23

CASEY SHOWERED and changed into a dark brown Donna Karan business suit with a cream silk blouse and heels. She pulled her hair back tight and pinned it up with a comb, giving herself the more serious look she reserved for juries and judges. Marty had informed her that Judge Kollar would see her in his chambers around ten, after he completed a jury selection. Robert Graham waited in the hotel lobby and looked unusually good in dress slacks and a pin-striped shirt. On his wrist was a silver Cartier watch. His face was clean shaven.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“I figured for the judge,” Graham said.

“He told me it’s all about the law,” Casey said.

“Money is nine-tenths of the law,” Graham said.

“You’re thinking of possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Right, and money is how you possess,” Graham said, offering her his arm and escorting her out to a waiting Town Car.

“No Ralph?” Casey asked.

“Everyone needs a day off, right?” Graham said. “And I’m here if you need anything.”

“Coffee?”

“Anything you need, Casey,” he said, handing her into the back of the car. “I mean that.”

On the way to the courthouse, Graham asked Casey about the projects waiting for her back in Texas. She loved talking about her work and he seemed interested in the people she helped as much as the processes her clinic had set up to deal with a constant influx of clients. They stopped talking when they arrived at the courthouse. Marty, who had been waiting on the steps, opened the door for Casey and helped her out before Graham could get around the car. The two men shook hands.

“I told you he’d do good,” Graham said, slapping the young lawyer on the back.

“Don’t say that until we see how the judge rules,” Marty said, his brow furrowed. “I saw Flynn going in a few minutes ago and he looked pretty happy. I don’t know.”

They followed Marty inside and were shown into the judge’s chambers. Flynn was nowhere to be seen. Graham kept quizzing Casey about her clinic and that made the time pass a little quicker. Still, it was nearly eleven before the door swung open and the massive judge swept in with a swish of his black robes. He sat down without greeting them and whipped out a tiny pair of silver reading glasses before lifting what looked like Casey’s brief from his desk and studying it, his lips quivering in the silent formation of words before he looked up over the tops of his lenses without raising his head.

“This works,” he said.

Casey let out a long breath. Graham reached over and clasped his hand over the top of hers and they looked at each other, grinning.

“Politics had nothing to do with it,” the judge said, still sour. “I hope you know that. This is a damn good brief and I don’t like getting overturned on appeal.”

Casey stood, wanting to shake the judge’s hand, but he didn’t even look up. He drew another piece of paper to the center of his desk, picked up his pen, and signed it with a flourish before he handed it to her.

“I know it’s not about politics,” Graham said. “But I’ve always believed in supporting good judges who know the law.”

“You should get with Marty on that,” the judge said, nodding Marty’s way. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The three of them walked out together and hugged each other all around as soon as they hit the courthouse steps.

“Let’s celebrate,” Graham said.

“I want to get this to the hospital,” Casey said, waving the order.

“Let me take it,” Marty said. “You two go ahead. I’ll join you after I check in at the office.”

“You’re getting a bonus for this, my friend,” Graham said, pointing a finger at Marty like it was a gun and pulling the imaginary trigger.

“Time out,” Casey said. “I want to stop at the prison and see what we’ll have to do to arrange for a blood sample from Dwayne. I want this DNA work done yesterday.”

“Perfect,” Graham said, heading down the steps. “We’ll do that and then have lunch at Balloons. It’s right there. You know where, right, Marty?”

“Of course,” Marty said. “Right next to the wall. Good choice.”

“And ask Dr. Prescott how long it will take to dig up this sample, Marty,” Casey said, stopping on the curb as their Town Car pulled up. “I want it today. He gives you any grief, tell him I’ll be in myself.”

“I’ll get him going,” Marty said. “He’s a good guy, the doc. He’s just covering himself. You’ll see.”

Casey nodded and asked, “How are your contacts at the county forensics lab?”

“They use the lab in Monroe County. I’ve never had to ask,” Marty said. “Obviously, the DA has most of the swing there.”

“So we’re screwed,” Casey said, remembering her bitter meeting with Merideth.

“Maybe my uncle can help,” Marty said.

“Does it have to be the lab the Auburn DA uses?” Graham asked.

“No,” Casey said. “Another county lab could do it, or the Feds. If you’ve got a contact, maybe we can get it done in the next couple weeks.”

“Why that long?” Graham asked. “How long can a DNA analysis really take?”

“It’s not the analysis,” Casey said, “it’s getting an accredited lab to do it sooner than later. They’re always backed up. Usually, it takes months.”

“I know, but it doesn’t have to,” Graham said. “I’d like to wrap this up for Dwayne, and for you. With my contacts, there’s no reason why we can’t accelerate things.”

“How fast are you thinking?” Casey asked.

“How about a day or two?” Graham said, opening the car door for her.

Casey raised her eyebrows. “That would take some serious grease.”

“Go big or go home, right?” Graham said, circling the car and climbing in on the other side. “I’ve got a couple congressmen who owe me.”

“And I’ve got an assistant warden who told me ‘whatever you need,’ ” Casey said, producing Collin Mallard’s card from the bottom of her briefcase.

“I think he was talking about a cheeseburger,” Graham said.

“What about the power of celebrity?” she said. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Graham told the driver to take them to the prison.

24

WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the prison, Graham held up his cell phone to Casey and said, “I’ll wait here and work on lining up the lab. You don’t need me in there, do you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Casey walked in between the castle turrets and asked through the small speaker in the Plexiglas if she could see the assistant warden. The burly uniformed woman behind the desk looked up from her crossword puzzle.

“You have an appointment with Mr. Mallard?” she asked.

“I don’t,” Casey said, “but he’ll want to see me. I’m with the Freedom Project, working on the Dwayne Hubbard case.”

The woman stared for a minute, then shrugged and picked up her phone. When she finished, she compressed her lips, leaned into her microphone, pointed over to a bench against the wall, and said, “You can have a seat. His secretary will be right down.”

Casey paced the floor until an elderly woman in a flower-print dress shuffled into view and led her through the metal detectors and into the administration building. Mallard had a cramped office with one small window and his secretary sat down at a desk right outside the door. Mallard jumped up from a pile of papers and shook her hand with both of his. He wore an out-of-date double-breasted gray suit with a pink tie.

“Back again. I am honored, Ms. Jordan,” he said, his smile outshining the bald dome of his head. “I was telling friends at dinner just last night about our meeting. How can I help?”

“I’d like to get a blood sample from Dwayne Hubbard and have it sent to a lab right away,” she said. “I think we’ve actually found the proof that will set him free.”

Mallard’s smile turned painful, as if turning someone loose rubbed against his grain.