The Good Daughter

  Judge Lyman cleared his throat a few times. That he had seemingly realized the hell he’d put Sam through came as no consolation. She knew from experience that some judges covered their mistakes by punishing the lawyer from whom it had been elicited.

  He said, “Miss Quinn, do you waive the full reading of the charges against Miss Wilson?”

  Sam was tempted to tell him no, but the departure from the norm would only drag out the proceedings. “We do.”

  Lyman nodded to the clerk. “You may arraign Miss Wilson and advise her of her rights.”

  The clerk stood up again. “Kelly Rene Wilson, you have been arrested on probable cause for two counts of murder in the first degree. Miss Quinn, are you prepared to enter a plea?”

  Sam said, “We would ask the Court to enter the plea of not guilty.”

  There came a titter of shock from the ill-informed crowd. Lyman lifted up his gavel, but the noise died off before he brought it down.

  The clerk said, “A not guilty plea is entered on behalf of the defendant to all counts.” The woman turned to Kelly. Sam thought there was something familiar about her round face. Another schoolmate, long forgotten. She had not spoken up for Sam when the judge had demanded her glasses, either.

  The clerk said, “Kelly Rene Wilson, you have a right to a public, speedy trial by jury. You have a right to counsel. You have a right against self-incrimination. These rights abide and stay with you throughout the proceeding.”

  “Thank you.” Lyman lowered his hand. Sam told Kelly to sit. The judge said, “The first issue for me is, Mr. Coin, do you believe there will be a superseding indictment subsequent to convening a grand jury?”

  Sam made a note in her pad as Ken Coin shuffled to the podium. Another one of his cheap tricks, trying to establish dominance. As with a child, the best thing to do was ignore him.

  “Your Honor.” Coin leaned his elbows on the podium. “There is a definite possibility.”

  Lyman asked, “Do you have a timetable?”

  “Not definitely, Your Honor. Ballpark for convening is within the next two weeks.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Prosecutor, you may step back to the table.” Lyman was an older judge; he knew the games lawyers played. “And the disposition of the defendant pending trial?”

  Coin took his place behind the table as he addressed the judge. “We will hold the defendant either at the city or county jail, whichever is deemed the safest place for her.”

  “Miss Quinn?” the judge asked.

  Sam knew there was no chance that Kelly Wilson would be given bail. She said, “I have no objection to the disposition at this time, Your Honor. Though, as to a previous matter, I would like to waive the right of Miss Wilson to have the charges heard by a grand jury.” Kelly was already facing a probable cause finding for two counts of first-degree murder. Sam didn’t want to open her up to further charges by convening a grand jury. “My client has no wish to slow down the process.”

  “Very well.” Lyman made another note. “Mr. Coin, is it your intention to treat this as an open discovery case, meaning you will turn over evidence and such and not hold anything back?”

  Coin held out his hands, a disciple to Christ. “Always, Your Honor. Unless there is some legal basis, open discovery has always been this office’s policy.”

  Sam felt her nostrils flare. She reminded herself that the hospital tape would be Rusty’s fight.

  Lyman asked, “Are you satisfied with that, Miss Quinn?”

  “I am for the moment, Your Honor. I am serving as co-counsel today. My father will be filing motions with the Court as soon as he is able.”

  Lyman put down his pen. For the first time, he looked at her without disapproval. “How is your father?”

  “Eager to mount a vigorous defense for Miss Wilson, Your Honor.”

  Lyman twisted his lips to the side, clearly unsure of her tone. “Are you aware that this is a capital murder case, Miss Quinn, which means the prosecution may well seek the death penalty, as is its right?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, I am.”

  “I’m unfamiliar with the customs where you’re from, Miss Quinn, but down here, we take our capital cases very seriously.”

  “I’m from Winder Road, about six miles up the street, Your Honor. I am aware of the seriousness of these charges.”

  Lyman clearly did not like the giggles in the gallery. He asked Sam, “Why do I feel that you are not really operating in the capacity of co-counsel to your father?” He gestured broadly with his hand. “In other words, you have no intention of continuing your work through to the trial.”

