Suspicion of Vengeance (3 page)

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.

Ms. Robinson called back on Thursday morning. Kenny Ray Clark had signed a permission form. "He said he knows you. I'm going to quote him because it's kind of funny. He told our liaison, 'Yeah, Gail Connor, the skinny blond girl with a mouth on her.' " Ms. Robinson laughed as if they were sharing a joke.

How strange, knowing a man on death row. Gail could not imagine how a boy of twelve had metamorphosed into a killer. She corrected herself: an alleged killer.

In the same conversation Ms. Robinson quickly recounted the history of the case. After taking over from the trial attorney, CCR had appealed first through the state system, then up the federal ladder—district court, Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals, finally the U.S. Supreme Court. The lawyers had claimed incompetent trial counsel, improper sentence, prosecutorial misconduct, judicial bias, et cetera, and they had been denied at every turn.

"You said 'CCR.' What is that?"

"Capital Collateral Representatives. It's the old name, what we were called before the legislature split us into three regional offices. They wanted to make us more efficient. Keep that conveyor belt moving."

Moving toward the lethal-injection gurney, Gail supposed. "What do you plan to do next?"

Ms. Robinson replied that a piece of good luck had just dropped into their laps—a new alibi witness named Tina Hopwood. She was saying that the police had pressured her not to testify at the trial. An investigator needed to go up to Stuart to interview the woman. Depending on what he found out, they might file a new 3.850.

"Thirty-eight fifty?"

"Three-point-eighty-five-oh. Motion for postconviction relief. Look in the Rules of Criminal Procedure."

After venturing an opinion that Kenny Ray Clark was probably safe for at least another two years, Ms. Robinson relented: Gail could come by the office and look at the files that afternoon. Gail told her secretary to clear her schedule.

, At noon she and Anthony met at their favorite Italian place in Coral Gables. As soon as the waiter had taken their orders Gail leaned across the small table and told Anthony about the new alibi witness.

"Tina wasn't Kenny's girlfriend, by the way. She and her husband, Glen, had rented him a spare room in their trailer. Anyway, Kenny was behind in his rent, and at ten o'clock on the morning of the murder, Tina threw him out. At that same time, an eyewitness put Kenny at the murder scene."

"Why didn't Tina Hopwood testify at trial?" Anthony broke off some bread, then looked around for the butter.

"The police forced her not to." Aware how unlikely this sounded, Gail added, "That's what she alleges. The point is, if Tina Hopwood is telling the truth, and if the eyewitness is mistaken, there's an innocent man on death row."

Anthony took a bite of bread. The gold at his wrist glittered. "What about the confession?"

"A jailhouse snitch. You know what their word is worth."

He looked at her, then said, "May I give you a little advice, sweetheart? Do what you have to for Ruby, then let it go. You should spend your time on your own cases."

"This is my case, Anthony. And stop being so damned condescending, will you? "

Gail hated to admit it, but he had a point. She had taken a risk opening her own office last year, and she was barely afloat. And why not, after the death of her sister, divorce, engagement to Anthony, breakup from Anthony, a pubescent daughter driving her nuts, a miscarriage, six months on antidepressants, and a frequent desire to throw herself in front of a cement truck. She was better now. She was beginning to think she was going to be all right.

Following Ms. Robinson's instructions, Gail took the elevator up to the fourth floor. A sign on the wall announced OFFICE OF CAPITAL COLLATERAL COUNSEL, SOUTHERN REGION. Beside that was the seal of the state of Florida. An unmarked door opened directly into a room with stacks of cardboard banker's boxes and a huge copy machine. A young man in jeans and a T-shirt looked around as he continued to press buttons and flip pages.

"Hi. Need some help?"

It took Gail a second to realize that she had not inadvertently come in the wrong way. There was no reception area because the clients never showed up. She said who she was, and that Ms. Robinson was expecting her.