Presumption of Guilt

Chapters 1-2

The man who killed her sister is on his way. Sophia’s sister sits beside her dad in the front-row pew of a small-town Pennsylvania magistrate’s court, wearing the steel-gray skirt suit she never expected to need again. The judge is not on the bench yet. For everyone else, it is just another Monday morning in February. For her and her father, it is the bail hearing they have waited more than a year for.

The hearing was supposed to start at ten. It is almost quarter past. They were notified of the arrest barely an hour after it happened, early yesterday afternoon. Her father, who spent more than a decade as a criminal defense lawyer, says most families are not told that quickly. The woman who called gave them the suspect’s name, Andy Davis, but it means nothing to them. She did not specify the charges. Her mom stayed home. She never liked seeing her dad after their divorce, and she is not wired for the composure court proceedings demand.

The bailiff calls, “All rise. The Honorable George McKenzie, presiding.” Judge McKenzie is tall and thin, late fifties. The clerk calls the case: Commonwealth of Pennsylvania versus Andrew Lee Davis. John Novak appears for the Commonwealth, with Officer Petrakis of the Laurel Falls Police Department. Susan Gallini appears for Davis. She looks like the kind of lawyer who pays a stylist four hundred dollars to open the salon at 6 a.m. just for her.

Davis appears via video. The judge says that given the nature of the case and likely media attention, it is best if Mr. Davis stays downstairs. Her dad tenses. The clerk taps a control panel, and the video screen lights up. Her dad makes a faint choking sound. She glances over, afraid something medical is wrong. He is staring, expressionless, at the screen. She follows his gaze. The man on screen seems familiar: late twenties, shaggy blond hair, fidgeting, nervous. For a second he looks straight into the camera, though he cannot see them. His blank blue eyes give her nothing. She runs through Sophia’s past boyfriends, her college housemates, her high school friends. Nothing matches.

The judge explains this is a preliminary arraignment under Rule 540 on a felony complaint. Davis waives the reading. He gives an address in Pittsburgh, the city young people from Laurel Falls move to as soon as they can. She wonders if he fled there after killing Sophia. She reminds herself police sometimes arrest the wrong guy, but she knows the chances are not high. She is the daughter of a former criminal defense attorney. Her father switched to personal injury law because he wanted to fight the bad guys, not defend them.

Then the judge reads the charges. Davis faces involuntary manslaughter under Section 2504, a first-degree misdemeanor, and reckless discharge of a firearm under Section 2701.1, a third-degree felony, for allegedly firing into the windshield of Sophia Greco’s vehicle. Novak asks the record to reflect there were actually two bullet holes, one in the windshield and one in the driver’s side door. The image of the small, white-edged hole punched in her sister’s windshield hijacks her brain, as it has at random moments since the picture appeared on the local news the day after Sophia was killed. Davis pleads not guilty to both. On the second charge he says, “Not guilty. Obviously.” His face on the screen stays blank, almost bored. His voice is familiar, but she cannot place it.

The judge reminds Davis that these allegations do not mean he is guilty and that he is presumed innocent. He says they will not get into evidence today. That happens at a preliminary hearing, normally three to ten days after arrest. She texts her dad: When do we get to comment? He answers: When bail is set. She asks what the highest bail is on these charges. He shrugs. Then he texts: If he can afford Gallini, he can afford bail. She stares at the oak rail that separates the spectators’ pews from the main part of the courtroom. She does not know how to tell her mom that today, one day after the arrest, the man who killed her little sister may be back on the street.

Novak asks for $100,000 bail, surrender of all firearms, and surrender of passports. He offers condolences to the family in the front pew. He calls Sophia a twenty-eight-year-old beloved young woman who owned her own small business teaching martial arts to the children of Laurel Falls. He says her death hit the family, the community, and the local legal community. He notes Davis was charged last year with domestic violence and sentenced to community service. He is not gainfully employed, and his parents have means, which creates flight risk. The judge says it is a truly terrible thing, and unlike Novak, he seems sincere.

