The Intern(19)

She found an affidavit summarizing all the evidence in the case. It had been sworn out by a Detective Charles Wallace on the night of Danny’s arrest.

Wallace. He must be the dirty cop who Danny had talked about.

The affidavit went on for fifteen pages about Pe?a and his crew. It gave detailed descriptions of surveillances, meetings with informants, hand-to-hand sales of heroin. Wallace had the goods on the lot of them. Too bad most of them escaped justice. Of the three who’d actually been apprehended, one was Danny, who was barely mentioned. She found one paltry sentence about him on the very last page of the fifteen-page affidavit.

Upon entering the premises, Det. Wallace observed defendant DANNY RIVERA with a black duffel bag, which was subsequently opened, searched, and found to contain one hundred bundles of heroin of the brand ‘Rocket’ commonly sold by the Pe?a organization and indicated by a stamp of a rocket ship printed on the plastic bag in red.



In the visiting room, Danny had told her that he was in the bar, talking to Ricky, when the phone call came in from Wallace, and everybody ran. Everybody except him, because he didn’t know any better. He got left holding the bag—literally.

Jesus. Was he telling the truth?

He claimed he was framed. Up until that moment, if she was honest with herself, she’d had her doubts. But there it was in black and white, just like he said.

Mom needed to see this affidavit. It backed Danny up a hundred percent. Of course, Mom had believed him from the beginning. It was only Madison who’d doubted him.

Doubted her own brother.

What was wrong with her?

Damn, she owed him. She ought to help him straighten out this mess, even if it was risky.

She sent the affidavit to the printer, then searched for a copy of Danny’s plea agreement. She read it with fists clenched and head buzzing with rage. Danny had signed away his rights, including the right to challenge the plea, and pleaded guilty to the whole freaking conspiracy. Everything the Pe?a crew did. All the heroin those lowlifes sold. All the shootings and murders. He wasn’t there for any of it, but he agreed to pay the price. How was that possible? They had no evidence on him. The case was so weak. Madison hadn’t graduated from law school yet, but even she knew better than to let a client take a plea this unfair.

How could Danny’s lawyer have let this happen?

Her brother had told her the answer. The lawyer was in on it.

As much as it shook her faith in the justice system, she had to admit that was the only explanation that made sense.

She sent the plea agreement to print, then started researching the lawyer, Raymond F. Logue. He was an old-timer, admitted to the bar in 1972. The Massachusetts Bar Association website showed a long history of disciplinary complaints, for everything from misappropriation of funds to conflict of interest to failure to maintain malpractice insurance. He’d been fined multiple times, referred for continuing education, and suspended twice. But never disbarred.

How was that possible? This man should not be practicing law. Did he have friends in high places? She heard Danny’s voice in her head. My lawyer goes way back with this judge. Has her in his pocket.

Danny had been telling the truth about everything else. But Judge Conroy being in league with a dirty lawyer was a bridge too far. That, she would never believe.

A shadow fell across the carpet. Somebody stood in the doorway behind her. She caught the scent of rose perfume.

“Madison. You’re here late,” the judge said.





8


Judge Conroy picked up the pages off the printer. Madison forced a smile, but her heart had stopped beating for a second. The judge handed her the pages without so much as glancing at them, and she placed them face down on her desk. She wasn’t out of the woods yet. The computer screen was tilted away from the door. If the judge took a step to the left, she’d see the research into Logue, the dirty lawyer she was supposedly in league with, according to Danny. Not that Madison believed that. She didn’t. Not for a second.

“Shame on the law clerks, leaving the new intern to man the fort—on a Friday night, no less,” the judge said.

She stood beside Imani’s chair, her hand lingering on its back, looking impossibly glamorous in a navy sweater dress, a long strand of pearls, and sky-high heels that must pinch at the end of a long day. If she decided to sit, she’d have a bird’s-eye view of the screen.

“They told me to go home. But I wanted to finish up my assignment so you’d get it first thing Monday.”

To her own surprise, Madison’s voice came out calm and steady. She had to hand it to herself: she was smooth in a crisis. Moving her hand to the mouse, she clicked, and the list of Raymond Logue’s disciplinary complaints vanished. Not a moment too soon. The judge sank into the chair with a sigh and kicked off her shoes, looking right at that screen.

“You wrote a whole research memo on your first day. I’d say that calls for a reward. Have you eaten?”

She was confused by the question.

“Have I— Oh. Yes. The clerks took me to lunch.”

“It is after eight o’clock. I was asking about dinner.”

The judge’s question made her realize she was famished, and her stomach let out an audible rumble. The judge laughed.

“That answers that. I’m heading out to get a bite. Join me.”

“You want me to, to come to dinner?” she stammered.