Suspicion of Vengeance (32 page)

"We can go in May," Anthony said. "I made some calls. It could be arranged."

The old man sighed. "Maybe I should stay home. If I went back to Cuba, would it still be there? I don't know. The older I get, the less I know. When I was your age I had all the answers. Things seemed so clear to me then. Those values in which I believed—the Tightness of our position, the evil of theirs, the honor in shedding blood— Where are they? I tell you, old age is a strange place to be in. Everything becomes gray. Everything."

He leaned over to pull a weed from between two of the paving stones. "If the man is innocent, I suppose you have a duty."

"It's Gail who needs me," Anthony said, "not her client. I am sorry for him, but there is little anyone can do. Gail can't accept that. I tried to persuade her to give this case to another lawyer, but she wouldn't. I can't force her, and I was wrong to think she would listen to me."

"They never do. Your grandmother pretends to, but she does what she wants. Years ago, she would lie to me. Now she doesn't bother." Ernesto laughed. "The old girl has her spurs in my ribs now." He reached over and patted Anthony's knee. "Go. If she needs you, go to her. It isn't weakness that draws you, I can see that."

Ernesto finished the last of his
café.
"May isn't such a bad month to be in Cuba. I will try to last that long."

At 10:30 a.m., in the clerk's office of the Martin County courthouse, Anthony filed a notice of appearance in
State v. Clark.
Gail had not asked him to do this; it had been Anthony's idea. Seeing the clerk time-stamp the document, he murmured to Gail, "It feels like getting married. I'm stuck with you now."

She squeezed his hand.

Next they went to Judge Willis's office to inquire about resetting the hearing date for the 3.850 motion. His judicial assistant said the judge would have to approve, and to come back at noon, when his honor came off the bench.

The postponement had also been Anthony's idea. With what they had now—a new alibi witness and a retraction of testimony by a jailhouse snitch—he put chances for success at less than fifty percent. They needed more, and Gail thought she had found it. She had drawn a dotted line from the victim, Amber Dodson, to a forged deed, then to a multimillion-dollar real estate project. Amber had known too much; she had been murdered to insure her silence. The theory relied on the assumption that the deed was in fact a forgery and that Amber had known about it Aside from Whitney McGrath or Rusty Beck only one person had the answers: Gary Dodson. Gail wanted to talk to him again. Anthony doubted he would cooperate. The other source was the Mendozas. Jackie Bryce had found a traffic citation for Ignacio Mendoza on January 4,1988, still unpaid. No later information appeared. Hector Mesa was talking to other Guatemalan families in the area to see if any had known the Mendozas. So far, nothing. Gail had said she feared finding them. If they were alive, and the deed was genuine, there was no crime, no motive for murder. No alternate theory of who had killed Amber Dodson. No way to save Kenny Ray Clark.

Gail had thrown herself into his defense with surprising ferocity. Anthony had seen her fight for a client before, but not to this degree. She worked with an astonishing single-mindedness of purpose. She breathed quickly, as though being pursued; ate little; slept less. When she closed her eyes, the restless movement continued beneath her eyelids.

Through hard experience Anthony had learned not to become so lost in his cases; it was safer that way. He had told her, but she couldn't hear him. She was too far from shore, swimming in heavy seas. He would keep her from going under if he could.

In Judge Willis's chambers they sat at the long table perpendicular to his desk. Anthony let Gail talk. She revealed nothing about her theory of the murder, only that she needed more time to find witnesses.

Judge Willis was turning red to the roots of his white hair. He unzipped the front of his robe as if he needed to breathe. "Unbelievable. You folks sashay in here at the last minute—"

"This is a complicated case that I took on only two weeks ago, your honor. I've had to read several boxes of pleadings, reinvestigate the facts, prepare a 3.850, a brief for the Florida Supreme Court, a petition for
habeas—
I beg the court's understanding. My client's life is on the line."

"Ms. Connor, I've bent over backward for you, trying to be accommodating. This court does not exist for the convenience of the lawyers. You said you would file your papers on Monday, I expect you to do so. I'm hearing this case at two o'clock next Wednesday."

"I won't be there."

"You what?"