  “I believe you put Mr. Grail in a similar position, Your Honor, but I assure you I am engaged in this case and intend to fully support Miss Wilson in any capacity that is required of me in aid of her defense.”

  “All right.” He smiled, and Sam felt her blood run cold, because she had walked right into his trap. “Do you have any question or doubt in your mind about the defendant’s ability to assist you or understand the nature of these proceedings?”

  “I’m not raising that issue at this time, Your Honor.”

  Lyman would not let her off so easily. “Let’s humor ourselves, Miss Quinn. Should you, as co-counsel, raise the issue in the future—”

  “I would only do so on the basis of any scientific testing, Your Honor.”

  “Scientific testing?” He looked askance.

  Sam said, “Miss Wilson has exhibited a vulnerability to suggestion, Your Honor, as I am certain the prosecution can confirm.”

  Coin jumped up. “Your Honor, I cannot—”

  Sam talked over him. “Miss Wilson’s verbal intellectual range is narrow for an eighteen-year-old. I would like to have assessed her memory encoding for visual-non-verbal communication, language functioning, any deficiencies in word and encoded information retrieval, and to quantify her emotional and intellectual quotient.”

  Coin huffed a laugh. “And you expect the county to pay for all that?”

  Sam turned to look at him. “I was told you take your capital cases seriously down here.”

  There was a bubble of laughter from the crowd.

  Lyman banged his gavel several times before they settled. Sam caught the slight lift of the corners of his mouth as he suppressed a smile. Judges rarely enjoyed themselves in the courtroom. This man had been on the bench so long that he likely thought he had seen everything.

  “Your Honor,” Sam said, testing the waters. “If I may raise another issue?”

  He gave her an overly generous nod to illustrate the latitude he was allowing. “Why not?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Sam said. “Miss Wilson’s parents are eager to return to their home. A timeline from the prosecution as to when they expect to release the Wilson home would be welcomed.”

  Ken Coin jumped up from the table again. “Your Honor, as yet the county does not have an estimate for completion of said search of the Wilson abode.” He seemed to realize he could not match Sam’s formalized language. He flashed his teeth at the judge. “These things are very hard to predict, Judge. We need time for a thorough search, properly performed under the guidelines put forth in the warrant.”

  Sam kicked herself for not reading the warrant ahead of time.

  Lyman said, “There is your answer, Miss Quinn, such as it is.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Sam watched him pick up the gavel. She mulled the judge’s such as it is in her mind. She felt a rush of certainty, her instinct urging her that now was the time. “Your Honor?”

  Lyman again laid down his gavel. “Miss Quinn?”

  “As to discovery—”

  “I believe that has been addressed.”

  “I understand that, Your Honor; however, there was a video recording made of Miss Wilson yesterday afternoon while she was being detained at the hospital.”

  “Your Honor.” Coin was on his feet again. “‘Detained?’”

  “In custody,” Sam clarified.

  “Oh, come on,
” Coin’s tone dripped with disgust. “You can’t—”

  “Your Honor—”

  Lyman held up his hand to stop them both. He sat back in his chair. He steepled together his fingers in thought. These moments happened often in the courtroom, where the judge stopped the proceedings to think through the intricacies of a request. Most times, they ended up kicking the problem down the road, asked for motions to be written, or simply said they would delay their decision to another time.

  Sometimes, they threw the question back to the attorneys, which meant that you had to be prepared to succinctly argue the merits or run the risk of prejudicing the judge against your position for the remainder of the case.

  Sam tensed, feeling as if she was locked into the starting block, staring down the open track. Lyman had mentioned discovery very early on, so he likely knew that Ken Coin was prepared to follow the letter, not the spirit, of the law.

  Lyman gave Sam the nod.

  She took off, “Miss Wilson was in the custody of a plainclothes police officer who accompanied her from the middle school to the hospital. He was in the ambulance with her. He stayed with her in her hospital room through the night. He rode with Miss Wilson in the police car that took her to the jail this morning, and he was present when she was Mirandized this morning. If I use the words ‘detained’ or ‘in custody,’ that is because any reasonable person—”

  “Your Honor,” Ken said. “Is this an arraignment or a special episode of How to Get Away with Murder?”

