I’d shown up to Justin McPhee’s office unannounced. Somehow Loren Logan had wrapped me up in his belief that we could get justice if we somehow got everyone with a stake in it on our side. He’d seen the police detective from Cleveland Heights, Darlene Webb. I’d agreed to approach the defense attorney.
The old building was so warm there was condensation on all the windows that weren’t cracked open to let in cold air.
“I know this is unusual…” I started as I took off my coat so I didn’t pass out from a sudden hot flash.
“Highly unusual,” McPhee echoed. He hadn’t stood from his chair when I’d let myself in. Since he hadn’t ejected me immediately, I took a seat on a chair across from him.
When I was a kid, I’d have done anything to make sure I wasn’t in the spotlight. I hated when teachers called me up to the blackboard, or when I had to ask a store clerk for something. That shyness or reticence wasn’t something that was allowed to last once I’d graduated with a journalism degree in hand. I’d gotten over it quickly. Probably in some ways I’d overcompensated. Nowadays I was uncompromisingly bold.
“So you’re representing Tyisha Cooley.” It was half statement, half question that left room for any number of responses.
“I do criminal defense work,” McPhee hedged.
“You represented Libby Saldana last year.”
“That’s a matter of public record.” This attorney certainly knew how to hold something confidential. If I ever needed a vault, he would be it. For now though, I needed his buy-in. I took out my notebook, checked my notes for today’s…ambush…and pressed on.
“Those cases had a supposed hot shot in common. And yet, neither woman went to jail for that.”
“Pleas to lower charges are common.”
“I did some research on you, Mr. McPhee.”
“I don’t think—”
He half stood ready to toss me out on my ear or my ass more likely.
“Please.” I held up my hands to silence him, keep him from hitting the eject button on my visit. “Let me speak my piece. I used to be a reporter with the Plain Dealer. Got laid off. Yada yada. I’ve been working on some criminal and civil cases for my blog and podcast. Last year, I reported on the Quinn case. I think I sent you an interview request. You refused.” I batted away any possible explanations or excuses he might offer. “It’s fine. Lots of people say no to me. Lots say yes. It evens out in the end.”
I stopped talking because I was definitely having diarrhea of the mouth. Usually, I didn’t act like this. Something about the scope of the problem had me on edge. We…me, Logan, Justin, all of us had jobs where we tended to keep our cards close to our vests. But a conspiracy of silence was exactly what had let Lori Pope run roughshod over rules, and law, and justice up until now.
“And you’re here because…” McPhee’s impatience was starting to show.
“I don’t want to interview you. Not right now at least. I’m working on deep background for my current investigation.”
“Who or what are you investigating?”
I was quiet for a long moment. I looked the attorney in the eye. I didn’t trust many lawyers. I didn’t trust too many people. My job had leeched faith out of me. At some point, I had to take a leap. Jumping was the only way to get somewhere on this case.
“Lori Pope.”
McPhee’s eyes widened for only a millisecond. Except for that slight movement of his lids, he kept up a poker face.
“Go on.”
“I know this meeting isn’t confidential. It can’t be.”
“Why couldn’t it be?”
“Because you’re going to need to share what I tell you. How you dole it out is up to you.”
McPhee looked at the shelf to my left. I followed his eyes and saw a small clock between some thick hardback books.
“Okay, there was a whole lot of a preface and introduction. You’re here. Let’s get to it.”
He got comfortable in his high-backed leather chair. I relaxed a little knowing that he’d hear me out, at least.
“There’s something hinky with Lori Pope. My working hypothesis is that she’s using the office to get revenge at people who’ve wronged her in some way. Your client Cooley is a perfect example. She thinks, rightly or wrongly, that Cooley killed her sister and is going to find some way, any way to put her in jail.”
“Wrongly? How does that play out here?”
“I think she had Ja Roach killed.”
I could see a flicker of something change in the lawyer. In spite of himself and probably a dozen years of skepticism, he believed me. Maybe believed was too strong a word, but the truth in what I was saying, spoke to him.
“Jesus fucking Christ. I’ll be the first to say that prosecutors can do some shady shit. Murder? That’s a new one.”
“Well, your client’s been indicted for the murder of Roach. If she didn’t do it, then who did?”
McPhee shrugged, closed off again.
“I’m looking into that,” I offered.
“You?” His skepticism was in full force. I think people always underestimated the power of the press. “You don’t have a badge or a gun or an investigator’s license.”
“Neither do a bunch of the citizen investigators that have popped up in the last few years thanks to the Innocence Project and the interest in true crime, yet some of them are pretty effective.”
“What else is there to your theory?” He’d picked up a paper clip and was tapping it on his desk pad. His patience was running out.
“Did you know that a woman named Liberdad Saldaño was the victim of a murder-suicide a few weeks ago.”
McPhee’s chair hitting the wall behind him gave away his surprise.
“What was her name?”
“Your client was Elizabeth Saldana. You represented her last year on a case similar to Cooley’s. A woman accused of giving someone a hot shot. I think your former client was a Pope target, but it was a case of mistaken identity.”
“It wasn’t a sudden interest in opioid deaths,” McPhee said under his breath.
“Is that the excuse you got? That Lori Pope wanted to be hard on drugs despite the county commissioner and interdepartmental police policy not to arrest or prosecute overdose cases.”
“That was our best guess,” McPhee admitted.
“You don’t think I’m crazy, then.”
“I’m not qualified to give clinical diagnoses. I know that Pope can be petty, though.”
It was a crack in his veneer. I wanted to put in a wedge.
“How so?”
“She low-key pushed me into testifying against Monsignor Quinn.”
It was my turn to raise my own eyebrows.
“You didn’t think you could say no?”
“She didn’t leave a lot of room for it.”
“Did you want to do it?”
“Even without her, I should have done it. I owed it to the other guys.”
“Think about how you felt. Then think about how someone without your education, credentials, and experience would feel in the face of Pope.”
“Even if I believe you. What do you want me to do? I’d need something more solid than conjecture to even begin to allege prosecutorial misconduct.”
“Legal strategy is not my area of expertise, but I think it’s in your clients’ best interest to delay anything where Pope is on the other side. If I’m right, I don’t see the prosecutor lasting more than a few more months,” I said with way more confidence than I had. “Both are on bail, so it’s not like you have three months. You have nine.”
“What are you going to do while they’re cooling their heels?”
“Catch a murderer.”