Gallini argues Davis is not a flight risk. He has lived in western Pennsylvania all his life. He has no passport and, according to her, no guns. She introduces his parents in the front pew on the defense side and speaks of their community contributions. She says they extend their sympathies to Sophia’s family. She argues $100,000 is above average for one misdemeanor and one third-degree felony, even with loss of life. She says the amount would impose some hardship on them. She suggests the Commonwealth is sending the message that this victim’s life matters more because her family is part of the legal community. Novak calls that completely inappropriate. He says the law allows bail relative to net worth, and Davis’s parents own a five-bedroom home in Fox Chapel, an affluent suburb of Pittsburgh.

Judge McKenzie asks about Patriot Bail Bonds waiting outside. Gallini hesitates, then admits they have preapproved Davis and his parents for up to a quarter of a million dollars. The judge sets bail at $100,000 and imposes the Commonwealth’s conditions. Then he invites the victim’s family to comment.

Sophia’s sister stands. “Your Honor, may the victim’s family speak?” she asks. The judge looks slightly annoyed but says she will have that opportunity. Her dad does not react, but she can feel his disapproval. Interrupting a judge on the bench is not done. She does not see how else to keep Davis in jail. The judge explains he has set bail conditions, and now she may comment on them.

She thanks the judge. She says her concern is that even if the bail conditions fit the charges, the charges are not severe, and Mr. Novak may not know the backstory. Mr. Davis is not a stranger to their family. She has been on the opposite side of him in court. She helped his girlfriend at the time get a protection from abuse order against him. Right after that proceeding, Davis gave her a creepy smile and told her she had better watch out. She says she does not see how him going on to kill her sister could be a random accident.

Noise rises behind her. The judge looks shocked. He turns to Novak and asks if the office notified the victim’s family of the arrestee’s identity. Novak says yes, he personally charged a staff member with calling both family members present, and they did not mention anything. If they had, he would have looked into it immediately. Sophia’s sister says they did not recognize the name because he did not go by Andrew at the time. The judge asks when the PFA hearing was. About two years ago, in Pittsburgh. What name did he go by? “My client referred to him as Drew.” The judge asks for a last name. She says it could have been Davis, but she does not remember. It would have been on the papers, but a PFA hearing is informal and quick. She is losing him. She explains that in Pittsburgh you go to the courthouse, get assigned to a case, meet your client, and the whole thing is over in a few hours. You focus on the people in front of you, not the full legal names on the court papers.

The judge thanks her, but she can tell he thinks she is wasting his time. He asks Novak if anything in Davis’s record corresponds to what she describes. Novak says no, and clarifies that PFAs are civil, not criminal, so they do not show up on routine checks. Gallini jumps in. She extends condolences but says there is no legal basis for imposing bail conditions based on the uncharged actions of someone whose last name Ms. Greco does not even remember. Novak agrees the Commonwealth would have to agree. The judge asks the victim’s father if he has anything to add. Mr. Greco says he does not. Was he aware of these allegations? He was not. The judge shoots Sophia’s sister a tired glance. She feels filed away as an overwrought female. The bail conditions are imposed as requested. Court is adjourned.

Her dad does not say a word as they take the elevator, cross the lobby, and go out the revolving doors. In the parking lot they still do not talk. He beeps open the locks on his red coupe. She slides into the passenger seat. Once the doors are closed, he asks about the PFA hearing guy. Does she have records? No, they were on her computer at her old firm. Was that her only interaction with him? Yes, just the PFA hearing. He starts the engine. The radio blares. He turns it off. He asks if it was just one day two years ago, and not even a big enough deal for her to remember his name. She does not answer. She knows it sounds ridiculous. He looks at her and cross-examines: say it was him at that hearing

Chapters 3-5

The next morning, Lily gets Jasmine to school on time, then stops at a Dunkin' Donuts drive-through for a triple espresso and a breakfast sandwich. She parks by a dirty snowbank and watches clouds go by. For the first time, she thinks she should have spent less time studying as a teenager so she could have gotten babysitting experience. Sophia used to earn pocket money that way. Lily never did, and now she has no childcare skills at all. Jasmine is a great kid, but she needs things Lily does not have. Living on coffee, avocados, sourdough toast, and Bombay Sapphire means there is nothing to feed her. That problem had not crossed Lily's mind until shortly before dinner. They rush to the supermarket, and Jasmine writes a shopping list as Lily drives. If they had not gotten the last rotisserie chicken, dinner would have been takeout pizza. That is also why Lily is at Dunkin' in pajama pants: no time to get ready when you have to make a kid breakfast and lunch, take the dog out, and be in the car by 7:30 a.m.

