Burden of Proof Read online

  “Yeah, I’m sure you heard the blow up. It’s part of what happens here. You’ll get used to it.” He crossed his arms as if to study me.

  “Look, I know I’m green-”

  “No, you’re more than green, and sure to be a liability if you’re not trained correctly.”

  “And you plan on doing that?” It wasn’t so much said as a challenge, but a serious inquiry. I no more wished to risk my life for an idea than the next man.

  “Put it this way. Grab your pad, and your keys. Today, we’re going to a crime scene and you need to know how to look at it and what you need in your kit.”

  “My kit?”

  The only occupation that carried kits, I thought, was Crime Scene Unit technicians, and although I loved everything that the CSI franchise produced, I couldn’t imagine myself on my hands and knees on the ground looking for hairs, tissue and trace DNA — not to mention that I didn’t know anything about DNA analysis besides the buzzword of mitochondrial DNA.

  Following him to the supply room, he took down a clear container and shoved it in my direction. “Okay, this is what you’re going to always keep in your car,” he said.

  Moving around, he pulled down a hand-held tape recorder and put it into the bin.

  “The tape recorder is to help with taking statements, or just to dictate.”

  He then continued and removed a small box from the third shelf.

  “This is your assigned digital camera. It has video recording options, too, which is good to photograph crime scenes. By having the pictures, it can help us to recreate the scene, and for witness prep, if necessary.”

  Lastly, he pulled down a small tool kit, the company’s Carroll logo was inscribed on the front of the black hard-shell case. “This is your toolbox, which includes nails, screwdrivers, screws, tape measure-”

  “The standard toolkit, okay.”

  “No, there is nothing standard in there.” He popped it open, and inside there was a section that held a notepad, and writing instruments, as well as plastic baggies.

  “What are those for?” I pointed to the baggies.

  “Depending on what type of case, it could be used to preserve evidence. We don’t only do criminal cases here, and if you gather evidence, make sure to label it clearly. You got it?”

  I nodded my head, as if understanding, all the while the container continued to grow in weight.

  “Alright, I think that’s enough for the moment. Harry will have you working on the next criminal case that comes in, and until then you do what I do. You match my moves, measure them, think logically, look at it all like a puzzle.”

  “Won’t they just tell us if they are innocent or not?”

  Javier laughed. It erased the dark scowl.

  “That’s funny.”

  “No, I’m being serious.”

  “No, you’re being naive. Ninety-five percent of the people that come in here will give you some skewed version of how things went down. They’ll claim absolute innocence, knowing damn well they committed the offense.”

  “And how do you deal with that?”

  “I don’t.” He paused as if gathering his words. “What you don’t know is that this is all about chasing time, and then gluing the pieces together until you get a coherent picture, and then use that picture to assist in providing the tools needed for Harry to give his best effort in proving the defense.”

  I held on to the plastic bin as if it were my lifeline.

  ”Don’t worry about it, Emili. You’ll get a hold of it. Learn the terminology, listen, and trust your gut.”

  My gut hadn’t been very trustworthy. As a compass, it was more likely to send me over the edge of a precipice instead of to solid ground.

  I nodded my head. Vultures are a sure sign of death in the air, and even though this career still had its new smell, it was up to me to discover if I was going to be another carcass or a huntress.

  4

  2 Weeks later…

  Arriving home, I turned the lock and exhaled. Today had been a good day, not only because I was employed but also because I’d have a chance of doing something important.

  I took off my coat and shoes, and plodded to the couch, falling into the leather.

  “How’d it go?” Mom asked.

  I waved my first paystub and smiled. She produced two bowls of ice cream from behind her back.

  “Surprise,” she said. “I was hoping it would be a success.”

  The cold bowl was filled with chocolate, peanut butter, and vanilla ice cream. Mom always knew how to comfort, be it through a bowl of dessert, or just by listening.

  “Eat dessert before dinner, because tonight we are celebrating!”

  “I don’t have the money for that yet.”

  “I know, and that’s why I’m treating. Tawney and even Eddie will meet us at your favorite restaurant, Elle’s, at seven.”

  Like a school girl, just hearing Ed’s name made my stomach flip-flop. I don’t know what sort of voodoo he’d done to me, but I couldn’t escape him. The scent of fresh grass reminded me of him; sweet tobacco of his arms around me; and his smile did me in. A tug of war. A relationship filled with butterflies and bats, anger, regrets and missed opportunities.

  “Do you always plan for success?” I asked.

  She didn’t need to answer my question. Somehow or another, she seemed to have received the successful gene. She studied business administration and received her MBA, top of her class, went on to get a government grant and then founded her own company. It usually took five years until a company moved from being in the red to the black, but Mom was able to do it after the first year. She’d defied it all, and then when tragedy struck she adopted her granddaughter, Kitt.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to see Eddie yet.”

  Technically, I was still Emili J. Hobbes, but what’s a girl to do when she finds her husband cozying up to someone else? I did what I thought I had to do — move out, move on. And behind Mom’s blinds, I hid. I ignored his calls and attempts, but the last few weeks he’d grown increasingly quiet.

