Presumption of Guilt (2 page)

“Thank you. I didn’t know who to turn to. I’m so confused.”

“What’s your name?” The woman towered over Dani by at least five inches. She was stout, without being heavy, and was dressed in crisp linen pants and a flowered blouse. A sapphire pendant hung from her neck, and it was impossible to miss the large, square-cut diamond on her right hand.

“Donna. Donna Garmond.”

Dani held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Donna, but as I said, this isn’t the time or place. I’m here for my son, as I’m sure you are for your child.”

“Yes, my daughter goes to this camp. Her first year.” Donna took in a deep breath. “I know this is an imposition, but I’ve read about you. I know how you help innocent prisoners and well—it just seemed that both of us here together must mean something. When the concert’s over, everyone will scatter, and you’ll want to be with your son. If I didn’t talk to you now, the moment will be lost. I just couldn’t let that happen.”

“If you’ve read about me, you know where my office is. Just call me next week. I’ll be happy to speak to you then.”

Donna reached out and touched Dani’s arm. “I’ve contacted your office before, asked for their help. They’ve turned me down.”

Now Dani understood the woman’s urgency. The Help Innocent Prisoners Project—called HIPP by the staff—had limited resources. They were highly selective about the cases they agreed to handle. More were turned down than accepted.

“Who is it that you believe is wrongly convicted?” Dani asked.

“My sister. Her name is Molly. Molly Singer.”

Dani again took in the woman’s clothes and jewelry. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but don’t you have the means to hire private counsel?”

Donna shook her head vehemently, loosening wisps of her chestnut hair that had been pulled back and clasped at the nape of her neck. “My husband does well financially and so I haven’t had to work. I’m home with Sarah”—Donna gestured to the group of campers listening to the concert—“and we have a son as well, Jacob. I’ve begged my husband to let me hire an investigator, try to open Molly’s case again, but he’s adamantly opposed to it. He’s convinced Molly is guilty and our money should be used for our children’s future.”

“What was Molly convicted of?”

“Murder. They said she murdered our parents.”

Dani stared at the woman before her. She’d suffered a double loss—the death of her parents and the incarceration of her sister. No wonder she wanted to believe Molly was innocent. A round of applause came from the stage. The concert was over. Dani reached over and touched Donna’s arm. Then, her previous annoyance gone, she said, “Call the office next week. I promise I’ll hear you out.”

As they walked back together to their spouses and children, Dani knew her promise gave Donna more hope than was warranted. The gulf between hearing her out and taking on her sister’s case was wide and, most likely, impossible to bridge.

C
HAPTER

3

D
ani breezed into HIPP’s office on West Fourteenth Street in New York City’s West Village at ten a.m., her usual arrival time. Unless she was arguing a case, or traveling, she always saw Jonah off on the school bus. Doing so served a dual purpose. It lessened her sense—mostly irrational, she understood—that she was abandoning Jonah by going to work, and it helped her avoid the worst of rush-hour traffic driving into Manhattan.

She stopped at her secretary’s desk to pick up her messages, then flipped through them as she entered her windowless office. A message from Donna was in the pile. Just her name and phone number on a white slip of paper, with the words “You promised.”

Before returning her call, Dani went to the file cabinets to search for any records of Molly Singer. There had to be a file on her if Donna had previously contacted HIPP. She found it quickly, then brought it back to her office.

Inside the folder was a three-page letter from Donna, along with the notation of the HIPP attorney who had reviewed it: “No, with regrets.”

Dani skimmed the letter quickly, noting that Molly had been convicted of the double murder twelve years earlier and sentenced to consecutive terms of twenty-five years to life. That in itself was odd. She had just turned eighteen at the time of her sentencing. Most judges would have imposed concurrent terms, leaving open the hope of some semblance of a life after prison.

She stuffed the letter back into the folder, then strolled over to the office of Bruce Kantor, the director of HIPP. HIPP’s office space was small, the furnishings spartan, but it hummed with the energy of young people on a mission. At least, mostly young people. Dani could no longer consider herself in that category, but she’d come to HIPP later than most. After nine years at home with Jonah, Doug had practically pushed her out the door, admonishing her that she needed a life of her own and Jonah needed to become less dependent on her. He was right, of course. Both of them had thrived since she began working at HIPP four years ago.

