Free The Furthest City Light by Jeanne Winer

sounds ridiculous,” she said, “but I actually feel a little guilty.”
    I nodded sympathetically. “It sounds ridiculous because it is, but I understand what you’re saying. Because you managed to get away, your look-alike had to suffer in your place. Emily on the cross.”
    She laughed. “Something like that. It truly took my breath away when I saw her picture.” She paused. “Do you think it would be too painful for her to meet me?”
    “I don’t know,” I said, giving up on my food as well. “I’ll think about it. I wish there were some way you could testify at her trial.”
    Janet pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and laid it on the table. “Please, let me pay. I’d be happy to testify, but would it be admissible? I’m a paralegal, but I mostly work on civil cases.”
    I made a face. “No, probably not. It was a minor incident compared to the abuse we’re alleging Emily suffered and it happened thirty years ago. I’ll file the motion, but I can’t imagine Judge Thomas letting it in.”
    We stood up to go. “Well,” she said, “I’m willing to help in whatever way I can. I want to support her.”
    We hugged and I watched her walk down the avenue, tall and straight, back to the law firm where she worked, the Emily that might have been. And then I thought of my real client snug in her cell at the Boulder County Jail, dreaming her life away.
    ***
     
    In a murder case, you can’t file too many pretrial motions. Twenty-five is good, fifty is better. If nothing else, you might set up some error that could later be appealed if your client gets convicted. Compared to most murder cases, however, Emily’s was pretty straightforward. She’d either acted in self-defense or she hadn’t. There were no snitches in the case, no codefendant confessions, no critical scientific evidence or procedures to litigate. The blood was Hal’s, the confession Emily’s. The victim was dead and the only other eyewitness was my client.
    Still, I’d managed to draft thirty-seven motions, some of them demanding additional information, some moving to suppress various searches and statements, and the rest requesting the court to rule favorably on the admissibility of “crucial” defense evidence—Dr. Midman’s and Janet’s testimony—and unfavorably on the admissibility of “highly inflammatory and prejudicial” prosecution evidence—photos of the autopsy, Hal’s life insurance policy, et cetera.
    My strategy was to fight hard on every single motion as if any adverse ruling would be a major violation of my client’s constitutional rights. Because the judge would rule against me on every substantive motion, I was hoping he’d feel guilty enough to give me what I really needed: Dr. Midman’s testimony. If he did, it would be a first. I knew Jeff would strenuously oppose it, but I had the advantage of being in a jurisdiction where it wasn’t nice to make the defense lawyer cry. I needed my expert. I had to have her. If it meant lying down on the courtroom floor, kicking my pumps off and screaming, then so be it. Later, I could always change my name and practice law somewhere else.
    There was only one case, a probation revocation hearing, scheduled before ours. Emily and I sat in the jury box and watched Ellen Silver—the new baby lawyer in our office—cross-examine the defendant’s probation officer. I tried to pay attention so that I could give Ellen some helpful feedback, but I was feeling too distracted. Dr. Midman hadn’t arrived yet and I was getting a little nervous.
    Emily patted my hand. “She’ll be here, Rachel. She’s very reliable.”
    “How do you know?”
    My client smiled. “Because except for my intimate partners, I’m an excellent judge of character.”
    I turned to look at her. “So Hal wasn’t your first lover?”
    Emily blushed. I loved that about her. “No, I had one other boyfriend—lover—in college.”
    “Tell me about him.”
    She shook her head. “There’s nothing to tell.