“One last thing before you go,” Ackerman interrupted. “There is something you should know—I remember hearing a rumor at the Oklahoma Criminal Defense Lawyers Association convention that your boy originally claimed he didn’t do it, but Mr. Hixon didn’t believe him and never put up much of a fight on his behalf. Like I said before, you need to find out what actually happened that day to do your job proficiently. Good luck, and work hard for that young man. You never know, you just might be arguing for his innocence someday.”
CHAPTER 3
As Steve contemplated what Ackerman had just told him, the intercom buzzed again. “Not sure if you have time for your small fish anymore, Mr. Capital Punishment, but Mr. Hamilton is on line four.”
Steve wished he had the authority to fire Carol; however, she was hired by the landlord who ran the office share arrangement where Steve rented. Regardless of how much Carol’s quips got under his skin, other client, Steve knew he had to take this call from Hamilton. Jordan Hamilton, one of Steve’s many divorce clients, worked in an upper management position at a local manufacturing company.
Steve answered the phone. “Jordan, I have a few questions about the possessions that your wife wants, some of which you might want to reconsider letting go of just to move things forward.”
Hamilton responded, breathing heavily, “Steve, I think I’m in big trouble. I was just informed that the state is investigating me for a felony embezzlement charge. There are police officers at my office right now. The owner of the company is with them, and he is giving them my computer. They say I have to go with them to my house and give them my home computer as well. Can you help me?”
“Yes,” Steve responded calmly. “I can help you. Have you been arrested?”
“No. Will they do that?”
“Well, I guess it depends on what they find on your computers. Most importantly, at this point, don’t talk to them at all about this case, or anything at all for that matter. Tell them that, under
the advice of your attorney, you refuse to speak. I am on my way to your house right now. I will meet you there.”
Steve retrieved Hamilton’s file and typed his address into the mapping system on his phone. He could be there in about five minutes, maybe even before the police and Hamilton got there.
Steve rose from his desk and headed towards the elevator like a firefighter to his truck. As he passed Carol on his way out, she said with a wry smile, “Don’t run too fast. I would hate to see you trip and scuff those purty shoes.”
Hamilton’s house is a modest blue home near downtown with an white porch in front and a detached garage in back. Steve arrived before anyone else so he was sitting in his car playing Words with Friends on his phone when his client and an entourage of police units arrived. He also noticed he had a Snapchat from an unknown number on his office phone. He approached one of the Tulsa police officers and asked politely, “May I speak to whomever is in charge? Can I see a warrant?”
The patrolman pointed to an officer giving out orders nearby. The fiftyish-looking man in a crisp, beige suit noticed the exchange and turned to Steve. “I’m Detective Meyers, and you are?”
“Steve Hanson, Mr. Hamilton’s attorney. Are you in charge?”
“I am,” Meyers replied. “And we have a search warrant which you are free to review.” Meyers handed it to Steve, who began perusing it. This was the first time Steve had ever reviewed a search warrant while in the field. He was nervous, but his knowledge of the law, coupled with his desire to support his client, gave him the courage to appear as if he had done this a million times before.
“Everything looks in order,” Steve said to Detective Myers as he handed back the papers. He then took Hamilton aside and spoke softly in his client’s ear, “You need to let them in and show them where your computers are located. The warrant gives them the right to take possession of your computers and search your house for bank records. I suggest you show them directly where you keep your bank statements; otherwise, they might ransack your whole house, and you will be the one left to clean up. I had a client busted for drug possession last week who came home from jail to one hell of a mess.”
Hamilton pulled the key from his pocket and led the group of officers into his house. While Steve was waiting on the front porch for others to get inside, a white Hyundai Sonata Hybrid pulled up to the scene. Out stepped a woman who was probably in her late thirties. Her jet-black hair was gathered in a bun, her nose was sharp, and her black-rimmed glasses framed a pair of blue eyes that could freeze mercury. Despite the gravity of his client’s situation, Steve still felt the “Wow” slip from his mouth.
He immediately knew this woman was all business. She was dressed in a navy-blue suit jacket with matching skirt and plain black heels—a single strand of pearls hung around her neck. She lit a cigarette as she exited the vehicle and walked toward the front porch with the confidence of a champion prize fighter walking into the ring.
As she strode toward Steve, she reached out her hand. “Good morning. I am Dr. Emily Babbage, computer forensic investigator.”