  I tried to shake my head, to clear the thoughts of me missing a second chance, a trace of the life we used to have.

  “Have you even spoken to him?”

  “No, and it won’t happen tonight either. He thinks I’m here helping you with Kitt.”

  “You’re using us as an excuse to not deal with things?”

  Mom never believed in shying away from a moment of truth, a chance to call a spade a spade.

  “You know you’re just avoiding the inevitable.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  To be honest, I wasn’t too sure of it either. I wanted him to fight for us, but I also needed to fight for me. Until I’d seen him snuggling up with someone else, I never would have thought that I could end up out in the cold with nothing — no money, house, car, or anything to take care of myself. I’d lived so much, thinking I was the wife he needed and wanted me to be, that I’d forgotten to be the woman I wished and prepared to become.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure he’s on his way over. The only thing I can tell you is to be honest with him.”

  “Don’t hate me. I’ll do it, but not tonight. I don’t want to soil my first real chance at my future.”

  Mom nodded her head as if understanding, but I wasn’t sure she understood at all.

  Just then Kitt ran into the house, “Mom, Mom!” she cheered. “I did it! I did it!” She waved a ribbon before our faces. “I won! I won!”

  Kitt was seven years old, but her talent wasn’t limited by her age. Her charcoal drawings hung proudly around the house, displayed for everyone to see that not only did Kitt live there, but that she was loved.

  “Congratulations, sport,” I called out and gave her a hug.

  “Are you staying at your job, auntie?”

  Looking into her innocent eyes, I couldn’t hold back my sheer happiness.

  “Yes, squirt. Now go grab that princess crown. It’s time to celebrate.”<
br />
  Off she went, and I knew that the job would mean for me to maybe, just maybe be able to see the world through her eyes, and I’d learn the meaning of second chances.

  5

  1 month later

  For the last month, all I've been doing is driving Harry around, and of course, taking his mandatory self-defense class. It wasn't my favorite thing by far, with all of the running, but the balance activities combined with the kicking and punching helped me work off more steam than I thought I had built up.

  Seemed like Harry required all of his workers to have at least 10 hours of self-defense classes per week — sort of like the Continued Learning Courses he had to take to keep his license. By the end of the month, if we'd completed the hours, we received a bonus of sorts. So far, all I'd gotten was a pink pointy Kurotan that reminded me more of a Christmas ornament than a weapon. Its hollow metal slapped against my leg while driving since it was hooked to my key ring. He'd complain if he didn't see it — worse than my mother ever did when I used to carry pepper spray while wandering around downtown at night.

  I would enjoy a day trip or two of driving, especially if we were driving someplace fun — like the beach, an aquarium or maybe even toward a vineyard, but all I saw was the highway, and more highway. After four-weeks of nonstop court engagements, where I never got to leave the car, I was slowly starting to hope for a chance for something more.

  On our daily trip to another part of Virginia, he sat in the passenger seat busy with his cell phone, while my hands gripped the steering wheel. "What kind of case are you working on today?" I asked.

  This past month had been filled with me catching up, even more so on crime TV, reading crime fiction and mystery novels, and I even signed up for Citizens' Police Academy, which starts tonight. If he was going to give me some more responsibilities, then I needed the knowledge to do it.

  "Harry, the case is in General District Court today? It's a prelim?" I asked, applauding myself that I knew what I was talking about, and using the lingo. Prelim, or preliminary hearing.

  His hands stopped, and he turned towards me. "I know you are starting to itch for a chance to know more about this field, but it takes time... even more, it takes gumption, heart, and can cost a lot. This isn't the normal nine to five, where at the end of the day, you push a file into a file cabinet and then call it a day. These people depend on us, daily, and what we do impacts their lives. Before you can start being my paralegal, I need you to start wanting to be my paralegal."

  "I was just hoping for a chance. Right now, all I do is drive, and I'm not learning anything. I’d like to help, to be useful. I can type and you've given me legal secretary responsibilities, the chance to draft a motion or two from a template form, create a cover letter, work on making sure the files were tidy, but I want more. I want to make a difference and help."

  "Why? Why do you want to do that?" Harry asked

  I evaded his question. To be frank, I wasn't even sure why I wanted to do more, but I did. It was like something tickling the back of my head; a combination of circumstance and a desire to do more than just drive. My life was surely meant to have more purpose than that.

  "Let me head into court one day, just to hear what is going on. I'm a quick learner."

  6

  6 Months later…

  “Come with me,” Harry instructed.

  I followed Harry into the small conference room. I carried my yellow legal pad, placed a polite upside down frown on my lips and took a seat at the oblong conference room table. The breath mint danced on my tongue.

  Up until now, I’d observed. I’d taken notes, and finally after six months, I’d been given an opportunity to sit in on my first intake.

  Inside of the small conference room sat an older woman. Her russet brown face wrinkle-free, her hands splayed flat on the conference room table. Dressed in shades of Caribbean greens and yellow, she sat alone, staring at her smartphone, as if she were waiting for a call.

  "Thank you for coming in to meet me, Ms. Melancon," Harry said, and took her aged hand in his. The heavy scent of sweet rose perfume, mixed with caramel toffees, hung in the air.

