The Case Against William (24 page)

"Hard
to play quarterback on death row," the D.A. said.

Frank
again pointed a finger at the D.A. "Harold, I'm gonna punch him."

"Please
don't."

Harold
exhaled and looked to the back of courtroom; he gestured someone forward.
Frank and the D.A. turned to see a young woman, mid-thirties perhaps, wearing a
suit and low heels, walk up the center aisle. She had shoulder-length curly
black hair that bounced and muscular legs. She sported the gait of a runner,
as if she might break into a sprint at any moment. When she walked past the
row on which the guys were sitting, Chuck leaned out from his aisle seat,
obviously checking out her backside, but he leaned too far and fell onto the
floor. The D.A. chuckled.

"The
Three Stooges."

The
woman continued through the gate and up to the bench. For a lawyer, she was a
gorgeous woman. The D.A.'s eyes searched her body like a cop patting down a
suspect for contraband.

"Frank,"
Harold said, "this is Billie Jean Crawford. She's a public defender. I'm
appointing her to represent your son."

She
regarded Frank as one does a movie star past his prime—way past—and offered
more pity than admiration. She stuck a hand out to Frank.

"Mr.
Tucker, it's an honor to meet you. We studied your cases in our trial advocacy
course."

"He's
a living, drinking legend," the D.A. said.

"I'm
gonna punch him, Harold," Frank said.

Harold
turned to the D.A. "Dick, don't be a—"

His
eyes cut to Ms. Crawford and thought better of it. She still held her hand out
to Frank.

"Harold,
you're appointing a PD to defend my son when the state is seeking the death
penalty? He's entitled to an experienced death penalty counsel."

"That
would be you, Frank. I believe the Bradley Todd case was a death penalty case,
and as I recall, you won." He paused and shook his head at the memory.
"Wish you hadn't. For both our sakes. And for the second girl." He
leaned even closer to Frank, almost as if to give him a buddy hug over the
bench. "It wasn't your fault, Frank. You did your job."

Frank
fought his emotions.

"Let
me do my job now, Harold. Please."

"I'm
trying to, Frank. But I'm a judge, so I feel that I should follow the law
whenever possible. I'm appointing Ms. Crawford to officially represent your
son."

"Harold—"

"But—I'll
allow you to participate in the trial as her assistant."

"Her
assistant
?"

"Best
I can do, Frank. Take it or leave it."

That
was the judge's deal: Frank could defend his son at trial, but only if the
judge could cover his ass with the appeals court by appointing a public
defender with a current law license. Frank looked Billie Jean
Crawford over; her eyes were amber and her hand remained extended to Frank. He
grasped her hand.

"I'll
take it."

"Let's
do this."

Harold
returned to his role as Judge Rooney and counsel to their respective tables.
Frank whispered to Ms. Crawford.

"First
murder trial?"

"First
trial."

Before
Frank could respond, a side door opened and his son appeared. William wore the
green-and-white striped jumpsuit and shackles on his hands and feet. He
waddled over, flanked by two armed deputies, and stood next to Frank.

"Mr.
Dorkin," the judge said.

The
D.A. read the indictment. It was painful to hear that a grand jury of twelve
citizens had voted to indict your son for the rape and murder of a young
woman. William leaned down to Frank and whispered.

"Did
they get this shit straightened out?"

As
if he hadn't just heard the charges of rape and murder against one William
Tucker.

"Am
I getting out of here today? I've been in here three nights. They don't even
have a gym. I've got to work out, get prepped for the game."

"Not
now," Frank whispered.

"Did
Mom send money?"

"No."

"Why
not?"

"Dale's broke."

"
Broke?
How?
"

"We'll
talk after the arraignment."

William
nodded past Frank to Ms. Crawford. "Who's she?"

"Your
lawyer."

"William
Tucker, how do you plead to the charges against you?" the judge said.

"Not
guilty," Frank whispered to his son.

"Not
guilty," his son said.

Frank
turned to Ms. Crawford. "Ask for a trial setting within the speedy trial
statute."

