Chapter Three
Morgan weaved through the crowded courthouse. At the other end of the hall, Private Investigator Lance Kruger stood with a woman in her early forties. Tall and jacked, Lance towered over her. The woman raised a crumpled tissue to her tear-streaked eyes.
Lance’s blue eyes locked on Morgan’s as she approached. He gestured between Morgan and the woman. “Nina, this is Morgan Dane, the attorney I told you about.”
“Thank you for coming.” Nina stifled a sob with her hand. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Nina’s son is Eric McCain, from my hockey team.” Lance coached a group of at-risk kids. “Eric and six other boys were arrested last night. I don’t have the specific charge, but it involved a video depicting classmates engaged in a sex act.”
Most teens either didn’t know that messaging explicit images of each other technically violated child pornography laws, or they just didn’t think about it.
Nina sniffed and blotted her nose. “They held him in jail overnight.”
Morgan pressed a hand to Nina’s forearm. “I’ll call the prosecutor’s office, talk to Eric, and see what I can find out. Try not to worry. Today is just the arraignment. Eric will plead guilty or not guilty, and the judge will set bail. Our goal is to get him out of jail.”
Last night, Eric would have been kept in a holding cell. Morgan did not want him in the jail’s general population. Her last young client, who had been innocent, had been gravely injured there.
“Thank you,” Nina said.
Morgan found a quiet corner. Her call to the prosecutor’s office did nothing to allay her concern. In New York, in the absence of maliciousness, kids caught sexting were normally sent to educational programs. But Eric was facing a felony possession charge with a maximum four-year prison sentence. Was the prosecutor trying to scare him?
She did not condone boys-will-be-boys excuses. But sending teens to prison seemed like an overcorrection. She favored mandatory education and many hours of community service.
As her grandfather always said, Tired teens have less time for shenanigans.
Morgan made her way to the holding area near the courtroom where Eric would have been transferred this morning to await his arraignment. She requested to speak to her client and then settled on an empty bench in the corridor to wait until an interview booth became available. She removed a legal pad from her tote. Flipping to the second sheet, she made some general notes.
“Ms. Dane?”
Morgan looked up from her notes. A man in a well-cut gray suit stared down at her. He was thirtyish, with thick black hair, an olive complexion, and hard-to-read black eyes.
“I’m Anthony Esposito, the new ADA,” he said. “I hear you’re representing Eric McCain.”
She knew from her phone call with the prosecutor’s office that the new assistant district attorney had been assigned Eric’s case. She flipped the top blank sheet of paper down over her notes and stood. “Yes. I’m Mr. McCain’s attorney.”
Her heels brought her to six feet tall and gave her a few inches on him.
He frowned up at her. “This case is straightforward, but we’re willing to offer a deal in the interests of saving time and money. If McCain pleads guilty, we’ll agree to probation.”
Ninety percent of cases ended in plea bargains, so Morgan wasn’t surprised. “Would he still have to register as a sex offender?”
“Yes.”
“Since I don’t have the details yet, perhaps you could enlighten me,” she said.
Esposito nodded. “Mr. McCain received an e-mail three days ago. Attached was a video of two minors engaged in a sex act. As I said, the case is very straightforward.”
Maybe. Then again, Esposito wouldn’t point out any holes in his case.
“I’ll relay your offer to my client and get back to you.” Morgan picked up the tote bag at her feet and moved to walk around him.
Esposito’s mouth tightened, and he sidestepped to block her path. “This is a onetime offer. If your client enters a not guilty plea today, I’ll withdraw the deal.”
“I haven’t even met with my client yet.” Morgan wanted Eric’s side of the story. Esposito could claim his case was as solid as Mount Rushmore. That didn’t mean it was.
Esposito leaned into her personal space. “Your client will go to prison. Did I mention I have a signed confession?”
Shit.
How was she going to keep this kid out of prison and off the sex offender registry?
“I’ll be in touch after I meet with my client.” She took a deliberate step toward him, giving him no choice but to move out of her way. In her former career as a prosecutor, she’d interviewed rapists and murderers. She’d be damned if she’d let an ADA with a Manhattan-size ego intimidate her.
He backed up a step, his posture stiff.
Morgan blew past him, not yielding an inch of hallway. He was the sort you couldn’t give a millimeter to. She made her way to the interview booth. Resembling a cubicle, it was open at the front and back for access with walls on both sides for privacy.
A guard delivered Eric, who plopped into the chair on the other side of the table. The overhead fluorescents highlighted a darkening bruise on his cheekbone. He’d likely have a black eye by tomorrow. “Ms. Dane? What are you doing here? They told me I’d have some random lawyer just for the arraignment.”
“Lance called me,” Morgan said. “How did you get that bruise on your face?”
Eric blew hair off his forehead. “My face hit the floor when the sheriff handcuffed me.”
“Did you resist arrest?” Morgan asked.
Eric looked away. “Not really.”
Which was not exactly a no.
Morgan moved on. “We don’t have much time. The ADA has offered you a deal. If you plead guilty, you’ll receive probation.”
Eric jerked straight. “But I didn’t do anything.”
“Someone sent you an e-mail with a pornographic video involving a minor.”
