Wednesday, March 26
Judge Coburn’s ruling on Kate’s “ineffective assistance of counsel” motion came on the same day she arrived back in Madison. She didn’t come of her own volition: She’d been transported, shackled and chained on the U.S. Marshal’s bus, to testify at the trial of Joe Ames. George Cooper called me at my office to tell me.
“Hello, counselor,” he said. “Just thought you might want to know your client got to the Dane County Jail this morning. Trial starts next week, and I’m going over to prep her tomorrow. Do you want to join me?”
“Uh, George… she filed a 2255 motion claiming I’m incompetent. I hardly think she’d have use for my services at this point.”
“Standard jailhouse lawyer crap. You can’t take it personally. Besides, Coburn’s order came out today: he denied the motion.”
Giddy with relief, I let my head fall back against my chair. “He did?”
“Yeah. It’s on-line. Take a look. And call me if you want to sit in on the trial prep.”
Judge Coburn’s order was terse: He stated Kate had been advised before pleading guilty of all the possible penalties, and estimates of the sentencing guideline calculations were simply estimates, not guarantees. He cited the extensive research I had done to try to refute the application of the increased sentence for “sophisticated means.” He noted I had prevailed in my “cogent” argument against the two-level increase for a managerial or supervisory role. He noted I had asked for time to confer with Kate before proceeding with sentencing after the issue of upward departure was raised—and correctly inferred Kate had insisted on proceeding.
The magnitude of the relief I felt amazed me: I hadn’t realized how much I’d let her allegations get to me. I was off the hook, vindicated! Of course it meant Kate still had months to serve before being released, but I realized I truly didn’t care. I was over the guilt.
Thursday, March 27
Cooper called again Thursday afternoon. “I need you to talk some sense into your client,” he said without preface.
“I assume you mean Kate Daniels, and she’s not my client. But you might as well tell me what’s going on,” I said, my curiosity getting the better of me.
“Carter Ellingson, Doug Connaboy, and I went to talk with her today. Seems she’s had a major attack of amnesia. Doesn’t remember giving the statements implicating Ames. Says the transcript of her grand jury testimony is flat-out wrong. She’s gone south on us.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that. I haven’t had any contact with her since she went to prison: no letters, no calls, no e-mails. So I have no clue what’s going on. Any chance Ames has gotten to her? Is he at Dane County Jail too?”
“No,” George said. “The marshals have him housed in one of the outlying county jails. We looked at the phone and visiting records for both of them—there’s no indication of any direct or indirect contact.”
“So what happens?”
“We bring her in to testify as scheduled. If she lies on the witness stand, which I expect she will, we’ll introduce her grand jury testimony and try to convince the jury not to believe her now. And I’ll prosecute her for perjury.”
“You told her that, I assume.”
“Oh, yeah. She didn’t budge.”
“It stinks, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can say or do to convince her.”
He paused. “Could you appeal to her as the biological mother of your daughter?” he asked, almost in a whisper.
A sick feeling engulfed me, like a wave of noxious gas filling my airways. He can’t be asking this! Joe Ames is a jerk of the highest order, and I want nothing more than to see him rot in prison. But he is no threat to Lily.
I couldn’t withstand another personal entanglement with Kate Daniels: it just wasn’t worth it. “No, George. I can’t,” I said and hung up the phone.
Friday, March 28
I was in my office again on Friday morning when Rosalee knocked. “George Cooper and another gentleman are here to see you. Can I show then in?”
Why can’t he take no for an answer? I thought he was a reasonable guy. I almost snapped at Rosalee, then caught myself. This isn’t her fault.
“Sure, Rosalee. I’ve got a minute.”
But one glance at Cooper’s face—drained of all color—and his downcast eyes, told me I’d been wrong about the reason for his visit. Rick Shelton, trailing behind him without a trace of his usual swagger, appeared stunned.
“She’s dead, isn’t she? Kate’s dead,” I heard myself say, as if disembodied.
Cooper nodded. “I’m sorry, Caroline. We wanted to tell you personally—before you heard it on the news.”
I leaned back in my chair and squeezed my eyes shut, as if to shield myself from the news. “What happened?” I finally asked.
“Apparent overdose,” Cooper said as he and Shelton sat down. “About six o’clock this morning, her cellmate started screaming, and staff found Kate dead on the floor. There was a rolled up piece of paper on the floor next to her—probably what she used to snort the drug. And there was a note.”
“Suicide?” I asked, shaking my head. “That doesn’t sound right.”
Shelton opened the leather folder on his lap, took out a single sheet of paper, and gave it to me. I noticed his hands were shaking. “This is a copy.”
Apparently written with a dull pencil on lined paper, about five by seven inches in size, the note read: “Tell Lily I’m sorry. No one likes a snitch. –K.”
I closed my eyes again, this time to hold back the tears. Tears for my daughter, who would never have the chance to reconcile with, to ask questions of, or to know as an adult the woman who’d given birth to her. Once, after Kate went to prison, Lily and I had talked about our hopes for the future. We both hoped Kate would recover from her addiction and its self-centered focus. That she’d eventually return to find a place in our lives. And now, Lily would have to cope with the notion that Kate had intentionally taken her own life?
“I know this is difficult,” Cooper said, “but please take a close look at the note and see if you think it was written by Kate or by someone else. Since it’s printed, handwriting analysis isn’t an option.”
“You think someone else may have written the note? That this was murder?” I asked.
“We don’t know,” Shelton said. “But we have to cover all the bases. Joe Ames certainly had a motive, if not the means.”
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, then studied the note. The printing was as sloppy as Kate’s typical handwriting, though I’d never known her to print.
“It doesn’t look like something she’d write,” I said. “But shortly before her sentencing, she started signing her e-mails like that. You know, just a dash and a K. I just don’t know.”
“Did you show Kate a copy of the note Ames gave to Lily’s friend that day last fall?” Cooper asked me.
I nodded. “Yes, I think so. But the printing on this note looks different—messier or something.”
“It does look different,” Shelton said, “but both notes mention Lily. And snitches.”