what?"
"The law."
"What are you talking about?" said Leslie.
"Blanchart."
" Sheriff Blanchart?"
Morallen nodded.
Leslie put her pen down. "You're wasting my time."
"I saw what I saw."
"Maybe you should have been the one wearing the gas mask. I think you inhaled too much of your own product and things got fuzzy. That toxic sludge you concocted will do that to you."
"I'm telling you the truth. God as my witness, I watched Blanchart pick up the shotgun and blow his man away. Shot him right in the face. Stone cold."
"Just like that?" said Leslie.
"Just like that."
"And why should I believe you?"
"Because that cop is bad news. He's the one who should be locked up in here, not me." Morallen slumped back in his chair.
He's tired. Defeated. Leslie tapped her pen on the desk. She struggled to breath through a stuffy nose with only moderate relief from the second dose of cold medicine she had ingested in the last four hours. "You're no different than every other felon who believes every cop's dirty. No one in the state attorney's office would buy this story. And neither do I."
"It's not a story."
"It's ludicrous and unfounded. You'd stand a better chance of pleading temporary insanity."
"But I'm not crazy," said Morallen.
"Then give me something I can use to fight back with. Something real. Something I can leverage against the charges brought against you."
Morallen wrinkled his face like he swallowed a shot of vinegar. "I'm as real as it gets, not some piece of shit junkie trying to score."
"Right..." said Leslie. "You're just the guy who supplies the drugs to feed their habit." She read his file more closely. "It's been a long day..." She glanced up and saw the conflict in his eyes. "I see you've been on anti-depressant medication before."
"I quit taking it."
"That's good," said Leslie. "That might be something we can use. I can argue your state of mind at the time of the shooting. You had intent to do harm but not intent to kill. You meant to shoot over Carter's head to scare him, but you missed and accidentally shot him in the face instead. If I could convince the state attorney to drop the first degree murder charge down to second degree, that would take the death penalty out of the equation. You could be out in twenty to twenty-five."
"Years?"
"Maybe less with good behavior."
"I can't do twenty years."
"You should have thought of that before you pulled the trigger. The sheriff claims you killed a cop. Consider yourself lucky to be alive."
Morallen flexed his muscles. "How many times I gotta tell you. I didn't kill no fucking cop!"
Leslie closed the folder. She knew Blanchart by reputation as a law enforcement veteran with zero tolerance for crime. A pillar of the community who'd won re-election with his war on drugs campaign and the positive results to back it up. The preliminary investigation supported the sheriff's account of events. Nothing in the police report suggested any means or motive to support Morallen's version. It was Blanchart's word against Morallen's, a convicted felon who'd say anything to save his bacon.
Leslie rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Say I believe you, which I don't. No jury would take the word of a career criminal over an upstanding sheriff. Not in your wildest dreams. If you keep pitching this story, the state will think you're desperate and push for the maximum penalty."
"So you're telling me I'm fucked."
"I'm telling you your prints are on the murder weapon. You admit you were at the scene. Your only supporting witness killed himself—"
"I know what I saw. That's the God's honest truth."
"Why would the sheriff kill his own deputy?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" said Morallen, a second before he turned his head to see Sheriff Blanchart enter the room unannounced.
"Ask me what?" said Blanchart.
Leslie covered her notes with her hands. "How did you get in here?"
"I run this jail."
"This is a privileged conversation. You can't be in here."
Blanchart sauntered
"The law."
"What are you talking about?" said Leslie.
"Blanchart."
" Sheriff Blanchart?"
Morallen nodded.
Leslie put her pen down. "You're wasting my time."
"I saw what I saw."
"Maybe you should have been the one wearing the gas mask. I think you inhaled too much of your own product and things got fuzzy. That toxic sludge you concocted will do that to you."
"I'm telling you the truth. God as my witness, I watched Blanchart pick up the shotgun and blow his man away. Shot him right in the face. Stone cold."
"Just like that?" said Leslie.
"Just like that."
"And why should I believe you?"
"Because that cop is bad news. He's the one who should be locked up in here, not me." Morallen slumped back in his chair.
He's tired. Defeated. Leslie tapped her pen on the desk. She struggled to breath through a stuffy nose with only moderate relief from the second dose of cold medicine she had ingested in the last four hours. "You're no different than every other felon who believes every cop's dirty. No one in the state attorney's office would buy this story. And neither do I."
"It's not a story."
"It's ludicrous and unfounded. You'd stand a better chance of pleading temporary insanity."
"But I'm not crazy," said Morallen.
"Then give me something I can use to fight back with. Something real. Something I can leverage against the charges brought against you."
Morallen wrinkled his face like he swallowed a shot of vinegar. "I'm as real as it gets, not some piece of shit junkie trying to score."
"Right..." said Leslie. "You're just the guy who supplies the drugs to feed their habit." She read his file more closely. "It's been a long day..." She glanced up and saw the conflict in his eyes. "I see you've been on anti-depressant medication before."
"I quit taking it."
"That's good," said Leslie. "That might be something we can use. I can argue your state of mind at the time of the shooting. You had intent to do harm but not intent to kill. You meant to shoot over Carter's head to scare him, but you missed and accidentally shot him in the face instead. If I could convince the state attorney to drop the first degree murder charge down to second degree, that would take the death penalty out of the equation. You could be out in twenty to twenty-five."
"Years?"
"Maybe less with good behavior."
"I can't do twenty years."
"You should have thought of that before you pulled the trigger. The sheriff claims you killed a cop. Consider yourself lucky to be alive."
Morallen flexed his muscles. "How many times I gotta tell you. I didn't kill no fucking cop!"
Leslie closed the folder. She knew Blanchart by reputation as a law enforcement veteran with zero tolerance for crime. A pillar of the community who'd won re-election with his war on drugs campaign and the positive results to back it up. The preliminary investigation supported the sheriff's account of events. Nothing in the police report suggested any means or motive to support Morallen's version. It was Blanchart's word against Morallen's, a convicted felon who'd say anything to save his bacon.
Leslie rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Say I believe you, which I don't. No jury would take the word of a career criminal over an upstanding sheriff. Not in your wildest dreams. If you keep pitching this story, the state will think you're desperate and push for the maximum penalty."
"So you're telling me I'm fucked."
"I'm telling you your prints are on the murder weapon. You admit you were at the scene. Your only supporting witness killed himself—"
"I know what I saw. That's the God's honest truth."
"Why would the sheriff kill his own deputy?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" said Morallen, a second before he turned his head to see Sheriff Blanchart enter the room unannounced.
"Ask me what?" said Blanchart.
Leslie covered her notes with her hands. "How did you get in here?"
"I run this jail."
"This is a privileged conversation. You can't be in here."
Blanchart sauntered
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