The Law of Second Chances (29 page)

“I’ll get it,” Henry yelled as he headed for the door.

A short, stocky, middle-aged man was standing there. He was dressed a little too warmly for the weather.

“Can I help you?” Henry asked.

“Yes, I’m looking for Jack Tobin. Am I at the right address?”

“Yeah, you are,” Henry told him. “Why don’t you come in?”

The man followed Henry from the foyer to the living room. “Have a seat,” Henry said, motioning to the couch. The man had no sooner sat down than Jack walked in. He stood up to introduce himself.

“Jack Tobin?”

“Yes.”

The man stuck out his hand, a smile on his face. “I’m Luis Melendez.”

Jack didn’t recognize the name. “What can I do for you, Mr. Melendez?”

“A long time ago you offered to help me, and I didn’t take your offer. In a way, I think I’m still paying for that decision. So I decided to come and ask for your help.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Melendez, I don’t remember you. I try to remember all my former clients, but your name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Oh, I’m not a former client,” the man replied.

Jack was totally confused. “Then how do we know each other?”

“Do you remember the Lexingtons football team when you were a teenager?”

“Yes, of course,” Jack replied, still puzzled. “I played for them.”

“So did I,” the man said. “I went by the nickname Rico back then.”

Jack studied the man’s face. It took his brain a few seconds to race back thirty years. He remembered Rico, the tough, skinny Puerto Rican who had taken him under his wing. He looked at the man in front of him. Time had not been gracious to Rico.

He extended his right hand and touched the man’s shoulder
with his left. “Rico, is it really you? God, it’s been so long. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your name right away. I’ve been in a little bit of a funk lately. Sit. Sit. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Sure. Just a little milk, no sugar. Thanks.”

“I’ll get it,” Henry told Jack. “You guys obviously have some catching up to do.”

They were already back in the sixties when Henry brought Rico’s coffee to him. Jack was sitting next to Rico on the couch.

“I remember that championship game like it was yesterday,” Jack was telling Rico. “That kick!”

“Yeah. Jimmy Walsh came through for us, didn’t he?” Rico replied.

“
You
came through for us, Rico. You created the new kicking team. You taught me to be a holder in, what, two weeks?” Rico didn’t say anything.

“You know, Rico,” Jack continued, “I took a lot of stuff I learned in that season with me in my life—stuff you taught me. Things like hard work, never giving up, always staying focused. I wanted to thank you a million times, but I never knew where you were.”

“I was a lot of places, Jack, some of them not such good places.”

“Well, you’re here now, so I can finally say thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Jack. But I didn’t come here for that.”

“I know,” Jack replied. “It sounds like you’ve got a problem, Rico—I mean Luis. Why don’t you tell me about it.”

Luis looked over at Henry, who was sitting across from him, and then back at Jack.

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “Henry is my investigator. You can say anything in front of him that you say to me. We’re a team.”

“Are you the guy Jack saved from death row here in Florida?” Luis asked.

“Yes, I am,” Henry replied. “How did you know about that?”

“I read an article in the
New York Times
about Jack and
your case. That’s kinda how I eventually came to look for Jack.”

Henry nodded. He’d brought the article to Jack’s attention soon after his release. It was in the
New York Times Magazine
, and Jack’s picture was on the cover. Under it was the caption, “The Lone Ranger—the lawyer who fights for the condemned.” The story was all about Jack and his career, but a significant part of it covered Henry’s case. There was even a picture of Henry and Jack sitting at counsel table when they appeared before Judge Fletcher. Henry remembered Jack’s remark at the time: “Great. Now I’m going to have all kinds of people knocking on my door.”

Luis Melendez had been the first one to knock.

“It’s my son,” Luis continued. “He’s in a New York jail, charged with murder.”

“Your son? Murder? Knowing you, Luis, that’s hard to believe.”

“Well, unfortunately, I wasn’t the person you knew for many years of my life, Jack.”

Luis told Jack and Henry all about his life after football. “When Floyd was killed, I fell apart. I was angry. I felt guilty. If I had kept my mouth shut and if I’d let you help us, maybe we could have gotten out of going to Vietnam. Anyway, I was still in ’Nam, so I was scared too. I started smoking dope and eventually shooting heroin.”

