“Okay, Barbara. I know you aren’t happy about him doing this, and I agree he should have consulted with you first. But… your boys are both still in elementary school. Do you honestly think missing a day of first or third grade is going to ruin their academic careers?”
“Maybe not, but he can’t just take them out whenever he wants! I know it was his day to pick them up, but he has to let them finish school first. I never pick them up early. He is just trying to be the fun dad and make me the mean parent.”
“That could be it. Or he could just love his children as much as you do and thought that, with all they are going through, they could use a fun day at the zoo. Either way, you are correct that he shouldn’t have done this without talking to you about it first. I will call his lawyer and let her know what happened. We’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again. Okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.” Mrs. Whitehurst chuckled a bit to herself.
“Maybe I did overreact a little, Steve. But that’s why I pay you, right?”
As the afternoon wore on, the stack of pink message slips whittled down to two. The one on top was from his personal insurance agent calling about quotes for renewing renter’s insurance on his personal items at home. The other one was from Jennifer Turner, the assistant district attorney on the Hamilton case. The message referenced another meeting with Dr. Emily Babbage.
Steve closed his eyes. Babbage’s face had been popping in and out of his mind ever since that first meeting the other day. He pictured, again, the complex blue of her eyes, a color so unique that he wanted to create a name for it. He remembered the motion of her body as she walked from the house to her car when she left, the way the skirt fit snugly around her thighs, almost clinging to her waist as she strode away. He couldn’t forget that electrifying moment when they shook hands. The insurance agent could wait. Steve picked up the phone and called Turner.
After a short pause listening to the chorus of Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like a Wolf” played by a string quartet, Turner picked up the line. “Hello, Steve. How are you?”
“Good. I spent the morning down at Big Mac. I had a meeting with my client who is on death row, and I’m just happy they didn’t keep me overnight,” he said jokingly.
“I’m glad they let you out, too.” They shared a laugh before she said,”I didn’t know you represented anyone on death row, that’s a big undertaking, good luck. I called to let you know that Dr. Babbage has uncovered some evidence against your client. Apparently, Mr. Hamilton tried to delete several pieces of information from the hard drive of his computer.”
This wasn’t the news Steve had been hoping to hear regarding Dr. Babbage, but it wasn’t unexpected either.
“She has recovered all of it,” Turner said. “I have no doubt that I can now prove everything we have alleged. I was wondering if you would like to go to her office and look at what she has found. I am pretty sure that once you see the evidence we have against him, you’ll want to have a serious discussion with Mr. Hamilton about working out a plea deal instead of going to trial.”
“I would love to see what Dr. Babbage has found, but I must remind you, my client has consistently denied any wrongdoing in this matter. Every time I have met with him, he has told me he didn’t take any money. He is very adamant about his innocence and his intent to take this case all the way to—”
“I understand that’s his position,” she said, interrupting him. “However, the law requires me to show you all of my evidence ahead of time, whether your client decides to plea or not, so let’s at least go see what Dr. Babbage has found on your client’s hard drive. The defendant in just about every case I have ever prosecuted started out by claiming innocence. Hell, your death row guy probably said he didn’t do it, too. I think your tune just might change after you see what she has uncovered. When we are done, I’ll give you what the state would accept as punishment under a plea deal. If the evidence doesn’t sway you, at least we have taken another necessary step toward trial.”
“Okay, I agree. We need to do this at some point anyway.
Tomorrow might as well be the day,” Steve said.
“Are you available in the afternoon?” Turner asked.
“I can meet any time after three.”
“Let’s say four thirty. The meeting with Dr. Babbage shouldn’t take too long. I think we will be done around five or so. Her office is over by Cherry Street. We can go for a drink at The Empire Bar afterward and discuss the case, if you’d like?”
Steve knew that some of the older defense attorneys in town often had lunch or drinks with prosecutors to discuss their cases, but this was the first time he had been invited on such an excursion. He usually dealt with the junior prosecutors, and they were too young, hungry, and out to prove their moxie to ever be seen fraternizing with the defense bar.
