Free False Convictions by Tim Green Page B

play-by-play,” Casey said. “You better take me to Marty’s law office. I’ve got work to do. And Jake?”
    “Yes, ma’am?”
    “Graham isn’t my boy.”
    Jake smiled.

14
    T HE ONLY BREAK Casey took from her research was dinner with Jake. He showed up at the law offices at six and insisted he wasn’t
     leaving her alone until she accompanied him to Elderberry Pond, an organic restaurant just outside of town. The rest of the
     thirteen hours from two in the afternoon until three in the morning she’d spent holed up in the mammoth law library at Barrone
     & Barrone with Marty hovering over her and pestering her with questions for most of it.
    When she woke the next morning, she dressed for the run she’d promised herself as penance for ordering a fresh raspberry tart
     à la mode the night before. Jake Carlson sat waiting for her in the lobby, dressed in sneakers, shorts, and an Under Armour
     T-shirt that revealed a muscular frame she hadn’t expected from a man his age.
    “Want company?” Jake asked with a boyish grin.
    “If you weren’t a Pulitzer Prize winner, I might think you were stalking me,” Casey said, returning the smile. “Sure. I’d
     love the company.”
    “A good TV reporter is part stalker, anyway,” he said. “So you Googled me? That’s a good sign.”
    Off they went together, passing through a cloud of Ralph’s cigarette smoke just outside the lobby doors. They ran the side
     streets, passing the prison and the bus station before leaving town and turning down a country road. For the first mile, Casey
     checked over her shoulder for Ralph but never saw the Lexus and forgot about him.
    Five miles later, they ended back at the hotel. Sweaty and winded, Casey passed on Jake’s invitation to breakfast and wished
     him luck with his interview.
    “I’m supposed to fly out after I finish with Graham,” Jake said, still breathing hard, “but I was thinking maybe I’d hang
     around and see how things shake out. Would that be okay with you?”
    “It’s a free country,” Casey said.
    “All you have to do is say the word and I’m as good as back on Long Island,” Jake said.
    “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, wiping the sweat from her face with her bare hands. “The whole hospital idea was
     yours. You’re in on this with me as much as you want to be.”
    “Good,” Jake said, clearing his throat. “Look, I’ve been around. This could be something or nothing. But maybe we could do
     another dinner?”
    “Only if you throw in another run,” she said, patting her stomach.
    Jake touched her shoulder lightly, wished her luck of her own, and said good-bye. Casey watched him walk away before she headed
     upstairs. After a shower and some coffee, she went over her notes again before allowing Ralph to drive her to the courthouse.
    “The problem is narrowing it down,” Ralph said without taking his eyes from the road. “I got a person to do it, but they came
     up with over seven thousand white BMWs on the road in 1989. It’s a matter of pulling the ones from this area and they have
     to go through the list one at a time. We’ll get it eventually, but this guy’s been in the can, what? Twenty years?”
    “Be nice if it didn’t get to twenty-one, though, right?” Casey said.
    Ralph’s eyebrows lifted for a second and he gave a slight nod.
    “You found Cassandra Thornton’s people pretty fast, I’ll tell you that,” Casey said, tapping the folder Ralph had delivered
     to her at the law offices around nine the previous evening. “Nice work.”
    He pulled over in front of the old limestone courthouse. “I’ll be in that spot across the street.”
    As she made her way up the steps, Casey looked back at Ralph, who sat watching her with a blank face from the pewter Lexus.
    The judge’s chambers had high ceilings. The dark-stained oak had faded under years of neglect. It smelled of aging books and
     moldy paper, but the high window behind Kollar’s desk shone