He still wasn’t sure what had changed his mind, and he spent the last month wondering why the hell he had gone through with the procedure that had made his life worse than when his right leg was withered with cancer. Now his leg and the cancer were gone, and a strange phantom pain was present that shot down to toes that weren’t there. Apathy had overcome him in the days after surgery, so thick and heavy that it smothered all ambition to walk, to heal, to live. But damn if he hadn’t found inspiration in the most unusual place. A documentary.
His leg was gone, his badge retired, and his romance with whiskey would likely never be the same. But he had found over the weekend some unfinished business. It had never stopped gnawing at him, and if he were the self-reflective type, perhaps he would even admit that what he’d found over the Fourth of July weekend could explain the reason he had gone through with the surgery. Somewhere during the fifth hour of the Grace Sebold documentary, he decided that sitting in a goddamn hospital bed, feeling sorry for himself, was no way to chase down a woman who was guilty as sin.
CHAPTER 36
Thusday, July 6, 2017
ON THURSDAY MORNING, TWO DAYS AFTER THE FOURTH OF JULY holiday, a private jet landed in Castries, St. Lucia. Assistant U.S. Attorney General Bev Mangrove was the lowest-ranking member of the group that piled into the black SUV. Those that outranked her included her boss, Cooper Schott, whose vacation she had ruined a few days before, the director of the FBI, and the head of the State Department. A half-dozen staff members squeezed into a trailing vehicle. They rode mostly in silence, occasionally mentioning the beauty of the island and the lush tropics of the rain forest that surrounded them. But the lure of relaxation that the Caribbean typically offered was nowhere in the vehicle. There was serious work to be done.
Thirty minutes later, they pulled up to the Government House on the northern edge of Morne Fortuné, a hill that overlooks the southern Castries. The building was the personal residence of the governor-general, a location where official business was rarely conducted. An exception was made today. An assistant greeted them when they arrived and led them into the building. Waiting for the U.S. entourage and seated around the living room were the prime minister, the governor-general, and the Honorable Francis Bryan, judge of St. Lucia’s Supreme Court. Greetings and handshakes were exchanged, and everyone took their seats. Present in the hilltop home in the eastern Caribbean were the men and women who ran the Justice Department in their respective countries. They had a great deal to discuss, much to bargain, and wide authority from the few people more powerful than them to get this issue resolved.
CHAPTER 37
Monday, July 10, 2017
FOUR DAYS AFTER THE SUMMIT IN ST. LUCIA, SIDNEY SAT IN FRONT OF her computer and edited the clips Leslie had strung together for episode seven. The previous Friday, episode six showed again, in dramatic fashion, how Julian Crist’s skull may have been fractured from something other than a boat oar. Several theories about alternative murder weapons were produced, and they all contrasted sharply with the paddleboard oar that was used to convict Grace Sebold. The theories offered all hinged on the fact that microscopic amounts of organza fibers, a type of nylon, had been discovered in the skull fracture. The suggestion was that a household object might have been wrapped in a nylon bag or sock and used to strike Julian while he was high on the Soufriere Bluff.
The episode drew a startling 20 million viewers who took to the Internet to share their own theories as to what the object could be, and what revelation episode seven would lay bare regarding the blood and the cleanup. The documentary was the biggest television event of the summer. The Internet, Facebook, and Twitter were abuzz with shouts of Grace Sebold’s innocence.
Some part of Sidney felt bad for Julian Crist’s family, which believed for years that his murderer was behind bars. The documentary could provide no satisfying conclusion for the Crist family: Either Grace was innocent, and the tragedy of their son’s death had ruined yet another life, or she was as guilty now as she was ten years ago, and a commercial documentary was bringing doubt into what they believed was an open-and-shut case. Either way, Sidney knew it was an ugly time for the Crist family. The media was on a constant push to interview Julian’s parents and get their opinions.
The success of the documentary had elevated Sidney’s modest celebrity to movie star ranks. Everyone in America knew her name, and every family member or friend with a loved one in jail seemed to be sending her letters and packages begging for her help. Her desk was cluttered with manila envelopes stuffed with court documents and affidavits and witness lists. Proof, each letter claimed, of innocence.
Graham walked into her cluttered office. “The execs want to meet next week.”
Sidney continued to stare at her computer. “Why? Numbers are good. What could they possibly want to complain about?”
“Your numbers are exactly what they want to discuss. They want another documentary for next summer. Same format. They’re putting together an offer and want to discuss it with you next week.”
Sidney laughed and looked at Graham. “I’m not even done with this one. Nor am I sure how exactly it will end. I’ve got four episodes left to produce.”
“It shows their confidence in you.”
“Can’t they just enjoy all the money Girl is putting in their pockets before they start worrying about how to make more?”
“There’s going to be money on the table for you, too, Sid. It’s a nice offer, trust me. And I haven’t even seen all the details.”
Sidney didn’t respond. She’d spent her career on paper-thin budgets, making films that sometimes were never picked up. Only in the last few years had she found some success. And though she never imagined television would be the place she’d find steady work, the success of the documentary and the doors that were opening for her were something she would eventually have to address. As soon, that was, as she had a free moment to consider her future beyond each Friday-night episode.
