Free False Convictions by Tim Green

firm provided and how Graham had teed them up.
    “Why not have the uncle himself working for you?” Jake asked.
    “That’s what I said,” Casey said.
    “And what’d Graham say to that?”
    “He never answered me.”
    Casey’s cell phone rang before they reached Jake’s car.
    “He’ll see us after the lunch,” Marty said.
    “You tried for his chambers?” Casey asked.
    “He’s going into court,” Marty said. “He wasn’t even going to see us afterward, but I told him it was a personal favor.”
    “For you?” Casey asked.
    Marty was quiet for a moment, before he said, “Well, yeah. I’m engaged to his daughter. That’s Linda.”
    “Does that help us or hurt us?” Casey asked.
    Marty laughed at the joke and said, “I got the meeting and I’m not saying anything to anyone else at the firm about it.”
    “Great,” Casey said. “We’ll meet you there at noon.”

13
    T HE SPRINGSIDE INN was nestled at the foot of a wooded hill just outside of town near the lake. Jake circled the parking lot
     twice before pulling over on the grassy edge of the broad circular drive.
    “The judge packs them in,” Casey said as they approached the old inn.
    Marty met them just inside the door with their name tags and asked Casey if she had the check. Casey took the checkbook from
     her briefcase and laid it down on the table where two older women looked on as she filled it out for one hundred dollars to
     the Friends of Judge Kollar. Waitresses hurried about the banquet room, and four plates full of food already waited for them
     at a small card table hastily thrown up in the back.
    “They were sold out,” Marty said, “but I pulled some strings. Trust me, the judge appreciates it.”
    “I just can’t wait to hear him sing,” Jake said.
    “He’s not going to sing,” Marty said, looking confused.
    They sat down and the lunch unfolded in the way of small-town political fund-raisers, with long-winded speakers and stale
     jokes. When it neared the end, Casey breathed deep and let it out slowly, stifling a yawn.
    Jake Carlson rolled his eyes as the final speaker droned on about being a leader in his community. He was particularly proud
     of introducing underprivileged kids to the world of golf.
    Casey poked at her cherries jubilee.
    Judge Kollar sat like a block of granite at the head table next to the podium. He had a tan shaved head and small dark eyes
     planted close to either side of his long nose. The thick eyebrows pasted to the eave of his brow stayed taut in a perpetual
     scowl. He was taller than almost every man in the room, and lean wide shoulders suggested a background in sports. Even as
     the handful of businessmen in sad gray suits stood one after another to sing his praises at the podium, he wore a look of
     intense skepticism. The previous day, in his court, Casey had attributed his scowl to the fact that she was from Texas and
     known in the media.
    After the priest had concluded the lunch with a prayer for wisdom and resolve, Casey and Jake remained in their seats while
     Marty made his way toward the head table to find out from the judge where they could talk.
    When he returned, Marty said, “The judge said we could talk to him while he has another piece of cherries jubilee. He likes
     it.”
    Casey smiled. “I’m so damn pleased.”
    Several of the guests, two in business suits and a handful of old ladies in pastel-colored dresses and hats, stood clustered
     around the judge as he ate. Casey tapped her foot and nudged Marty several times.
    Finally, Marty dug into his ear, then stepped forward with a face as red as the judge’s dessert, held up his hands, and said,
     “Sorry, folks, we’ve got some business to discuss with the judge.”
    Judge Kollar looked at Marty disinterestedly and the people scowled their disapproval but moved on.
    “I don’t have much time,” Kollar said, shoveling in a mouthful of cherries as he studied Casey. “Wow. This stuff is terrific.
     Did you try