Lily grabs her phone to look up the number for the jail where Destiny is being held. She sees a new voicemail from Keith Dabrowski, her best work friend in Pittsburgh. He says he is coming out to Fayette County for a deposition in a few days and will only be an hour from her, so maybe they can meet up. Lily thinks he might be able to pull records on Andrew Davis. He is still at her old firm, and if he cannot get the information from the firm's system, he can probably access the statewide database. She texts him to suggest coffee or dinner when he is in town. Then she finds the number she needs and places the call.

A woman answers with "Moreland County Jail." Lily uses her work voice and asks about Destiny Harris, who was arrested yesterday afternoon. She asks the procedure for speaking with her. The woman asks if this is a new arrestee, female. Lily says yes. The woman types and says Destiny is in block H. Their visiting hours are Monday and Thursday from 2:15 to 3:15. It is Friday. In the melee of the arrest, Lily forgot to ask how to get in touch with Jasmine's father. She also has the names of two local defense attorneys to give Destiny, courtesy of her dad. He tells her that since Destiny was arrested for murder, she does not have an automatic right to be released on bail. That means she needs a lawyer immediately. If she does not have a good one at her bail hearing, one willing to fight hard, she could be stuck in jail for months. Lily asks if there is any way to speak with Destiny before Monday afternoon, because that will be too late since this is about her representation at her bail hearing. The woman says if Lily is counsel, she can see her, of course. She still has to schedule in advance, but she could come in later that morning. Lily does not answer right away. She is not a practicing lawyer anymore. She left that behind for a lot of reasons. But her license is still valid. It does not expire until July. She says, "Let's go ahead and do that. Would 10 a.m. work?" The woman asks, "You're her counsel?" Lily does not see how else she can get in to talk with Destiny. So she says yes.

The county jail is on the edge of downtown, a few blocks from the courthouse. Lily shows up in a black wool coat and a pantsuit she has not worn in over a year, carrying the briefcase she dug out of the back of her closet. Dressing the part, she learned years earlier, gives people confidence in you. She hopes the lawyer uniform will keep folks at the jail from asking any more pointed questions, so she will not have to straight-up lie again. They park her in a private meeting room a few minutes before ten. The room has nothing in it but a table, two chairs, a fluorescent ceiling light, and a clock on the wall. She checks her watch. The clock is wrong. About fifteen minutes later, a big guard brings Destiny in. She is wearing an orange jumpsuit, and her hands are cuffed in front of her. What Lily notices first is the look on Destiny's face: she is startled to see Lily, and confused, but her mouth is shut tight. She is not going to say anything in front of the guard. Lily asks him to take the handcuffs off, saying she has some paperwork for Destiny to look through and it is easier that way. As he unlocks them, he says he will be right outside. Destiny sits down in the chair opposite and stares at Lily. She does not say a word until he has gone out and they both hear his key turn in the lock. Then, in a quieter voice than Lily is used to, she asks, "Is everything okay with my baby girl?" Lily says yeah, she took her to school this morning and everything is fine. Destiny relaxes. Lily realizes Destiny had been afraid the unexpected visit meant something had happened to Jasmine.

Lily says that on her way there, she got a call from Destiny's husband. He said he was on the road already and would be back in time to pick Jasmine up from school today. Destiny says, "Oh, thank goodness. How'd he sound?" Lily says, well, don't take this the wrong way, but he sounded almost like a cop at first. Very official, the kind of thing like "I understand you're aware of the situation with my wife." Destiny says he is a prison guard too. Lily says that makes sense, then. But he is obviously holding it together, and he warmed up a little when Lily told him Jasmine got a good night's sleep. He said thanks for watching her. Destiny's eyebrows come together. A question has occurred to her. She asks how Darius got Lily's number. Lily thought Destiny gave it to him. Destiny shakes her head. She has not talked to him. Lily says, "Huh." Then she says anyway, Jasmine is okay, considering. Giving her the keys was a good idea. They stopped by Destiny's place to get her some more clothes and one stuffie she really wanted. Destiny guesses Pusheen. When Lily does not recognize the name, Destiny explains: a fat gray cat. Lily agrees. Destiny smiles and puts her hand on her heart. "Thank you." Lily says no problem.