Luis told them he had met a girl when he came back to the States, also a heroin addict, and how they’d hooked up and eventually had a kid—Benny.

“I don’t know how we did it, but we were together for two years after Benny was born. Then it fell apart completely. She just disappeared. It took me another ten years to get clean. Then I tried to find her and Benny. Her mother finally told me that Benny had been taken from her by the state and she eventually died of an overdose. Still, I couldn’t find Benny—until I saw his picture in the paper.”

“Didn’t you look in the foster care program?” Jack asked. It was the same question Benny had asked.

“Not at first. It’s hard to explain. Once you’ve been in the
system—and I spent a few years in prison—you don’t even think about asking questions of the state for fear they’ll start looking at you again. When I got my feet under me and had enough confidence to go look, it was too late. Benny was gone.”

“Have you talked to Benny—explained these things to him?”

“I’ve tried, Jack. But Benny apparently had a horrible experience in foster care and he blames me for it.”

“I know about that experience,” Henry added.

“So what can I do for you, Luis?” Jack had an idea, but he wanted to hear it from Luis.

“My son’s attorney was murdered about six months ago, on the day of trial. The trial was held up while the state tried to determine if the murder had anything to do with his representation of Benny. They finally decided that he was probably killed by a loan shark named Beano Moffit. Although they haven’t arrested Moffit or even charged him, they’ve reset my son’s trial. And a public defender is representing him. Jack, I came to ask if you would consider being my son’s lawyer.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. There were several things he needed to bring up, and he wanted to sort them out in his head before speaking.

“Luis, I’m not a criminal lawyer. My background is as a civil defense lawyer. I represented insurance companies. This second career I have is as an appellate attorney representing people like Henry who are on death row. I know how to try a case, and I now know criminal law thoroughly, but here’s the distinction: criminal lawyers represent anybody who comes in the door. I only represent people who I believe are innocent. Is Benny innocent?”

“I don’t know. It looks pretty bad though.”

Jack started to respond, but Luis continued talking.

“You gotta understand this, Jack. I owe this boy. I wasn’t there for him when he was a kid. His mother wasn’t there for him. If he’d had a mother and a father behind him, he wouldn’t be where he is now.”

“You’re probably right, Luis, but he is where he is now. And if he’s a murderer, there’s not a whole lot I can do for him.”

Luis’s shoulders sank, and he dropped his head. For a moment Jack thought the man was going to cry. He hated being so direct, but he truly didn’t want to represent a murderer.

“Luis, what if he is guilty? I don’t want to put a murderer back on the street, even if he is your son, and I don’t think you do either.”

Luis didn’t lift his head. “I just thought I could give him another chance at life,” he said. “I’ve had that second chance. I’ve got a business now—I’m a framing contractor. I thought I could take Benny into the business and teach him the trade.”

“You wouldn’t be able to do that if he’s a hardened criminal, Luis.”

“He’s not,” he said looking up at Jack. “I’ve seen him and I’ve talked to him. He’s a lost soul, but he’s not a hardened criminal.”

“How long were you with him?” Jack asked.

“Five minutes maybe, but I could tell.”

Jack knew it was wishful thinking. He wanted to help Luis, but representing a murderer would be against the principle he’d established for himself.

Henry, who’d been listening intently to every word, jumped in. “Maybe what you could do, Jack, is hold off making a decision until you look into the case. You could learn all the facts first.”

Jack was annoyed at Henry’s interruption. He knew Henry was probably identifying with Benny—their childhoods were certainly similar. Henry did have a point, though. Maybe he was being a bit premature.

Luis kept his eyes focused on Jack.

“That’s a good idea,” Jack finally said. “I’ll look into the case before I make a decision. But if the evidence clearly shows that he’s guilty, Luis, I’m not going to be your man. Do you understand?”

Luis stood up, elated. “Yes, yes, I understand. I can give you a few thousand to get started. And I can get some more.”

“Put your money away,” Jack told him. “This isn’t about money. Let’s see what we can find out, and we’ll go from there.”

43

A week after Luis’s visit, Jack flew to New York with Henry.

“Why do you want me to go along?” Henry had asked when Jack first extended the invitation. “You probably don’t remember this, but I was in prison for seventeen years. I don’t like to fly.”

