Harper nodded slowly.
Morris studied her.
“You don’t enjoy being corrected.”
“I’m getting used to it.”
“Good. You’ll survive longer.”
He opened the folder she had brought.
“Why Malik?”
“His confession resembles mine.”
Morris’s face hardened.
“I represented him.”
“I know.”
“You read the docket.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know he pleaded.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I failed him?”
Harper answered carefully.
“I think you had information I don’t.”
Morris stared at her for several seconds.
Then he stood and closed the office door.
“Malik’s mother had been evicted two weeks before his arrest.”
Harper listened.
“He had two younger sisters. Prosecutors offered probation and eight months in juvenile custody if he pleaded. If he went to trial and lost, he was looking at years.”
“So he took the deal.”
“He took certainty.”
“Did he tell you the confession was false?”
“Every day.”
“Why didn’t you challenge it?”
“I did.”
Morris walked toward a cabinet.
“The interrogation room recording disappeared.”
Harper’s expression changed.
“Disappeared?”
“System malfunction.”
“And the officer?”
“Pike.”
Harper said nothing.
Morris turned.
“You already knew.”
“I suspected.”
He removed a banker’s box.
“I kept everything.”
For the next six hours, Harper read.
Malik’s arrest report.
Photographs.
Witness statements.
Police logs.
Defense motions.
Emails.
The confession.
When she reached page 214, she stopped.
“What?”
Morris looked up.
Harper slid the page across the table.
“This evidence receipt.”
“What about it?”
“The property clerk’s signature.”