Play Dead

There are basically three types of prosecutors. The first group consists of those who love their work, feel that they are contributing to society, and are likely to do this for the rest of their working life.

Then there is the group that sees it as a launching point to the other side, the defense side, where there is more money to be made. Having spent time as a prosecutor gives a defense attorney some additional credibility. It’s like hiring an ex-IRS agent to represent you in an audit. You feel that you’re better off having someone who’s been on the “inside.”

The third group, and the one to which Daniel Hawpe belongs, consists of people who view the prosecutor’s office as a stepping-stone to higher and greater political office. Hawpe is maybe thirty-five, tall, and good-looking and might as well be wearing a sign on his forehead that says, “One day you will be calling me Governor Hawpe.”

But for now he starts off by telling me to call him “Daniel,” and I, ever gracious, give him permission to use “Andy.”

“Andy, I’ve been following your career; you’ve won some great cases. I told Janine Coletti you were going to be a handful at the hearing.”

“Is she joining us for this meeting?” I ask.

“She’s been reassigned. I’m going to handle this from now on.”

This is a surprise, and probably unfair to her. She did a decent, albeit unspectacular, job. “She’s a good attorney,” I say.

He nods vigorously. “Damn good. Damn good. This is no reflection on her; we’re just going to take this case in a new direction.”

“Which direction might that be?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“It’s time to wrap this up, Andy. We don’t need another trial, even though I think we’d win it. And Evans certainly doesn’t need it. It’s time to plead it out.”

I’m not surprised that he’s making the offer, though the speed with which he’s making it is quite unusual. We only got the new trial yesterday. By doing it in this manner, he’s looking more than a little anxious, and thereby hurting his negotiating position. He must know that but clearly isn’t bothered by it.

“What’s your offer?” I ask.

“Time served plus ten. He’ll be up for parole in five, and we won’t oppose it as long as he’s a good boy in prison.”

It’s a shocking offer. In the original trial, the prosecution went for life without the possibility of parole and got it. Now we’ve got some new forensic evidence and a dog that didn’t die, and Richard can be out in five years. It’s generous to the point of nonsensical, and if we accept it, it will be an embarrassment for his office.

“I’ll convey it to my client,” I say. “But he’s already been in prison too long.”

He shrugs. “Just let me know.”

My hunch is that the decision to make this offer was not his, and that he’d be happy if we turned it down. “I’ll get back to you within a few days.”

“Going up against you in court might be fun,” he says.

I nod. “A real hoot.”

* * * * *

I DON’T WITHHOLD information like this from a client one second more than necessary, which is why I have called this early morning meeting with Richard, Karen, and Kevin at the prison.

“The prosecutor has made an offer, which I will tell you now,” I say to Richard. “But I don’t want you to make a decision about it until I’ve described the entire situation.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

“The offer is time served plus ten, with an agreement going in that you’ll be paroled in five.”

Richard nods thoughtfully, not saying anything. Karen says, “Oh, man…” Their outward reactions couldn’t be more different, but I have no idea what each is thinking.

I proceed to lay out everything that I know about the case. He’s already heard a lot of it, but I add my discussion with Petrone and with Antwan Cooper’s family, what we learned from the Army files, and my recent visit with Donna Banks. I leave nothing out and, for the moment, do not give my subjective interpretations about it. There will be time for that later.

“I’m not sure what all this means,” Richard says, a confusion that I unfortunately share.

“There is one consistent thread that runs through it,” I say. “A lot of people, including some in the government, are concerned about what we are doing. Whether it’s trying to kill your lawyer, tapping his phone, or offering an overly generous plea bargain, I think there exists a great desire on the part of a wide variety of people that this not go to trial.”

“You think the plea bargain offer is overly generous?” he asks.

I nod. “I do, but that doesn’t mean you should accept it. It’s just very unusual for an offer like that to be made in these circumstances, and my guess-and it’s only a guess-is that pressure from very high up was brought to bear on the prosecutor.”

“Don’t take it, Richard,” Karen says. “Andy’s gonna win this thing.”

Richard smiles at his sister’s confidence. He turns and, for the first time, asks me, “Would you really win this thing?”

“I think we’d have a decent chance. There’s also a significant chance that we’d lose. Overall, fifty-fifty.”

He turns to Kevin. “Is that how you feel?”