Dani stuck her head inside Bruce’s office and saw it was empty. Instead of waiting for him, she made her way over to the office of Melanie Quinn, the attorney who’d initially reviewed the request.

Unlike Dani’s own cluttered desk, Melanie’s was pristine. Not even a stray paper clip disrupted the picture-perfect orderliness. Not unlike the image projected by Melanie herself.

“Hey, Melanie.” Dani placed the folder down in front of her. “Do you remember at all the letter about Molly Singer? Convicted of murdering her parents when she was eighteen? Doing time up at Bedford Hills?”

“Rings a bell. I think we turned her down.”

“Right. Well, her sister actually. She’s the one who wrote. Do you remember what the thinking was on it?”

Melanie opened the folder and skimmed the letter. When finished, she nodded her head slowly. “I talked this one over with Bruce. I felt sorry for the kid. Concurrent terms!” A look of disgust passed over her face. “What was that judge on? But Bruce remembered the case. It made the city papers even though the trial was upstate. I guess because she was such a pretty girl, you know how the media loves that. Apparently, the parents were well off. The house alone was worth over a million and that’s in the country, before real estate prices skyrocketed. Bruce felt they could pay for private attorneys and our resources were better spent elsewhere.” Melanie looked at Dani quizzically. “Why are you asking about her?”

“I ran into her sister at Camp Adagio and she strong-armed me into agreeing to meet with her. It’ll just be a courtesy interview.”

Melanie frowned. “Her child has Williams syndrome?”

Dani nodded.

“I know you, Dani. You’re going to identify with her and want to help—but you must realize Bruce won’t okay it. Do you want me to see her instead of you, so you’ll be off the hook?”

Melanie’s offer tempted her. After all, they’d worked as a team ever since they’d taken on George Calhoun’s case together a year ago. And Melanie was right—Dani was a softy. She understood how hard it was raising a child with Williams syndrome, a condition that caused varying levels of retardation. Add to that the stress of dealing with a sister locked up for life. But rules were rules. They had to look at cases coldly and objectively, and the ability to pay for private attorneys was a big factor.

Still, she had promised Donna she’d meet with her. She thanked Melanie, then headed back to her office to return Donna’s call.

“I didn’t always believe Molly was innocent.” The woman sitting opposite Dani was dressed just as impeccably as she’d been the first time they’d met. Now, though, her brown eyes were rimmed with red as she dabbed at her tears with a crumpled tissue. “In fact, from the time she was arrested, all through the trial, I’d convinced myself she’d done it. Murdered our parents. After all, she’d confessed.

“But a few months ago, I got this letter. That was when I first contacted your group.” She opened up her black Gucci tote, which was adorned with gold-tone studs, and pulled out an envelope. Carefully, as though she were handing over precious jewels, she placed it in front of Dani. Then, with her head hanging low, she whispered, “I should have believed her. She recanted, said she didn’t do it. She’s my sister, my only sister. I should have believed her.” Once again, tears flowed down Donna’s cheeks.

Dani pulled the letter from the envelope. It was in a standard font. Nothing about the paper or writing was distinctive. She put on her glasses, then read:
Dear Mrs. Garmond. Your sister didn’t kill your parents. I know the people who were responsible.

That was it. Nothing more. Dani turned over the envelope and saw a postmark from White Plains.

“That’s all? Because of this letter you’ve changed your mind? It doesn’t seem like much here. Any one of Molly’s friends could have sent this to you.”

“Well, that’s what I thought at first. Then”—Donna opened up her bag once more and pulled out a second letter—“I got this last week.” She pushed the envelope over to Dani.

Once more, Dani pulled a single sheet of computer-printed paper from the envelope and read. Same font, same paper.
Look into the county jail. That’s what it was about
. She put the letter down and looked at Donna. “Do you know what he means by this? What would this have to do with your parents?”

