Twist of Fate

by Mary Jo Putney

  The sunken eyes opened. His dark skin had a yellowish tinge and deep lines were carved in his face. He looked a hundred years old. If he lived until October, he would turn forty. "Who are you?" His voice was as thin and lifeless as the rest of him.

  "My name is Rob Smith, and I'm looking into something that happened a long time ago." He nodded toward Val. "This is Val Covington, my partner."

  A flicker of life showed in Cady's eyes when he looked at Val, who couldn't help but look sexy even in her lawyer clothes. The patient wasn't dead yet. "Why'd you come here? Nobody ever comes to see me." His mouth twisted. "Even my own family don't visit 'cause they're afraid I'll give 'em AIDS."

  "We came because you're the key to understanding what happened the night Officer James Malloy was killed."

  Cady's gaze shifted away. "Don't know nothin' about that."

  Rob pulled a chair next to the bed and sat so he wouldn't loom over Cady. "Are you sure? It's been over seventeen years, but it was a big deal then. A police officer was shot and killed, and you and your friend Darrell Long were key witnesses at the trial."

  Cady plucked fretfully at the bed covers. "Darrell weren't no friend of mine. Stole my money and shot my cousin."

  Rob had done some investigation before coming and learned that one night Darrell chose to rob Cady's cousin, who owned a small liquor store in East Baltimore. Big mistake. There had been a shoot-out that left Long dead and Cady's cousin alive, and apparently destroyed any loyalty Cady had felt to his former friend. "Darrell identified Daniel Monroe as the man who killed Officer Malloy, and you confirmed that. Is the statement you gave then the whole story on what happened that night?"

  "Don't wannna talk about it!" Cady still refused to meet Rob's gaze.

  Val motioned Rob to move away and took his place in the chair. "Mr. Cady, this is really important," she said in her soft, persuasive voice. "In a few weeks, Daniel Monroe is going to be executed for the murder. He claims he didn't do it, and his girlfriend swears he was with her at the time of the shooting. Is it possible that you and Mr. Long made a mistake that night?"

  A tremor ran through Cady, and Rob realized tears were seeping from under the man's eyelids. Val took his hand. "Mr. Cady, if a mistake was made then, it's not too late to correct it."

  There was a long silence while Cady drew ragged breaths, his thin chest rising and falling. "I didn't see nothin', just heard the shots. Then Omar Benson came racing along the street behind us. He saw me and Darrell and waved Darrell over to talk to him. I was too far away to hear what they said, but when Omar left, Darrell came back and told me to say that we saw a shooting, and it looked like this Daniel Monroe guy did it."

  "So Darrell asked you to lie for Omar."

  Cady's hand tightened convulsively on Val's. "Didn't want to, but Darrell said if we did, Omar Benson would give us all the crack we wanted, so I...I agreed. Didn't have enough money, and I needed that crack. I'd seen Monroe in the street a couple of times so I was able to pick him out of the lineup, but I figured he'd probably get off, if not from his girlfriend's testimony, then later, on appeal." He gave a racking cough that shook his thin frame. "They really going to execute the guy? I didn't mean for him to be fried."

  "But he will be, because of the testimony of you and Darrell Long." Val's voice was gentle but uncompromising.

  Cady released his breath wearily. "I didn't mean no harm. I just wanted to help out Omar so's he'd help out me."

  "Omar is gone now, and so is Darrell. Daniel Monroe will be gone, too, if you don't speak up." Val waited a few beats. "Mr. Cady, would you be willing to let us videotape you while you describe what really happened that night?"

  Cady's eyes flicked to Rob. "I dunno..."

  Val leaned forward, her hand still holding Cady's thin fingers. "If we can't find new evidence, an innocent man will die. You're the only person who can make a difference. If you've made mistakes in your life--well, who hasn't?-- this is a chance to clear the record."

  Cady's eyes closed again. "All right, use the fuckin' camera. Ain't nothin' nobody can do to me now."

  Rob opened his briefcase and pulled out Val's compact camcorder, trying to conceal his excitement. So Daniel had really been convicted with perjured testimony! On some level of his mind, a whisper of doubt had lingered. Finally it was gone. And if more evidence was needed, Omar Benson's police file had listed a wrist tattoo of a snake as one of his identifying features.

  He set up the camcorder on a lightweight tripod and began to tape. Drawing Cady's attention back to her, Val stated the date, place, and time for the video, then asked, "Mr. Cady, will you tell us in your own words what happened the night when Officer James Malloy was shot?"

  Stopping frequently for breath, Cady described how he and Darrell Long had left the crack house, heard shots, testified to the police that they thought they had recognized the killer. Joe had felt increasing reluctance, but he'd held to his story because he was afraid of what would happen if he changed it. He was a good liar, he said with some pride. Knew how to keep a story simple and not mess up.

