Previously in "2nd Time Around":

In 1996, Sarah Griffin walked in on her neighbor, who had murdered his family. in 1998, she was convicted and sentenced to death for these killings.


2014:

"... I never did get that doctor's name," Doug said. "oh, I'm sure she told me what it was, or I probably read it somewhere, but heck if I remember."

At the end of the table, Sarah considered what Doug wasn't sharing and what he wouldn't share. He still carried a lot of guilt over everything that happened, despite everyone, including her, telling him it wasn't his fault. He was facing an impossible choice that night. Sarah would never blame him for what he did. She just wished he'd come to terms with it.

But even her reassurances and encouragement didn't sway him on the matter, despite her own experiences and the advice he'd often given her. He didn't practice what he preached, no matter how often he was reminded not to blame himself.

Finished with this part of the tale, Doug passed the microphone back to Grace. The youngest in their group, she long ago got over any feelings of intimidation and thanked this elder lawyer like the long-time colleague he was. Tucking a stray hair back behind her ear, she began speaking into the microphone, her faint southern accent evident as always.

"Hello," she said, "my name is Grace Collins. I'm from Raleigh, North Carolina. A lot of you are on the verge of leaving law school and entering the world of legal practice, which is where my story begins ..."

2006:

... Double-checking the address, Grace took the ticket from the machine and pulled into the garage beneath the SunTrust Plaza building in downtown Richmond. She found a space and paused to pluck a stray thread off her skirt. She then got out and headed for the nearby elevators.

She'd taken maybe a dozen paces before realizing she forgot to lock the vehicle. Once the car made the quick beep, she pocketed her key and started walking again.

She took the elevator to the lobby. Greeting the security guard at the front desk as she signed in, she walked down the corridor towards another bank of elevators. One came upon being summoned and she rode it up to the eighteenth floor. She listened to the rumble of the machinery at work, hoping to settle her nerves. Passing her leather portfolio back and forth between her hands, she made sure her navy-blue suit jacket was neat and straight and her long, blonde hair, secured by bobby pins, didn't threaten to fall across her face. Her experience told her such a thing was consider enticing on a date, not during a job interview.

Once on the eighteenth floor, Grace walked down the corridor, locating the law firm Wheeler, Lex, & Sutton.

She pressed a button next to the door and somebody buzzed her in, releasing the electronic locking mechanism. For one eerie second, Grace thought of this place as a prison but forced herself to let that go. She needed to focus.

She found herself in a well-appointed waiting area. It was adorned with plush chairs and paintings by people she didn't know of subjects she didn't quite understand. She approached the long reception desk which ran along one side of the room.

"My name is Grace Collins," she said. "I have a 10:00 appointment with Mr. Doug Walker."

The receptionist took a moment to look up the information.

"May I see your photo ID?" she asked.

Grace handed over her driver's license and the receptionist made a copy. As she took back the license, Grace noticed a surveillance camera watching them from overhead. She understood it was all for security so no sensitive information about the firm's clients got out. Such an incident could ruin a law firm and its lawyers. Still, she couldn't help thinking of prisons again.

"Have a seat," the receptionist invited, gesturing towards some nearby armchairs.

"Thank you," Grace said and sat, waiting. She heard the receptionist calling Mr. Walker's office to announce her arrival. She stayed silent, clutching her leather portfolio in both hands.

Soon, a tall, thin man with light-gray hair came into the lobby. Based on her research, Grace concluded this was not Mr. Walker. But he came over to her.

"Miss Collins?" he inquired.

"Yes?" Grace asked, confused. She couldn't figure out where she went wrong in her research, but that seemed to be the case. It took an enormous amount of effort to keep her face from turning red.

"Hello," the man said. "I'm Clark Wolf, another associate here. Doug got caught up on a phone call and asked that I bring you to his office."

Relieved about not being wrong, Grace rose and shook his hand. He led the way into the firm.

They walked down several corridors which looked as nice as the lobby with more paintings, decorations, clean white walls, and elegant wooden carvings. They also passed multiple closed office doors, all made of neat, polished wood and equipped with shiny metal handles and equally shiny plaques proclaiming the names of the occupants.

Mr. Wolf greeted a few people along the way, though he didn't stop and introduce Grace. This was just fine with her as she probably wouldn't be able to respond to any greetings right then. Her nerves had shut down her vocal cords and she focused on walking and smiling at those they passed. She was just as thankful that Mr. Wolf didn't seem interested in making small talk.

Mr. Wolf led Grace to a staircase, which was also elegantly-carved and well-polished. Grace was glad she hadn't gone with heels today. They climbed up to the building's nineteenth floor, a large portion of which the firm also occupied.

Grace understood the firm had money. For one thing, her father was a client, though it was the firm's prestige that drew him as opposed to the other way around. The SunTrust Plaza building was not only one of the tallest structures in Richmond's city skyline but also one of the tallest buildings in Virginia.