"Why?"

"Just
do it."

She
spoke up. "Your Honor, defense requests a setting within the speedy trial
statute."

The
judge regarded her over his reading glasses then cut his eyes to Frank. He
knew Frank Tucker's standard trial strategy: push the prosecution to trial.
Fast.

"You
sure about that?"

"Are
we?" Ms. Crawford whispered to Frank.

"Yes."

"Yes,
Your Honor. We're sure."

"All
right. Trial is set for Monday, December ninth. Six weeks. Is that too
soon?"

"Is
it?" Ms. Crawford whispered.

"No,"
Frank whispered back.

"No,"
she said to the court.

"Now
ask for a reduction in bail," Frank whispered.

She
did.

"Denied."

Frank
decided to test out his new role.

"Your
Honor, as Ms. Crawford's assistant, I would ask that my … that the
defendant be treated like any other defendant without regard to his celebrity
status and the media attention. This is a circumstantial evidence case. The
defendant has never been accused of a violent crime. The defendant is neither
a danger to the community nor a flight risk. We are more than agreeable to
appropriate bail conditions such as GPS monitoring. Thus, I would argue that five million
dollars is unreasonable bail under the Supreme Court's ruling in
Stack v.
Boyle
."

The
D.A. jumped in. "Your Honor, the defendant's DNA—his
blood—was recovered from the victim's body. The perpetrator brutally raped her
and strangled her with his bare hands. He looked into her eyes as he killed
her. I think that makes the defendant a danger to the community."

"I
have to agree," the judge said. "Taking into account the nature of
the offense, to-wit, a violent forcible rape and manual strangulation of the
victim, and the circumstances of the offense, to-wit, behind a crowded bar in
downtown Austin on a Saturday night, which evidences a perpetrator unrestrained
by any fear of capture, the defendant does in fact present a danger to the
community. Therefore, bail is revoked."

"
Revoked?
"
Frank said. "Your Honor, the crime occurred two years ago. If the
defendant were a risk to the community, he certainly hasn't demonstrated any
violent tendencies during the last two years."

"He
was arrested a month ago for resisting arrest," the D.A. said.

"It
was a public intoxication charge," Ms. Crawford said. "How many
college kids are arrested for public intoxication on Sixth Street every
Saturday night?"

"The
police report says the defendant became belligerent, that the officer was in
fear of the defendant," the D.A. said.

"The
defendant's blood on the victim establishes that he had close personal contact
with her that night," the judge said. "Explain that, Mr.
Tucker."

"I
can't," Frank said.

"When
you can, I'll reconsider bail. Until then, the defendant shall remain in the
Travis County Jail pending trial."

William
had stood silent throughout the arguments, almost oblivious to the fact that
they were arguing over his personal freedom. But now he understood. He
exploded.

"But
I've got a big game Saturday! Kansas State!"

The
judge regarded William Tucker almost as if saddened by the sight.

"You've
played your last college game, son."

"
What?
I've got to play! If I don't play, I won't win another Heisman Trophy! Or the
national championship!"

"Mr.
Tucker, you should not concern yourself with winning trophies and
championships. You should concern yourself with staying off death row."

"
Death
row?
What the hell are you talking about?"

The
judge glanced at Frank—he had not yet told William—then back at Frank's son.

"Mr.
Tucker, the state is seeking the death penalty."

"
The
death penalty?
"

The
judge banged his gavel. Court was adjourned. The deputies grabbed William's
arms and pulled him away. He looked back at Frank with an expression of shock.

"Take
him to the interview room."

The
deputies gave Frank a "we don't work for you" look; but they would
take him across the plaza to the jail and deposit him in the interview room.
Frank told Ms. Crawford to meet him in the interview room then followed the
judge into his chambers. The judge knew what was on Frank's mind. He shut
the door behind them and removed his black robe.

"Why,
Harold? Is this because of Bradley Todd? Because I made you look like a
fool?"

