Read Online The Scarecrow by Michael Connelly - Free Book Online Page B

afford their own legal defense and reliant on
     the government that was prosecuting them to also defend them. It was right there in the constitutionally guaranteed rights—
If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you
—but it always seemed to be a contradiction to me. Like it was all some kind of racket with the government controlling both
     supply and demand.
    Meyer was a young man who I guessed was no more than five years out of law school. Yet here he was, defending a younger man—no,
     a child—accused of murder. He came back from court, carrying a leather briefcase so fat with files it was too awkward and
     heavy to carry by the handle. He had it under his arm. He asked the receptionist for messages and was pointed to me. He switched
     his heavy briefcase to his left arm and offered to shake my hand. I took it and introduced myself.
    “Come on back,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of time.”
    “That’s 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