Free Act of God by Susan R. Sloan Page A

as she sat in one of the interview room’s metal chairs, and opened her briefcase to extract a pad and a pen, Dana knewthat it didn’t really matter what happened here this morning, because the managing partner had given her an out.
    “Go talk to the kid,” he had said, handing her the file. “Get him through the arraignment. Then, if it really isn’t right
     for you, just come and tell me, and I’ll assign someone else. I believe it’s a fit, but I won’t force it on you.”
    It was the only reason she was here, she knew, so that she could go back to Cotter and tell him she had done what he asked,
     and did not want this case.
    Five minutes later, the door swung open, and twenty-five-year-old Corey Dean Latham, hands and feet shackled, and escorted
     by two guards, entered the cubicle.
    There were four types of uniforms worn by the inmates at the King County Jail: blue for those serving misdemeanor time, yellow
     for worker inmates, red for accused felons awaiting trial, and white for those who were charged with a high-risk felony. Corey
     Latham was dressed in white, with the damning words “ULTRA SECURITY” printed in big bold letters across his shirt and down
     the legs of his pants.
    Dana’s first reaction, as she watched him take the chair across from her, sitting ramrod straight with his manacled hands
     resting tentatively on the table in front of him, was one of unhappy surprise. He was not at all what she had expected, or
     wanted, to see. She had prepared herself for some religiously zealous martyr in the making, someone who was unkempt and unattractive,
     perhaps, or wild-eyed and obviously deranged, or clearly cold and calculating. Any of the above would have suited her purpose,
     and would have made things so much easier.
    But the tall, slender, and undeniably attractive young man who sat so erect in front of her was clean-shaven, had neatly cropped
     brown hair, clear blue eyes, and the demeanor of an altar boy. He looked totally incongruous in the sinister white uniform.
    Dana shook her head slightly as though to clear her mind, or her vision. Latham was an officer in the United States Navy,
     she exhorted herself to remember. Of course he would know how best to present himself in any kind of situation… or in any
     kind of uniform. The fact that he looked normal, she knew, did not automatically exempt him from having committed cold-blooded
     murder. After all, his dossier indicated that he was an assistant weapons officer on his submarine. Didn’t that mean that
     killing was what the government had trained him for?
    There, she thought with a small surge of triumph, she was back on solid ground now, which was where she would stay. She was
     certainly not about to let herself get suckered into believing he might be innocent.
    Still, the blue eyes did not equivocate. They looked directly at her with an expression she could only interpret as sincerity
     mixed with enough confusion and naivete to totally belie his circumstance.
    “Mr. Latham, my name is Dana McAuliffe,” she began by rote. “I’m a partner with the law firm of Cotter Boland and Grace. As
     I assume you already know we’ve been retained to represent you, and I’ve been asked to come here and talk with you.”
    “I’ve heard of your firm,” he said politely. “But I don’t know why you’re representing me.”
    “You’re entitled to representation,” she explained. “It’s the law.”
    “I know that,” he replied. “What I don’t know is why your firm would want to do that. I can’t afford to pay you. I don’t have
     that kind of money. Neither do my folks. My pastor here in Seattle told me the church would take care of it, but I know they
     don’t have the money, either.”
    “Well, we don’t have to worry about that right now,” Dana responded, because she didn’t actually know who was footing the
     bill. “Let’s talk instead about how we’re going to help you.”
    There was a pause. “I don’t know