"No,
Frank. That happens. That's the chance we take—a lawyer when you take a case,
a judge when I make a decision—that we're wrong about the human being standing
in front of us. We try our best to see into his soul, but we can't. We're
like surgeons—you're going to lose some patients on the table. We're going to
be wrong about some clients and defendants. We were both wrong about Bradley
Todd. But I don't blame you."

"Then
what's this about?"

"Your
son."

Harold
sat in his chair and regarded Frank not as a judge but as a friend.

"You
know what I see when I look at your son? A twenty-two-year-old boy who thinks
he's entitled, that he's above the rules, that he's more special than the rest
of the world, that he can do whatever the hell he pleases just because he's the
best damn football player in the country. This isn't the first time he's run
afoul of the law, Frank. All minor incidents, sure, and I know the resisting
arrest charge was bullshit. But this isn't. This is serious, Frank. He might
be innocent … but he might be guilty. Right now, I don't know. So he
stays in jail until I do know. And even if he is innocent, a little jail
therapy could be just what he needs. Six weeks till trial. He spends those
six weeks in jail, maybe he'll have time to think about his life. Maybe he'll
realize he isn't special, just lucky. Maybe he'll come out a man. A better
man."

The
judge exhaled.

"I'm
doing your son a favor, Frank."

The
judge saw William Tucker as the man he was today—a twenty-two-year-old prima
donna athlete who thought the world revolved around him; but Frank saw him as
the twelve-year-old boy who thought his father was the best dad in the whole
world. A son never changes in his father's eyes. And the son was as scared as
a twelve-year-old boy right now.

"
The
death penalty?
"

"The
D.A.'s trying to pressure you to take a plea deal."

"I'm
innocent! I've never seen her before in my life! I didn't rape her! I didn't
kill her! Why don't they believe me?"

He
was as convincing as Bradley Todd had been. He put his face in his hands on
the other side of the Plexiglas. When he looked up again, the first signs of
defeat appeared on his face. Jail could do that to a man. Especially a young
man.

"You
got to get me out of here, Frank. If I don't play Saturday, I can kiss the
Heisman goodbye. And the national championship. How can the judge keep me in
here when I've still got three games left in the season? Why can't we deal
with this during the off-season? Does he know how many Longhorn alumni he's gonna
piss off? It's been eight years since UT won a national championship."

"Son,
your season's over."

"So
I'm not getting out?"

"Not
unless we can explain why your blood was on the victim."

"I
don't know how my blood got on her. But I'm not a murderer."

"The
voters think you are."

"Why?"

"Because
the police arrested you, the D.A. charged you, and the grand jury indicted
you."

"What
happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"It
was never the reality. It just sounds good. The D.A. and the judge are both
up for reelection. You don't get reelected by letting accused rapists and
murderers back on the street."

They
sat on opposite sides of the Plexiglas partition with phones to their ears.
Ms. Crawford sat next to Frank; she could not hear William's voice. The guys
sat outside; only the lawyers were allowed in that day.

"Did
they move you to solitary?"

His
son nodded. "Dale's broke?"

Frank
recounted what Liz had told him.

"Your
wife left you for a fracker?" Ms. Crawford said.

Frank
frowned at her and put a finger to his lips. "Shh."

"How
am I going to hire a lawyer?"

Frank
gestured to himself and Ms. Crawford. "We work for free."

The
prospect of two free lawyers did not seem to perk up his son's spirits.

"A
drunk ex-lawyer and a public defender who's never tried a case? That's all
that stands between me and the death penalty?"

"I've
tried a hundred cases. I used to be a good lawyer. I can be again."

William
stood but still held the phone to his ear.

"But
can you stay sober?"

"I
can. For you, son, I can. I will. I promise."

Frank
stood and again placed his palm against the glass. His son stared at Frank's
hand then hung up the phone and walked out of the interview room.

Travis
County District Attorney Dick Dorkin stood at his first-floor window fronting
the plaza and the jail on the far side. He watched the great Frank Tucker exit
the jail and walk across the plaza with the public defender.