Destiny glances at the door, then back at Lily. She says they told her she was coming down here to meet with her lawyer. Lily nods. It is a professional nod. If the guard looks in the window, she wants him to see a normal attorney-client meeting. Lily says she forgets if she ever mentioned this, but that actually was her previous job. Destiny is surprised. Lawyer? Like she went to law school? Passed the bar? Lily smiles. She does not know why this is so surprising to Destiny, but she likes hearing that she does not give off lawyer vibes. She says yeah, the works. She did six years at one of the big firms in Pittsburgh. Destiny says she does not think Lily's sister ever mentioned any of that. And she knows Lily did not. Or did she, while Destiny was being arrested? Lily shrugs. She has not been practicing, so it never came up before. But this was the only way they would let her talk to Destiny today. The next visiting hours are not until Monday afternoon, and Lily knew that would be too late. She asks when the bail hearing is. Destiny says the preliminary arraignment is Monday morning at eleven. Lily says that is a while to wait, but with the weekend, it is to be expected. Destiny nods vaguely, looking at the table. Lily can tell that spending two more days in jail is not what worries her most.

Then Destiny looks Lily in the eye and says, "Lily, listen. I need help. Can you be there?" Lily says she will do what she can. She reaches for her briefcase. She says she can call these guys for Destiny. She has printed out the bios of the two lawyers her dad liked. Even lawyers cannot bring their phones into a jail, so she has to share this information the old-school way. Destiny looks at the pieces of paper on the table like she does not understand. She asks who they are. Lily says they are criminal defense lawyers. Her dad used to be in that line of work, and he recommended these two in particular. Destiny asks, "Your dad was a lawyer too? You take after him?" Lily winces. "I try not to." Destiny's eyebrows flick up and down, but she does not dig deeper. She reaches out and turns one of the lawyers' bios around, reads a little bit, then does the same with the other. She says yeah, they look good, but there is a hopeless note in her voice. She asks how much they charge.

Lily says her dad had only given her heavily qualified estimates, but the news is not great. For a murder case, their retainers are normally up there. She asks if Destiny knows what she means by retainer. Destiny says she works in law enforcement. Maybe she is off on the details, but she thinks of that as a down payment on lawyer fees. Lily says yeah, that is basically it.

Chapters 6-7

When the sheriff's deputy brings Destiny into the courtroom, she walks with her head held high. The orange jumpsuit and cuffs do not strip her dignity, except for a second when she spots Darius in the audience. The deputy delivers her to Lily Greco at the defense table. Destiny wants to talk but knows how to behave. She whispers, "Why'd Darius come? I didn't want him here!" Lily hesitates. It is not the time to explain that his presence is her fault. She waves a hand and says there are a lot of people here, don't worry about it.

Polenko calls case number 2024-cr-1083, Commonwealth versus Harris. Novak stands for the Commonwealth. Lily stands for Destiny. Lily asks the court to remove the handcuffs so Destiny can take notes. Novak has no objection. The deputy unlocks the cuffs.

Novak gives a brief opening. His paralegal puts a foam board with a photograph on the easel. It shows Shannon O'Neill, a pretty blonde girl, smiling in a mortarboard at her graduation, flanked by her parents. Novak identifies her as Shannon O'Neill and the parents as Jim and Nora. This was her college graduation in 2017. Shannon was alive just ten days ago. Two weeks ago she had dinner with her parents to celebrate her father's birthday. Her own birthday was coming up, and she was going to be twenty-eight. On the evening of January 26, Shannon was shot dead at her workplace, SCI Moreland, the women's prison. That is also Destiny's workplace. Shannon died in a part of the prison only accessible to staff. You need a key card to get in. Officer Santucci will testify that the key card data confirms Ms. Harris was in there with her and that nobody else was.

Lily glances at Destiny. She is staring at Novak, mesmerized. The look on her face brings the phrase "cold sweat" to mind. Novak continues. The investigation is still in its early stages. Officer Santucci will explain what they know about motive. The motive is jealousy. A love triangle. Shannon made a youthful mistake: she became involved with a married man. She was seeing Darius Williams, the husband of Ms. Harris. She paid for that youthful mistake with her life. A hubbub arises in the back of the courtroom. Polenko calls for order.

