Dance of the Bones

Matilda delivered Ollie’s wine. “We’re going in soon,” she said with a scowl. “Don’t be late.”


Ollie sighed and shook his head as she stalked away. “The old girl’s got her panties in a twist tonight,” he observed, downing another gulp of wine. It was evident that sipping the stuff wasn’t part of the man’s repertoire. “I don’t know why she insists on being involved in crap like this when it obviously drives her nuts.”

Brandon suspected that wrangling the complexities of the book festival wasn’t nearly as much of a problem for Matilda Glassman as wrangling Oliver.

“What about Lassiter?” Brandon reminded him.

“Oh, yes, that’s what I need to talk to you about,” Ollie answered, “the part about throwing away the key. Have you ever heard of a group of do--gooders called Justice for All?”

Brandon knew a little about the organization. It was composed of -people steadfastly devoted to freeing -people they felt had been unjustly locked up by the criminal justice system. They utilized modern forensics, including DNA profiling, to win releases for those they believed had been wrongly accused and convicted. Brandon understood there were instances in which innocent folks had been locked up for decades. The problem was, there were also times when the JFA folks’ definition of “all” often didn’t seem to take the victims of the crimes—-either the homicide victims themselves or their grieving loved ones—-into account.

After decades of police work, Brandon’s feet remained firmly planted on the victims’ side of the fence. In retirement, he had signed on with The Last Chance. TLC consisted of a group of retired cops, criminalists, medical examiners, and district attorneys who devoted their time and energy to solving stone--cold homicides—-the ones law enforcement had long since abandoned as hopeless. Like JFA, TLC also used modern forensics and technology to bring to account any number of bad guys who thought they’d gotten away with murder.

“Since I work for what some regard as the opposing team, I don’t pay much attention to JFA,” Brandon said, edging toward the door. “I’m a lot more concerned with closing prison doors than I am with opening them. But speaking of opposing teams, weren’t you Lassiter’s defense attorney that first time around?”

Ollie nodded. “I was. Public defender the first time around and private for the second one when he appealed that first conviction. The case against him was all circumstantial. I never thought they’d lock him up for ‘life without’ either time. I’m sure it was all my fault. I was relatively inexperienced the first time and probably didn’t do quite as good a job as I should have. Five years later, I was back at the defense table again hoping we’d get him out on a technicality. Unfortunately, that didn’t work, either.”

“I take it these JFA folks have now parachuted in and done what you couldn’t?”

“More or less,” Glassman agreed glumly. “They seem to have negotiated a deal with the county attorney. Lassiter could either go for a third trial or he could cop to second degree and get out with time served. I sent my son, Ollie—-that’s Oliver Junior, who’s in the process of taking over my practice—-to look in on the situation. Pro bono, of course, just as a courtesy.

“The thing is, Lassiter is saying no--go. He told them he doesn’t want a third trial, and he’s turned down the plea deal, too. Flat. Said he’d already served more than thirty years for a crime he didn’t commit, and he’d be damned if he’d plead guilty to something he didn’t do just to have a get--out--of--jail--free card. The JFA folks had made a big deal about working his case, and they’re still hoping to save face. At this point, they’ve avoided making any public announcement that he won’t go along with any of it. As for Lassiter? According to Junior, what he really wants right now is a chance to talk to you.”

“To me?” Brandon said in surprise. “How come?”