All Day and a Night (40 page)

“Good job,” Mark Schumaker said as she placed her legal pad into her open briefcase at counsel’s table.

She had just finished her first oral argument in front of the Second Circuit Court of Appeals. It wasn’t a sexy constitutional law topic, and the case wasn’t even particularly close, but she expected to score a win for her client in one of the most prestigious courts in the country.

Andrew Gold, the other associate who had worked on the appellate briefs, was full of praise for her performance, but she knew he would have preferred the chance to present their arguments himself. A month ago, Carrie had been crying at the Governor Hotel in Utica, feeling like a failure for quitting her position with Linda Moreland and wondering whether anyone would ever give her a job again. As it turned out, her old firm, Russ Waterston, had been delighted to take her back. The firm had even agreed to let her take six weeks of vacation at the end of the year so she could finally go to Europe.

Other than Mark Schumaker, no one at the firm was entirely sure of the details of her very short leave of absence, but the rumors had made her something of a rock star among the other associates.

As they hit the bottom of the courthouse stairs, she spotted a familiar face. Carrie waved, but the woman suddenly turned and ducked into the clerk’s office.

“I think that’s what the kids call a
dis
,” Mark said. When he saw her serious expression, he added, “Maybe she just didn’t see you. Or perhaps it’s not who you thought.”

But Carrie was positive the woman was Kristin McConnell, the daughter of Anthony Amaro’s original defense attorney. And she was sure Kristin had seen her, too. The duck into the clerk’s office—where lawyers would rarely go themselves—had been a clear dodge. It was strange; the woman had been perfectly pleasant when Carrie had gone to her office to pick up the files Kristin’s father had kept in storage.

Then she realized the only reason the attorney would avoid her.

Mark was leading the way to the chauffeured sedan waiting at the curb, one of the perks of representing big business. “You guys can take off without me,” she said. “I have to deal with something.”

“That’s right,” Mark said. “Linda Moreland’s sentencing is today.”

K
ristin McConnell was on her way to the courthouse elevator when Carrie walked back inside.

“Kristin,” she called out.

The woman turned at the sound of her name. Busted. She gave Carrie a quick wave, then jabbed at the elevator button three times. The light above the doors indicated that the car was on the tenth floor.

“I know you meant to help,” Carrie said.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“The tips you were sending to the District Attorney about Anthony Amaro. You knew your father had represented a guilty man.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken, Ms. Blank.”

“Amaro had told your father about the incriminating statement he’d made to his cellmate in Utica. And your father had the records about Amaro’s mistreatment in foster care so he could try to present a sympathetic case during the penalty phase if the case went to trial. Only Amaro’s defense lawyer would have had that information. That’s why the police thought I was the one sending it. That’s what Linda Moreland thought, too. I almost got killed because of that belief.”

The elevator had stopped again, this time on the sixth floor.

Carrie saw Kristin swallow. “My father had very strong feelings about what sort of life I was cut out for.”

“Let’s just say I can empathize, but I don’t understand what that has to do with leaking information to the prosecution.”

“When I tried to tell him I wasn’t cut out for defense work—busting my butt for guilty people, all based on some abstract principle—he told me he was disappointed in me. That I was
wasting
my talent.”

“Guess I wasn’t cut out for it, either. I quit after two days, then got knocked in the head for my trouble.” She tapped her knuckles to the top of her head, the way she’d learned she could evoke a smile when the awkward subject was raised.

She didn’t see any point in telling the woman that she was still working on the criminal-defense side of the table in one respect: the Sullivan family. She was helping Bill’s lawyers identify possible defenses. The hope was to get a plea agreement for manslaughter, with his sentence served in protective custody. For a couple of hours she had believed the two of them might spend their entire lives together. Now she knew they would never be together again—not like that—but she truly believed he deserved a chance at some kind of future down the road.

As for Will, Carrie had drafted a motion to dismiss obstruction charges on the grounds that the statute of limitations had long expired. To convict him now, the government would only be able to rely on recent events. She predicted that the case would be settled by forcing Will to resign without his pension.

