Chapter 9 Willow
Willow
My fingertips sting from papercuts, but I ignore the pain as I continue to sort through the last stack of requests PWCC has received from inmates.
There are five left, and they came in the mail today.
The first two are the standard bullshit, but the writing on the third one immediately catches my attention.
I know that handwriting.
My heart races, and my palms sweat as I tear open the manila envelope, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the table.
Surprisingly, there isn’t nearly as much material as I thought there’d be.
When the PWCC receives a request for review, the inmate typically sends everything pertaining to the case and trial. This file is suspiciously… lacking.
I skim the letter Mr. Hunter included before setting it aside to peruse the rest of the documentation.
It doesn’t take more than an hour to go through the police reports and trial transcripts, and by the time I’m done, I’m convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was right all along. Mr. Hunter is innocent.
Jumping to my feet, I scoop the papers up and rush to Gordon’s office. His door is open, so I enter and drop it all onto his desk.
“I’ve got a case,” I blurt, bouncing on the balls of my feet, unable to contain my enthusiasm.
He leans back in his chair and smirks at me. “I can see that. But we’re not in a position to take on another case at the moment.” He shuffles the documentation into a neat pile and moves it to the side of his desk, adding it to the ‘up next’ stack.
“We can’t wait on this one,” I say, wringing my hands. “Mr. Hunter is set to be executed in one hundred and forty-six days.”
Gordon’s eyes sharpen. “Mr. Hunter? As in Craig Hunter, convicted triple murderer?”
“He didn’t do it,” I snap, instantly feeling defensive on the stranger’s behalf.
Leaning forward, Gordon lifts the papers I brought him and scans the letter on top.
“Breathe, Willow. I happen to agree with you,” he says, not looking up from the page.
“I always thought he didn’t get a fair shake.
That being said, this isn’t a lot of time to get anything done for him.
Not to mention, we’re still working the Jones case. ”
I sit in the chair across the desk from him.
“I know, but with the DNA report Melinda sent, there’s no way a judge won’t order Billy to be released.
Besides, we’re still waiting on the court to schedule the hearing date.
There’s nothing more we can do on that case, which means we can start working on this one. Mr. Hunter’s life depends on it.”
He sighs, finally lifting his gaze to mine. For a long moment, he pins me with his stare as if trying to figure me out. “What is it about this case that has you so excited?”
Everything.
My shoulders slump. “You’ll think I’m nuts.”
He grins. “Try me.”
After taking a deep breath, I do my best to explain.
“Mr. Hunter’s trial happened when I was fourteen, and if you remember, it was widely televised.
My parents never let me watch stuff like that, but I had a TV in my room and would watch the daily recaps on the eleven o’clock news every night.
I grew up hearing my dad talk about cases at the dinner table or I’d overhear conversations he had with colleagues in his home office, and the law always fascinated me. ”
“Makes sense.”
“Then, when I was twelve, all conversation shifted to the guy who killed a little girl in cold blood when she was only at that bank because she was home sick from school, and her mom didn’t have a babysitter.
I’d heard so many bad things about the ‘monster’ who did it, and I had a million questions, but my dad wouldn’t talk to me about it.
He said I was too young to discuss such things and that no daughter of his was going to concern herself with the dregs of society.
” I say the last part in my best impression of my father.
“If you heard all the negative, what made you think he was innocent?”
I huff out a breath. “Anyone with a brain could figure it out. Mr. Hunter was the president of a motorcycle club, and a violent and dangerous one at that. The cops couldn’t keep their looks of disgust off their faces.
Then there’s the fact that the prosecution presented, like, zero evidence.
The trial was a farce. The public outcry after the murders was so intense, they’d have arrested God herself just to calm people down.
And then there’s the added bonus that locking up Mr. Hunter is the equivalent of cutting off the head of the snake to them.
They figured that if they took out the president of Dead on Arrival, the entire club would fall. ”
“That didn’t exactly work the way they thought,” he says, amusement in his tone.
“No, it didn’t.”
Dead on Arrival MC is as strong as ever, and all reports indicate that Mr. Hunter is still running things from his place on death row.
“Have you tried to talk to your father about all of this? I mean, since you’ve become an adult.”
“Hell no,” I say with a laugh. “My father is still of the mind that I’m meant to be seen and not heard. I’ll always be a child to him, and criminals will always be the members of society who don’t deserve my time and attention.”
“That’s a pity.” Gordon presses the intercom button on his phone and summons Bryant Mansfield, one of the paralegals, to his office. “I have a feeling you’re a force to be reckoned with, and you’re going to scorch the Earth doing what you believe in.”
“Thank you,” I say, tears springing to my eyes. “That means a lot.”
“Have you ever thought of getting your law degree?” he asks me suddenly.
“Oh, my parents would never let that happen.”
“Willow, you’re twenty-four. You don’t need their permission.
” Gordon reaches into his desk and pulls out a brochure to hand to me.
“When I started PWCC, I wanted to do more than help those in prison. I wanted to help young adults who had a passion for the law turn it into a career. To that end, I created a program that pays for your law school tuition as long as you’re a volunteer here.
You would sign a contract, of course, that stipulates that you’ll work at PWCC once you graduate and pass the bar for a minimum of two years.
After two years, you’ll have the option to buy in on the center and open a satellite office in a new location within Pennsylvania, where you’d be the lead attorney. ”
“Wow, that’s incredible.”
He shrugs. “Like you, I grew up with money. Also like you, I wanted more in life than to spend it frivolously.”
I don’t bother opening the brochure. “I’m in.”
“You don’t want to think about it? Check into law school and all that entails?”
Shaking my head frantically, I say, “Nope. I’m in.”
Before Gordon can say anything else, Bryant strides into the office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, please, sit.” Bryant sits in the chair next to me. “Willow found a new case for us. I don’t have the time to do the legwork, so I want you to supervise her on it.” Gordon shifts his eyes from him to me and back again. “And Bryant?”
“Yes?”
“I want Willow taking the lead with this one. She can’t do any of the actual legal work, but she can do the interviews and any research. Obviously, if you notice her struggling, you’ll have to step in. Otherwise, you’re to handle the legal side of things and guide her if necessary. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Gordon hands him the documentation we received in the mail.
“Familiarize yourself with everything by tomorrow.” He fixes his attention on me.
“Willow, call the prison and see if you can set up an interview with Mr. Hunter. Bryant will go with you, so make sure you check his availability when you schedule. I trust you to handle the interview, but we have to remember that the majority of the inmates at the prison deserve to be there, and I don’t want you going in alone if you don’t have to. ”
“Okay.” I grin. “Thank you, Gordon.”
Bryant narrows his eyes at my use of our boss’s first name, but I shrug his disapproval aside. Gordon told me to call him that, and I’m nothing if not accommodating.
After a few more minutes of conversation, we’re dismissed, and I return to the small office Gordon assigned to me once I whittled down the stacks and stacks of requests for assistance. I pull up the prison’s phone number in the ancient rolodex and dial.
While I wait for the call to be answered, butterflies attack me from the inside out.
This is really happening. Holy. Fucking. Shit.