  At the end, he looked directly into the camera and repeated, "I did not see Daniel Monroe shoot Officer Malloy. Darrell Long recognized Omar Benson as the shooter because of what he was wearing. Later Omar admitted to me what he had done and promised me plenty of crack to keep quiet. As God is my witness, this is the truth."

  After Rob turned off the camcorder, Val said, "Thank you, Mr. Cady. You may have saved an innocent man's life today."

  He sighed, seeming to shrink now that he'd said his piece. "I feel better for tellin' the truth finally. I'm glad it ain't too late."

  Val glanced around the room, which was clean but dismal, with the faint scent of failing bodies always found in nursing homes. "Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable? Hospitals aren't happy places."

  "I won't be here much longer," Cady said bluntly. "In a week I'll be gone, and I ain't sorry. This is no kind of life." He hesitated. "But there is one thing."

  "Yes?"

  "I got a dog, Malcolm. He ain't much, just a mutt, but...well, he's a nice mutt. My sister Lucy has been keepin' him, but she don't like dogs, and I'm afraid that when I'm dead, she'll get rid of him. Could you find Malcolm a good home?"

  Val and Rob exchanged a glance. He could see that her first instinct was to volunteer to take the dog, but her second thought was how her cats would react. "I'll be happy to take him in," Rob said. "I like dogs, and I haven't had one in too long. I promise Malcolm will be well cared for as long as he lives."

  "And I'll spoil him with treats," Val added. "How can we find your sister?"

  Voice shaking with fatigue, Cady recited his sister's phone number. Val bent to give him a kiss. "God bless you, Mr. Cady."

  Cady closed his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips as they left the room.

  Rob waited until they were outside the nursing home to express his exhilaration. "We've done it!" He scooped Val up in his arms and whirled her around exuberantly. "By God, we did it! We've found substantial new evidence to clear Daniel." He kissed a laughing Val and set her back on her feet. "Now what happens?"

  "We're not home free yet. A reprieve isn't easy this late in the game," Val said warningly, but she was beaming. "The next step is to write the best damned brief of my life reinforcing all of the factors speaking to Daniel's innocence, and showing what a weak case the state had to begin with. Then we take it to court. The Maryland code of justice says that a court may revise a sentence at any time in cases of fraud or mistake."

  He whistled softly. "That sure is liberal compared to Texas."

  "Some states won't accept new evidence more than three weeks after a conviction. Three lousy weeks! It's absurd." She brushed hair from her face and headed toward her car. "Did you know that the execution rate is highest in the states where lynchings were common? All you have to do is cross the Potomac from Maryland to Virginia and the number of executions skyrockets."

  "Now that we know
who the real killer was, I can start searching for people who knew Omar Benson." He fell into step beside her. "There's a darned good chance that he boasted about the murder to others. Now that we know where to look, we can probably get more statements to that effect. Even though they would be hearsay, they would surely help support our case."

  "Good idea. I'll also call Cal Murphy and see what advice he has on how to proceed from here." She popped the trunk of her Lexus so Rob could put his briefcase and camera inside. "The first thing you do is get multiple dupes of Cady's statement."

  "After you drop me off, I'll go to a place I know out Bel Air Road and have a dozen copies made so we can spread them around."

  When they were both seat-belted in the car, Val said soberly, "Rob--this really isn't a sure thing. Daniel won't be safe until we get a court or the governor to agree that there is reasonable doubt about his conviction."

  He grinned, refusing to worry. "We'll get it. And in the meantime, after I drop off the tape for duplicates--I've got to see a woman about a dog."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Barely able to contain her excitement, Kendra paced around the visitor room until Daniel was brought in to see her by the usual stone-faced guards. His smile lit up the dingy room. "Baby, this is an unexpected pleasure," he said into the connecting phone. "What's with the corn rows? You look good enough to eat, but you haven't worn them since I got sent up."

  She laughed and swung her hair so that the brightly beaded mass of small braids danced across her shoulders. "Now that I'm out of Crouse, Resnick, I can be funkier, so from now on, I'm going to look like a stylish black professional woman. Val doesn't mind. In fact, she's wondering if her hair is curly enough to do the same."

  He grinned. "I'd like to see that. She's a cute little thing, your boss."

  Not interested in small talk, Kendra leaned toward the plastic wall separating them, wishing they could touch.

  "She's also smart as a whip. Daniel, she and Rob have come up with the new evidence we need to get you off death row! This morning they interviewed Joe Cady and recorded an interview of him recanting his testimony against you. He's dying of AIDS, and it's been bothering him the way he and Darrell Long lied to cover up for Omar Benson, who was their crack connection. Val says he spelled it out in very convincing detail. Honey, this is it!"

  The spark in his eyes when she began to speak vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "It won't work, Kendra. A dying con might say anything, and a lot of 'em have. The court will say too bad, this is too little and too late."

  Startled, she said, "They'd ignore a death bed confession?"

  "Damn right they will. Jailbirds don't have a lot of credibility. When they ask if I have any last words, I could say that I offed Jimmy Hoffa if the spirit struck me, but why should any court believe it?" He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and spoke with chilling detachment. "Joe Cady hasn't had a real strong track record with the truth. Val will have to come up with a lot better to make a difference."

