Suspicion of Vengeance Read online

  "They don't put a man away without evidence," Anthony said. "What did they have?"

  "A neighbor picked Kenny Ray out of a lineup, but he had an alibi. He was across town when it happened. A man in jail with Kenny Ray said he confessed, but would you believe someone like that?"

  "The jury did," Anthony said. "They believed the snitch, and they believed the eyewitness. Prosecutors love eyewitnesses. They're better than a fingerprint. Is the case still on appeal?"

  "I don't know," Irene said. "Ruby told me the Supreme Court turned him down a few weeks ago."

  "Which Supreme Court? Florida? United States?"

  "The U.S. Supreme Court, I think. Why are you shaking your head? Is that bad?"

  "He's running out of time. I don't know what issues could be left to litigate."

  "Oh, this is terrible." Irene reached across the table. "Anthony, could you take the case? Don't worry about your fees. Ruby has some money saved up."

  "Irene—"

  "She said she would spend it all if she had to, every last dime, but she needs to find the right lawyer, someone experienced and tough and smart. I told her I'd trust you with my own life, if I had to."

  "Irene, thank you for your confidence in me, but I can't. I'm sorry."

  "Why not?" Gail leaned crossed arms on the table. "It would be exciting."

  "Exciting?"

  "To save an innocent man from execution. Don't you get bored with all those white-collar, federal bank fraud trials you've been doing lately?"

  A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. "I can't take Kenny Ray Clark's case because he already has a lawyer—a team of them. The state of Florida appoints capital appellate lawyers for everyone on death row, one of the few states that does. I'm surprised that Mrs. Smith didn't mention it."

  "She did," Irene said. "She's just not satisfied with the job they've done so far. There he sits on death row, and she can't get anything out of them except 'We're working on it.' She wants to hire an expert."

  "They are experts. They're dedicated professionals who do nothing but defend prisoners under sentence of death." Anthony spoke slowly, clearly, and Gail distinctly heard the creeping edge of impatience. "Ruby didn't hire them, and she can't fire them. They're her grandson's lawyers, and that is probably why they don't talk to her. Even if Kenny Ray hired a new lawyer, and it would be very expensive, how much could be done after eleven years of appeals that hasn't been done already?" Anthony waited for Irene to deduce the obvious. Kenny Ray Clark was out of luck.

  Irene lowered her eyes. "I don't know what to tell Ruby."

  When Anthony glanced at Gail, she shot him a look hard enough to make him sigh. He took Irene's hand in both of his and patted it gently. "Tell her you talked to me. Tell her I said that the best thing she can do is trust his lawyers, and not to look for someone to make miracles. They will do a good job for Kenny Ray—a better job than I could do. If there is any way to prove his innocence, they will find it."

  "Do you think so?"

  "Of course."

  Leaning back in her chair, feeling distinctly let down, Gail noticed a movement at the crack under the kitchen door, a shifting of light, probably made by someone's feet. A cat. Or a creature equally as curious.

  "Karen? Come in here."

  The swinging door opened, and Karen walked through as if it were natural to have come the long way around instead of through the back hall from the bedrooms. She wore a long yellow sleep shirt and her hair was still damp. She kissed each of them in turn, such a perfect child, smelling of soap and shampoo. "I finished my bath."

  Irene roused herself. "Sit down, precious. I'll bet you're starving. Let's see what I've got in the fridge."

  Karen went to the cookie jar. "How do they execute people? In the electric chair?"

  "You've been eavesdropping," Gail said. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't do that anymore."

  "I wasn't. I heard you talking. I can't go around with my hands over my ears."

  From across the kitchen, Irene said, "They inject something in his veins to make his heart stop beating."

  "Like, stick a poison needle in his arm?"

  "That's right."

  "Mother, please."

  "Do you prefer that I lie to her?" Irene shoved a casserole dish into the microwave and punched numbers on the keypad.

  Anthony glanced at his watch and pretended surprise. "Ah. It's almost eleven o'clock. I should be going."

  Karen asked, "They won't kill him if he's innocent, will they?"

  "Damn good question," Irene said.