“You’ve got quite a sense of humor about it under the circumstances,” Kristin said.

She didn’t, but she was becoming a better faker than in the past. “If it makes any difference, I’m pretty sure Anthony Amaro would still be on the streets right now if someone hadn’t sent that information to the DA.” Regarding other hypothetical scenarios, Carrie had stopped asking herself whether it would have been better for the truth about Donna’s death to have remained hidden.

The elevator finally came to rest on the ground floor. “And just so you know,” Kristin said, stepping inside, “if any attorney sent those documents, he or she would be disbarred.” The elevator doors closed, leaving Carrie on her own. She looked at her watch.

Linda Moreland would be sentenced in twenty minutes, but she saw no reason to give that woman another second of her time. Carrie had the rest of her life waiting for her.

E
llie opened the courtroom door carefully, hoping to slip in quietly. Once inside, she realized that the judge hadn’t even taken the bench yet. Ellie was pleased to see a large reporter presence.

Linda Moreland glanced toward the sound of her footsteps down the galley, but she avoided eye contact.

The lawyer at the opposing counsel table was happier to see her. “You made it.” Max rose and gave her a quick hug over the railing that separated the viewing area from the lawyers and the bench.

“Rogan said he’d finish up some lingering reports.” Given that Linda Moreland had been an indirect cause of some rough moments between them, it seemed fitting for Ellie to be here. She knew the work Max had poured into this plea agreement, the final step in putting last month’s saga to rest—at least from their perspective. It would be up to Oneida County to deal with Bill and Will Sullivan.

The bailiff stepped to the front of the courtroom and announced, “Please rise for the Honorable Judge John DeWitt Gregory.”

The judge was only halfway to his own seat before waving them to sit down. “I keep insisting that these bailiffs dispense with that particular formality now that it takes me an eternity to make my way up here, but who listens to me?” He looked out at the courtroom and then focused on Linda in obvious alarm. “Ms. Moreland, I understood from the docket that we were here for you to enter a plea of guilty and proceed directly to sentencing. Please tell me that I am having a senior moment with my eyesight and am simply missing the appearance of whatever attorney you have arranged to represent your interests.”

Linda rose to speak. “Your Honor can rest assured that your vision is fine. I am representing myself.”

“I’m well aware of your reputation and talents in the field, but you know what they say about a woman who is her own lawyer having a fool for a client.”

“Actually, Your Honor, the original quote was that a
man
who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client. I’d like to believe that might be a distinction with a difference in my case.”

A few of the observers giggled.

“Very well, then.” The judge asked Linda a series of questions to confirm her decision to act on her own behalf. “Now, I understand we have a plea agreement, Mr. Donovan.”

“We do, Your Honor. The defendant has agreed to enter a plea of gulty to both charges in the information.” Although Linda had originally been charged only with receiving Carrie’s stolen diaries, Max had persuaded his boss that an additional charge of reckless endangering was appropriate. It was also only a misdemeanor, but it at least reflected the role that Linda had played in putting Carrie at risk. The charge also set the stage for what was about to happen next.

“Very well. And has the government agreed to dismiss any other pending charges or forgo future charges in exchange for the defendant’s plea of guilty? It’s not often I’d expect to see you here on a misdemeanor, Mr. Donovan.”

“Yes, Your Honor. After joint discussions with the Oneida County district attorney’s office, it was agreed that Ms. Moreland would not be prosecuted for conduct occurring in Utica that was related to this prosecution.”

The judge looked curious but nodded. It was the agreement not to prosecute Linda for fabricating the burglary at the hotel in Utica that had persuaded her to change her plea. A conviction for persuading her assistant to file a false report to the police would have been clear grounds for permanent disbarment. Max knew that Linda’s ultimate goal was to save her law license.

“And is there a sentencing recommendation as part of this plea agreement?”

“A year of probation and forty hours of community service,” Max confirmed. “But a further condition of the defendant’s guilty plea is a process we are proposing for Your Honor to ensure that there is a sufficient factual basis.”