Lily glances over her shoulder. A well-dressed Black man is walking down the aisle toward the door. After Novak's remark, Darius is leaving. Novak asks for a moment more. For the record, Novak points out that when a person is arrested on charges carrying a potential life sentence, the courts essentially never grant bail. Polenko says the court is aware. Novak says that since the investigation is early, they charged general murder rather than putting all their chips on first-degree murder. But that does not change the bail calculus. General murder includes first-degree murder, so it carries a potential life sentence. The bar for getting bail is equally high no matter which way it is charged. Polenko nods.

Then Novak calls Officer Joseph Santucci.

Santucci goes to the stand in his black patrol uniform, carrying a Redweld folder. He is gray-haired, about forty-five, with a tired face and striking blue eyes. Novak establishes that Santucci has been a cop for twenty-one years and worked in homicide for the past twelve. Santucci says he is the lead investigating officer. He was called to the scene on the night of January 26. He has interviewed four individuals who were present at SCI Moreland that night and three others with knowledge of background facts. He also briefly spoke with Ms. Harris, but she declined a full interview. Destiny interrupts: "No, I said I was getting a lawyer first!" Polenko warns her. Santucci says she is correct. Last Sunday, two days after the homicide, he went to the prison to interview staff. When it was Ms. Harris's turn, the whole process took less than a minute because she informed him she would only sit for an interview once she had a lawyer.

Novak asks about the criminal complaint and the affidavit of probable cause. Santucci has the document. Paragraph one states the victim was found deceased in the female staff locker room of the prison with an apparent gunshot wound to the chest. Santucci confirms the death certificate states that as the cause of death. An autopsy was done, but they are still waiting on the coroner's report. The murder weapon has not been recovered. Santucci says that is not unusual at this stage. Video footage is not useful. There are no cameras in the ladies' locker rooms for privacy reasons, and the staff-only zones only have cameras by the access points.

Novak moves to paragraph twelve, where Santucci discusses the evidence concerning Ms. Harris. Santucci says what first led him to investigate her was a statement from a coworker, Randy Johnson, interviewed the day after the incident. Johnson said that on the night of the homicide, he was leaving at the end of his shift with the victim. While they waited for the elevator, she received a call on her cell phone. It lasted less than a minute. On hanging up, she told him she had to go back and, as she put it, "take care of something with Destiny." She told him to leave and said she would see him tomorrow. Johnson explained that Destiny was a coworker. He also explained that the victim and Destiny had a problem with each other. It involved a man they were both seeing. He understood that man to be Ms. Harris's husband.

Destiny slides her notepad to Lily. On it she has written "Hearsay!" Lily writes back, "Hearsay OK at bail hearing." Her dad told her about the relaxed evidentiary rules at bail hearings. Hearsay is admissible as long as it can reasonably be considered credible, but it cannot stand alone. To deny bail, the State has to also present some non-hearsay evidence. On the stand, Santucci is explaining why he found the prison guard's hearsay statement credible. Lily has a hard time staying focused because Destiny passes the notepad back and gives her a nudge. She has circled Lily's note about hearsay and written "WHY?" in all caps, underlined. Lily writes back, "Talk later!" Santucci is halfway through an explanation of what he did to confirm that the alleged phone call to the victim occurred. Lily is annoyed to have missed part of it. The victim's phone company was subpoenaed for her phone records. Those show she received a call from a prison landline located in an office down the hallway from the women's locker room. Lily scribbles on her own notepad: "Who could access landline room?"

Novak continues. He asks if it is fair to say Santucci has described three separate pieces of evidence: opportunity or proximity, the victim stating she was going to talk to Ms. Harris shortly before she died; motive, a love triangle; and independent confirmation that the phone call summoning her to speak with Ms. Harris did occur and came from a location close to where the victim died. Santucci says that is fair. Novak asks what he has done so far. Santucci says he observed at the crime scene that the ladies' locker room was secured with a key card reader. He spoke with the prison's head of IT and served a subpoena on the vendor for the security system to obtain records of who had swiped their cards to get into that room. He received the records. He confirmed they were complete and correct by going to the vendor in person and going over them with a technician. He has the subpoena and the records with him.

