Tawana sat across from Arlen Edwards and Bridgette Hayes and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her first summer clerkship and here she sat in the middle of one of the biggest cases of the year.
She had been paired with the two Wallace, Jones and Johns staff lawyers to help with research, interviews, and other legwork in preparation for Neal Lewis's fast approaching arraignment for murder. Brandon and Heather were working on parts of the case with the other four staff attorneys.
This morning Tawana, Arlen, and Bridgette had come to the city jail to meet Neal and ask him more questions about his recent visits to Richmond.
The firm's partners had interviewed Neal and his parents twice but wanted the others on the team to know and be comfortable with the person whose life they were trying to save.
"He's a handsome, articulate, very smart kid," Bob Wallace had boomed in the staff briefing yesterday. "That may be the problem. If he comes across as too privileged or too well bred next to his solidly middle-class student body president victim, we may have an image problem that could translate into a guilty verdict. Try to dig up anything you can to humanize him."
At eighteen, Neal was just five years younger than Tawana. Would he take her seriously?
"Just follow my lead with the questioning, okay?" Arlen apparently had noticed her trepidation. She tried to relax.
Bridgette, who was jotting notes about the day of Drew Thomas's disappearance, looked up from her work and glared at Tawana. "Just listen and don't say anything if you're nervous."
Bridgette returned her attention to her notes, and her gray and blond hair fell forward and shielded her eyes. Arlen and Tawana traded looks. He shook his head, indicating that Tawana shouldn't be intimidated by his colleague.
Neal shuffled in a few minutes later, wearing the standard orange jumpsuit given to inmates. Unlike many young defendants charged with crimes, he had not been allowed to post bail because he was considered a flight risk.
Tawana could see that living in conditions so drastically different from what he was used to already was taking its toll. His green eyes seemed lifeless, and the auburn hair that he had worn almost shoulder length in his senior year picture had been cut short. Today it was matted on one side of his head, as if he hadn't bothered with a comb. He also looked thinner than he had appeared when Tawana saw him for the first time in TV news reports two weeks ago.
The deputy removed the handcuffs from Neal's wrists and pulled out a chair for him next to Arlen. He sat facing Tawana and Bridgette.
When the guard was gone, Neal shook their hands. The lawyers asked him how he was faring and whether the firm could do anything to make him more comfortable.
"If you can get me out of here and keep me from going someplace worse, that will be good enough," he said.
Bridgette got right to business.
"Let's retrace your steps on the night of May fifth," she said. "You told Mr. Wallace you drove down for a party at a friend's guest house. Who was the friend and how many people were at the party?"
Neal sat back and shrugged. "I already shared this with Mr. Wallace and Mr. Johns. Do I have to tell you again?"
Arlen peered into the teen’s eyes.
"The prosecutor may ask that very question over and over, twenty different ways, until he wears you down and you say something that raises a smidgen of doubt about your innocence in the jurors' minds. Get used to us asking the same things, in the same way or different ways. Your story has to be airtight before we can adequately defend you. We've got to know it in our sleep, and so do you."
Tawana's stomach flipped. His story? Wasn't this supposed to be about the truth, about what really happened?
Neal nodded, and Bridgette picked up her pen again.
"My friend was a girl that I met last spring in D.C. She came up from Richmond to a party thrown by a group of girls who attended Seward with me.
"We exchanged numbers . . . and a few kisses." Neal mustered a smile. "She invited me to a pool party she was having in May, and I promised her I'd be there."
"Did your parents know you were going?" Arlen asked.
"Sort of."
"Be more specific," Bridgette said.
"I told them I was coming to Richmond with my best friend, Steele, to visit his cousin. I didn't tell them it was for a party, and I didn't tell them whose party it was."
"Why not?" Tawana knew the question was simple, but at least she had chimed in.
Neal looked from her to Arlen to Bridgette and hesitated.
"Mr. Wallace didn't ask that question," he finally responded.
"Sounds like it needs to be answered, son," Bridgette said. She leaned forward and looked at him intently.
"It's a long story, too complicated to get into, and besides, it has nothing to do with the trial."
The lawyers exchanged glances.
"This is no time for games," Arlen told Neal. "If you don't come clean now, you could wind up losing everything, including your life."
Tawana wasn't sure Neal believed him, but she'd studied enough cases to know Arlen wasn't bluffing.