Page 80 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“Go ahead, Frank,” he says. “You tell the man.”

“I get it,” the young defendant says. “I mean, look, I know I’m not the brightest bulb on the tree all the time, but the cops found those drugs in the lining of my guitar case, and I just- I mean, how am I supposed to prove that they’re not mine?”

“That’s the kind of question thathe’s-” I hook my thumb at the defense attorney “-supposed to be answering for you, not me.”

Anderson either misses or ignores the very thinly-veiled criticism, and again I rage in frustration at the stupid short-sightedness that has Mark Anderson as opposing counsel instead of Lisa Mayfield-Hatcher. But on the other hand, Frank Wilson’s briefly raised eyebrows suggest thathedid not miss it. Maybe not the brightest bulb on the tree, but he’s not completely dim, either.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing over at his attorney, who’s looking at his phone again. “Look, I’ve watched enough TV to know that you need a team to put on a serious defense. Look at me,” he sighs. “I mean, I can’t even afford to hire my own lawyer, so…”

Mark might not have paid enough attention to pick up on my jab, but he noticedthatone, wiggling in his seat and swallowing his pride while I hide a smile. That bulb’s a lot brighter than he lets on. I think the real problem is that he’s just been under his mother’s thumb for his whole life and hasn’t ever had to face anything on his own.

“Anyway. Yeah.” Frank finally looks me in the eye. “There’s no way for me to win, here. I’m going to lose, and the only question is howmuchI lose. So, if there’s a way to loseless, then I’ll plead guilty.”

Mark Anderson grins smugly at me.

“See? Now let’s get this wrapped up,” he says. “What are you going to offer?”

Jesus.

“Alright, then. Sure,” I say. “I’ll offer a deal. I’ll cut you onehellof a deal. Knock the charges from trafficking down to possession, let’s say. Max is five years in prison and five on probation, but…” I look back and forth between the two men. Hope flares in Frank’s eyes, and suspicion in Anderson’s. “No prison. One year of probation. How’s that sound?”

Anderson and his client again put their heads together, whispering furiously.

“It sounds good,” Frank says, when they finish their conversation.

“It soundstoogood,” Anderson says, glaring at me. “It soundswaytoo good. What the hell are you playing at, Cooper? What’s the catch?”

“Catch? No catch,” I say. It’s bullshit, of course—no judge in the state would sign off on a deal like that, not with mandatory minimum sentencing at fifteen years—but I’m safe. There’s no way he can comply with the rest of the terms of the deal I’m going to lay out.

Frank’s eyes are wide and hopeful, looking back and forth between me and his attorney, who still stares at me, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in silent suspicion.

“No catch at all,” I repeat. “Well, I mean, there’s details. Possession of MDMA is still a third-degree felony, so you might have some problems with government jobs or student loans, that kind of thing. Maybe voting.” I pause, looking down at the case file and flipping through it at random. I’m not looking for anything in particular, but the two men on the other side of the table don’t know that. “Oh, and the allocution, of course,” I add, looking back up at them. “That means-”

“I know what it means,” Frank says. “My dad was a lawyer. You want me to talk about what I did. I have to admit to it in open court. What I did, in detail, and how.”

Anderson’s stony face relaxes, his jaw going slack with surprise for an instant before he lights up in glee.

“Yep,” I say. “That’s what you’ll have to do. You’ll have to tell the court where the drugs came from. Who you got them from. Where you were supposed to take them, and who was supposed to receive them. And we’re going to follow the trail, investigate down every single rabbit-hole, pull on every single thread. And you’ll have to testify against those people, when we arrest them.”

Anderson might be over the moon with joy—and, seriously, how in the hell does he think I could ever get a judge to sign off on this?—but young Frank’s face has gone hard, now.

“Take it,” the defense attorney tells him. “Take. The. Deal. This is the best chance you’ll ever get. Take it. Now.”

The young man is starting to waver. I can’t have that. Got to buy time.

“Of course, if it turns out that you lied about anything, then the deal goes away. We’d be back to square one on the trafficking charges, and you’d be looking at a whole raft of other charges on top of that, starting with perjury and going on from there. You’d be looking at twenty-five to thirty-five years, total, instead of just the mandatory minimum of fifteen for the trafficking.”

Emily’s always been convinced of her Frank’s innocence, because of course her baby brother couldn’t possibly have been involved in something like this. I, on the other hand, have never been quite so sure. Nobody ever wants to believe that their loved one really was just a terrible human being, and I’ve got a lot of experience with terrible human beings whose family insist were good kids and couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong.

If he accepts this bullshit offer, I’m going to be in trouble, because I’m not bargaining in good faith, but I’ll know he’s guilty. If he truly is innocent, he’s not going to fabricate details knowing that we’ll investigate them and put him away forlongerthan he’d have gotten at trial.

Which way are you going to jump, kid?

The stony resolve on Frank Wilson’s face evaporates, and his shoulders slump. What little hope had been there only moments before is gone, and the young man stares back into his lap.

“I can’t do it,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“You- wait, what?” Anderson’s voice rises in pitch and he grabs his client by the arm. “Are youstupid?” he almost shrieks.

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