  I nodded my head in greeting, took a seat, and gripped my pen, poising it ready to scrawl down any snippet of information.

  "Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Carroll. My grandson, Thomas, has spoken highly of you, and he said if anyone could help him, then you could."

  "I'm happy that my reputation has preceded me. From our telephone conversation, you stated that your grandson is seeking new representation," Harry said.

  "Yes, sir. You see, I know Tommy to be innocent. Since his arrest, I’ve been working on finding some sort of help, trying to get the court to see his innocence. You all are our last hope."

  The cell phone chirped, interrupting, playing a loud calypso.

  "Excuse me, that’s surely Tommy calling collect. I told him to call my cell phone as soon as possible." She pressed the button and a male voice resonated. "Go ahead, Tommy."

  "Mr. Carroll? Thank you for meeting with my gran. She's the only family I have that still believes in me. That still thinks that I can get out of here.

  "I know we only have fifteen minutes for this call, but I want you to know, I'm innocent. I didn't kill anyone, and the Commonwealth wants me to take the rap for something I didn't do."

  "Thomas, may I call you Thomas --"Harry asked.

  "Yes, Sir,"

  “Well, we don't need any conspiracy theories, just facts. I need to know about your case." Harry leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

  "What happened was I sneaked out of my room that night and headed out.”

  The tension seemed to grow as I weighed his every word. There were those that just talked, and those that sought to expound, building a narrative, an excuse or maybe even a defense. I focused on his intonation, slowly building a picture.

  “Where did you go?” Harry asked.

  “I went to the woods behind the house. It leads to the river, and I was hoping to meet Chris and his sister, Susanna, they are twins. Anyway, by the time I got there, they were gone. So, I sat there for a while trying to figure it all out.

  “My mom was acting all sorts of strange. She didn't want me to head out, and my other sister and brothers were supposedly asleep. They were younger, and all by Vernon, my mom's boyfriend. I was visiting my mom, after being dropped off by my dad. He had custody of me -- I'm not sure why.

  "But anyway, when I sneaked back into the house through the bedroom window, I saw that they'd all been shot, every one of them. I looked at them in their beds, and all I saw was blood. Racing out of the bedroom, I ran down the hallway toward my mom's bedroom, calling my mom's name and I found Vernon, shot in the face. The shotgun was right there by the bed. I picked it up, hearing only my heart in my head. I don't know. I'm now frantic, looking for her, calling out her name, and then I saw the bathroom light on in the en-suite. I banged on it, called her name, and only heard moaning or so. When I kicked it in, she's screaming at me...she's just screaming and like trying to get away. I don't know what happened then. The police came and the rest is a blur. All I know is that they handcuffed me, and I was taken away.

  "I'll never forget it, though. I loved my family, even if I was the odd man out."

  “And your fingerprints came back on the gun?” Harry asked.

  “Yes, and they identified the gun I found as being the gun responsible for the shootings. My first attorney, Edgar Farmington, was court appointed. I learned my lesson then. You get what you pay for. He didn't care that I was innocent. Instead, all he wanted me to do was take a plea. When the Commonwealth said that my mother was going to testify against me, I didn't have any other choice but to proceed, to prove my innocence. She thinks that I did it, and maybe to her, I'm a monster, but I'm really innocent." The word innocent came off more like a plea, the magical baited word to make any defense attorney's chest puff out. "Do you think you can help me?"

  I listened and quickly determ
ined the holes in the story. Evidence from the scientific testing would supply a lot, like if he fired the weapon; who the gun belonged to, and the time of the COD—cause of death, but it wouldn't tell me about the motive. The easiest one would have been jealousy — was he jealous enough of his siblings to murder them? The question I wrote down on my paper and continued to listen. I'd need to see his face to determine what his non-verbal communication conveyed.

  The automated operator's voice chimed in. "You have one minute remaining for this call."

  "Tommy, dear, tell them ... tell them about the weapon!" Grandma Melancon chimed in.

  I tapped my fingers against the tabletop.

  "I'll call right back, if I can."

  The call quickly ended.

  "What do you know about the gun?" Harry asked.

  "The gun came back as belonging to my husband, Nate, because he bought it for Tommy. But I know my grandson. He'd never hurt a fly, let alone kill his entire family. That is just not in line with the family member I know and love."

  "And his prints were all over the gun?" Harry asked.

  "Yes sir, even on the shotgun shell casings, but they never found his clothes or at least the clothes they believed he wore when he shot them all. When they brought him out of the house, he was clean."

  "And gunpowder residue?"

  "No. The prosecution simply stated to the jury that he changed clothes."

  "So, he wasn’t covered with gunpowder residue, and his clothes didn’t have any blood spatter?"

  "No, his clothes were recovered with blood on them, and all. They were found at the river, I believe. Tommy always told me that those were clothes he'd never worn though."

  I tried not to let my mind wander, but the more Ms. Melancon spoke, the more I understood why Tommy had been found guilty — this case wasn't circumstantial and to have a chance at Tommy ever being able to walk away, they'd have to truly find new evidence to prove his innocence. Right now, I wasn't even sure that the mother recanting her testimony would change things.