“Next week, okay?” Graham said.
“Graham,” Sidney said, swiveling her seat around to face him, “I’m barely making my weekly deadlines. You understand this, right? You all sit in your corner offices up there and the draft episodes just magically appear each Wednesday. But in order to get those finished, my staff and I are working around the clock. This format is great for the viewers, but a death wish for me. Let’s see what happens when we wrap this up. Let’s see what I can put together and how I end the Grace Sebold story before we start talking about next summer.”
Graham smiled. “Oh, they’re anxious to see that as well. We’ll discuss it next week, okay?”
Sidney shook her head. “Fine. But I swear to God, if I’m behind schedule, I’m canceling. I’ve got to get this footage cut for the final edits and do the voice-overs so you all can approve the draft before it goes to production.”
“You’re doing a hell of a job,” Graham said before he left her office.
Sidney went back to her computer. Her phone buzzed a minute later. She saw the strange set of numbers and knew it was Grace Sebold calling collect from Bordelais. She clicked on the recording device so the conversation could be captured to use potentially, as many of their previous discussions had been, in the documentary.
“Yes?” Sidney started, knowing she would not be speaking with a live person. The recording took over.
You have a collect call from . . .
“Grace. Sebold.” Grace’s voice was short and direct as she pronounced her first and last name in a stoic monotone.
... an inmate at the Bordelais Correctional Facility in Dennery, St. Lucia.
Sidney pressed 1 to accept the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” Grace said in an urgent tone foreign to her usual detached demeanor. “Did you know about this?”
“About what?” Sidney asked.
“My correctional officer, who I meet with once a month, just told me the prime minister is looking into my case. He said they’re considerin
g a pardon or a retrial or an acquittal based on new evidence that was presented to him.”
Sidney pressed her phone harder to her ear. “When was this?”
“Yesterday. This was the first time I could get to the phone. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know anything about it, but I’ll make some calls. I met with a U.S. Attorney here in New York. She ambushed me at breakfast last week and asked a bunch of questions about the documentary. Did your corrections officer tell you what’s next?”
“No. I got the impression he is not happy about it.”
“Oh, I’m sure none of the people who were involved in your conviction are pleased right about now. It makes them look bad.”
Two minutes, a recorded voice said through the line.
“I’ve gotta go,” Grace said. “Will you call my parents? Tell them what’s happening.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll try to call tomorrow if they let me.”
“I’ll make some phone calls and see what I can find out. But, Grace, no matter what happens from here, this is good news.”
There was a long pause. Sidney heard muted crying. Finally Grace’s voice came back over the line.
“Thank you.”
CHAPTER 38
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
THE PROCEEDINGS WERE PLANNED PURPOSEFULLY AND EXPEDITIOUSLY in order to avoid a circus of media that would converge on the small island of St. Lucia and bring more attention to the fact that the government was admitting they’d imprisoned a woman for a crime she did not commit. Grace’s call had set things rolling the day before, and when word leaked about a hastily scheduled hearing set for the following morning, the network execs knew they couldn’t miss footage of Grace Sebold being marched back into court. They splurged to charter a plane for Sidney and her crew, which departed at 11:30 p.m. Monday and flew through the night to land in Castries just before 4:00 a.m. They managed two hours of sleep before setting up shop in the courtroom. Sidney and Leslie, as well as Derrick and his camera crew, were the only media presence visible in the near-empty courtroom.
At 9:00 a.m., the Honorable Francis Bryan took his place behind the raised bench. He brought the court to order; and from a side door, Grace Sebold was led into the courtroom by two armed guards. She wore a blue jumpsuit, and her glasses were slightly crooked, as if she’d fallen asleep wearing them and had arrived straight from her bed. Her hair looked disheveled. Sidney had the impression that since Grace’s phone call, less than twenty-four hours ago, things had moved quickly for her. The St. Lucian government was doing their best to clean their hands of the situation.
Grace scanned the thin crowd, looking, Sidney was certain, for her parents and her brother. She settled on the only familiar face that was present: Sidney’s. Sidney lifted her hand in a small wave and smiled. Grace’s eyes displayed shock and confusion, still unsure exactly what was transpiring. She took a spot next to the court-appointed counsel while the high court came to order. The Honorable Judge Bryan spoke.
“Mademoiselle Sebold, are you of right mind this morning and properly represented by counsel?”
“Yes, sir,” Grace said in a muted tone. She didn’t mention the fact that her actual lawyer, Scott Simpson, was in fact not present to represent her, but instead the man who stood beside her was the St. Lucian attorney who had so badly fumbled her case years ago.
Derrick captured the courthouse scene. Two other cameramen recorded from different angles to catch Grace, the judge, and Sidney.
