The Travis County Jail anchored the corner of Tenth and Nueces in downtown Austin. On any given day, several hundred men resided there; several thousand more resided in the long-term jail facility south of town. They all resided there involuntarily. They had been arrested and charged with violations of the Texas Penal Code. Assault. Robbery. Rape. Murder. Some could not make bail. Some were denied bail. All wanted out. Desperately.
Bradley Todd was one such man.
Sitting on the inmate side of the Plexiglas partition in the interview room, he did not look like a rapist or a murderer. He looked like a very tall Mormon missionary. But he was not a missionary. He was twenty years old and the star player on the UT basketball team. Coach Billy Hayes shook his head in despair.
"I finally find a white boy who can play D-One basketball, then he does this."
"Did he?" Frank said. "Do it?"
"Rape and kill her? No. I mean, get himself arrested."
Scooter McKnight sighed. "Book 'em Horns."
"Hook 'em Horns" was the Longhorn slogan. After a number of UT athletes had been arrested in recent years for various violations of the law, the Austin media had taken to saying, "Book 'em Horns."
"He's a player," Billy said. "A real shooter. He could go pro, but he wants to be a doctor—you believe that? A false accusation like this could ruin his life. He's religious and Republican—Republicans don't rape and murder college coeds. Jesus, Frank, he goes to Sunday school. What basketball player does that these days? These girls, they throw themselves at star athletes. It's hard to say no when all you have to do is say yes. Then they claim rape."
"How many claim murder?"
The coach gave Frank a look.
"You know what I mean. Look at him."
They spoke in low voices. Frank, Billy, and Scooter were standing on the visitor side of the Plexiglas; Bradley's parents stood against the wall behind them. They were in fact the billionaire Todds of Highland Park. Their son stood six feet eight inches tall. His hair was short. He had no visible tattoos or piercings. He was engaged to a nice girl. He was white. Would Frank feel the same about him if he were black and accused of raping and murdering a white girl? If he had dreadlocks and tattoos and wore his pants below his butt? If his name was D'Marcellus or LaMichael? If his parents were poor?
"They can pay the full freight, Frank," Scooter said. "They live in Highland Park."
Dallas' billionaires lived in Highland Park just as Houston's billionaires lived in River Oaks.
"You name your price, they'll pay. They want you."
"Why?"
"The dad, he's buddies with Senator Ramsey. She told him to hire you."
"You know my rule, Scooter."
"He's innocent, Frank."
"On the TV, the police chief said they had his DNA."
Billy sighed and nodded. "Semen. Like I said, these girls throw themselves at the players."
Frank studied Bradley Todd. Was he a brutal rapist and murderer or a falsely accused innocent young man? Like the three Duke lacrosse players who made the mistake of going to a party where a stripper named Crystal Gail Mangum performed. After the party got out of hand, she accused the three players of raping her. The university, faculty, students, police, and district attorney (who was up for reelection) presumed their guilt. Feminists and faculty staged campus protests and demanded that the players be expelled. They were. The grand jury indicted the players for rape and kidnapping. Fortunately for the players, their parents had money; they spent three million dollars proving their sons' innocence. The North Carolina Attorney General declared that the three players had been falsely accused and revealed that District Attorney Mike Nifong had withheld exculpatory DNA evidence. Nifong was subsequently disbarred for prosecutorial misconduct and convicted of criminal contempt; he served one day in jail. The players sued Duke University, which settled with them, and enrolled in other colleges. Mangum wrote a memoir and was later convicted of murder after stabbing her boyfriend to death. Three innocent young men would be in prison still if a lawyer hadn't believed in them.
"I need to talk to him," Frank said. "Alone."
"Why?" Billy asked.
"The attorney-client privilege doesn't apply if third parties are privy to our conversation. You could be called to testify."
"But I'm his coach."
"Sorry, Billy. There's no legal privilege for basketball coaches."
"That doesn't seem fair."
Frank repeated his request to Bradley's parents.
