The Reversal

I straightened back up and caught Williams giving me a don’t-fuck-with-me stare.

“Whose DNA was it?” someone called out.

Williams quickly leaned forward to answer.

“We’re not answering questions about evidence at this time.”

“Mickey, why are you taking the case?”

The question came from the back of the room, from behind the lights, and I could not see the owner of the voice. I moved back to the microphones, angling my body so Williams had to step back.

“Good question,” I said. “It’s certainly unusual for me to be on the other side of the aisle, so to speak. But I think this is the case to cross over for. I’m an officer of the court and a proud member of the California bar. We take an oath to seek justice and fairness while upholding the Constitution and laws of this nation and state. One of the duties of a lawyer is to take a just cause without personal consideration to himself. This is such a cause. Someone has to speak for Melissa Landy. I have reviewed the evidence in this case and I think I’m on the right side of this one. The measure is proof beyond a reasonable doubt. I think that such proof exists here.”

Williams moved in and put a hand on my arm to gently move me off the microphone stand.

“We do not want to go any further than that in regard to the evidence,” he said quickly.

“Jessup’s already spent twenty-four years in prison,” Salters said. “Anything less than a conviction for first-degree murder and he will probably walk on time served. Mr. Williams, is it really worth the expense and effort of retrying this man?”

Before she was finished asking the question, I knew she and Williams had a deal working. She lobbed softballs and he hit them out of the park, looking good and righteous on the eleven o’clock news and in the morning paper. Her end of the deal would come with inside scoops on the evidence and trial strategy. I decided in that moment that it was my case, my trial, my deal.

“None of that matters,” I said loudly from my position to the side.

All eyes turned to me. Even Williams turned.

“Can you talk into the microphones, Mickey?”

It was the same voice from behind the line of lights. He knew to call me Mickey. I once again moved to the microphones, boxing Williams out like a power forward going for the rebound.

“The murder of a child is a crime that must be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, no matter what the possibilities or risks are. There is no guarantee of victory here. But that was not part of the decision. The measure is reasonable doubt and I believe we surpass that. We believe that the totality of evidence shows that this man committed this horrible crime and it doesn’t matter how much time has gone by or how long he has been incarcerated. He must be prosecuted.

“I have a daughter only a little older than Melissa was… You know, people forget that in the original trial, the state sought the death penalty but the jury recommended against it and the judge imposed a life sentence. That was then and this is now. We will once again be seeking the death penalty on this case.”

Williams put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me away from the microphones.

“Uh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” he said quickly. “My office has not yet made a determination in regard to whether we will be seeking the death penalty. That will come at a later time. But Mr. Haller makes a very valid and sad point. There can be no worse crime in our society than the murder of a child. We must do all that is within our power and our reach to seek justice for Melissa Landy. Thank you for being here today.”

“Wait a minute,” called a reporter from one of the middle seats. “What about Jessup? When will he be brought here for trial?”

Williams put his hands on both sides of the lectern in a casual move designed to keep me from the microphones.

“Earlier this morning Mr. Jessup was taken into custody by the Los Angeles police and is being transported from San Quentin. He will be booked into the downtown jail and the case will proceed. His conviction was reversed but the charges against him remain in place. We have nothing further at this time.”

Williams stepped back and signaled me toward the door. He waited until I started moving and was clear of the microphones. He then followed, coming up behind me and whispering into my ear as we went through the door.

“You do that again and I’ll fire you on the spot.”

I turned to look back at him while I walked.

“Do what? Answer one of your setup questions?”

We moved into the hallway. Ridell was waiting there with the office’s media spokesman, a guy named Fernandez. But Williams turned me down the hall away from them. He was still whispering when he spoke.

“You went off the script. Do it again and we’re done.”

I stopped and turned and Williams almost walked into me.

“Look, I’m not your puppet,” I said. “I’m an independent contractor, remember? You treat me otherwise and you’re going to be holding this hot potato without an oven mitt.”

Williams just glared at me. I obviously wasn’t getting through.