  Lyman gave Sam a flinty look, but he also gave her more leeway. “Miss Quinn?”

  “Pursuant to the prosecutor’s stated position on open discovery, we request a copy of the hospital video be turned over to Miss Wilson posthaste so that she can evaluate how to proceed.”

  “‘How to proceed,’” Coin echoed, as if the notion was ludicrous. “What Kelly Wilson said was—”

  “Mr. Coin.” Lyman’s voice was raised loudly enough to project to the back of the room. He cleared his throat in the silence. He told Coin, “I would consider your words very carefully.”

  Coin demurred. “Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”

  Lyman picked up his pen. He turned the barrel slowly, a stalling measure that was meant to further rebuke Coin. Even Kelly Wilson knew that you did not present evidence at an arraignment.

  Lyman asked, “Mr. Coin, when can a copy of this hospital video be made available?”

  Coin said, “We’ll have to have the film converted, sir. It was made on an iPhone belonging to Sheriff Keith Coin.”

  “Your Honor?” Sam felt her teeth grit. Keith Coin was the very definition of male authority. Kelly would have jumped off a cliff for him. “Can I be clear—as you gathered, I’ve been away for a while. Sheriff Coin is Prosecutor Coin’s brother?”

  “You know he is, Samantha.” Coin leaned toward the judge, his hand gripping the edge of the table. “Your Honor, I’ve been told we’ll need to get somebody up from Atlanta to make sure the video transfer is done properly. There’s a cloud or something involved. I’m no expert in these things. I’m just an ol’ boy who misses the kind of phones that weighed twenty pounds and cost two bucks a month to rent from Ma Bell.” He grinned at the judge, who was roughly his age. “Sir, these things take money and time.”

  “Spend the money, rush the time,” Lyman said. “Miss Quinn, is there anything else?”

  Sam felt the euphoria that came from knowing a judge was leaning her way. She decided to push her luck. “Your Honor, on the subject of video recordings, we would also ask for the footage from the security cameras at school to be turned over as quickly as possible so that our experts have time to analyze them.”

  Coin rapped his knuckles once on the table, clearly on his back foot. “That’s gonna take a while, too, Your Honor. My own people haven’t viewed that footage. We have a responsibility to the privacy of other folks at the school at the time of the shooting to make sure we are turning over only evidence that the defendant is entitled to per the rules of discovery.”

  Lyman appeared dubious. “You yourself have yet to view the footage taken from the middle school yesterday morning?”

  Coin’s eyes shifted. “My people have not, no sir.”

  “All of your people need to view it?”

  “Experts, sir.” Coin grasped at straws. “We need—”

  “I’ll put you out of your misery,” Lyman said, obviously agitated. “For your people to view this footage would take one week? Two weeks?”

  “I could not hazard a guess, Your Honor. The level of moving pieces is—”

  “I’ll expect your answer to my question by the end of the week.” He picked up the gavel, ready to end the hearing.

  Sam said, “If I may, Your Honor?”

  He rolled the gavel in the air, urging speed.

  “Could the prosecutor tell me if I need to retain an expert in auditory analysis as well? It’s often time-challenging to locate qualified professionals.”

  Lyman said, “I have found in order to locate a courtroom professional, you need only drag a hundred-dollar bill through a university parking lot.” He smiled as some of the reporters laughed at the purloined joke. “Mr. Coin?”

  Coin looked down at the table. His hand was on his hip, suit coat unbuttoned, tie askew. “Your Honor.”

  Sam waited. Coin offered nothing else.

  Lyman prodded, “Mr. Coin, your answer to the question of audio?”

  Coin tapped the table with his index finger. “‘Was the baby killed?’”

  No one answered.

  “‘Was the baby killed?’” Coin tapped on the table again, one time for each word. “‘Was the baby killed?’”

