Redress of Grievances (4 page)

Alex
looked at her, and the slow smile Harriett had come to love crossed her face.
Alex outlined Harriett's face with the tips of her fingers before rising from
the couch and leaving the office. Harriett picked up her shoes and went to her
desk, glancing at her wristwatch before punching the intercom button.

"Yes,
Ms. Markham," Eleanor's voice answered.

"Would
you see if you can catch someone at the DA's office, Eleanor? If possible,
whoever will be prosecuting the Jared Wilkes case," Harriett said,
slipping her shoes back on. "And see if you can reach my mother."

She
vaguely recalled reading an inside article noting the death of a teenage girl
in Dallas, but since that wasn't a total rarity, she didn't remember much else
about the article. As soon as she knew more, she would get Eleanor to research
back issues of the newspaper for articles about the cases her potential client
was being charged with. Her thoughts were interrupted by a buzz on her
intercom.

"Yes,
Eleanor."

"I
have Assistant District Attorney Connor on line two, Ms. Markham," Eleanor
reported.

"Thank
you," Harriett said. As she picked up the receiver, she pulled off an
earring and leaned back in her chair, turning to look out her office window at
a sun that was swiftly setting on what was supposed to be the beginning of her
perfect weekend.

"Todd?
Harriett Markham. How are you?" she said.

"I'd
be better if I could get the hell out of here and go home. I was almost out the
door when your secretary called. What can I do for you?" Todd Connor
asked.

"I'm
calling about the Wilkes case, Todd, and..."

"Please
tell me you haven't agreed to represent that pervert, Harriett. It's a loser
from start to finish."

"Can
you tell me what you've got?"

"You'll
get it during the pre-trial disclosure. There isn't anything I'd care to talk
about over the phone, but it should be sufficient to get Mr. Wilkes the fatal
cocktail somewhere down the line."

"You
sound pretty confident."

"On
this one, I am. They don't come any guiltier than this guy, Harriett, and I'd
advise you not to let the honchos at Winston and Dunne convince you this is a
career maker."

"The
young man's father is a client here and has asked us to help the kid. You know
how it goes."

"Have
you talked to 'the kid' yet?"

"No,
I'm meeting with him in a little bit, but thought I'd check in with your office
first."

Connor
laughed, "You just wanted to know who you'd be going against if you took
the case. Guess that'd be me. Don't you hate it when you have to oppose a
friend in court?"

"Yeah,
but hopefully you can still remain friends when it's over."

"You
got a loser here, Harriett, but my office won't hold anything back from you.
You'll get full disclosure."

"I
know, and thanks for the advice, Todd. Give my best to Erica."

"If
I ever get to see her again."

As
soon as she hung up, Eleanor buzzed again to tell Harriett that her mother was
on hold.

"Mom,"
she said as she picked up the receiver again, "I just wanted to make sure
you and Lacey got home all right."

"We
got in a little while ago."

"Are
you sure you don't mind having her for the long weekend? I know it's a little
late to ask that, but..."

"Don't
worry, sweetheart," Irene Markham laughed. "Lacey has a full weekend
planned. She's as much of an organizer as you were. Do you want to talk to
her?"

"Yeah.
For just a minute. Thanks, Mom."

"Hey,
Aunt Harriett!" Lacey's cheerful six-year-old voice chirped.

"Hi,
baby. Grandma told me you have big plans for the weekend. Don't you run her
ragged, you hear?"

"I
won't," Lacey said. Lowering her voice, the girl giggled into the phone,
"Grandma is really the one with the big plans though."

"I
know," Harriett smiled. "I'll pick you up Sunday afternoon. Have fun.
I love you."

"Love
you, too."

Twenty
minutes later, Harriett walked out of her office carrying her briefcase.
Stopping at Eleanor's desk, she placed the last of her billable hour summaries
on her secretary's desk.

"I'm
going to the Dallas County Jail to interview a possible client, Eleanor. After
that I'll be incommunicado for a couple of days. So if you have anything for
me, you'd better give it to me now. Otherwise, it will have to wait until
Monday morning."

"I
think I've already given you everything that was urgent, Ms. Markham, and
fended off the rest until next week," Eleanor smiled. Then lowering her
voice conspiratorially, she whispered, "Have a great weekend. You deserve
it."

Leaning
down slightly, she winked at Eleanor and whispered back, "You're right, I
do."

As
she moved toward the elevator, Doug Winston came down the hall from his office,
stopping as he reached her.

"I
assume Alex spoke to you about the Wilkes case," Doug said, running a big
hand over the beginnings of beard stubble.

"I'm
on my way to the jail now. I'll make a decision after I speak to the Wilkes boy
and let you know Monday morning."

Taking
her by the arm and pulling her slightly closer to him, Winston said, "I
don't want you to feel pressured to take this case, Harriett. I've met the
Wilkes kid, and he's not someone I'd personally like to spend a lot of time
around."

"Let
me talk to him, Doug. I think I can handle it."

"I'd
never doubt that," he said. "Sorry if this has crunched your
weekend."

"It's
okay, I'm not going that far from Dallas and will still have plenty of time to
rest up."

"Planning
to sleep in and play lazy for a few days, huh?" he asked.

"Something
like that." Harriett smiled wryly.

The
drive from the office tower that housed Winston and Dunne to the Dallas Police
Headquarters Building ordinarily took about twenty minutes, but the late
Thursday afternoon traffic made the trip longer than usual. It was after five
by the time she parked her metallic gray BMW in the parking lot reserved for
attorneys and entered the back door in central booking that served as the
attorney's entrance. Stopping in front of a female desk officer, Harriett
opened her briefcase for inspection and signed in.