Though not a guy with a technical background, Steve had a good grasp of why she was here—to root through Hamilton’s computers and other electronics. Steve shook her hand, and a strange jolt traveled through his arm and down to his crotch the moment their hands touched. The sensation electrified his groin and a similar story could be seen behind her eyes.
He gathered himself and, in his best Perry Mason monotone, responded, “Hello, Dr. Babbage. I am Steve Hanson, Mr. Hamilton’s attorney.” For a split second, he swore to himself he saw a smile on her lips before she returned to her stoic demeanor.
Dr. Babbage exchanged a few courteous pleasantries with the officers waiting outside before abruptly dropping her cigarette on the porch and grinding it out with the toe of her black stilettos. “Myers inside?” she asked them while walking through the front door without waiting for an answer. Steve overheard her instructing Myers on what she needed from the residence, rattling off a laundry list of electronic items and documents. A few minutes later, she walked out with a laptop computer, several zip drives in plastic bags, and an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. Behind her, a patrolman lugged a desktop computer.
Steve watched as the rest of the police team spent the next several hours searching Hamilton’s home for anything they could use against him—opening drawers, looking under furniture, peeking behind paintings, and even tapping on the walls and floor looking for hidden spaces. Eventually, the police finished their inspection, and, drained of both strength and emotion, Steve drove back to his office.
Although he was exhausted from being “on point” during the entire search, he couldn’t get Dr. Babbage out of his mind. He simply had to learn more about this woman, not only because she would be key in the prosecution’s case against Hamilton, but also because she was smoking hot.
Steve sat down at his desk and typed “Dr. Emily Babbage computer forensics” into the search bar, the smell from the half full coffee cup he left earlier wafted into his nostrils giving him a slight jolt of energy. The first thing he learned was that she’d received her PhD from the University of Tulsa. After graduation, she worked for a large forensic firm before she struck out on her own, mainly working as an expert in court proceedings. He clicked the link for “What is Computer Forensics?” on her web page.
Computer forensics is a branch of digital forensic science pertaining to legal evidence found in computers and digital storage media. The goal of computer forensics is to examine digital media in a scientifically accepted manner with the aim of identifying, preserving, recovering, analyzing, and presenting facts and opinions about the digital information.
Looking next through her biography, he saw that, for the past two years, she regularly testified in federal and state prosecutions. Although her website stated she would provide services and testimony for defense or prosecution, Steve couldn’t find a single case where she had worked against the state.
Taking a detour from her professional web presence, Steve checked Babbage out on social media.
Not married. Doesn’t even look like she has a boyfriend currently. He smiled to himself and briefly hoped this case would afford another opportunity to meet his new favorite scientist. He wondered how ethical it would be to date someone who was trying to send his client up the river and decided he could cross that bridge when he came to it.
Steve returned his attention to the case at hand, reopened his web browser, and typed in “Oklahoma State Penitentiary.” After a few clicks, he found the number of the main line and picked up the phone.
“Oklahoma State Penitentiary.”
Steve shifted to his attorney voice again. “Good afternoon, I’m Steve Hanson, appointed to represent Scottie Pinkerton in his habeas corpus proceeding, and I would like to schedule a visit.” Without further response on the other end, Steve heard ringing as the call was transferred.
The line picked up. “This is Mrs. Gilcrease,” a new voice said in a slight Southern twang. Steve could hear some Waylon Jennings song, that he couldn’t recall the name of, in the background.
He repeated his opening litany. “Good afternoon, I’m Steve Hanson, appointed to represent Scottie Pinkerton in his habeas corpus proceeding, and I would like to schedule a visit.” Then, he added, “Is this the right office?”
“Yes, it is. Scottie… that’s the man who stabbed his wife up by Claremore, wasn’t it? That would put him in the H-Unit.” Steve could hear papers shuffling and a muffled commercial for what sounded like an ATV dealership. “Let me put you on hold for a minute, that okay?”
The ATV commercial continued while Steve waited. Apparently, the hold music came from the same radio station, but blasts of static kept interrupting the broadcast.
The line picked up again. “Mr. Hanson, the H-Unit is booked solid for attorney visits for a while. I can schedule you for the first Wednesday of the new year at 1:30 p.m. Otherwise, you are looking at the Friday after that.”
“I’ll take the Wednesday.”
“Great, we’ll just need written confirmation of your scheduled visit addressed to Warden Reynolds, and please make sure to provide details of your visit. If I don’t get the letter a week before your appointment at the latest, it will be canceled, and we will start this process all over again.”