  "They don't believe he is innocent." Anthony put a hand on Karen's shoulder. "He had a trial, and the jury found him guilty."

  "For stabbing that woman." Too late, Karen realized her mistake, and glanced at Gail. "I heard you all the way in my room. You were pretty loud."

  "I'll bet. We'll discuss this later."

  Karen turned a bright smile on Anthony. "Thanks for taking me to the Keys. I had a really nice time."

  "You are very welcome, señorita" He made a small bow. "Good night."

  Gail and her mother walked with him to the front door, then onto the porch. Gail was still in her shorts, adequate for bright sunshine, too cold at this hour.

  With an excited intake of breath, Irene grabbed his arm. "Anthony, do you suppose, before I call Ruby, you could speak to his lawyers? You know. Find out what's going on? What they plan to do next?"

  "Yes, why not?" Gail said.

  His quick glance meant only one thing: Stay out of this, por favor. He gave her mother a regretful smile. "No, I'm afraid I can't, Irene. Client confidentiality. Lawyers aren't allowed to discuss their cases, even as a favor for a client's grandmother." He bent to kiss her cheek. "Let me know what happens, will you? I wish I could have been of more help. It was good to see you, Irene. Next time, a happier occasion."

  "I hope so."

  When the front door had closed and they were alone, Gail said, "I can't believe the way you just brushed my mother off."

  "I did not brush her off, Gail. I gave an honest, pragmatic opinion."

  "All she wants is to help an old friend."

  "I know that. I would like to be able to help, believe me."

  "Really? You can't make one phone call?"

  "No, I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because—as I just explained to Irene, if you were listening—they won't talk to me."

  "They would if you got Kenny Ray's authorization."

  "Oh. Perdóname. I didn't think of that." He fixed his dark eyes on her. "If Ruby Smith wants to know the status of his appeal, and she isn't getting information from his lawyers, she should ask her grandson."

  "What a sucky attitude."

  "I am sorry you think so.”

  "How much time would it take, for God's sake? Ruby would pay you."

  Anthony extended thumb and last finger, miming a telephone at his ear. " 'Oh, it's you, Mr. Quintana, big shot lawyer. You want to know if we are doing our jobs. Yes, we are, and screw you.' But maybe you're right. Maybe they would talk to me. 'Mr. Quintana, we are so sorry to tell you that our client just lost his last appeal, but we hope the next one will work. Maybe we can get him a few more years on death row.' Gail, all I would do is raise this woman's hopes, then have to explain why the jury found her grandson guilty on evidence too persuasive to ignore, and that the best she can do is pray. Maybe Jesus will speak to the appeals court."

  Gail narrowed her eyes.

  "Sweetheart. Please. She's an old woman who used to clean houses for a living. I won't take advantage of her." He gently squeezed her shoulders. "Don't be angry with me, querida. There are lawyers who would take her money and in the end, accomplish nothing. I'm not one of them."

  Gail leaned against his chest. "This is so sad."

  "I know." His arms went around her.

  "It's got to be terrible for Ruby. Waiting for him to die. Believing in his innocence."

  "Yes. It's very sad."

  Gail
knew that he didn't give a damn what happened to Kenny Ray Clark. He didn't care and didn't want to care. Anthony Quintana had not become successful by taking on lost causes, unless—as he had jokingly told her—the client had a big enough bank account or a big enough cause to make losing palatable. Anthony could demand monstrous fees for his services, but would not take a dime from people like Ruby Smith. Gail had to admire him for that.

  His hands were warm on her back. He nibbled her ear. "Ven conmigo."

  "Good night, Anthony." She kissed him and gave him a little shove.

  From the end of the driveway she watched until his taillights had turned the corner. Then she stood there and watched the empty street. Her mother would be in the kitchen waiting for her. Wanting to know what to tell Ruby. Gail wished she knew.

  CHAPTER 2

  Monday, March 5

  The sky had been gray all morning. Heavy clouds, cold rain sliding down the glass. Kenny could see the sky, the way his cell was situated. He reached up and pulled a string. Fluorescent tubes came on. The lights running down the corridor were too dim to read by, and not much came in through the window, ten feet away past a second set of bars.