“Spencer’s girl broke up with him. He sent the video of them doing it to everybody at school.” He snorted, a disgusted sound. “How am I supposed to keep someone from sending me an e-mail?”
Good question. But if anyone found with e-mails containing child pornography could make that argument, conviction of pedophiles would be all but impossible. Morgan could argue lack of malicious intent on Eric’s behalf, but the outcome would depend on the judge.
“If we go to trial, and you’re convicted, the maximum sentence you could receive is four years.”
Eric paled. “Four years? Because stupid Spencer sent me an e-mail?”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t want it.” His eyes creased in confusion.
Morgan’s heart cracked. She used to be a tough-as-nails prosecutor, but her husband’s death in Iraq two years before and the experience of being a single mom to three little girls had peeled away her tough veneer. “I’m sorry you’re in this situation.”
“I don’t want to go to jail.” He chewed on his thumbnail.
“If you plead guilty, you’ll have to register as a sex offender, and you’ll have a criminal record with a felony conviction that will never go away.”
“This isn’t fair.” His eyes misted. He ducked his head and wiped his face with his hand. “What should I do?”
“Here’s the thing. The ADA has said the deal is a onetime offer. If you plead not guilty, he’ll pull his offer.”
“What a pri—jerk.”
“We don’t know what other evidence he has at this time. If you enter a not guilty plea, he’ll be forced to deliver that evidence. That’s called discovery.”
“I know. I watched My Cousin Vinny with my mom.” His bleak gaze leveled with hers. “If I take the deal, my life is basically over. What happens if I say no?”
“You plead not guilty, then the judge will set bail. We’ll try to get you out of here today.”
“I won’t have to spend another night in jail?” Eric brightened. “’Cause that place is fu—messed up.”
“That’s the plan.”
The smallest flicker of relief passed over his face.
Being defense counsel was new to her, but she was beginning to appreciate the importance of the role. When she’d worked in the prosecutor’s office in Albany, she hadn’t worried about sending innocent people to prison. Now she wondered if she ever had.
“The prosecutor says he has a confession,” she said.
“I didn’t confess to anything.” Eric’s voice rose.
“But you signed something . . .”
“Yeah.” Eric swept a hand through his shaggy hair. “The sheriff made me sign a statement. He said if I didn’t, the judge would go harder on me.”
“Did he read you your Miranda rights before this?”
“Yeah.” Eric nodded. “But he said calling a lawyer would make me look guilty, and maybe I wouldn’t get bail at all. Then I’d have to stay in jail.”
Morgan had dealt with Randolph County Sheriff King before. Strong-arm tactics were his claim to fame.
“We’ll argue that the sheriff coerced you into signing the confession. You said everyone at school had the video. Did you forward it to anyone?”
“No.” Eric’s lip curled. “I knew what it was. I deleted it as soon as I saw it in my in-box.”
Morgan’s pen froze. “You didn’t open the e-mail?”
“No.” Eric’s voice rose. He glanced around and lowered his tone. “Why?”
The guard signaled to Morgan.
“Our time is up.” She set down her pen. “Sit tight. I’ll work on getting you out of here.”
The guard led him away. Morgan headed for the DA’s office, located in an adjacent wing of the courthouse, and asked to see Esposito. The receptionist directed her to a conference room. She went inside and set her tote on the table.
“Hello, Morgan.” District Attorney Bryce Walters walked in, his smile white and predatory. Bryce had nearly been her boss, but two months ago she’d defended her neighbor in a high-profile murder case, upstaged Bryce, and forfeited any chance of working for him. She’d more than burned her bridges with the prosecutor’s office. She’d sent them up in a mushroom cloud.
“Bryce, I didn’t expect so see you. I thought Esposito was handling this case.”
“I’m just checking in.” He reached over the table and shook her hand, then pulled out a chair.
Normally, Bryce hid his emotions well, but he couldn’t quite cover the small gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
She breathed through a flash of anger. He saw Eric’s case as a chance to get even with her.
“How is private practice treating you?” he asked.
“Very well, thank you.” She sat down and rested her forearm on the table. “I appreciate being able to pick my own cases and set my own hours.”
She had dinner with her three little girls almost every night, and she had an actual personal life. If she’d gone to work for Bryce, she’d have been lucky to get home by eight. But it was the smugness emanating from him that made her happy things had turned out the way they had.
This wasn’t a game. A young man’s life was at stake. No matter how aggressively she’d prosecuted criminals, she’d never treated them like pawns.
Esposito walked in, tossing a file on the table like he was dropping a mic. “Ready to deal?”
Morgan interlaced her fingers. “My client never opened the e-mail. He deleted it unread.”
Crickets.
Esposito’s mouth dropped open an inch before he snapped it shut. His eyes went cold and glittery with anger. Bryce’s jaw tightened, and he frowned at Esposito.
“Coerced confessions are often false. Next time the sheriff hands you a slam dunk, you might want to verify the details.” Morgan stood. She leaned forward, pressing her palms flat on the table. “I expect the charges to be dropped and my client released immediately.” She pushed off the table and collected her tote bag and coat. “Goodbye, gentlemen.”