“New York law always requires a factual basis for a guilty plea.”

“Indeed. And typically that showing is satisfied by the defendant’s own allocution. What we have agreed to, if it’s acceptable to Your Honor, is that Ms. Moreland will provide her rendition of the facts, and then the court may follow up with questions as it deems appropriate before ruling on legal sufficiency.”

Max had suggested this option in the face of Linda’s resistance to the reckless endangerment charge. In theory, the process would enable her to avoid an express admission of guilt and to try to persuade the court that the state had brought charges inappropriately.

“I must not be completely senile yet,” Judge Gregory said, “because I believe I understood that. So let’s hear it, Ms. Moreland. What are the facts?”

Just as Max had anticipated, Linda made herself out to be a hero, beginning with the letter she had received from Anthony Amaro requesting her assistance. She described her hiring of Carrie Blank as a brilliant epiphany, enlisting a bright young lawyer with an interest in finding her sister’s real killer. In her telling, Carrie Blank was the obvious culprit behind the leaks to the prosecution. Linda was struggling to strategize a reaction when her client’s former foster sister, Debi Landry, called her office, wondering why prosecutors and police were hounding her.

“I’m eighty-three years old,” Judge Gregory interrupted. “Will I still be alive when this story is over? The court reads the newspaper and takes judicial notice of the fact that Anthony Amaro has been cleared as a suspect in the killing of Ms. Blank’s sister but recently pled guilty to killing four other women in Utica and received a twenty-five-year sentence.” Mike Siebecker had made the call to offer Amaro a deal of twenty-five years. If Amaro could live into his seventies, he might see freedom again. Siebecker had decided he’d rather take that chance than risk an acquittal at trial. Those were the realities of plea bargaining. “The woman you mentioned—Debi Landry—pled guilty to . . . what was it, Mr. Donovan?”

“Assault One, Your Honor.”

“Now, what does any of this have to do with you, Ms. Moreland?”

“In my attempt to explain to Ms. Landry how her name had gotten to law enforcement, I’m afraid I revealed my belief that my associate was betraying client confidences. Honestly, I was just trying to end the conversation as I was juggling an ever-growing number of wrongful-conviction cases.”

Judge Gregory rotated one hand in a “get on with it” gesture.

“Long story short, Your Honor, after my conversation with Ms. Landry, she assaulted Ms. Blank and then stole personal belongings from her home. She came to me afterward, and she had my former associate’s journals with her. I realized immediately I made a terrible mistake when I agreed to take them from her, but, at the time, I had absolutely no idea the extent of Carrie’s injuries, and my desire to expose her ethical violations was overwhelming. I agree that the above facts are sufficient for the receiving stolen property charge, Your Honor, but do not agree with the state’s decision to charge me with reckless endangerment.”

“I see. I can ask questions before I rule?”

“That’s what we’ve agreed to,” Moreland said.

“And why aren’t you asking the questions, Mr. Donovan?”

“Because Ms. Moreland objected. Apparently she trusts you to be fairer.” More giggles from the courtroom.

“I see.”

This was where Max was hoping that his superior knowledge of local practice would outmatch Linda Moreland’s reputational heft. Linda’s recent expertise was in appeals and post-conviction relief. She didn’t know the ins and outs of state court procedure, let alone the idiosyncracies of individual judges.

But Max did.

“Well . . .” Judge Gregory leaned back in his chair as if thinking to himself. “You say that you made this offhand comment about a potential leak in your office in a rush to get off the phone with Ms. Landry. Do you know how long that call lasted?”

She did, because Ellie had pulled the LUDs. Debi’s call to Linda had lasted more than ten minutes.

“The state produced records in discovery indicating about ten minutes.”

“Uh-huh. And did you refer to your former associate simply by her job title, or did you refer to her by name?”

Linda knew that Ellie had listened in on Debi’s side of the conversation the night Linda had called her to see if she’d spoken to police. She also knew that Debi had confessed when she was arrested. She could only stretch the truth so far.