  Next door the Mexican kid was crying again. He'd arrived two weeks ago, still didn't believe it. Give him a few years, it would sink in.

  Kenny put his blanket around his shoulders and sat on the edge of his bunk. He picked up the envelope again. The mail room had slit it open and read the letter before they'd sent it on to G wing. Kenny had read it himself four or five times this week, trying to decide what to do.

  He lay back with his pillow folded under his neck and shook the letter out of the envelope. Three pages. Lined paper from a pad, a bunch of pink roses at the top of each page. The handwriting was a little shaky, but not hard to make out.

  Dear Kenny Ray, I hope you are feeling better and that you got that bad tooth out. I am doing as well as can be expected, so don't worry. Thank you for the sweet poem you wrote me—he skipped to the bottom of the page— You always said you was innocent, and I wanted to believe it but in my heart I never did. Now I know that you were telling the truth.

  Before going on to page two, which he could almost recite, Kenny rolled a paper around some Top tobacco. Licked it closed. Lit it. He'd learned not to rush. Whatever there was, expand it to fit the time in front of you. Develop a routine. He tossed the packet to the footlocker, pulled in some smoke, and started to cough. He had to get up and hawk in the sink. Press the button to turn on the water. Rinse the sink. Metal toilet underneath, use the paper to dry the sink. Put the roll back.

  Ruby wanted him to quit smoking, and he'd told her he had. It made her happy. Whenever she visited, and it wasn't too often because she couldn't drive anymore, Kenny would put on a clean shirt and brush his teeth so she wouldn't smell the smoke. His teeth and fingers were stained, but she couldn't tell. She couldn't read without a magnifying glass in front of her nose. He hoped he outlived her.

  He went back to his bunk and adjusted the blanket and pillow. Picked up the letter. Page two. This is how I came to know that you're innocent. You might not believe me, but it's the truth.

  He shook his head. "OP lady, what am I going to do with you?"

  The heavy, metal door opened at the end of the tier. There were footsteps on concrete, the clink of chains. Three guards coming, maybe more. Usually it was only one.

  The crying next door stopped. Kenny couldn't see because of the block wall that divided the cells, but he could hear him. Manuel getting off his bunk. Walking to the front of his cell, putting his hands around the bars.

  The empty milk carton from breakfast was sitting on his footlocker, and Kenny reached over to tap the ashes off his cigarette.

  I know you are innocent because the Lord told me so. I felt His holy presence and heard His voice. He spoke your name.

  Kenny wondered what the Lord sounded like. If he had a deep voice.

  He told me that you never killed that girl and they should not have put you on trial nor sentenced you to death.

  "Why don't you tell the Lord to come on down and get my ass out of here?"

  A couple of seconds later the guards walked by, four of them, and Kenny watched over his raised knees. They stopped at the next cell. He knew all of them but the young one with the blond crew cut.

  The oldest, the sergeant, said, "Lucius? Come on over here." Lucius was supposed to turn backward and hold his hands next to the bean flap so they could put on the cuffs.

  "Go away." His voice was muffled. "It's too damn cold to get up."

  Kenny wondered where they were taking him. If they were going somewhere like the shower they only used the handcuffs. But they were carrying leg irons and a waist chain. Lucius couldn't be going to the visiting room because this wasn't the weekend, and weekend or not, he never had visitors. He'd been in here sixteen years, a lot longer than Kenny, and his folks never showed. His last appeal had been turned down by the Supreme Court. Kenny had a bad feeling.

  "Come on now, Lucius, don't make us come in there."

  Kenny's eyes went back to the letter. I'm going to hire you a new lawyer. I don't think the ones you have are doing you any good.

  Lucius asked a question, but it didn't carry around the corner.

  The sergeant said, "Goin' down the hall."

  "Y'all takin' me to see the warden?"

  "Don't know, podna, just following orders. Let's go."

  "Is they a warrant?" His voice was thin as a wire.

  "Stand up, Lucius. C'mon over here. Don't make us come get you."

  I have enough money to pay for a good lawyer. Please don't tell me not to. I am eighty-one years old and I have my mind made up.