As Santucci pulls a manila folder out of his Redweld, Novak's paralegal walks over to hand Lily a copy of the documents. Novak asks what the records showed. They showed that Ms. Harris entered the ladies' locker room approximately eleven minutes before the victim did. Lily flips the folder open. The top page is titled "Moreland Cty Pris Access Log." Below that is a table with three columns: card ID, date and time, door number. Novak echoes the point, that Ms. Harris entered the room eleven minutes before the victim. Then he looks down at the table and shakes his head like it is a damn shame. Repeating what a witness said is an old lawyer trick to make people notice and remember that piece of evidence. Novak looks up again, his dramatic moment complete. He asks if the records show anything else. They show that nobody else entered that locker room in the previous forty-two minutes. Novak repeats: nobody else but Ms. Harris.

Novak asks Santucci to look at paragraph twenty-eight and read the specific timeline for the court. Santucci flips pages and recites. Examination of the key card data showed only three entries to the locker room within the hour prior to the victim's death. The women's locker room entrance is coded as door number 23. At 6:20 p.m., the card of a janitor named Tyler White was swiped. At 7:02 p.m., two minutes after the end of Ms. Harris's shift, Ms. Harris's card was swiped. At 7:13 p.m., the card of victim Shannon O'Neill was swiped. Lily finds both times on the second page of the log. Novak asks whether Santucci investigated the janitor. He did. First, he confirmed that White recalled entering the women's locker room at approximately 6:20, as the logs indicated. The key card data showed White had moved on to another location prior to the victim's death. Paragraph twenty-nine: White swiped into the men's locker room, door

Chapters 8-10

Lily calls her father for advice about representing Destiny Harris in a murder trial, and he is angry from the start. He calls it the wrong decision. Even if she knew what she was doing, which she does not, it is a mistake. The friendship clouds her judgment. He compares it to surgeons not operating on friends or family. Lily reminds him he did not say that when she handled Destiny's bail hearing. He says one hearing is fine when Destiny could not get anyone else on short notice. A murder trial is not. He asks if she has ever watched a single day of a murder trial. She does not answer. In the silence she hears seagulls. He is on Clearwater Beach in brown leather shoes and a pinstripe suit. He says he looks like a jackass. People in Florida wear pajama pants or swimsuits everywhere. He is trying to find a crab shack to meet his local counsel for lunch before heading back to the airport. He says he will have a great lunch and tell the Florida trial lawyer that his daughter, who teaches kung fu, is representing a friend in a murder trial. When the lawyer asks why, he will not have an answer, because there is not one.

Lily has not told him why she is representing Destiny. She is ashamed that she made Destiny burn through all her resources getting out on bail, leaving nothing to pay for her defense. Her dad has never been someone she could share her mistakes with. He tells her to get malpractice insurance so she will not go bankrupt when her friend loses her case and sues her. He will send his insurance guy's info. He also sends info for a PI he has worked with, Jack Duval. Lily is confused because when he says PI, it normally means personal injury, the type of law he practices. He yells that he knows it is a criminal case. Murder usually is. He means a private investigator. He insists she call Jack so at least someone with experience in murder cases is on her team. He makes her promise. She promises.

Talking to the warden of the prison is easy after that. He takes her call, answers a couple of questions, and says she can probably answer the rest with her own eyes if she comes out to see the correctional facility. His secretary makes an appointment for Wednesday morning. Lily knows that in a criminal trial she has to gather her own evidence, and the scene of the crime seems as good a place to start as any.

She drives out and comes around a bend. Below her, in a valley, is the state prison. It is a concrete fortress in the shape of an X, surrounded by a high, razor wire topped fence. Gun towers stand at each corner. Two parking lots flank the building, one of them with its own high fence. She pulls over just long enough to snap a photo with her phone. Following the signs for visitors leads her to the unfenced lot. The other one must be for staff. She chooses a parking spot with a view of the staff parking area and snaps another photo. She hopes Destiny can use it to give her some idea of where she parked on the day Shannon died. She locks her phone in the glove box because Destiny warned her that phones are not allowed inside. Then she heads for the entrance.