“Well, you are my investigator, and it will probably be a good thing to check out the place where the murder occurred. Besides, I’m going to have to make a decision while I’m there, and since you’ve already interjected yourself into that process, I want you to be with me and help me.”

“I don’t know about that,” Henry replied.

“Yes, you do, Henry. You’re going to give me your opinion anyway, solicited or unsolicited. I’d just like to have it beforehand. Sometimes you see things I don’t.”

“All right then,” Henry sighed, still not overly enthusiastic about the trip.

Jack contacted the public defender’s office before they left for New York and made arrangements to review Benny’s file and meet with the attorney handling the case afterward. He and Henry spent most of their first full day in the city poring over the police reports. At four o’clock that afternoon, they met with Assistant Public Defender Bruce Sentner. Bruce was in his late forties, a short, slight, balding man who had spent his entire career at the public defender’s office. He appeared to be genuinely excited to meet both Jack and Henry.

“I’ve read about you, and I’m aware of your work,” he told Jack as they shook hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Jack replied, a little embarrassed by Bruce’s effusiveness.

“And Henry, your story is inspiring to those of us who work in this business. We’d like to get it right at the trial stage, though.”

Henry just grunted. He’d made his peace with Wofford Benton, but public defenders still weren’t his favorite people.

“I have to admit I’m a little perplexed,” Bruce said, turning to Jack again. “I thought you only did death penalty appeals.”

“Benny Avrile’s dad is an old friend of mine,” Jack explained. “Besides, I haven’t taken the case yet. I’m just looking into it.”

“Well, fire away. I’ll be glad to answer any of your questions if I can.”

“Why don’t you just give us your overall analysis.”

“Off the record?” Bruce asked.

Jack wondered for a moment what record he was talking about. Then he remembered that government workers were all paranoid. It was an institutional disease.

“Off the record,” he replied.

“Benny’s guilty. Or at least, he’s going to be convicted.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve been doing this for twenty-five years, Jack. I’m as sure as I’ve ever been. He was at the scene. He had a motive—robbery. The witnesses against him are solid. He doesn’t have an alibi or any other defense that I’m aware of. I’ve been concentrating my efforts on a plea, but Sal Paglia, his prior attorney, pissed the governor off so badly that nobody will even talk to us about a plea.”

“So the case has to be tried?”

“Yeah. It’s set in three weeks, and there won’t be any continuances. Somebody lit a fire under the judge’s ass. Before this case, you couldn’t get to trial with this guy. Now he’s as hot to trot as the state.”

“Do you have Sal Paglia’s records?”

“No, but I have everything he had, I’m sure.”

“I did see the report of Dr. Wong when I read your files. It was pretty convincing.”

“Let me tell you a little bit about Dr. Donald Wong, Jack. He’s been around for a while. Excellent credentials. There was a time when everybody was using him. And that was just it. He got the reputation—and I’m sure you’ve heard this term before in the civil arena—of being a “whore.” Whoever paid him got the opinion they wanted. About five years ago, prosecutors stopped using him, so all his opinions for the last five years have been for the defense. And I’m telling you, no matter how heinous the crime, Dr. Wong is there with a reason why your client didn’t do it. The state’s got a dossier on him that would fill this room. You put him on the stand and they’ll rip him a new asshole for about four days—excuse my French. I’m not saying his opinion is bad—he always has great charts and stuff—but he’s a powder keg that will ignite that jury.”

“Why was Sal Paglia using him, then?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know for sure. Sal didn’t often represent people on trial for murder. He may have used Wong years ago and simply may not have known how Wong’s reputation had deteriorated. I can tell you this—the state was salivating over the prospect of cross-examining Wong.”

“So I take it you wouldn’t recommend that I get involved in this case, and you definitely wouldn’t recommend using Dr. Wong as an expert?”

“I wouldn’t let Wong come within a hundred miles of the courthouse, but if you can get his exhibits, I’d use them. Like I said, he’s always got great charts and stuff. In this case, I’m sure he’s diagrammed the whole murder scene, especially how and where the bullet struck, since his opinion is based on that information. All you need to do is get somebody a little more credible to provide the same opinions using Dr. Wong’s exhibits.