“Under St. Lucian statute,” the Honorable Judge Bryan continued, “in accordance with the Eastern Caribbean Supreme Court, as well as the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, and in light of new evidence provided to the court by the government of the United States, and reviewed by the St. Lucian authorities and this high court, it is within my right and is my final decision, along with the prime minister and the governor-general, to reverse the ruling on June 29, 2007, of murder in the first degree. All previous and formal charges, as of this day, 11th of July, 2017, are annulled and removed, and you, Grace Janice Sebold, are hereby granted clemency and exoneration of formerly charged crimes.”
Despite the thin attendance, murmurs filled the court. The Honorable Bryan did not bother to silence the crowd. Instead, he offered a quick apology to Grace Sebold, directed the guards, and banged his gavel. He was up and gone through a rear door, having spent less than five minutes on the bench.
Grace looked back to Sidney; tears ran down the inmate’s cheeks as the guards pulled her toward the exit as her counsel whispered in her ear. The entourage of constables ushered her through the side door from where she had emerged; a mere seven minutes after the court was brought to order, Grace Sebold was exonerated.
* * *
The proceedings had moved so swiftly that Grace’s parents were absent when their daughter was released from prison. Their flight was scheduled to land that night, and without a soul to welcome Grace when she was released, Sidney found herself late in the afternoon waiting next to a taxi in the parking lot of the Bordelais Correctional Facility when its gates opened. Clanking chain link rattled and whined in protest, but finally parted to grant the thirty-six-year-old prisoner, who had spent more than a quarter of her life within its walls, her freedom.
Along with a handful of local press, and a one-man camera crew from The Voice and The Star—two of St. Lucia’s largest media outlets—Derrick rested the camera on his shoulder and captured the gates parting and Grace Sebold’s face as she walked into the warm, sticky Caribbean air and looked up at the sky, as if she hadn’t seen it in years. She had, though, Sidney’s voice would eventually narrate to the audience, in the prison yard and through the dirty windows of the mess hall. But today was the first time in more than ten years that she was seeing it as a free woman.
CHAPTER 39
Tuesday, July 11, 2017
WHEN FORMAL WORD OF GRACE SEBOLD’S EXONERATION LEAKED, THE Internet went wild. The biggest real-time documentary in television history got bigger, despite the fact that what was sure to be featured in the final episode had just been spoiled. The final installments started writing themselves in Sidney’s mind as the taxi pulled from the Bordelais Correctional Facility and onto the main road.
Without a credit card or a dollar to her name, besides the St. Lucian currency she was issued just before she was released, Grace Sebold was as helpless as a newborn when she walked from prison.
“Thank you,” Grace said. “I don’t know where to go. My counselor said they’d pay for a taxi, and I got the impression they just wanted me out of the prison as fast as possible.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Not just for picking me up, though. For everything.”
Sidney nodded. “You’re welcome.”
The taxi clicked into a higher gear as the driver merged onto the highway.
“Listen, Grace. There’s a reason things happened so fast. The St. Lucian authorities wanted you out of their hair before the press started to swarm. The documentary has become very popular back home, and the Internet is already buzzing about your release. They wanted you out of their courts before the cameras were raging and journalists were shouting questions. It looks bad for them, for the St. Lucian government. A large portion of their economy depends on tourism and they want badly to avoid being painted as a tropical island that unjustly imprisons vacationers. They want you out of their country as fast as possible. In time, they’ll hope that America and the United Kingdom and every other country whose citizens vacation on their tiny island will forget that St. Lucia once wrongly convicted you.”
Grace nodded. She stared out the window of the van, lost suddenly in the lush rain forest that blurred past.
“You’ll soon be the most sought-after interview in the United States,” Sidney continued. “Later today, journalists will arrive in St. Lucia and start looking for you. I’m sure they know when your parents’ plane is landing. As soon as your parents step foot of
f that plane, there will be cameras in their faces and journalists asking for their reaction to your exoneration.”
Grace didn’t answer. Her freedom, Sidney believed, had overwhelmed her.
“I reserved a room for you at a hotel near the airport. I used an alias, so if we get you there quickly, I think you’ll be okay until you get to the airport tomorrow.”
Grace continued to stare out the window.
“Grace, are you listening to me? You need to get ready for a media storm, and you should start thinking of ways to avoid it.”
“I want to go to Sugar Beach,” Grace finally said.
“Not a good idea.”
“I have to.” She looked away from the window for the first time and locked eyes with Sidney. “I have to see it again.”
Captured by the camera that rested on Derrick’s shoulder as he sat in the backseat of the van, Grace’s words would ring out in a future episode. Millions of viewers would watch the back of her head, her hair prematurely graying and in a prison-issued crop, as the taxi snaked through the mountains of St. Lucia en route to Sugar Beach, where her ordeal had started ten years before. The viewers would be given a voyeuristic glimpse as the girl convicted of a crime she did not commit climbed from the taxi forty minutes after her release from jail and stared down at Sugar Beach and the mountainous Piton from which the man she loved had been pushed.
She was a free woman the last time she laid eyes on the Pitons, young and in love. It was evening now, and the sun was starting its descent. With Bordelais situated on the eastern side of the island, this was the first time in a decade that Grace Sebold would watch the sunset. During her ten-year nightmare, only the beginning of each day was visible, never the end.
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