However, since Hamilton’s case was a more serious charge— felony embezzlement—a more experienced attorney like Turner had been assigned to it. Turner, who had been working as assistant district attorney for over ten years, had long ago moved past having to prove herself; everyone knew she was a career prosecutor and would never question her having drinks with opposing counsel on a case.
“That sounds great!” Steve said. “I’ll meet you at Dr. Babbage’s office tomorrow.”
Steve checked the clock and saw that the day was already getting away from him. It was almost five, and he still hadn’t done his final preparation for a preliminary hearing he had set the next morning. Additionally, he needed to prepare for a meeting with a class of high school students, a favor he had agreed to do for a friend. He relaxed back into his chair, closed his eyes, crossed his fingers upon his chest and let out several slow deep breaths.
He reemerged with a decision. No matter how badly he wanted to start on Scottie Pinkerton’s case tonight, he knew it was more important that he be fresh when he reviewed everything. Glenn Close would have to wait a little longer.
Steve opened the calendar on his computer. He had a fairly open Friday this week, no court appearances and only two client appointments scheduled in the morning. He marked off Friday afternoon to begin working on Scottie’s case.
There was also no set plan for the weekend. This was true on most weekends, as Steve preferred to leave his options open in case a spontaneous adventure presented itself on Friday afternoon or Saturday. This weekend, the adventure would be a trip down memory lane via trial transcripts and court pleadings. He smiled as he realized that he would have over two days of solitude to begin his review of the state court records. He also wondered what that Snapchat message meant and if he could expect more.
CHAPTER 8
All morning the hours seemed to be dragging by slower than the days before Christmas. Luckily, the hearing that morning had gone as expected, and Steve was now headed to Booker T. Washington High School.
Booker T. was a magnet school in the Tulsa Public Schools System that combined local students with kids brought in from all races and socio-economic levels throughout the district based on merit. The end result was a very diverse student body with great academic standards.
Steve was driving to meet one of his friends, John Davis, a history teacher at the school. John recently asked Steve to come talk to his students during their studies of the death penalty in the United States; specifically, Steve was invited in to speak on the particulars of Oklahoma’s death penalty system.
When Steve walked into the classroom, he saw couches, recliners, and beanbags arranged in a semicircle facing the smartboard where rows of desks and a chalkboard would have been forty years ago. The handful of candles scattered around the room brought a gentle ambiance to the entire scene.
“I like the way you’ve laid out your classroom. You must be one of the cool teachers,” Steve said with a grin. “I remember one of my favorite teachers from high school set their room up like this.”
“I believe a student needs to be comfortable in their learning environment to have the best chance of gaining knowledge,” Davis said.
Two minutes later, the bell rang, and Davis began to talk to the class. “Since we have been studying the death penalty this week, I have arranged for us to have a local defense attorney come speak with us today.”
Steve smiled and waved as some of the students turned to look at him.
“Steve Hanson spent two years working at the federal court downtown, helping the judges on capital punishment rulings. We are extremely lucky to have someone who knows so much about this area of the law come speak with us, and I ask that you give him the same respect you show me. Steve, you have the floor.”
The kids all sat in quiet anticipation as Steve began his presentation.
“Good morning,” said Steve. “I plan to give you a short lecture on the particulars of death penalty procedure in Oklahoma. But, at any time, if a question arises, please feel free to interrupt me.
He continued, “In the United States, the only way a person can receive the death penalty is if he or she is convicted of first-degree murder. That means you have to actually kill someone or be an active member of a group of people who kills someone before a jury is allowed to consider the death penalty as a form of punishment. It is a process known around the courthouse as ‘filing a bill.’”
A hand shot up from a blonde-haired white girl sitting on a green beanbag to Steve’s left. The irises of her curious eyes were a perfect color complement to her seat. A part of Steve wondered if the only reason she raised her hand was to stop him from continuing any longer. “Hi, Mr. Hanson. My name is Alex Wright! Thank you so much for coming to speak to our class today. Have you ever been to death row?”