"I won't be there. I refuse to be pushed into doing a half-assed job just so everyone can say Kenny Ray Clark had a lawyer and now we can get on with his execution. There are witnesses with crucial evidence, and there is no way I can find them, speak to them, finish the motion, and argue it by next Wednesday. If this court won't allow me sufficient time to prepare, I will withdraw, and you can send an innocent man to his death unrepresented."

Anthony nearly gasped at the brazenness of it. He leaned close to Gail, his face momentarily hidden from the judge, and whispered, "What are you doing?"

Judge Willis stared at her. "This is outrageous."

"Yes, it probably is, your honor, but I have no alternative."

"Are you behind this, Mr. Quintana?" The judge was shouting. "Is this the way you people do it in Miami?"

Anthony felt Gail's eyes on him. "With all due respect, I absolutely agree with Ms. Connor. We need a little more time. For your part, simply moving the hearing date to Friday would demonstrate fairness to the defendant and reduce the chances of reversal."

"I don't give a damn about being reversed." He slammed his hand on his desk. "Get the permission of the state attorney, and I might consider it."

Gail said, "Judge, it's my motion. The state shouldn't have to give their approval."

"Other people besides you are involved here."

"But of course they're going to say no."

"Don't push it, counselor."

Anthony stood up, taking hold of Gail's elbow. "Thank you, judge."

In the corridor Gail leaned against the wall and took deep breaths. Anthony put his arm around her. Gradually she stopped shaking and the color returned to her face.

He said quietly, "Do you want to explain where that came from?"

"Anthony, you know I wouldn't withdraw. I wouldn't. But it worked. Didn't it?"

"You got what you wanted, but you may pay a high price for it."

"What else was I supposed to do? I couldn't file the motion with what we had, and he was going to make me do it! He doesn't care, it's all rules to him—"

"Gail, stop."

"Rules and procedure and his goddamn schedule. Who cares if a man is going to
die!
If it doesn't fit into the schedule—"

"Gail!"

She pressed her fingers to her cheeks. "I have the worst headache." The polish on her nails was chipping off. The delicate skin under her eyes had darkened with fatigue.

Anthony wanted to yell at someone. He wanted Kenny Clark to hang himself in his cell. He had sworn to her not to lose his temper. Had sworn it. He kissed her, leaving his face pressed to hers for a moment, not caring about the glances from other people in the corridor. "Come on, we'll find you some aspirin."

She closed her eyes. "I'm so glad you're here."

Sonia Krause, state attorney for the Nineteenth Judicial Circuit, was a woman in her late forties, gray-haired and physically smaller than Anthony had expected, but in no way less formidable. She had heard of him. She asked if he was going to argue the motion.

"No, I'm here to assist Ms. Connor."

Ms. Krause rocked her chair forward to look at her desk calendar. "So essentially, you want the hearing postponed to.... let's see... Friday, March 30.1 have no problem with that. Is eight o'clock all right? We should have a ruling by early afternoon, giving Judge Willis time to fax the order to Tallahassee the same day."

Through a tight smile Gail said, "You obviously expect him to rule in your favor."

Ms. Krause's silver-framed glasses turned toward her. "Every death penalty case that comes out of this circuit comes back to us on a motion to overturn the conviction, but it rarely changes the result."

"Then let's do away with appeals altogether."

"Ms. Connor, we aren't on some kind of crusade to execute your client."

"I know that. It's not a crusade, it's a conveyor belt."

Patiently Ms. Krause said, "I don't like capital punishment, but it's necessary. Life without possibility of parole is a lie because legislators can change their minds and let these people out. There are no recidivists with the death penalty. If we save one innocent life, it's worth it."

Gail moved to the front edge of her chair, and color flamed in her face. "I really don't care about theories. All I'm concerned about is one man, my client, who happens to be innocent."

"You'll have your chance to prove it." Ms. Krause penciled in the new date.

"I'm curious," Gail said. "How can you be absolutely certain he's guilty? You were at the trial. You heard the testimony. An alleged statement to a jailhouse snitch. An eyewitness who was out of town for more than a week before looking at mug shots. Someone who saw Kenny in Fort Pierce at ten-thirty, no blood on him. If he hadn't had such a lousy lawyer, he would have been acquitted. You must know this."