She has never set foot in a prison, so she arrives early in case security takes a while. It does. There are layers of it: glass doors, metal doors, a conveyor belt to X-ray her belongings, and the gray doorway of a metal detector. After the first doors, there is no more natural light. Every hallway is a windowless tunnel of white cinder blocks. The guards wear gray and black uniforms. She states her purpose at the second desk, and when a guard's walkie-talkie conversation confirms her story, she is given a visitor badge to clip to her shirt. She is sent down a different hallway than the people coming to visit inmates. At the end of the hall, a hard-eyed man scrutinizes her badge and ID, then lets her pass. Each set of doors will not open until the set she just came through has closed and its locks have clicked into place. A guard scans her card to let her into the elevator that will take her to the warden's waiting room. She rides up alone, trying to mentally replay the path she just took, and realizes she cannot do it.

After greeting the warden's secretary, she waits about ten minutes. At the appointed meeting time, the door on the far wall opens, and a man leans out. He is tall and slim with salt and pepper hair. He wears a suit without the jacket. He spots her and says, in a surprisingly deep voice, "Ms. Greco? Come on in." He does not wait to see if she complies. Lily thinks he is used to being obeyed. In his office, he strides to the window and gestures her over. They can see part of a courtyard where some prisoners in orange jumpsuits are exercising in the shadow of a gun tower, but most of the view is the rolling green countryside beyond the prison. He says this is the largest women's prison in the state of Pennsylvania. The next largest one is over two hundred miles due east. He points into the distance, then turns to her with a smile and says she is not there to admire the view. They head for his desk, a block of dark wood that looks like it weighs five hundred pounds. To the right of the window, Lily notices a red leather punching bag hanging on a chain from one of the white I-beams. The leather is well-worn.

They sit down, and Lily thanks him for seeing her. He says it is not a problem. It is terrible what happened, but he knows she is representing Ms. Harris and has a job to do. Lily says she hopes his staff is doing okay and that it must have been a big shock. He says it was, but they are doing pretty well. They have systems in place to help staff deal with severe incidents. Prisons can be violent places. He leans back and appraises her. A shelf behind him displays several photos. One appears to be him with his family: a smiling wife, five kids, and two white-haired couples who are likely grandparents. In another, she recognizes the governor standing next to him. The last is him astride a muddy motorcycle, splashed with mud himself, smiling and holding a trophy.

He asks lightly whether she has much experience with the prison system. There is no apparent judgment in his voice. He says he likes to be prepared for meetings, so he looked her up, and he did not get the sense that this is really her field. Lily is embarrassed, because if he looked her up, he has to know he is talking to a kung fu teacher who somehow got embroiled in a murder case. She wills her face not to show it. She says her experience has been more on the civil litigation side. He asks where the martial arts thing came in. She decides the only way out is to own it. The punching bag and the trophy photo make her think she should emphasize accomplishments. She says it started long before law school. She took her first class when she was six and got her black belt at thirteen. She started competing, and by her senior year of high school she had placed in the nationals twice. He asks if placed means top three. She says third, and then second. He nods with appreciation. He is a big fan of kids doing sports. It trains the mind, gives structure, and self-discipline. She agrees. He says it works that way on adults too. He has beefed up the athletic program at the prison because the prisoners need that. Then he leans forward, elbows on the desk, and says he has an eleven o'clock meeting, so they should get her what she came for. He asks what she wants to know.

Lily says she is just trying to get a sense of where things happened that night and where the key people were. He says he can take her over to the ladies' locker room. They can get there from his office without passing through a secure unit. It takes Lily half a second to realize he means without going through an area where prisoners are. She says that would be great. He grabs a walkie-talkie from his desk drawer, rises, and heads out. She follows him down another series of white hallways, through more sets of self-locking doors. He walks in long, fast strides. Scurrying to keep up, she feels like a puppy trying to keep pace with a lion. Staff members they pass nod hello to him, mostly without smiling. Almost every room has a card reader beside the door and a brown plastic plaque with the room's name and number.

He stops at a door marked LADIES' LOCKER ROOM. With appropriate gravity, he says this is unfortunately the place. He looks around and calls to a plump woman in a gray and black uniform. He asks Nyesha to step in and see if it is clear. If it is in use, she can give their guest a quick tour. Nyesha comes over, swipes her card, and goes in. Ten seconds later she comes back and says somebody is in the shower. The warden says he will wait there, then. He tells Nyesha to show Ms. Greco the lay of the land. A minute or two ought to be enough. Nyesha nods and pulls the door farther open so Lily can come in.

Lily steps into an entryway.