Grace wasn't sure why she was as nervous as she was. She'd been on plenty of interviews, mock and real. Her performance was consistently praised. Plus, her father was a client of this firm. But she wanted this job more than any before it and she knew name recognition wouldn't carry her all the way.

At the top, they headed down a few more corridors until they reached an office door with the name "DOUG ERNEST WALKER" on it in big, bold letters. Mr. Wolf had Grace Sit in a nearby chair and stuck his head into the office to let Mr. Walker know she was there.

"He'll be right with you," he reported and left.

Grace sat there. She could no longer try and fix her appearance. For all she knew, Mr. Walker could already be watching her via some sort of closed-circuit camera setup. Not sure about the possibility of this, she could only sit there, continue to look professional, and wait until the man himself summoned her. She hoped she'd be able to speak again by then.

Grace didn't have to wait long. Mr. Doug Ernest Walker opened the door, told her to come in, and returned to his desk, leaving the door wide open. This man matched the subject of Grace's research, putting her somewhat at ease. She took a moment to collect herself and stepped inside.

The lights were dim but grew brighter as she entered. Noting the University of Kentucky football and Coast Guard memorabilia on the wall, Grace again knew what she'd read about the man was correct. She also saw patches from the Richmond Police Department and the Virginia State Police. They were hanging on the wall along with Doug's diplomas from the University of Kentucky and the University of Virginia School of Law. On a high shelf behind the desk, Grace noticed what looked like the lockboxes her uncle sold to gunowners.

There were also photos of various people, including a snapshot of Sarah Griffin. It was obviously taken before the execution because she was looking straight at the camera and had a full head of red hair and green eyes. Her orange prison uniform was visible, but Grace couldn't see any restraints. Still, they had to be there. This was just a shot of Sarah's head and shoulders.

Sitting behind his desk, a coat draped over the back of his tall swivel chair, Doug pulled his hand away from a sliding switch on the wall.

"Have a seat," he said and began rifling through the papers covering his desk. "Do you have a copy of your resume with you?"

Approaching the three chairs facing his desk, Grace withdrew one from her portfolio and held it out to him.

"You know Oscar Lex?" Doug asked, snatching the document.

"My father does," Grace clarified as she sat in the leather chair directly opposite him. "They play golf together whenever Mr. Lex comes to your firm's office in Durham."

It was this connection which got her the interview when so many other candidates were ignored. She wasn't sure, but it seemed Doug wasn't impressed by this information. His face remained expressionless as he skimmed her resume from behind his sunglasses.

"Grace Collins," he recited. "Third year student at Duke ... studied pre-law and political science at Chapel Hill ... graduated third in the class ... editor of the Duke Law Journal ... currently ranked fourth in the class ... internships at the North Carolina Capital Defense League and the Innocence Project ..."

He reeled off a few more facts as Grace realized he wasn't reading the document. He was speaking too fast to logically be taking them in off the sheet of paper. He was instead reciting them from memory. This made her wonder if his asking her for a copy had just been a test of some sort. She knew all too well that having a copy of one's resume was a mandatory way to make a good impression at any job interview ... up there with keeping one's hair out of one's face.

"You live in Raleigh?" Doug asked, tapping the résumé's letterhead with one finger.

"Yes, Sir," Grace said. "I'm staying with my parents while I finish law school. It's only about a ten-minute drive to Durham."

"And a two-and-a-half-hour drive from there to my office here in Richmond. Explain why you were willing to make such a trip."

Doug seemed very eager for an answer. Grace swallowed a lump in her throat. She felt as though the photo of Sarah was also watching her. It was probably easier to talk to that than this big man.

"I want to help Ms. Griffin," she said. "I heard what happened. I'm against the death penalty ..."

"I've heard that one before," Doug said.

"... and I think that what happened to her is unacceptable."

Grace barely registered Doug's interruption.

"She's back on Death Row now, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Doug said. "That's public knowledge."

"She shouldn't be there."

Grace paused, wondering if she ought to have said something so obvious.

"Miss Collins," Doug said with a sigh. "I'll just be blunt. There's no denying that your resume more than impresses me. But I haven't even spoken to people with the same credentials and speeches. The only reason we're talking right now is because of who your father knows. Frankly, I don't care who your father knows. I'm just doing this to satisfy my boss. But I'm going to humor this thing ... why should I hire you?"

Grace took a deep breath.

"I have experience with death penalty cases and my research skills are impeccable," she described. "I only have classes on Mondays and Thursdays this semester, so I can drive up here during the remainder of the week."

"That alone makes you crazy," Doug said. "North Carolina has the death penalty and plenty of people on Death Row. Why this case?"

Grace looked at the photo of Sarah on the wall.

"I hate what happened to her," she said.

Doug took a breath.

