“Good idea,” Carson said. “And if you can prove he was drunk that night, it might just give you a mitigating circumstance.”
“Yes, it might,” she agreed.
Greg Parker had been one of Lily’s first clients. He had joined the army right out of high school, and four years later had been deployed to Iraq. He survived, but came back with a stress disorder that had turned into alcoholism. Five years ago, mere months after Lily had hung out her shingle, he came knocking on her door. He had been involved in a traffic accident that had seriously injured a teenaged boy on a bicycle.
By doing some digging, Lily learned that the teenager had a drug problem his parents were trying to conceal, and she was able to get both parties to agree to share the responsibility. In turn, a newly elected John Henry agreed to drop the felony charge of aggravated vehicular assault against her client, and instead negotiated a fine and probation for the misdemeanor of driving under the influence.
On the day he walked out of the courthouse, Parker vowed to quit drinking and, as far as Lily could tell, he had stuck to it, going to local AA meetings at least three times a week, and working with others -- teenagers, in particular -- to help them avoid what he, himself, had not been able to avoid.
Although she had just been doing her job, Parker proclaimed her his savior. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you,” he told her, “don’t waste even a minute thinking about whether you should call me.”
Lily decided her last phone call of the evening would be to Greg Parker.
Diana appeared at the library door just then and beckoned them into the dining room where the table was set with steaming hot bowls of crab bisque, a basket of her irresistible freshly baked corn muffins, and a platter of winter fruit.
A mitigating circumstance, Lily thought, wondering if it would really make any difference -- and deciding it probably wouldn’t. “I’ll talk to John Henry on Monday,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe we can find a little wiggle room between having to go through a trial and taking the death penalty off the table.”
. . .
John Henry Morgan stood almost eye-to-eye with Lily, when she wore low heels, and she made certain to do just that on Monday morning. She knew from experience how much the Jackson County Prosecutor resented having to look up to anyone, much less an adversary, either figuratively or literally.
He had once been a bit on the scrawny side, but by the age of fifty-two he had developed quite a paunch, due perhaps to too much time spent on his butt and not enough on his feet, or as some put it, trying only those cases that he was sure he could win, and win him reelection. He thought the extra weight made him look successful, even distinguished. And no one thought it wise to disavow him of the idea. He favored dark gray three-piece suits and starched white shirts, winter or summer, which caused others, both in and out of the courthouse, to liken him to a penguin -- behind his back, of course.
“Let me see, I’ll bet you’re here this morning about the Lightfoot case,” he said when his assistant had ushered Lily into the third-floor corner office that had once been her father’s. And then he smiled, a little cat-and-mouse smile around teeth that were just too perfect to deny some serious orthodontic intervention.
“I always said you were sharp, John Henry,” Lily said lightly.
“You must want something pretty bad,” he countered smugly. “It couldn’t have anything to do with a plea deal, now could it?”
“Just looking to save the state some time and money,” Lily said sweetly. “I haven’t talked to my client about it yet, mind you, but if I can get him to plead to, say, murder two, and a sentence of thirty to life -- I assume you’d be willing to bump the death penalty?”
John Henry crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his oversized desk chair, and pursed his lips as if he were actually considering the offer.
“No can do,” he said after a moment of letting her wait. “Any ordinary killer can get thirty to life, even life-without. But this one killed a police officer, a veteran police officer -- and a decorated one, to boot. No, we’re going to go all the way on this.”
“Like it or not, there are mitigating circumstances here,” Lily reminded him. “If the Indian was as drunk as I suspect he was -- and I’m sure I’ll find enough evidence to back that up -- I can argue diminished capacity. Besides, you know as well as I do that Dale had a reputation for being, let’s say, a bit of a bully. So I might even be able to convince a few jurors that his death may somehow have been provoked. But I’m willing to compromise.”
“Nice try,” John Henry said. “But no deal.”
“Without even taking two minutes to consider it?” Lily countered. “A trial is months and money. I’m giving you the chance to put this guy away for a long time and save the taxpayers a bundle in the process.”
“Lily, I’m going to level with you,” John Henry said. “As you know, next year is an election year, and I’m going to run for reelection, because I like my job -- I like it a lot, and I’d like to keep doing it a while longer. Now, cutting a deal for Lightfoot might save the county some money, it’s true, but how would it look to my constituents? I’ll tell you how it would look. It would look like I was weak, not strong, like I was skulking around