“My father’s company built the new jail in Hudson County. It was very controversial and pretty much divided over political party lines. After it was finished, the delays and cost overruns were so high the state investigated, but they found nothing amiss.”

“So your father was cleared of wrongdoing?”

“My parents had been murdered before the state finished its investigation. But yes, he was cleared.”

Dani’s fingers found the ends of her long, dark curls and twisted them between her fingers as she thought. She knew what she was supposed to do: commiserate with the woman, make apologies for HIPP, then send her on her way. Yet the letters intrigued her.

The sparkle of the large diamond on Donna’s right hand reminded her of her task.

“Donna, I would like to help, really I would. But HIPP only takes on cases of indigent prisoners. And it’s clear that you have the money to help. If your husband chooses not to, well—that’s not something we can factor in.”

“But I’m not the one who’d be your client. Molly is. And she has nothing.”

“Your parents were well-to-do,” Dani reminded her.

“Molly didn’t get any of their money. She couldn’t—once she was convicted her share was forfeited.”

“So you got it all?”

“Half. And that’s gone. My husband used the money to start his business.”

“But the other half? What happened to that?”

“It’s in a trust. Molly had a baby in prison. A little girl.”

C
HAPTER

4

D
ani knew she was sunk. The thought of a baby, taken from her mother—cruelly and unfairly if Molly had been wrongly convicted—broke down her resolve. “What happened to her daughter?” she asked, knowing she was only digging a deeper hole for herself.

“I tried to get custody, but the father fought me. You know how it is—blood rules. Although if I’m really honest with myself, I didn’t push too hard. I had just finished college when she was born, barely able to take care of myself, much less a baby. And I resented Molly for putting me in this spot.” Donna reached into her bag once more and pulled out her wallet, opened it, and retrieved a picture. She handed it over to Dani. “This is Sophie. She’ll be twelve soon.”

An angelic-faced child with straight blonde hair brushing her shoulders and eyes the color of crème de menthe. It looked to be a school photo; Sophie sat erect in front of a generic blue background, her hands clasped in her lap.

“Do you get to see your niece?”

Donna nodded. “Once in a while. If there’s something special in our family, Finn will let me take her.”

“Finn?”

“He’s the father.” Donna looked away from Dani and fixed her eyes on the diplomas hanging on the wall. When she finally turned back, she said, “He testified against Molly at her trial. I’ve never forgiven him for that.”

Dani wondered if it was Finn she wouldn’t forgive, or herself, for not believing in her sister’s innocence for so long. She’d seen so much anger in her job—anger at the lawyers, the judge, the victim, the defendant’s own family, her friends. Almost always it was misdirected. The prisoners were really angry at themselves. Even when it wasn’t deserved.

“He’s married now,” Donna continued. “Has a son with his wife. Kim. That’s her name. She tries to be a good mother to Sophie, I suppose, but—”

“Yes?”

“But her son is her son. And it’s clear she treats Sophie differently.”

Dani glanced at her watch. She’d allotted thirty minutes for Donna and they were going on an hour. She wanted to reassure this woman who was so clearly in pain that everything would work out for Molly, even when it was likely it wouldn’t. She’d felt this need since childhood—to try to fix things for others, to make them feel better. That’s why she entered college expecting to work toward becoming a psychologist, until events steered her onto another track.

“Look, Donna. I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll talk to our director about Molly’s case. I have to warn you, though; it’s unlikely he’ll change his mind.”

Donna grabbed Dani’s hands and squeezed them. “Please, try to convince him. The police homed in on Molly almost immediately and never looked for anyone else. There’s something going on; I know there is. Why else would I get those letters?”

“Well, it could be from some crackpot. I’ll press Bruce on it, I promise. If he okays it, then whatever attorney is assigned will follow up with you.”

The color drained from Donna’s face. “But wouldn’t you handle it? I’d want you to be the attorney.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a capital appeals specialist. Prisoners on death row. But all the attorneys in the office are excellent.”

“No,” Donna said, shaking her head. “Can’t you make an exception? I feel comfortable with you. You understand what it means to have a child that needs help, just as I do. And Sophie needs help.”