Page 10 of Falling for Roxanne

“I did some file clerking last spring at a public defender’s office. The running joke was if you took a shot every time the DA’s office filed a motion, you’d die of alcohol poisoning the first week.”

“Shot games…God, that’s been a long time,” he mused, shaking his head. “Anyway, since you’re acquainted with the nearly endless need for forms and motions and for those to be completed, signed, notarized, scanned and emailed to various parties, you’ll be a big help to Devon, my paralegal. He’s been in over his head with the workload the last couple of months, and I haven’t decided whether to hire another to assist him or if there’s an alternative.”

“I’m the alternative, right? The intern who can provide support on menial tasks while he gets on with the priorities, and it’ll give you an idea if the problem is the workload itself or if it’s him,” I said.

“Clever girl,” he replied. “I beg your pardon. I mean, that was an astute observation. I’m not sure Devon himself knows his performance is being assessed in this process. Sydney, my office manager, is your direct supervisor, and she can answer most questions you might have. Devon has good attention to detail, and he knows his stuff. He’s just not terribly…efficient, it seems. He fit in well, and it would be a shame if he couldn’t stay on with the firm. I hope that by providing him some support…and I’m going to meet with him weekly one on one to address any concerns he has with what to prioritize or any kind of—I don’t know—opportunity for improvement in his job performance. I would rather work with him and get him up to speed than replace him.”

“I respect that. I have no reason to expect he’s anything other than a competent legal brain who’s a bit overwhelmed with his to-do list. If so, I can help him out and maybe get him caught up by taking some of the basics off his plate. If not, if he’s just a slow worker or he’s not up to the job, well, maybe he’ll be willing to admit that. Either way, if I were in his shoes, I’d appreciate it if my boss did all he could to help me be successful. Sometimes we just need some guidance, you know?” I asked.

“I agree,” he gave me a half smile that felt personal. To tell the truth, it felt like a caress when he met my eyes, like he had touched my face, cupped my cheek in his palm. It was uncanny how strongly I felt his touch even though he hadn’t touched me at all. “While you’ll be doing a great deal of work for Devon, I do have one case in its early stages that I’d like you to take a look at.”

He passed me a manila folder. “Sydney said you completed all the privacy disclosures by email and they’re on file. So you’re privy to this information confidentially. I’m not suggesting you would breach privacy law, just providing a verbal reminder prior to sharing the sensitive information in the file.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

I flipped open the folder and skimmed the abstract on the case. It was an appeal of the conviction of a man who was found guilty of two felony counts of theft. The grounds for appeal were gross police misconduct. Not only mishandling of evidence but actual violation of his due process rights.

I glanced up at Hamilton and met his eyes. I didn’t try to hide what I was feeling, the rush of sympathy I felt for the defendant and his family. I rubbed the place on my chest that ached, and I swallowed hard. I felt such a kinship with Hamilton in that moment, that he had picked out this case for me to work on because of its ties to my dad’s wrongful conviction. I blinked hard a few times and then nodded, my heart in my throat.

“Thank you,” I said, “for including me in this. It hits close to home.”

“I hoped you’d think so. And that you wouldn’t think I was overstepping. I know that the contents of your application, your essay contained a very personal family event and the aftermath. Knowing your background, I thought you might feel moved to put in some hours on the defendant’s behalf. I moved to declare a mistrial, but I was overruled. Now I’ve got time to enter all the individual errors and violations of his rights in discovery. Those require—”

“Dozens of separate discovery orders. Not to mention copies for the DA. I’d be glad to do it. When I was younger, I would have given practically anything if I’d been allowed to help do something like this, launch an appeal for my dad. I was much too young then, but I would’ve been so grateful if someone else had done it. It would have changed—everything for us. You have no idea.”

He didn’t look up or acknowledge my sudden sentimentality. It was probably better that he didn’t. If he’d looked at me with pity, it would’ve upset me, and I had to be professional. There was nothing wrong with letting him know that cases like this, to exonerate the innocent, meant a lot to me. As long as I didn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of my objectivity. I cleared my throat and gave him my full attention.

“You’ll see in the court reporter’s transcript of the original proceedings that the partial print lifted off the laptop wasn’t obtained without proper documentation. No photos, not even a note as to what time the print was found and sampled or what method was used to preserve it intact. I’m not a hundred percent sure this won’t implicate someone in the forensics lab as well, since they’re letting these slapped together orders and improperly labeled samples slip through.”

“I understand. If the evidence was mishandled, there will be serious liability. The department would be better off giving the family a settlement if the conviction is overturned than they would be if a civil suit went to trial.”

“Absolutely. But right now, we have to do our due diligence, make sure the substance of the appeal is sound. Once we get the original verdict overturned, then we can look into reparations. I have a colleague you may want to shadow for a few days during your internship. She’s an absolute wizard with wrongful imprisonment civil cases. No matter where she goes in California, the local PD gives her parking tickets, hassles her for speeding, anything they can do to disrupt her day because she’s notorious for suing the hell out of incompetent and corrupt departments.”

“That’s horrible.”

“She’s kind of proud of it,” he said with a chuckle. “I’d be glad to have Sydney set up a visit to her firm for you.”

“I’d like that, but I’m pursuing criminal defense exclusively. I’m sure there’s a lot I can learn from her, of course, but I’d like to focus on working this case for now. If I can just dive right in….” I said.

I didn’t want to offend him by rejecting his offer to refer me to a female colleague for part of my internship. I wanted to work on this case and under his guidance. Still, he had hired me and could assign me wherever he wanted to. That meant if he wanted to send me out of his office, he could. I tried to keep my cool. I wasn’t going to make another impassioned speech like I had about my father’s conviction. A simple statement about my professional goals was all I could offer. Lucky for me, he nodded and went on.

“I’ll leave you to it. If you have any questions, Sydney is a good resource. Devon has the knowledge base, but his time management skills are—lacking. I’m not sure how much help he’d be, if I’m honest, in advising you on task completion,” he looked like he wanted to say more, but discretion prevented it. I nodded.

“I understand. I’m a self-starter, but if I have questions, I won’t hesitate to ask Sydney. What kind of coffee does she drink?” I asked. “I’d like to get off on the right foot with her, and in my experience, a good coffee goes a long way to making friends.”

“Starbucks, caramel macchiato, sugar free, extra whipped cream and one pump of real chocolate syrup on top. When it’s really hot, she’ll drink a full-sugar, full fat mocha Frappuccino but she’d never admit it. In my experience, you’re exactly right about the coffee. Thoughtfulness at the right time can save you a lot of difficulty down the road. You learned that sooner than I did in my career,” he said appraisingly.

“Thank you,” I said. “Should I ask about your coffee order?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I have an espresso machine in my office. I make my own.”

“Ah. Independent, creative, doesn’t like to depend on others…” I said, a teasing lilt to my voice that I didn’t mean to put there. He shook his head.

“Thank God I didn’t tell you how I actually take my coffee, if you got all that from finding out I have an espresso machine,” he said. “I’ll have to watch myself around you. I might give too much away.”

He was joking right back. Almost flirting. The same way I was almost flirting. But I knew better. So, I tried not to look directly at his smile. It was the kind of grin that, if some guy in my grad program had it, we’d throw our panties at him.

He sat back and cleared his throat, as if the vibe in the room had just gotten weird for him as well. He got to his feet and nodded in a perfunctory manner as if he were dismissing me, but he was the one who went to the door which had been left open this entire time.

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