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One way or the other, I would make sure the right person was in jail.
“If you won’t recant, and I don’t have the evidence by Monday, at the minimum don’t agree to a plea arrangement. Delay. Ask for something outrageous. Anything to buy more time.”
At first, he didn’t respond. Then, a small nod of his head.
I left the meeting hall, feeling Sergio’s eyes on my back even after the door closed behind me.
Fifteen
I needed help.
I realized, talking to Sergio, that I was a bit like him. I didn’t like to ask for help, either. I expect to do everything myself and can’t isn’t in my vocabulary.
He was stuck. He’d made a decision that he saw no way out from. He believed his sister was in danger no matter what he did.
How much danger? Would Javier hurt her? Kill her?
I went to my mom’s law office which wasn’t far from the jail.
My mom had been a prosecutor most of her career, then was appointed to Maricopa County Attorney—basically, a district attorney—when her boss resigned following a serious health issue. She won two additional terms, but told us at family dinner when she decided not to run again that she wanted to pick and choose her cases. She felt her hands were tied—that some criminals deserved more time, and some deserved less. That repeat offenders had learned to game the system and first-time offenders often had no support. She joined her sister Rita Garcia at Arizona Legal Services, which was housed in a historic building owned by my grandparents, walking distance to both the modern Chase Field and old St. Mary’s Basilica.
“This is a nice surprise,” Mom said when I knocked on her open office door.
“Am I interrupting anything?”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
Mom leaned back in her chair and motioned for me to sit.
My mom always looked put together. So did my sister Tess. In contrast, I rarely put on jewelry, preferred jeans to slacks or skirts, and kept my hair cut long enough to put back in a ponytail and in a simple style that I could wash and go without much fuss.
When I was struggling over my decision about whether to re-enlist, my mom helped me more than anyone. She seemed to intuitively understand my conflict and told me I needed to find my calling. Whether college or the Army or learning a trade or starting a business. That I needed to do something that satisfied me. She also said if I didn’t re-enlist, I could always join the reserves. That finalized my decision. I could still give the Army time and energy, but not my entire life.
It had been the right call.
“I need to tell you something confidential,” I said. “You may disapprove, but no one can know.”
She nodded once, her face unreadable.
“Andy Flannigan hired me to prove someone he’s prosecuting is innocent.” I told her about the murder, Sergio’s confession, what evidence the police had, and my most recent conversation with him. “I don’t know that he’s told me everything, but he didn’t kill the clerk. He confessed because his sister was threatened. I don’t know exactly how or when, but something happened the week after the police first talked to him.”
“His sister? What about his brother? You said his younger brother was there, correct?”
“The video is poor. No way to ID any of them, but I’m almost positive Henry was there and Javier Escobar is the shooter. Proving it? I can’t. I need Henry to make a statement, but Sergio thinks in the time it takes for the police to investigate, Javier will hurt his sister.”
“And possibly his brother, as a witness.”
I nodded.
“So you’re saying that Sergio was convinced that his family would be in danger if he didn’t take the blame.”
“Correct. He’s having second thoughts, but recognizes that investigations take time and he can’t protect his family, in or out of prison. He feels stuck. It was a rash decision that he now can’t find a way around.”
“Is he recanting?”
I shook my head. “He won’t, not unless Sophia is safe. Henry needs to go on record, and I have to find a safe place for Sophia.”
“Yet, Henry lives with the boy he would be accusing of murder,” Mom said.
