Chapter Three

Defense attorney Morgan Dane ushered Lena Olander into her office.

The woman’s watery-blue eyes were red rimmed and swollen. She’d been ugly crying.

Guilt weighed on Morgan. “Would you like some coffee or tea, Mrs. Olander?”

“No. Thank you.” Mrs. Olander clutched a small brown purse in both hands. She wore dark jeans and a light-blue sweater. Limp straight hair brushed her shoulders, and there was a clear line three inches from her roots that indicated she’d suddenly stopped coloring her gray hair blonde. “I have to get back to the farm before lunch. Kennett doesn’t know I’m here. He wouldn’t approve.”

“Kennett is your husband?” Morgan asked.

Mrs. Olander’s head bobbed in a tense nod. “He likes his meals on time.”

“You own a dairy farm, correct?” Morgan had Googled the family. Olander Dairy was a midsize family-owned commercial dairy farm.

“Yes.” Mrs. Olander’s gaze roamed around the office without focus.

Morgan closed the door and gestured to the two guest chairs that faced her desk. “Please, sit down.”

Mrs. Olander eased into the chair as if every bone and muscle in her body ached. Though tall, broad shouldered, and physically fit looking for a woman in her midfifties, she acted frail. Her upper body curled forward, as if protecting her vital organs from a possible attack.

Morgan rounded her desk and sat. “What brings you to my office?”

“I want to hire you.” Mrs. Olander set her purse on her knees, her fingers digging into the brown leather like a raptor’s talons. She opened her purse, removed a tissue, and blotted her eyes, wincing slightly as if they were sore. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Morgan’s job was guiding people through some of the most traumatic times of their lives.

Mrs. Olander sniffed. “Are you familiar with Erik’s case?”

“I know the major details.” Morgan had skimmed through a number of articles.

A few weeks before, Erik Olander had been convicted of murdering his wife, Natalie. The trial had held the media’s attention for a solid week.

“My son is innocent. Erik would never have killed Natalie. He loved her.”

“He was convicted of strangling her with a lamp cord.”

“He didn’t do it. A man broke into their home and killed Natalie. It was like that movie with Harrison Ford.” Mrs. Olander circled a hand in the air. “The one where he played a doctor who was falsely accused of killing his wife.”

“The Fugitive?”

“That’s it.” Mrs. Olander nodded.

“Natalie had been researching domestic violence shelters at the library the day before her death.”

The fact that Natalie had utilized the library’s computer suggested her husband had monitored her internet activity.

“She was mentally ill.” Mrs. Olander’s response sounded rehearsed.

“Natalie had never been diagnosed with a mental illness,” Morgan said.

“No, but she was always as jumpy as a deer. She must have had anxiety.”

“The prosecutor painted Erik and Natalie’s relationship as abusive, and several witnesses testified that she was afraid of your son.”

“I never saw any bruises.” Mrs. Olander looked at the floor and shook her head hard. Was she trying to convince herself? “She was paranoid.”

Morgan had prosecuted domestic abuse cases. Some men were very skilled at not leaving visible marks, but she didn’t argue with the woman.

“He deserved a fair trial.” Red splotches colored Mrs. Olander’s sharp cheekbones. “His lawyer barely tried. He wanted Erik to plead guilty. Now he says he has someone reviewing Erik’s trial, but he seems to have lost interest. He doesn’t return my calls.”

Morgan had seen nothing in the articles she’d read to indicate the case had been controversial in any way. The jury had deliberated for only a few hours before returning a guilty verdict.

“Why do you think Erik’s trial was unfair?” Morgan asked.

She probably would have advised Erik to take a plea deal too. The case against him had been solid. He could have received twenty-five years rather than life in prison. He was only thirty-two. He would have had some years left after his sentence had been served. Convicted, he’d been sentenced to life without parole.

Mrs. Olander’s lips puckered. “Because the jury foreman didn’t disclose the fact that she’d been a victim of domestic violence.”

“How do you know this?” Morgan made a note on her legal pad.

“She was interviewed last week.” Mrs. Olander’s chin came up. “The TV show host did a better job of researching her background than the court.”

The court did not research every juror’s background. Prospective jurors filled out a brief questionnaire and were questioned during jury selection in a process known as voir dire.

“Being a domestic violence victim would not automatically disqualify her from serving on the jury,” Morgan explained.

A deep, despondent frown dragged at Mrs. Olander’s mouth. “Well, it should.” Her eyes misted. “How could she possibly have been fair to my Erik?”

While a juror with a personal history of domestic violence might identify with Natalie, it was hardly a given. The situation wasn’t as cut and dried as Mrs. Olander thought. She’d probably watched too many episodes of Law and Order. In real life, courtrooms were far less dramatic.

“The juror would have been asked if there was anything in her background that would make her incapable of being impartial,” Morgan said.

“Clearly she lied.” Mrs. Olander blotted her eyes with the tissue again. “My son’s conviction should be overturned.”

“It’s not that simple. Even if the juror’s background did prove to be grounds for appeal, the best possible outcome for Erik would be a new trial. The court would not just set him free.”

Mrs. Olander’s shoulders caved in. “Well, it should. The woman concealed her background. If that isn’t enough to overturn his conviction, what is?”

“There are no perfect juries,” Morgan said. “This is understood by the court. Every person who serves on a jury brings a lifetime of experience with them. The court asks only that jurors enter each case with open minds and base their decisions solely on the evidence presented at trial.”

“That’s not right!” Mrs. Olander spat out the words. “How can a prejudiced juror not be grounds for appeal?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t grounds for appeal, only that it wasn’t a certainty. How long ago did the juror’s domestic abuse allegedly occur?”

“I don’t remember exactly.” Mrs. Olander rubbed the brass clasp of her purse with her thumb. “Maybe twenty years or so. What does it matter?”

“That’s a long time ago. The juror may have truly believed she could be impartial.”

“That’s impossible.”

Is Mrs. Olander speaking from personal experience?

Morgan let it go and changed the subject. “What is your financial situation? Erik’s defense must have been costly.”