"I'm staying," the father said. "I want to hear what you have to say. I'm paying you."
"If I take his case. And I can't decide if I'm taking his case until I talk to your son, Mr. Todd. Alone."
The father stared at Frank, then surrendered.
"The judge denied bail. Said he's a danger to the community. If you take the case, can you get him out of here?"
"I can."
"He's innocent, Frank."
A father's undying belief in his son. Mr. Todd walked out of the interview room. His wife followed him. Scooter and Billy followed her. Frank sat in the chair facing Bradley Todd. His expression was that of a deer caught in headlights—and about to be run over. Being arrested will do that to an American citizen. When the police show up and slap the cuffs on you, read you the Miranda warning, and then haul you off to jail, fingerprint you, and take a DNA cheek swab, you are filled with the fear of God. The fear of losing your freedom. The fear of prison. Bradley Todd was full of all those fears. Frank picked up the phone on his side and gestured for Bradley to pick up the phone on his side.
"Bradley, my name is Frank Tucker. I'm a criminal defense lawyer. I usually represent white-collar defendants, not defendants accused of rape and murder. So if I'm going to represent you, you must tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you rape and murder Rachel Truitt?"
Rachel Truitt had been an eighteen-year-old freshman at the University of Texas at Austin. She had been brutally raped and then strangled to death behind a bar on Sixth Street.
"No, sir, Mr. Tucker. I didn't rape her. I didn't kill her."
"The police recovered your DNA from her body. Semen. You had sex with her?"
Bradley's eyes dropped.
"Yes, sir."
"The same day she was murdered?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"In the basketball arena, after the game."
"In the arena? Where?"
"Girls' locker room. It was vacant."
"I thought you're engaged to another girl?"
"I am. Sarah Barnes. She's a sophomore, too."
"But you had sex with Rachel?"
"I try to resist, but they come on so strong. I'm only twenty, Mr. Tucker. I never had girls in high school. But in college, if you're a star athlete, it's like being a movie star."
"You didn't wear a condom?"
"No one does."
"You've never heard of AIDS? Sexually transmitted diseases?"
"We don't worry about that stuff."
"You could give something to your fiancée."
"I won't."
"When did you first meet her?"
"My fiancée?"
"Rachel."
"Ten minutes before we had sex. I didn't even know her name, till I read about her in the paper."
"So, what, she came up to you after the game, and ten minutes later you had sex with her in the girls' locker room?"
"Yes, sir. I noticed her during the game. She smiled at me then waited for me after the game."
"Is that a normal occurrence?"
"Oh, yes, sir. And not just for me."
"What time was that?"
"Maybe five."
"Her body was found that night at midnight. On Sixth Street. Where were you that night?"
"With my fiancée. At her apartment."
"And she will so testify?"
"Yes, sir."
"Will you take a polygraph?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Tucker. Absolutely."
"You took the case?"
District Attorney Dick Dorkin sat in the judge's chambers next to Frank. Judge Harold Rooney sat across his desk from them. It was that afternoon. Harold had come in on a Saturday because Frank had asked; the D.A. had come in because he had no family to spend his Saturdays with.
"He's guilty, Frank, and you don't represent guilty clients," the D.A. said. "Remember?"
"He's innocent."
"How do you know?"
"I looked him in the eye and asked him if he raped and killed Rachel Truitt. He said he did not."
"He's lying."
"No twenty-year-old boy can lie that well."
The D.A. turned to the judge. "Harold, you can't let Todd out of jail. He's guilty, and he's a danger to the community. This is a death penalty case, for God's sake."
"Frank," the judge said, "I could set his bail at five million, but his dad could pay that with a credit card."
"So what's the point? That's why I'm asking for his release on PR."
"Personal recognizance?" the D.A. said. "For an accused rapist and murderer? Harold, you can't."
The judge exhaled.
"Frank, we all know your reputation. Your rule. I'm relying on you. Don't make me look like a fool."
"You won't, Harold."
"PR," the judge said.