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Pearce chuckles. “Where’d you go to law school, Ms. Cooke?”
“Columbia, sir.”
“They taught you well. We have a deal.”
“All right, then, Mr. Pearce,” says Garrett. “Have a good night.”
Pearce leans in close to the camera. “Mr. Wilson?”
“Sir?”
“I’d try a warm compress if I were you.” The screen goes black.
Garrett and I just stare at each other until he finally asks, “Did we just get bamboozled by the second-most-powerful person in the country?”
“No. I think we just found out how close we are to hitting a nerve.”
CHAPTER
44
Roxbury, Massachusetts
The next morning, against my better judgment, we’re sitting in the second-floor office of Seymour Washington, private investigator.
On the drive from Litchfield to Roxbury, Garrett logged phone time with Liberty Mutual insurance and Enterprise Rent-A-Car, explaining his so-called accident and arranging for an appraisal of the wrecked vehicle.
I kept quiet, thinking about Suzanne Bonanno and Amber Keenan, two innocent young women who did not deserve their fates.
Seymour Washington, by contrast, is anything but innocent.
I’ve met Washington only once before, a few years back, when we were working onIntegrity Gone. He gave me the creeps then. Still does now.
I glance around the office. The walls are lined with framed photos of Washington posed with national leaders, like Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, Cory Booker, and Barack Obama, andlocal Boston politicians like Mel King. An older picture shows a much younger Washington—huge ’fro, multicolored dashiki, and a raised clenched fist—standing in front of the John Harvard statue in Cambridge.
Today, he’s in a three-piece suit and ready to get down to business. He leans across his desk and looks at Garrett. “So you and John DeMarco came to an understanding.”
“Stop right there,” I say.
Washington turns to me. I hold out my hand. “Give me a dollar.”
Washington’s brow furrows. “What for?”
“Don’t ask. Just do it.”
He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a crisp single.
I grab it. “Mr. Washington, you have just paid me. Unless you object, I am now your attorney in the matter we’re about to discuss. All conversations related to this matter are privileged.”
“My first question,” says Garrett, “is how you turned into a one-man Innocence Project for a guy like John DeMarco.”
“Two reasons,” says Washington. “First, I genuinely think his assault charge was a miscarriage of justice. Unreliable witnesses. Possibly a tainted jury. Second, he once did me a favor. A big favor. And I owe him.”
“Do I want to know what that favor was?” I ask.
“You do not,” says Washington.
Garrett speaks up again. “DeMarco was willing to talk with me only because he knew I was an investigative reporter. He wanted my help with his case. And he offered something in return. Something he said he left in your possession.”