"Harriett
Markham to see Jared Wilkes," she said.

"Interview
Room Nine," the woman said pointing down the hallway. "They'll bring
him down in a few minutes."

"Do
you have his jacket here?" Harriett asked.

The officer
looked through a short stack of file folders and produced one marked
"Wilkes, Jared, Case No. 4536885."

HARRIETT
SLIPPED HER glasses on and took out a legal pad and a pen as she waited for her
prospective client to join her. The folder on Jared Wilkes gave her the basic
information about the accused. Twenty-five years old, six feet, a hundred
seventy pounds, no distinguishing scars or marks. Placed under arrest and
charged with four counts of rape and murder. Victims were listed as Lydia
Marshall, age sixteen, a high school student; another high school student,
Tiffany Watson, age seventeen; Laurie Mitchell, an eighteen-year-old high
school senior; and Carrie Margolis, a nineteen-year-old college freshman at
SMU. The investigator's report showed four nearly identical crimes, each
involving extreme brutality. Apparently the victims had been beaten into
submission and then raped. Marks on the girls' necks indicated that each had
been strangled to death. However, due to the extensive amount of bruising on
the victims' necks, the medical examiner speculated each girl had been
strangled nearly to the brink of death during repeated rapes over an extended
period of time. Furthermore, it was possible that the rapes may have involved
some form of autoeroticism occurring as the victims lost consciousness. From
the report, it seemed to Harriett that the medical examiner had done quite a
lot of speculating.

Nearly
fifteen minutes later, the door of the interview room opened, and Jared Wilkes,
handcuffed to a waist chain and wearing leg shackles, shuffled into the room.
The bright orange prisoner's coveralls fit loosely on the young man's body, and
his dark hair hung down slightly onto his forehead. Harriett stood as Wilkes
was led into the room, accompanied by two Dallas County jailers.

"Please
remove the cuffs," she instructed.

"You
sure?" one of the jailers asked.

"Since
you're going to be right outside the door, I doubt Mr. Wilkes would be able to
do anything very drastic," she said.

Wilkes
rubbed his wrists as the cuffs were removed and smiled at Harriett. He was an
attractive young man with blue-gray eyes that stood out under his dark hair and
eyebrows. As soon as his hands were free, he ran them through his hair. He had
a quick smile and had probably benefited at some time in his life from the
services of an excellent orthodontist. Pulling out a chair opposite Harriett
and sitting down, he took a cigarette out of his coverall pocket and stuck it
between his narrow lips.

"Got
it from another prisoner, but the guards won't allow us to have matches,"
he shrugged. "Go figure."

Harriett
pulled a small lighter from her briefcase and shoved it toward him.

"My
name is Harriett Markham, Mr. Wilkes. Your father has requested that my law
firm represent you. But first, I need to get a little information."

"When
can I get out of here?" Wilkes asked as he lit the cigarette.

"Considering
the nature of the crimes you're charged with, I wouldn't bet on any time
soon."

He
extended the lighter toward her, and she glanced up when she saw him move. She
held her hand out, and he set it gently into the palm of her hand, allowing his
index finger to run the length of her palm as he withdrew his hand. The action
startled her momentarily, and her eyes met his. He seemed pleased that he had gotten
a reaction from her.

"Why
do the police think you're a suspect in these killings, Mr. Wilkes?"

"Bad
timing, I guess," he said as he shrugged.

"The
police usually have a little more than that."

"I
knew the girls who were killed."

"In
what capacity?"

"Just
acquaintances. You know, hanging around."

"Do
you usually hang around with sixteen and seventeen year olds?"

"A
lot of them go to the clubs and have fake ID's, Ms. Markham. With the way girls
dress and act these days, it's hard for a guy to know how old they really
are."

"So
you met these girls at clubs?"

"Yeah."

"Ever
take any of them out?"

"I
take out lots of girls. I might have asked one or two of them out."

"Did
you have intercourse with any of these girls?"

"You
mean the ones who were killed?"

"Yes."

"I
don't believe so. I'd have to see pictures of them to know for sure. I don't
always catch the names of the women I have sex with."

Harriett
wrote four names on her legal pad and turned it for Wilkes to read.

"These
the girls they say I killed?" Wilkes asked, glancing briefly at the pad.

"Raped
and killed, yes."

Jared
Wilkes eyes flashed up to Harriett's face.

"I've
never had to resort to physical violence to fuck a woman, counselor. There's plenty
out there who are more than willing to jump into bed and spread their legs
without the slightest hesitation. Why would I need to force myself on one who
didn't want it?"

"Rape
isn't about sex, Mr. Wilkes. Men with seemingly normal sex lives still rape."

Wilkes
leaned forward and stared at her.

"But
sex is the ultimate domination, Harriett. Every time a woman slides her body
under a man's, it's a sign of submission that says, 'fuck me, I want it.'"

"Is
that your own interpretation?"

"Nah,
I read it somewhere," he said matter-of-factly as he leaned back and
exhaled cigarette smoke. "But I think it's an accurate description."

"What
if, in the midst of this sexual submission, the woman changed her mind? How
would you feel about that?"

"There
are plenty of other willing fish in the ocean."

Wilkes
took another drag on his cigarette and his eyes scanned Harriett's face.

"How
would you let a man know you were ready to give it up, Harriett?" Wilkes
asked.

"Do
you recognize any of those names?" Harriett asked pointing at the pad,
ignoring the question.

"I
already told you I knew them. I just don't remember whether I slept with any of
them. I might have."

"Do
you use drugs or alcohol?"