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Monday
Idon’t keep a lot of CDs in the Jeep. I have a little carrier strapped to the back of my sun visor. It holds just five albums:Keith Jarrett at the Blue Note, Willie Nelson’sStardust,Chet Baker Sings: It Could Happen to You,Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Duke Ellington Songbook, and Boz Scaggs’Silk Degrees. Someday I’ll splurge and get a disc changer put behind the backseat. Meanwhile, those five albums contained enough music to get me halfway across the country.
Of course, a Jeep Wrangler—even with a hardtop—does not have the best acoustics in the automotive world. I kept the stereo going at top volume for most of the four-hour trip. This was my second trip to California State Prison at Corcoran and my first alone. I knew from my previous visit to wear khaki pants—jeans were forbidden—and nothing with metal buttons. I was allowed a legal pad and a see-through Bic pen. Files baked into layer cakes were not even remotely possible.
To keep myself entertained during the drive, I thought about The Freedom Agenda’s basic strategy. I wasn’t a lawyer, of course, so I listened closely and then tried to dumb things down for myself. Lydia’s basic strategy was to do everything possible to avoid a retrial. Jurys could be fickle; she didn’t want to risk one that might reject DNA evidence—as O.J.’s jury did. Her goal was always to get the prosecution to fold before trial.
The prosecution’s goal was almost the opposite. They wanted to protect their convictions. One unraveled conviction could lead to many more. Typically, they also did everything they could to avoid a new trial, while at the same time dragging their feet as much as possible. Our goal was to provide as much evidence as possible of our client’s innocence. The prosecution had to at least appear to be on the side of justice. When the evidence rose to an undeniable level, they dropped their resistance. It was a steeper hill to climb than you’d think.
Then I asked myself honestly, if it was that hard to get someone out of prison with DNA evidence, what did I expect to find out talking with Larry Wilkes that would be as persuasive? In order to get his conviction overturned there would have to be new evidence, evidence that could have changed the outcome of the first trial. Which is exactly what DNA did for a case. Without DNA, he would need a witness to recant, or we’d need to find prosecutorial misconduct, or ineffective council, or some combination of all three. It was a high bar.
Around the prison the desert was sandy and stripped of life. That seemed in harmony with the low, washed-out buildings huddled together against the wind. I got out of the Jeep, locked it, and walked toward the visitor’s entrance.
The building was small with glass doors leading to a kind of lobby. That was taken up by a sprawling metal detector. As I walked through it went off. I explained that I had quite a few surgical screws floating around my body. Ignoring me, the guard followed the same routine that had been followed before, a wand was waved over me—it went off repeatedly, then I was frisked in a very intimate way, and finally I was asked to remove my shirt. The guard actually touched the scars on my back. That pissed me off. What did he think? That I’d hidden things in my wound fifteen years ago? ‘Wow,’ I thought, ‘what a useful place to smuggle things into a maximum-security prison.’
When they were done poking at me, I buttoned my shirt and walked over to the reception desk. I signed in and asked the guard. , “I’m here to see three different inmates, do you know the order they’ll be brought out?”
“Do I look like a secretary?”
To be honest, she was behind a reception desk and had just handed me a clipboard, so, yeah, she did. I didn’t dare say that, though. I didn’t dare say anything. Finally, she nodded at the entrance and buzzed the door so I could open it.
After walking through a second door, I found myself alone in a visiting room about thirty by forty feet. There were about six tables with chairs bolted to the floor. On weekends and holidays, it served for family visitation. During the week it was used for attorney visits. I sat down at one of the tables and waited. The last time I’d seen a clock it was a little after one o’clock. I hoped to be out by three or four and home by eight. I had no intention of taking Lydia up on her offer of a hotel for the night.
Sitting there I noticed something I hadn’t during my first visit. The smell. Mostly sweat, body odor, but with it a sickly sweet perfume leftover from Sunday’s visitation. And more perspiration. I wondered how often inmates got to shower. I had never been in prison. I’d once spent a little more than twenty-four hours in Cook County Jail. No one offered me a shower.
I waited about twenty minutes and then a door opened and in walked an inmate. Alan Dinkler, who’d been a college student when he was arrested. He was just under six feet and scrawny. I remembered that Selma had described him as very dark-skinned. He wasn’t. He skin was more copper than anything else. I shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t match the description given. He was the wrong guy after all.
I introduced myself and we sat down.
“You’re here to tell me about my case?”
“I’m here to ask questions.”
“What for? The DNA proved I didn’t do it.”
“We have to attack the DA’s case in as many ways as possible.”
“Someone else raped that woman.”
“I know.” He seemed to be getting angry, so I thought I should try to establish a little bit of rapport. “You were in college when you were arrested. What were you studying?”
“I was a history major. I was thinking about becoming a lawyer.”
“Are you still interested in that?”
“No. I’ve seen too much.”
“Have you been able to take college courses in here?”
“Computers, electronics, machine shop, sheet metal, welding. That’s all they have to offer. Doesn’t matter though. No one’s going to hire you with a felony sex offense on your record even if you do get a jailhouse sheepskin.”
“What have you been doing?”
“A lot of reading. Don’t ask me my favorite book, though. Ask what you came to ask.”
“Tell me about your arrest, questioning and the identification process.”
“They just came to my house and took me.”
