cop accused of sexual battery, the frat boy accused of manslaughter over a bet on a football game gone wrong, the middle school teacher accused of pedophilia and having an inappropriate relationship with several of her students, or the pro football player accused of domestic abuse—I would have tipped my proverbial hat, wished them luck while I cut my losses, and walked away without a backward glance. People always committed crimes. People always needed a good defense, so it wasn’t like I was hurting for clients, but there was something about the girl. Something about the defiant tilt of her chin and the raw desperation in her tone when she begged me not to call her father.
“I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you.” She sounded like she meant it when she said it, but I figured she was too young and too scared to know exactly what she wanted or needed. Regardless, it was still refreshing to hear.
Everyone always wanted something from me and my help was usually the least of it.
I tapped the picture again, wondering why I found it so easy to believe that she really hadn’t been a part of the boyfriend’s plan to rob the bar. She wasn’t anyone’s idea of a model citizen and she had the shady track record to prove it. She was too young, and frankly too adorable, to have a file this thick. From what I could see, she also had a set of parents always willing to ride to the rescue when she got herself into trouble. She looked like some kind of colorful woodland fairy from a Disney movie with her odd hair and delicate features. None of it added up, but the sincerity in her tone when she said she would never have gone with the boyfriend if she knew his intent and the fear in her eyes when I mentioned her father seemed genuine.
I learned long ago to treat everyone like they were guilty of whatever it was I was paid to defend them against. I didn’t want to know the truth. I didn’t want to know the circumstances. I wanted my clients to listen to me and let me do my job as I tried to convince the rest of the world they were innocent, regardless if they were or not. But this girl with her faded, rose-colored hair and turbulent eyes oozed innocence through the cracks of her very guilty façade.
Because I was intrigued and actually believed the girl might be innocent, I wasn’t going to let her fire me. I was going to call her father and hope that he would help me keep her out of the slammer while I figured out how to plea bargain her charges down or get them dismissed altogether. Again, because a cop was involved in the robbery and because the boyfriend, junkie or not, was offering up a pretty plausible explanation for Avett’s involvement in the crime, nothing was a slam dunk, yet. I was going to help her whether she wanted me to or not.
I found the father’s contact information in the file and dug my cell phone out of my pocket. If he wasn’t willing to help the girl out I was going to call Asa and see what my former client thought the next best course of action should be. I didn’t often take on cases based solely on referral, but I truly liked Asa Cross and he was another one of my clients that I actually believed was innocent when I was hired to help him out. If he was willing to pay my admittedly hefty fee to help this young woman out, I knew he would want to know if she was going to end up stuck behind bars if dear old dad didn’t step up to the plate.
I pressed the number into the screen while continuing to stare at the grainy mug shot and wondered why I wasn’t letting my assistant or one of the paralegals at the firm make the call instead.
A deep voice rumbled a curt hello in my ear and I tilted my head back on the couch so I was looking at the exposed ductwork that crisscrossed the ceiling of the loft.
“Is this Brighton Walker?”
There was a grunt and then, “Who wants to know?”
I almost laughed. It was so far removed from the way the people I usually dealt with on a day-to-day basis interacted with me that it was startlingly refreshing.
“My name is Quaid Jackson, and I’m calling because I am currently being retained to represent your daughter.”
There was a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh that could only come from a frustrated parent. “One of my boys hired you.” It wasn’t a question but rather a statement of fact.
“I don’t know if Asa Cross is one of your boys or not but we worked together in the past on a situation involving the same establishment. He called me as soon as the police read your daughter her rights and told me if I agreed to take the case that money was no object.”
A soft curse hit my ears followed by another deep sigh. “I was waiting for Avett to call. She always calls me first when she gets into trouble. They charged her?”
I shifted on the couch and tucked the phone against my cheek. “They did. Accessory to armed robbery, aiding and abetting the commission of a felony involving a firearm, and accessory after the fact. Some of the charges are throwaway charges simply because they wanted to book her fast and hold her in lockup. The fact that there was an off-duty police officer involved in the crime is going to complicate things for the duration.”
“Royal.” He mentioned the young policewoman’s name softly. “I’m so glad that the only person that got hurt was that loser my daughter was hooked up with.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “If the police officer hadn’t been there that night it might not have been the case. The boyfriend went in armed and pulled a gun on Mr. Cross. This entire situation could have had a much worse outcome.”
The man on the other end of the phone went silent again and then muttered, “I am well aware of what could’ve happened, Mr. Jackson.”
I felt like a little kid getting a scolding for speaking before the teacher called on me. That was an impressive feat. I very rarely felt put in my place and this man had done it with his tone of voice and a few carefully chosen words. Again, I wondered how his daughter had trailed so far off the straight and narrow when she seemed to have such a strong support system in place.
“I can’t tell you why Avett didn’t call you, Mr. Walker, but I can tell you that she is in pretty big trouble. Her arraignment hearing is tomorrow, and while I’m almost certain that I can get her released on bail, it won’t be cheap and the judge won’t let her go unless she has a stable, safe, and permanent address to go home to. He may even put her on house arrest considering her uncanny ability to find trouble. If that’s the case, she’ll have to have an address to register the ankle monitor to.” I paused to let all the information sink in. “She mentioned she was living with the boyfriend. Understandably, that is no longer an option.”
There was rustling on the other end of the line that sounded like he was scraping his hand through his hair, only rougher and scratchier. “So you’re asking me to pay my daughter’s bail and to bring her home with me, even though she was involved in an armed robbery that could’ve resulted in people I care deeply about getting injured … or worse?”
When he laid it out like that, it sounded like an insane request. It was my turn to sigh. “If it makes any kind of difference Avett didn’t want me to call you. I felt that if there was an option to save her from having to spend time behind bars while we wait for the preliminary hearing, we should pursue it. From your reaction, I’m guessing she didn’t call you because she knew it would be a waste of time.” I didn’t know the man, barely knew the girl, but I was oddly disappointed in his reaction. One more thing about this entire case and situation that made no sense. My reactions were totally out of character, but instead of worrying about it, I kind of liked the thrill of it. Being numb was boring.
I paused and as I was about to thank the man for his time there was suddenly a chuckle that sounded like thunder rumbling through the mountains coming from the other end of the call.
“She
