“Not yet.” Lance’s blue eyes were grim. “They’re all sure he said he was going to kill the SOB.”
At the moment, her only line of defense was a clerical error on the search warrant affidavit. Police had found evidence that McFarland had fashioned his weapon, a homemade blackjack, in his garage, along with a cash receipt for the raw materials indicating he’d planned the attack several days before carrying it out. Premeditation was the key to the attempted murder charge. Without the evidence uncovered during the search, the case was less cut-and-dried.
A tiny worm of doubt wiggled in Morgan’s belly. Before he’d been killed in the line of duty, her father had been a cop. Her grandfather was a retired cop. Her brother was NYPD SWAT. One of her sisters was a Scarlet Falls police detective. The other was a forensic psychiatrist, and before her life had imploded with her husband’s death, Morgan had been a prosecutor in Albany. Generations of Danes had devoted—even sacrificed—their lives to put criminals behind bars. Her feelings on being a defense attorney were definitely mixed.
She shook it off. She’d incinerated her bridges with the prosecutor’s office last fall by defending her neighbor. This was the only career open to her now. She’d represent McFarland to the best of her ability and put her trust in the legal system. The courts would decide his guilt or innocence.
“Sharp just called.” In a low voice, Lance told her about her client’s lie.
Before she could wrap her head around Lance’s announcement, Assistant District Attorney Anthony Esposito came around the corner and crooked a finger at her.
She strode ten yards down the corridor to confer with the ADA.
Esposito’s dark eyes were smiling and smug. “Your client is going to jail.”
“We’ll see about that,” Morgan bluffed.
He looked slick, from his gelled black hair to his shiny wingtips. Usually, she was struck with a twinge of sliminess when they were close, but this morning, the look he shot Morgan was filled with disappointment, and she felt as if their situations had been reversed.
Did he know her client had committed perjury?
“McFarland is as guilty as guilty gets,” Esposito said, opening negotiations. “He isn’t your usual underdog. He’s a dirtball. Why would you even take on a client like him?”
“Because it’s my job.” She and her three little girls lived with her grandfather, so they’d always have a roof over their heads. But she would like to have some savings. She couldn’t limit her practice to pro bono work. “And everyone is presumed innocent.”
“Your client put a man in the hospital with a skull fracture. I have more witnesses to the attack than I can fit in a courtroom. I have a weapon with your client’s fingerprints on it that matches the dent in the victim’s skull and proof that he planned the attack days in advance.” Esposito gave his head a slow shake. “I’ve been wanting to beat you in court for months, but honestly, this case is so black and white, I can’t even take much pleasure in the win.”
The glee in Esposito’s eyes disagreed. Morgan had bested him multiple times. Each loss had battered his ego. He licked his lips as if he could taste victory.
But he clearly didn’t know about McFarland’s prior conviction. Yet. But he soon would.
“He never intended to kill anyone,” Morgan said.
Esposito lifted a you-must-be-kidding eyebrow. “Your client saw his ex-wife and her new man on Monday. He stopped at a hardware store on the way home for materials to make a weapon. He made said weapon in his garage, waited two days, until Wednesday, when he knew his ex and the new man would be at her favorite bar for happy hour. Then he knocked him out cold from behind and stomped on his unconscious body until three bouncers pulled him off. As he was dragged away, your client stated that he wanted to kill the man. The attack was premeditated, cold-blooded, and violent.”
Morgan didn’t argue with the facts. Instead, she pointed out the error on the search warrant.
Esposito shrugged, but he couldn’t completely conceal a grimace of irritation. “It doesn’t matter. Judge Marlow won’t throw out the warrant, and even in the very unlikely event that he does, I have plenty of other ways to demonstrate premeditation without the evidence uncovered in the search.”
“You’ll have to.”
“I appreciate your game face, but we both know your client will do time,” Esposito said. “Let’s save the taxpayers some money. Here’s the best I can do. He pleads guilty to first-degree assault, and we’ll give him seven years. He’ll be out in three if he behaves himself. If he insists on going to trial, I’ll get him on attempted murder. He’ll serve at least ten to fifteen years. Judge Marlow is a hard-ass.”
He was, and once the judge found out about the perjury, not only would he be more inclined to give McFarland the maximum sentence for the attempted murder, but her client would be facing additional charges—and more prison time.
“That’s not much of a deal,” Morgan deadpanned. On the inside, she wanted to throw confetti and do a cartwheel. It was a far better deal than she could have hoped for. If she could convince McFarland to take it, they would avoid a trial. The perjury issue would go away because, while she couldn’t lie in court if the judge asked about prior convictions, she was also ethically prohibited from volunteering information to the ADA that might hurt her client. In this case, a quick plea would be a win.
“Take it or leave it.” Esposito’s lips pressed into a flat line. “You know the drill. If I have to present the case in front of the grand jury, I’ll rescind the offer, and it’s the only one you’re going to get.”
Esposito’s deals were always now or never. Always so much drama with this man.
“I’ll talk to my client.” Morgan turned away. Above the crowd, she could see Lance walking away, his phone pressed to his ear.
McFarland leaned on the wall, but the tension in his expression as she approached him belied his casual pose. “Well?”
Morgan outlined the deal.
McFarland’s neck and face flushed deep red. “What the fuck? What part of I’m not going to jail did you not understand?”
Frustrated, Morgan gritted her teeth. “Mr. McFarland, this is your decision, but I am advising you to take this deal or risk spending much more time in prison.” She lowered her voice. “I know about the Florida conviction. You lied at your arraignment hearing.”
He rolled his eyes. “So? You’re my lawyer. I have attorney-client privilege. You can’t tell anyone.”
“At the end of this hearing, bail will be revisited. If the judge asks about prior convictions, I cannot lie. Your bail will likely be revoked, and you will also likely be charged with perjury. But even if it doesn’t come out today, the prosecutor will discover the prior conviction before trial. If you take the deal he is offering today, I doubt anyone will find out about the perjury. You will avoid potential additional charges and prison time.”
“You let me worry about that. I am not going to prison.” He leaned closer, his gaze sharpening to a knifepoint. “We are going into that courtroom. If the judge asks about prior convictions, you’re going to lie your pretty head off.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” Morgan would not violate her professional ethics.
Rage sparked like a solar flare in his eyes. “You’re no different from every other female. No loyalty.” His nostrils flared, and a vein that snaked down his temple throbbed as his blood pressure spiked. “You’re a nasty, backstabbing bitch.”
His weight shifted, his arm arced, and his fist connected with her temple with a blinding impact. Morgan never saw the hook punch coming. Pain exploded through her head and eye. Her legs folded, and she dropped her tote bag and coat. Before she could register that he’d hit her, her tailbone was ringing on the tile, and a big brown shoe was heading toward her face. With no time to scramble away, she threw her hands in front of her face to block the kick and braced herself for impact.