  Sam was not going to stop this, but she gave an obligatory, “Your Honor.”

  Lyman shrugged in confusion.

  Coin said, “That is what Miss Quinn is after. She wanted to know what Kelly Wilson said in the hallway after she murdered a man and a child in cold blood.”

  Lyman frowned. “Mr. Coin. This is not the place.”

  “‘The Baby—’”

  “Mr. Coin.”

  “Was the name used by the Alexander parents to describe Lucy—”

  “Mr. Coin.”

  “Called that by Barbara Alexander to her students. By Frank Alexander at the high school—”

  “Mr. Coin, this is your last warning.”

  “Where Mr. Alexander was going to flunk Kelly Wilson.” Coin turned to the crowd. “Kelly wanted to know: was the Baby killed.”

  Lyman banged his gavel.

  Coin told Kelly, “Yes, the Baby was killed.”

  “Bailiff.”

  Coin looked back at the judge. “Your Honor—”

  “Me?” Lyman feigned surprise. “I didn’t realize you knew I was here.”

  There was no nervous laughter from the gallery. Coin’s words had left their mark. The headlines had been set for the next few days.

  Coin said, “My deepest apologies, Your Honor. I just came from little Lucy’s autopsy and—”

  “Enough!” Lyman’s eyes found the bailiff’s. The man stood at the ready. “As you said, Mr. Coin. This is an arraignment, not the Get Away with Murder Show.”

  “Yes, sir.” Coin rested his fingertips on the table, bracing himself, his back to the crowd. “My apologies, Your Honor. I was overcome.”

  “And I am over your grandstanding.” Lyman was visibly furious.

  Sam pushed again. “Your Honor, am I to understand there is audio attached to the school security footage?”

  “I believe that is understood by everyone in this courtroom, Miss Quinn.” Lyman rested his cheek against his fist. He took a moment to consider the implications of what had just happened. The deliberations did not take long. “Miss Quinn, the prosecutor will deliver to your office and the court clerk by tomorrow, five o’clock sharp, the following timelines—”

  Sam had her notepad and pen ready.

  “The hasty release of the Wilson abode back into their custody. The
release of the full, unedited videotape made at the hospital. The release of any and all security camera footage, unedited, in or around the middle school, the elementary school beside it and the high school across the street.”

  Coin opened his mouth, but rethought his objection.

  Lyman said, “Mr. Coin, your timelines will astonish me with their speed and specificity. Am I correct?”

  “Your Honor, you are correct.”

  The judge finally banged his gavel.

  “All rise,” the clerk called.

  Lyman slammed the door behind him.

  A collective breath was released in the courtroom.

  The guards came for Kelly. They slowly prepared the restraints, generously allowing Kelly a few moments with her parents.

  Coin did not offer the customary handshake. Sam barely noticed. She was too busy writing in her pad, recording for Rusty what exactly he could expect tomorrow afternoon because the court transcript would not be made ready for at least another week. There was a lot the judge had demanded; more than she had hoped for. Sam ended up having to write around some of the earlier notes she had taken when she spoke with Kelly.

  Sam stopped writing.

  She looked at the transcription, underlined—

  It’s just a little upset this time of day.

  Sam turned the page. Then the next page. Her eyes skimmed down what Kelly Wilson had told her.

  … Tummy was hurting like it does … Usually calms down on its own … Sick same time yesterday … Make up for missing classes last week …

  “Kelly.” Sam turned to the girl. Her feet were already chained. The guards were about to handcuff her, but Sam stepped in, drawing her into a close hug. The orange jumper bunched up under Kelly’s arms. Her stomach pressed against Sam’s.

  Kelly whispered, “Thank you, Miss Quinn.”

  “You’ll be okay,” Sam told her. “Remember what I told you about not talking to anyone.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep to myself.” She held out her thin wrists so that the guards could cuff together her hands. The chain was wrapped around her waist.

  Sam resisted the need to tell them not to wrap the chain too tightly.

  Lucy Alexander was not the baby that Kelly Wilson had been concerned about.