So we went direct to the forensics lab—wel , we found the cash for an investigator and he went directly to the forensics lab—and discovered that evidence that corresponded to that missing docket had existed, but had never been disclosed to the original defense attorney. Crime scene officers found a single hair on Sarah Fitzhugh’s body. It was tested and compared to samples taken from Michael and there was no match. The hair evidence was then hidden from the defense, because it suggested that someone other than Michael committed the crime. Michael’s original attorney never knew a hair had been found. The DA’s office buried the evidence. On purpose.”
This information had been publicly reported in the various articles written about the case. Presumably everyone in the room already knew about it, but there was stil a murmur of discontent from the group. Hannah had to hold back an eye rol . Not that she was al right with prosecutors hiding evidence. That wasn’t okay, ever. But assuming that a single hair on Sarah Fitzhugh’s poor body meant Dandridge was innocent was taking rose-tinted to an extreme. Sarah could have picked that hair up from anywhere. And al this holier-than-thou shock at the prosecutor’s cheating was painful. According to their biographies on the Innocence Project website, Parekh, and the other staff attorneys like Jim Lehane and Mary Calvas, had al worked as criminal defense attorneys outside the Project, which meant that they had routinely defended guilty clients. Everyone knew how that game was played. The convenient fictions that were maintained, the blind eyes that were turned, al so that they could put forward the best possible defense for clients they knew in their hearts were guilty as sin, without tripping over ethical rules that could get them disbarred. Now these same people were shocked and appal ed that a prosecutor was wil ing to cheat to put a murdering rapist in jail? Please.
Parekh continued—“So the federal judge ruled that the county attorney’s office failed to fulfil its constitutional duty to disclose evidence favorable to the defendant and had that evidence been disclosed it likely would have affected the jury’s verdict. Hence the vacated conviction. In a fair world that would mean that Michael would be out and free right now. Unfortunately the judge gave the state the option to either retry our client or release him unconditional y within one hundred and twenty days. That period was due to expire on the fifteenth of October and we assumed that Engle and his pals were going to keep Michael in prison right up until the last minute of the last hour of the very last day. We understood . . .
we were led to believe that the delay in releasing him was petty revenge and no more than that. But that was not the case, because as we al know, eleven days ago, on the sixteenth of August, Jackson Engle refiled charges against Michael and we are now going to trial al over again.” There was a col ective groan from everyone in the room. “Until eleven days ago we thought this case was done. The state was running down the clock and we thought, we hoped, that they would quietly let things slide rather than risk the publicity of a retrial.”
Jim Lehane nodded. “Right. Unfortunately it has become very clear that they intend to try the case again and there’s every indication that they are as eager as ever to convict our client.”
“We have a lot of work to do,” Parekh said. “We never expected to take this case to trial. We filed our appeal, we won our evidentiary hearing because of the buried evidence, and for six weeks or so we thought we were just running down the clock. So now we find ourselves in new territory. The legal arguments that won our appeal, the buried evidence, none of that wil help us in a new trial. Now, everything resets. And we can’t rely on any of the information gathered by Michael’s previous attorneys. I don’t trust the standard of their work. So we can’t take anything for granted. We have to look at everything afresh.”
“Why are they doing this?” Sean asked. “I mean, it seems like a crazy choice for the DA. The case is going to attract more media attention. Michael is obviously innocent. They set him up first time around. They can’t think they’re going to get away with that again.
Isn’t it going to look real y bad for them when they lose?”
Jim Lehane was shaking his head. “Michael was convicted eleven years ago. Jackson Engle prosecuted him. Jerome Pierce was in charge of the investigation. Pierce and Engle are stil in place in Yorktown today. There’s been too much media coverage already for their liking. They can’t let it go now. They don’t want egg al over their faces when it comes to reelection. And if they’re wil ing to go back into court, they obviously think they can win this case. They have resources we don’t have. We can’t afford to be overconfident.
We’re coming from behind here.”
Parekh stood up. “Here’s what I have to say about that. I don’t care. I don’t care about anyone’s motivation but ours. And here’s our motivation. It’s pretty simple, as mission statements go—we’re in it to win it. We are not going to lose this case. Does everyone understand that? I don’t care if they’ve got us on the back foot. I don’t care that we have no resources, no investigators, and no money. We’re stil ahead in this game. Would you like to know why?” He held up a hand, started to count down on his fingers. “Because they’re ful of shit. They hid evidence. They beat our client up to get a confession.
There’s one eyewitness statement from a child who was too young to know better. That’s it. That’s what they have. I know with the talent in this room, we are more than good enough to tear this case apart.
So let’s get to it.”
LAURA
DIARY ENTRY #3
Saturday, July 30, 1994, 8:30 a.m.
When I started high school, I was kind of young for my age. I wasn’t real y ready for dating. Guys asked me out and I said yes because I didn’t want to seem like a loser, but I honestly hated making out.
Everything always got hot and heavy way too fast. Like, dating = a burger and a milkshake + awkward conversation + sloppy making out + a sweaty hand burrowing under my bra. Excuse me for not swooning. I say that now, but at the time I was convinced I was frigid and I was TERRIFIED that anyone would find out so I always acted like I was into it. Which was surprisingly easy to pul off. Why is it that guys always believe you when you act like you’re into them, and never believe you when you say you aren’t?