False Convictions by Tim Green Read Free Book Online

came
     to a large corner office. The secretary asked if she’d like coffee before she let Casey in and Casey declined. The DA, Patrick
     G. Merideth, sat working at his desk with a nail clipper and a small file. He dusted his fingers against his gray suit and
     shook Casey’s hand, offering her a large wing chair beside an unused fireplace.
    “Marty parking the car?” the DA asked, taking the chair on the other side of the fireplace and accepting a saucer and cup
     of coffee from his secretary.
    “Marty’s working on a brief,” Casey said.
    “Should we wait?” the DA asked.
    “I think I can handle it,” Casey said. “We can talk.”
    The DA sniffed and nodded. He was a short round man with a crooked nose and even more crooked teeth.
    “This is a courtesy call,” Casey said, “so I apologize up front if I don’t
sound
very courteous, but we’ve got a major problem already.”
    “You’re trying to set a convicted murderer and rapist free after twenty years,” the DA said, taking a fussy little sip of
     his coffee. “A teenage girl bleeding to death in her daddy’s arms. Didn’t you expect some major problems?”
    “My problem is your problem, too,” Casey said. “You’ve got a police department destroying evidence.”
    The DA stiffened and furrowed his brow and said, “Evidence from twenty years ago, or last week?”
    “You know I’m here for the Hubbard case,” Casey said. “It wasn’t on your watch, so I thought we could cut through the usual
     bullshit. I’m not here to hurt anyone or cause trouble. My job is to correct an injustice from a long time ago. I’ve got a
     man whose defense lawyer didn’t even subpoena his alibi witness. No one looked into a white BMW my client saw near the scene.
     Things that smack of racial profiling and a black scapegoat. This didn’t have anything to do with now, or you, or anyone’s
     career. That was, until I went down there today and found out those clowns destroyed the evidence from this case.”
    “And lots of others, too,” the DA said, replacing his cup with a clink and setting the saucer down on a side table. “There’s
     no requirement in this state to preserve evidence once the appeals run out.”
    “Too bad they targeted this case,” Casey said.
    “How would they even know you were coming?” the DA asked, incredulous.
    “Small town, right?” Casey said. “You think Marty Barrone didn’t spill the word about the Freedom Project on its way here?
     The cops caught wind and they went to work.”
    “Pretty serious accusation,” the DA said.
    “That’s why it’s your problem.”
    “What makes you say they targeted your case?” he asked.
    “This case got tried in 1989,” Casey said, “before DNA was used. There was a knife they found, allegedly with the victim’s
     blood. The type was a match, but if we’re right, that knife would clear my client. Half of the evidence from that year was
     destroyed. The problem is that 1988 is still on the shelf.”
    The DA raised his eyebrows.
    “I’d like you to begin a formal investigation of the officers involved as well as the chief himself,” Casey said.
    A smile curled the right corner of the DA’s lips as he stood. “That’s not going to happen. Now I’m beginning to see why Marty
     isn’t here. I know you’re a famous lawyer from Texas—everything’s bigger in Texas, you mix it up with senators and serial
     killers, I know—but this
is
a small town and we
are
a little old-fashioned. You don’t come in here and start dictating. You save that for your next movie of the week. If there’s
     no evidence, then there’s really nothing anyone can do. There isn’t a judge living or dead who’d overturn a conviction on
     a missing witness or a phantom BMW. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming up here. We had the district attorneys’ national
     convention in Dallas two years ago, so I know it’s a long haul.”
    Casey stared hard at the DA for a moment before she calmly