB-port connection.
“You will have to get that sort of stuff from the prosecutor or the police,” he said.
“Who is the prosecutor assigned to the case?”
“Well, it has been Rosa Fernandez but she handles juvenile cases. They’re saying they want to try this kid as an adult, so that will probably mean a change in prosecutors.”
“Are you objecting to them moving this out of juvenile court?”
“Of course. My client is sixteen and hasn’t been going to school with any kind of regularity since he was ten or twelve. Not only is he not an adult by any legal standards but his mental capacity and acuity is not even that of a sixteen-year-old.”
“But the police said this crime had a degree of sophistication and a sexual component. The victim had been raped and sodomized with foreign objects. Tortured.”
“You are assuming my client committed the crime.”
“The police said he confessed.”
Meyer pointed to the flash drive in my hand.
“Exactly,” he said. “The police said he confessed. I have two things to say about that. My experience is that if you put a sixteen-year-old kid in a closet for nine hours, don’t feed or hydrate him properly, lie to him about evidence that does not exist and refuse to let him talk to
We walked single file down a hall that had been narrowed because of a row of file cabinets pushed against the right wall and extending its entire length. I was sure it was a fire code violation. This was the kind of detail I would normally put in my back pocket for a rainy day. Public Defenders Work in Fire Trap . But I was no longer worried about headlines or coming up with stories for the slow days. I had one last story to write and that was it.
“In here,” Meyer said.
I followed him into a communal office, a twenty-by-twelve room with desks in every corner and sound partitions between them.
“Home sweet home,” he said. “Pull over one of those chairs.”
There was another lawyer, sitting at the desk catty-corner to Meyer’s. I pulled the chair over from the empty desk next to his and we sat down.
“Alonzo Winslow,” Meyer said. “His grandmother is an interesting lady, isn’t she?”
“Especially in her own environment.”
“Did she tell you how proud she was to have a Jew lawyer?”
“Yeah, actually she did.”
“Turns out I’m Irish, but I didn’t want to spoil it for her. What are you looking to do for Alonzo?”
I pulled a microrecorder out of my pocket and turned it on. It was about the size of a disposable cigarette lighter. I reached over and placed it on his desk between us.
“You mind if I record this?”
“Not at all. I would like there to be a record myself.”
“Well, like I told you on the phone, Zo’s grandmother is pretty convinced the cops picked up the wrong guy. I said I would look into it because I wrote the story in which the cops said he did it. Mrs. Sessums, who is Zo’s legal guardian, has given me full access to him and his case.”
“She might be his legal guardian, and I would have to check on that, but her granting you full access means nothing in legal terms and therefore means nothing to me. You understand that, right?”
This was not what he had said on the phone when I’d had Wanda Sessums speak to him. I was about to call him on that and his promise of cooperation when I saw him throw a quick glance over his shoulder and realized he might be talking for the benefit of the other lawyer in the room.
“Sure,” I said instead. “And I know you have rules in regard to what you can tell me.”
“As long as we understand that, I can try to work with you. I can answer your questions to a point but I am not at liberty at this stage of the case to turn over any of the discovery to you.”
As he said this he swiveled in his seat to check that the other lawyer’s back was still to us and then quickly handed me a flash drive, a data-storage stick with a USB-port connection.
“You will have to get that sort of stuff from the prosecutor or the police,” he said.
“Who is the prosecutor assigned to the case?”
“Well, it has been Rosa Fernandez but she handles juvenile cases. They’re saying they want to try this kid as an adult, so that will probably mean a change in prosecutors.”
“Are you objecting to them moving this out of juvenile court?”
“Of course. My client is sixteen and hasn’t been going to school with any kind of regularity since he was ten or twelve. Not only is he not an adult by any legal standards but his mental capacity and acuity is not even that of a sixteen-year-old.”
“But the police said this crime had a degree of sophistication and a sexual component. The victim had been raped and sodomized with foreign objects. Tortured.”
“You are assuming my client committed the crime.”
“The police said he confessed.”
Meyer pointed to the flash drive in my hand.
“Exactly,” he said. “The police said he confessed. I have two things to say about that. My experience is that if you put a sixteen-year-old kid in a closet for nine hours, don’t feed or hydrate him properly, lie to him about evidence that does not exist and refuse to let him talk to
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