The Last Plea Bargain by Randy Singer

and turn into a television ad as well. They’ll be asking each of you individually, but I wanted to meet with you first and let you know that you don’t have to get involved and, though it goes without saying, it won’t affect your job evaluations either way. In fact, I was reluctant to drag any of you into this, and I’m sorry that I have to make this request. I would rather just ride it out. But I’m being told that if we don’t respond aggressively, the public will assume it’s all true.”
    â€œThis is crap,” Regina said as soon as Masterson took a breath. Bill’s voice had been calm and measured, but Regina was fired up. “I’m sure every one of us would be willing to sign whatever you need. And you might as well have one done for ‘African Americans for Masterson’ too because that will probably be the next attack.”
    After Regina spoke, the brownnosing began in earnest, and all of us told the boss that we were on board. He thanked us for our support, told us not to believe everything we read in the papers, and apologized again that he had to make this request. A few of my coworkers started reminding each other of how Bill had stood up for them when they were attacked by this defense attorney or that defense attorney, but Bill cut them off. He said he didn’t want to waste our valuable time eliciting pats on the back. “The streets aren’t getting any safer while we sit around singing ‘Kumbaya,’” he said. “Let’s get back to work.”
    I got up to leave with the rest of the women, but Masterson had other ideas. “Brock, can I see you a minute?” he growled.
    Regina stayed behind as well and listened as Bill made his request. “I’ve asked Regina to be part of our television commercial,” he said. “It would help me a lot if you’d be willing to say a few words as well. Maybe remind folks that I prosecuted your mother’s killer and that’s part of the reason you’re working for me now.” Masterson shrugged. “It would probably take some of the sting out of the claims by these victims.”
    â€œPlus, you’re photogenic,” Regina said. “I’ve got a face for radio, but you’ve got a face for TV.”
    I agreed to do the TV spot and then gave Bill and Regina an update on the Tate investigation. I reported that we were making progress, though we couldn’t yet prove that Tate had access to the drugs.
    â€œA minor point,” Masterson said sarcastically. “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how’d you enjoy the play?”
    I just agreed to do you a favor, I wanted to say. But things didn’t work that way with Masterson. He was always straight up, a man who didn’t believe in owing people.
    â€œI understand,” I said. “But Tate is already acting guilty.” I detailed my conversation with Tate after the bond hearing—everything except my threat at the end.
    â€œDefinitely guilty,” Masterson responded. “Wants to take a polygraph, answer police questions, and cooperate fully. Basically a confession.”
    I hated it when Masterson slipped into his sarcastic mode. But the man had a point. “I didn’t say I was ready to indict yet.”
    â€œThe queen of understatement,” Masterson replied.

    The next day, film crews were at our office. Regina Granger, big and boisterous, looked straight into the eye of the camera and confidently proclaimed her support for her boss and trusted friend, Bill Masterson. She did it on the first take while I watched nervously. The camera crew decided to do a second take with Regina just to be on the safe side.
    After she finished, it took me five tries to get the right amount of intensity and enthusiasm. Everybody kept encouraging me, telling me I was a natural, but then they would suggest another try and give me some coaching on how to change my facial expression or