Page 34 of Freedom's Kiss
Hudson tugged on the bottom of his coat and ran his hands down the front, trying to smooth out the wrinkles Adam’s grip had put in them. “Figured that’s what you were here about with murder in your eyes.”
“I wasn’t going to kill you.” Though, admittedly, he was angry enough to punch something.
“Assault then, hmm?”
Adam’s back molars ground together. “Defending Munchouse is a mistake, and you know it.”
Hudson walked past Adam, the scent of expensive cologne trailing behind him, and lowered himself into a black leather chair. He appeared unaffected as he looked up at Adam. “Don’t sound so self-righteous, Carrington. It wasn’t that long ago that you were in this exact same position. Besides, what I know, as you put it, is the Constitution, and Mr. Munchouse has a constitutional right to a fair and speedy trial, with representation, before an impartial jury of his peers. You know that as well as I do, Adam.”
Adam leaned against the mahogany executive desk across from Hudson, his fingers splayed against the cool wood as his nostrils flared. Didn’t Hudson see? It wasn’t self-righteousness that had driven him here to stop his old partner from making the biggest mistake of his life. It was righteous indignation. How dare Munchouse take such evil advantage over Stephanie Singh.
“What I know is how you’re going to twist the facts to make that creep into an upstanding citizen. His age, his lack of criminal history, his position as lacrosse captain at Miami University. You’re going to use phrases like ‘boys will be boys’ and ‘momentary slip in judgment shouldn’t severely impact him the rest of his life’ to excuse his reprehensible behavior. But the fact that Dan Munchouse is a white male star athlete at a school so many locals hold dear to their hearts does not entitle him to leniency, Hud. That momentary slip in judgmentwillforever severely impact Stephanie Singh, and Dave Munchouse should be held accountable for his crimes.” He slammed his hand down hard on the desk’s shiny surface, the sting upon his palm feeling strangely good.
Hudson leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Hisallegedcrimes. Innocent until proven guilty, Adam.”
“You and I both know that man is guilty.”
“Do I? Even if he is guilty, for argument’s sake, that does not revoke his rights as a US citizen.”
“What about Miss Singh’s rights? Doesn’t she have a right to live free from fear of abuse from men like Munchouse?”
“Of course she does.”
“And yet you’re going to do everything within your power to put him and countless others like him back on the streets. How is that freedom or justice?”
Hudson’s serene face hardened a fraction. “Careful, Adam. You’re beginning to sound like you’ve forgotten one of the leading principles of a criminal defense attorney. There is no line drawn betweenusandthem. There is no ‘those people.’ Humanity resides in each of us. We all make mistakes, and no one likes to be forever defined by those mistakes.”
“But mistakes have consequences, and in this case, I don’t think a slap on the wrist is sufficient punishment.”
“Ifa jury does find my client guilty, what makes you think a judge won’t require a full sentence?”
The facts of the case were too similar, and Brittany Foresythe’s dejected expression at the sentencing of her attacker—Adam’s defendant—floated in front of his mind’s eye like a ghostly apparition. “History.”
Hudson sighed. “Look, I know the Foresythe case— Now don’t look at me like that.” He held up his hands. “I’m just saying I know that case shook you. I won’t pretend that cases of mine haven’t disturbed me as well, but—” He massaged his forehead, suddenly looking weary. “Do you remember why you decided on criminal defense law to begin with?”
Adam jerked back as if the top of the desk had burned his hands.
“I remember when you first waltzed your way into my office, so full of idealism and a drive to see justice done for those who’d been given a raw deal. Atticus Finch fromTo Kill a Mockingbird, remember? You wanted to be just like him—defending the wrongly accused.”
And yet instead he’d been an instrument in allowing a living nightmare to roam free, searching for his next victim. Guilt sat like an anvil heavy upon his shoulders, pushing him down until his knees gave way and he sank to the seat behind him. “Atticus helped the innocent. I…I…”
“Did your job.” Hudson leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk. “Do you remember the Carter case?”
Jason Carter, sixteen, killed his neighbor and stole her car. The media had a field day with the kid.
“You managed to see past the actions and see that hurting boy. You saw the pain of years of abuse by his father’s hand. The fear in his eyes at the wrath he knew he would experience when his dad learned he’d skipped school that day to help a fellow classmate. When everyone else was ready to hand him over to the media on a silver platter, you learned that he’d merely wanted to escape his nightmarish life and so had stolen his dad’s gun to protect himself. He didn’t want or mean to shoot and kill his neighbor. He only needed her car to escape his own nightmare.”
Adam clenched his eyes closed, wishing Hudson would shut up.
“Humanity, Adam. You knew that kid was sorry. That he couldn’t believe he’d pulled the trigger in the first place. He wasn’t wicked. He was merely damaged and in distress.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “That doesn’t excuse what he did though.”
“No. No, it doesn’t. But it does explain his actions. It does help us to understand. It does show us that maybe we shouldn’t always be so quick to judge, that even those who’ve found themselves at the bottom of the pit by their own hand deserve compassion as well.”
Adam leaned back in the chair, drained. There was right and there was wrong. Black and white. Why, then, did he suddenly find himself drowning in a sea of gray?