"Miss Collins," he said, "seventy percent of our firm's clients have more money than they need. When they get into trouble, they call us to get them out of it and they're willing to pay well to make it happen. That's how we're able to afford this nice location with its fancy decorations and everything else. That's also why the remaining thirty percent of our clients can be taken on as pro bono cases and can receive competent legal services for nothing."

Grace nodded, unsure of what to say. So far, she was keeping her nerves about talking to this skilled lawyer in check, but she didn't know how much longer that would last.

"We took Sarah on as a pro bono client in 2004," Doug continued. "specifically, I began working on her case in 2004. At that time, the firm gave me an intern to help. No execution date was set yet, so there was no rush to do anything. He was a second-year student at my former law school, so that, combined with his own impressive resume, convinced me to take him on. About a month into it, I noticed him slacking off with his assignments. I confronted him, and he asked me how I could defend someone like Sarah Griffin. He had read the police reports, the trial transcript ... everything, and he had decided she was guilty and deserved to die. Basically, he stopped doing anything I gave him because he didn't agree with whom I was representing. I don't care what people believe about Sarah, but that sort of behavior is disrespectful to me and an insult to her. I fired him immediately and reported him to the school. I don't know what they did with him and I don't care. It doesn't matter. I don't want another time-waster
."

"I wouldn't ..." Grace began.

"I'll tell you what's going to happen," Doug said, writing something on a piece of paper. "Before the end of the week, you'll drive out to the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women. You are going to sit down with Sarah ... in the general visitation area. Before then, you will read this."

He withdrew a thick manila folder from a desk drawer and set it down in front of Grace.

"An overview of the case," he described. "Nothing which would violate attorney/client privilege, but there are police reports, details about the evidence, and a summary of the appeals filed and what happened to them. I haven't had a chance to update it since the execution, but it should tell you plenty."

"Yes, Sir," Grace said and waited to see if he had more. He did.

"Then," Doug added, "come back and see me this time next week."

Grace nodded.

"Thank you," she said. "I won't let you down."

"Don't believe you're in on this case yet," Doug advised. "just do as you're told. I'll call the prison and let them know you're coming. Here's the information."

He handed her the paper on which he had been writing. On it were the facility's address, phone number, and instructions for arranging the visit.

"You have to call them yourself to actually schedule it," Doug explained. "Security reasons."

Grace nodded, taking the paper. She wondered what the point of this was. If Doug had never been interested in meeting with her, why was he sending her to meet Sarah? Again, his face was inscrutable.

* * *

With The case file lying on the car's front passenger seat, Grace drove up to the guardhouse by the prison's main gate. She turned the radio down as the officer looked at her through the window.

"Your reason for visiting?" the officer asked, addressing her via a speaker next to his window.

"I'm here to see Sarah Griffin," Grace explained, assuming he could hear her. There was no sign of a button she had to push to talk.

"Your license, please," the officer said, indicating the thin slot in the window.

Grace pushed her driver's license through and he examined it, also reading something on a computer screen next to him. When everything checked out, she got her license back and was permitted to drive into the sally port, where more officers checked her car for hidden contraband and weapons. They even pushed a large mirror on a long handle beneath the undercarriage.

"Turn right and go to the first parking lot," another officer told her when the inspection was complete. "go to the building marked 'VISITORS'. They'll instruct you from there."

He handed her a yellow parking pass.

"And hang this on your mirror before you leave your car," he added.

Grace did as she was told and found the parking lot. She took a minute to check herself in the rearview mirror before grabbing her shoulder bag and getting out. Before closing the door, she double-checked to be sure the parking pass was hanging where it was supposed to.

Grace was wearing a pantsuit like the one she wore to her interview with Doug, though this one was cheaper and she wore pants instead of a skirt. prison regulations forbade the latter. Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, which she wasn't fond of. But bobby pins were also forbidden, and this seemed like the easiest alternative for keeping her long strands out of her face. Even though Sarah Griffin was blind, she wanted to make a good impression.

Entering the lobby of the visitor's center, Grace again identified herself and gave the reason for her visit. She was given a form to fill out and sat on a nearby bench. It was just a straight-forward liability waiver which stated she couldn't sue the Department of Corrections if she was injured or killed while inside the facility. Grace already knew how easy it was to circumvent these boilerplate legal documents. she signed it without hesitation.

The room was rather plain-looking with off-white walls and dirty windows with a view onto the parking lot. The corrections employee who dispensed and received the forms was sitting behind a sheet of bulletproof Plexiglas with a speaker and a sliding drawer built into it. Grace and Some other visitors were sitting on plain wooden benches, waiting to be taken into the actual visitation room. Since the prison housed maximum security inmates in some of its buildings, all outsiders needed to be escorted from this point onwards. But despite the location, this room looked like the indoor waiting area of a bus station. There was even an intercom speaker on the ceiling which crackled with static and indiscernible chatter from time to time.