his last capable days enjoying life. He wanted to spend them in practice, and he forced me to make two promises: one—to keep these idiotic files for twenty years, and two—to tell him when it was time to hang it up so he didn’t shortchange his clients. So when you thank me for these dusty documents, just trust me that the second promise was much harder to keep.”
Carrie still didn’t know what to say. She’d been raised in a family that didn’t talk about any of its hardships, and this total stranger was telling her about the difficulties of handling her father’s dementia. “Well, hopefully, your father’s insistence on hanging on to these documents will be fruitful. I take it you kept up his practice?”
“Nope. Thank God that wasn’t the third promise. Personally, I can’t stomach criminal defense work. Took me a while to realize that. I represent crime victims, in fact, because no one else does. The prosecutors represent the state, whatever that means. The defense attorneys do whatever they need to do to get the defendant off. I represent the victims—which usually means pressuring the state to do what’s right, and pressuring the defendant to pay up and plead guilty.”
Carrie was wishing she had sent a messenger to pick up the Amaro files. “Wow, that sounds like a really interesting practice.”
“So is Amaro claiming ineffective assistance of counsel?”
The shift in tone was palpable. What had sounded like a mournful daughter’s meandering now sounded like an attorney’s cross-examination. “No. Um, there’s new evidence. It’s still coming together, but the claim is that he’s innocent.”
“Yeah, but we both know that’s not a legal thing . You have to have a basis for constitutional error at trial. I’ve learned over the years that these shitbags my dad bent over backwards for are perfectly willing to claim ineffective assistance of counsel when that’s the last egg in the basket.”
Carrie was done smiling. She bent over and lifted both boxes. Kristin didn’t offer her a hand. And, once again, Carrie wondered what the hell she had gotten herself into.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
E llie’s desk shook as Rogan slammed down his phone. “And that makes oh-for-five,” he declared.
As Helen Brunswick’s next-of-kin, Mitch Brunswick had waived his deceased wife’s rights to privacy, enabling them to obtain her educational records. Based on those records, they knew that in Helen’s early efforts to complete a postgraduate internship in abnormal psychology, she had completed rotations at five different mental health institutions in ten months. She had only two months remaining when she decided to withdraw from the program.
Now they were looking for some connection between her studies, the Amaro victims, and her murder. But so far, none of the hospitals would release information about the identity of her patients, or even the general type of patients she was treating.
Rogan tapped his nails against his desk. “You realize it’s just a matter of time before the press finds out we’re calling around upstate mental institutions, asking about Helen.”
“I still can’t believe those reporters were camped outside Mitch Brunswick’s building yesterday. How do you think they knew about the connection to Amaro?”
“It could have been any kind of leak,” Rogan said. “Or, frankly, it might’ve been Mitch Brunswick himself. He’s the one who sent us on this wild goose chase. Pretty smart, when you think about it. Read some old newspaper articles about a serial killer’s signature. Hire someone to do the job, using the same MO. Then send the letter tying the murder to the old cases, using information no one else would know. Call the press to divert their attention. Then just happen to mention that she used to work the nuthouses upstate.”
“I don’t know, Rogan. It’s not like he dropped that information in our laps. Those files he was digging through were recent. It was only
Carrie still didn’t know what to say. She’d been raised in a family that didn’t talk about any of its hardships, and this total stranger was telling her about the difficulties of handling her father’s dementia. “Well, hopefully, your father’s insistence on hanging on to these documents will be fruitful. I take it you kept up his practice?”
“Nope. Thank God that wasn’t the third promise. Personally, I can’t stomach criminal defense work. Took me a while to realize that. I represent crime victims, in fact, because no one else does. The prosecutors represent the state, whatever that means. The defense attorneys do whatever they need to do to get the defendant off. I represent the victims—which usually means pressuring the state to do what’s right, and pressuring the defendant to pay up and plead guilty.”
Carrie was wishing she had sent a messenger to pick up the Amaro files. “Wow, that sounds like a really interesting practice.”
“So is Amaro claiming ineffective assistance of counsel?”
The shift in tone was palpable. What had sounded like a mournful daughter’s meandering now sounded like an attorney’s cross-examination. “No. Um, there’s new evidence. It’s still coming together, but the claim is that he’s innocent.”
“Yeah, but we both know that’s not a legal thing . You have to have a basis for constitutional error at trial. I’ve learned over the years that these shitbags my dad bent over backwards for are perfectly willing to claim ineffective assistance of counsel when that’s the last egg in the basket.”
Carrie was done smiling. She bent over and lifted both boxes. Kristin didn’t offer her a hand. And, once again, Carrie wondered what the hell she had gotten herself into.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
E llie’s desk shook as Rogan slammed down his phone. “And that makes oh-for-five,” he declared.
As Helen Brunswick’s next-of-kin, Mitch Brunswick had waived his deceased wife’s rights to privacy, enabling them to obtain her educational records. Based on those records, they knew that in Helen’s early efforts to complete a postgraduate internship in abnormal psychology, she had completed rotations at five different mental health institutions in ten months. She had only two months remaining when she decided to withdraw from the program.
Now they were looking for some connection between her studies, the Amaro victims, and her murder. But so far, none of the hospitals would release information about the identity of her patients, or even the general type of patients she was treating.
Rogan tapped his nails against his desk. “You realize it’s just a matter of time before the press finds out we’re calling around upstate mental institutions, asking about Helen.”
“I still can’t believe those reporters were camped outside Mitch Brunswick’s building yesterday. How do you think they knew about the connection to Amaro?”
“It could have been any kind of leak,” Rogan said. “Or, frankly, it might’ve been Mitch Brunswick himself. He’s the one who sent us on this wild goose chase. Pretty smart, when you think about it. Read some old newspaper articles about a serial killer’s signature. Hire someone to do the job, using the same MO. Then send the letter tying the murder to the old cases, using information no one else would know. Call the press to divert their attention. Then just happen to mention that she used to work the nuthouses upstate.”
“I don’t know, Rogan. It’s not like he dropped that information in our laps. Those files he was digging through were recent. It was only
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