"I've lost quite a few guilty defendants because they had good lawyers. That argument isn't persuasive."

"So you have no doubt of his guilt? None at all?"

"No, I don't." Sonia Krause looked at Anthony. "Is there anything else?"

Gail said, "Do you really believe that?
How?"

"Thank you, Ms. Krause." Anthony pulled Gail up by an elbow. "We'll see you next week."

On the sidewalk, Anthony said sharply, "Get in control of yourself. I thought she might throw us out and tell us to forget changing the hearing date. You argue with the judge, now the prosecutor?"

"I'm sorry. It was just so
insane.
She can't believe what she says."

"Yes,
corazón,
she does. She has spent years convincing herself that your client is guilty, and that the system works perfectly. You won't change her mind. They never admit they are wrong, not even if you show them a videotape of your client at Disney World when the crime was committed."

He turned Gail toward the parking lot where they had left his car. The day was bright, and he put on his sunglasses. Gail squinted unhappily. "We need to call the Florida Supreme Court," he said.

"I was just thinking about that," she replied. "The death clerk."

"Do you want me to do it?"

"No, I will."

"All right, but don't yell at her."

"I won't!" She opened the passenger door before he could get to it.

The car was hot, and he turned the air conditioner to high. He dropped his head to the headrest.

"I have a message," Gail said, showing him the blinking green message light on her phone. "Maybe they've changed their minds. They're switching the hearing back to Wednesday because I was such a pain in the ass." She pressed a button and looked at the screen. "It's Miriam." She hit her speed-dial. "Hi, it's me, what's going on? ... Really?" Her eyes went to Anthony. "What did he say? ... No, I don't. What is it?"

She wrote a number beginning with 561. A local area code. When she hung up, Anthony asked, "Who is that?"

"Whit McGrath. He called about an hour ago." She stared down at her notepad. "He said to call back. I don't know why. Should I call him?"

Anthony thought about it. "Later. Make your call to Tallahassee."

Gail looked at the numbers for McGrath and entered them into her phone. "He's going to inform us that there's a stick of dynamite under your car, and he wants to hear it go off." She put the phone to her ear, listened, then shrugged. Her mouth formed the words,
No answer.
"Mr. McGrath, this is Gail Connor returning your call. Sorry I missed you, but you can reach me on my cell phone." She left the number.

"That's very strange," she said. "I wonder what he wants."

"Call the clerk, Gail, get it over with."

She took her address book out of her purse and turned the pages. "Supreme Court. Supreme Court. I am so eager for more humiliation." She slowly punched in the number and put the phone to her ear. She closed her eyes, and her lips moved.

"What are you doing? Praying?"

"Marcia Turner, please. This is Gail Connor on the Kenneth Ray Clark case." She waited, taking deep breaths. Her hand reached across the seat and grabbed his. Her fingers were cold. "Ms. Turner, hi, this is Gail Connor. I've had to reset the 3.850 hearing to Friday, March 30. The brief for you is due the same day, but I don't think I can have it for you until Monday, and if we could move oral argument to Tuesday—" Her face was bloodless. "I thought it was a
tentative
date.... I apologize... .Yes, I know they have other cases, but I
can't be there
on Monday. I'm about to find the person who actually committed the crime. My client is
innocent,
Ms. Turner, please, I'm begging you—"

She nodded and cleared her throat. "Yes, that would be fine
      
Of course Twill. You're so kind. I am eternally grateful. And again, my apologies." She disconnected.

Anthony could feel his heart thudding. She was making him insane. He spoke calmly. "When is it?"

"Two o'clock, Tuesday, April third. They had a cancellation, otherwise it would've been impossible. I have to file the brief on Saturday by noon. She said the justices don't like hearing cases so close to the execution date. It puts them under a lot of pressure." Gail laughed. "They have no
idea."

For the convenience of having a place to work, Anthony had rented a third-floor hotel suite on Hutchinson Island, facing the Atlantic. He and Gail stopped for groceries, then unloaded the car. She had brought along office equipment and several boxes of files. They would drive to Florida State Prison in the morning so that her client—
their client
—could sign the motion. More accurately, the client would sign a page to be added next week, as soon as Gail finished writing the motion.