  The guards were talking to each other. "He ain't coming out." "Yeah, he will. Come on, Lucius." "He ain't coming, I said." One of them spoke into his radio. "Go ahead. Unlock it."

  "Oh, Jesus," said Lucius. "They's a warrant, ain't they? The warden gon' to read me the warrant."

  "Come on, now. We gotta take you with us. Don't make it hard."

  "Jesus, Jesus."

  The young guard laughed. "Jesus ain't gonna help you where you're going."

  The sergeant looked around at him. "Shut up."

  The lock clicked, metal striking metal.

  Manuel was crying again. His face would be pressed against the bars, tears making his fat cheeks all shiny.

  Page three.

  In my life I have tried to do the Lord's will, and He has shown me the way. I prayed for you to be saved, and I can already see you walking in the blessed light of His love.

  The young guy stood back while the door came open, and the other three went inside. Lucius was fifty-two years old and weighed about a hundred pounds. They wouldn't have any trouble.

  "Let go of the bunk, Lucius."

  "Don't pull me, I can stand up."

  "Then do it. We ain't got all day."

  Metal clicked. They told him to turn around. Put his foot out. Now the other foot. Click. Click. Chain links whipped through metal and danced on the concrete floor.

  Black guy at the end of the row called out, "Kick their ass, old man."

  Trust in the Lord God, for He is your rock and your salvation.

  Kenny threw the blanket aside and stood up. His legs were weak all of a sudden, and he leaned his forearms on the flat metal brace the bars ran through. He turned his head left to see what he could see. The guards were bringing Lucius out. The blond one pointed at Kenny and said, "Stand back." Kenny blew some smoke into the corridor and didn't move.

  The leg irons made Lucius shuffle along, and his unlaced sneakers slapped on the floor. His hands were cuffed at his waist, curled around each other like he was holding on. The bright orange shirt was too big for him. He stopped outside Kenny's cell. He grinned, and his eyes rolled white in his face. "Bet you a smoke they's takin' me to see the warden. We gon' have us a tea party."

  Kenny nodded. "Bring me a cookie."

  "I will." Lucius seemed like he was
hung up on what to say next. He ran his tongue over his lips. "Take care of yourself."

  "You'll be back."

  "Well. I hope so, but you know what they say. Third time's a charm."

  Lucius had slipped past two death warrants already. For a while he just looked through the bars at Kenny. The sergeant put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go, podna."

  Someone shouted down the row, "Lucius! Stay strong."

  When they were out of sight Kenny put his forehead against the metal and closed his eyes.

  The kid said, "Where they going? What happen?"

  His little brown nose was sticking out past the bars. Kenny wished he could reach around and break it. "Just shut the fuck up."

  "Tu madre." Manuel went to turn on his radio, a spic station out of Jacksonville. Usually the other guys would be screaming at him to turn it down, but nobody was talking.

  Kenny sat on his bunk and rolled another rip. Lit it. He looked down at the letter. I felt His holy presence and heard His voice. He spoke your name.

  "Crazy old woman."

  Kenny gathered the pages of Ruby's letter and tucked them into the envelope. He opened his foot-locker and dropped the letter inside. He'd write her back tonight or tomorrow. Tell her to forget it. Don't waste your money on me, Ruby.

  Eleven years on death row, only one way he was getting out.

  CHAPTER 3

  Thursday, March 8

  Kenny Ray Clark's state-appointed lawyers worked out of an office in Fort Lauderdale, next door to the federal courthouse. A woman named Denise Robinson was handling his appeal. Over the telephone she had sounded African-American, northeastern, smart. And in a big hurry to get back to whatever it was she'd been doing. No, she said. She couldn't discuss the Clark case or any other case. Gail persisted: "Under the circumstances, I believe he'd allow it. Would you ask him?"

  There was a long pause. Ms. Robinson said, "Our liaison's going out to the prison this week. He might have time to see Mr. Clark. I'll get back to you." She hung up. Gail muttered, "Thanks for your call, Ms. Connor." She had made Ruby a promise—not to take over the case, but to find out what was going on. Ruby had wanted to pay, but Gail had refused. This was a favor.