True Colors

All her life, people had said she barreled forward, her eyes always on the prize, her hands outstretched to grab hold of what she wanted.

This year, however, had taught her caution. And humility. Even fear. She wondered sometimes at night how it would feel if this was her new life; if caution and anxiety were to be her companions from this year on. How would she handle never being certain again?

She sat in her car now, staring through the rainy windshield at the county courthouse. An American flag hung listlessly against the pole, the only splash of color amid all the gray: the sky, the clouds, the building. A mist rose up from the road, blurring it, too. Across the street, the autumn colors were muted and obscured by the weather.

Winona reached for the briefcase beside her. Clutching the leather handle, she left the safety of her car and walked forward, feeling as if every step were taking her into enemy territory. She tried to salvage some of her former confidence, but it was slippery in the rain.

At the desk, she said, “Winona Grey to see Sara Hamm. I have a ten o’clock appointment.”

The receptionist nodded and set Winona on her way through the layers of security that had become commonplace in even the most out-of-the-way counties. She put on her visitor’s tag, went through the metal detector, showed her ID twice, and was escorted to the prosecuting attorney’s office.

It was a cool, professional-looking space, with no plants in pretty pots, no family photographs on the desk. A big window looked out over the parking lot.

But it was the woman sitting behind the desk who commanded Winona’s attention.

The years had been kind to Sara Hamm. She was tall and thin, with the wiry look of a long-distance runner. Winona pegged her as the kind of woman who, when stressed, reached for her running shoes instead of the refrigerator handle.

“Ms. Grey,” she said, pushing back from her desk. The wheels of her chair rumbled on the hardwood floor. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

Winona sat down. “I appreciate your willingness to see me on such short notice. I couldn’t have made too good an impression the first time we met.”

That seemed to surprise Sara. Her perfectly arched eyebrows drew slightly together. “On the contrary, I found your passion impressive, even if it was misplaced. You’re his sister-in-law. I’d expect no less. May I ask why you didn’t take his case initially? Since you obviously care so much.”

“The easy answer is that I’d had no criminal experience to speak of.”

“And you have more now?”

No wonder this woman had risen in her field; she saw everything. “No.” Winona leaned forward. “What did you think of Roy’s defense?”

“It was competent.”

“Barely, and we both know it.”

“Are you going to go after him? That’s a tough criteria. Basically he needs to have fallen asleep during the proceedings, and I’m not sure even that would do it.”

“I know.” Winona sighed. “Believe me, I’ve researched every possible appellate avenue.”

“And the DNA was your best shot.”

Winona wasn’t certain if that had been a question. Perhaps. Either way, this was the moment. She steeled herself and said, “I don’t think it was. My best chance, I mean.”

Another infinitesimal frown. “Really?”

Winona tried to take a deep breath without being noticeable about it. Please let me be doing the right thing, in the right way. She’d floated her new information past the lawyers at the Innocence Project and they’d advised her to handle this motion carefully. If she could convince Sara Hamm—really convince her—a dual motion was the best way to get Dallas’s conviction overturned. Any other way would create a fight, and Winona didn’t want to fight the state again if she could help it. “Let me tell you what I believe first. Roy was an ineffective counsel at best. He never hired an investigator to study the scene or do background work. If he had, he might have found the discrepancy in Myrtle Michaelian’s testimony. She testified that she recognized Dallas’s tattoo that night, but she couldn’t have. His tattoo is on the left arm—”

“You presented all this in your petition, Ms. Grey. I don’t need to hear it again.”

“I know. I just want you to keep it in mind. Along with the fact that the DNA sample wasn’t Dallas’s. And you and I both know that the hair sample was junk science. There has been plenty of precedent set on that issue in the past ten years. If he gets a new trial, I’m certain I could get it excluded.”

“A new trial? Am I missing something? This is all old news. It’s been ruled on. The court upheld his conviction.”

Winona reached down into her briefcase and pulled out a file. Putting it on Sara’s desk, she pushed it forward. “This is new.”

Sara opened the manila file, reading the top document. “A second petition to vacate the judgment and sentence and to dismiss? And you’ve included this office? You think I’m going to join you in this motion? You’re delusional, Ms. Grey.”

“Keep reading,” Winona added. “Please.” Her last, best chance—maybe her only chance—lay in convincing this woman. If the state agreed to vacate the judgment and dismiss the case, the court would go along.

Sara turned the page and looked up sharply. “When did this come in?”