  Kendra felt the way she had when an older cousin told her there was no Santa Claus. "How can you be so...so cold about this? We're talking about your life, and you've already given up."

  "I've accepted reality. Beating against the bars hurts too much and doesn't do a damn bit of good." His voice softened. "There's lots of arguments against capital punishment, but one that gets missed is how hard it is on the friends and family of the man who's executed. You're being made to suffer like Malloy's family did, and you don't deserve it any more than they did."

  He spread his large hand on the plastic barrier in an attempt to comfort. "Try to accept, Kendra. The worst thing about what's going to happen to me is knowin' how much it will hurt you and Luke and the rest of the family."

  She raised her hand and rested it against his, feeling a hint of warmth radiating through the plastic. For an instant, she could almost feel them really touching, flesh to flesh, and couldn't bear it. "I can't accept, Daniel, not when this is so unjust. Up 'til now, only you and I were sure of the truth."

  And, God help her, there had been times when she had searched her mind feverishly, wondering if she had been so busy with the baby that Daniel actually could have slipped out of the apartment without her knowing. "Now we have someone testifying that it was lies that put you here. It ought to make a difference."

  "It ought to, but it won't." He pulled his hand from the barrier and kissed the palm, then replaced it against hers. His warm eyes profoundly serious, he said quietly, "You've suffered enough for me, baby. I wish to God that you could walk away today and never think of me again. No more tears or regrets or anger."

  "I can't," she whispered. "You've been part of me ever since we first met. You're Jason's father. How can I not think of you?"

  His sad smile acknowledged the truth of that. "Will you sing for me? At night when I'm lyin' on my bunk, I hear your voice in my mind."

  She nodded, wondering what would fit tonight. Ah, yes, perfect.

  Closing her eyes, she lowered her voice to a husky whisper and began the spiritual "Go Down, Moses." It was a slave's cry for freedom, and as the verses continued, her voice rose to echo through the small room.

  When Israel was in Egyp'Lan', Let my people go.

  Oppressed so hard they could not stand. Let my people go.

  Go down, Moses, Way down in Egyp' Lan',

  Tell ol...Phar-roah, To let my people go.

  Tell ol' Pharaoh,To let my lover go.

  Chapter 20

  "Mrs. Morrison?" Rob studied the slightly built woman through the screen door of her house. Though there was some resemblance to her brother Joe Cady, she had a no-nonsense expression and an air of competence. This pleasant house in Hamilton, not far from the remodeled church, suggested a comfortable, prosperous life. "I'm Rob Smith, the one who called about taking your brother's dog off your hands."

  "Oh, yes." She opened the screen door and gestured for him to come in. "Could you go over that again? When you called earlier, two of my grandchildren were running around, and I didn't catch everything you said. Would you like some iced tea?"

  "That would be nice." He followed her to the kitchen, where an ungainly hound sprawled in front of the refrigerator. A heavy body and drooping ears suggested that basset was prominent in the dog's ancestry, but something with longer fur and a sharper nose had contributed. The dog regarded the visitor gloomily. "Is this Malcolm?"

  Lucy Morrison prodded the hound with a gentle foot to encourage him to move far enough for her to open the refrigerator. "Yes, and a beast less like Malcolm X would be hard to imagine."

  Rob grinned as he knelt and ruffled the long, floppy ears. "The name and the dog do seem mismatched, but I suppose he's used to it by now. Will you come home with me, boy? Joe is afraid you'll dump the dog or turn him over to a shelter."

  "I wouldn't do that, but I'll admit I wouldn't miss having him underfoot." She handed Rob a tall glass of iced tea. "My husband and I run a printing business, my youngest girl is still at home, and I've got grandchildren here three afternoons a week. I don't really need a dog to look after as well. If you like him, he's yours. Now sit down and tell me why you were visiting Joe." She took the lid off a shallow bowl of chocolate chip cookies and set the bowl on the kitchen table. "Help yourself."

  The tea and cookies made a decent lunch as Rob explained the investigation, and how Joe Cady had confessed to giving perjured testimony.

  As he gave his account, Lucy gazed sadly out the kitchen window. "So my little brother lied and sent an innocent man to jail. I wish I could say it was a surprise, but it's not. A lot of women talk about how their boyfriends and sons and brothers fell in with bad company. Sometimes they're kidding themselves, but not in this case.

  "Joe was the sweetest-tempered little boy you ever did see. He sang in the church choir. Wanted to be a fireman so he could help people. Did you know that if you live in the inner city and need help, it's the fire department you call because they always come? And they bring cool equip
ment, too." She shook her head, her eyes dark with ancient sorrow. "Then Joe started to run the streets. I used to be glad that at least he hadn't killed anyone. Even at his worst, he was never violent. Now I find out that he stole an innocent man's life as surely as if he shot him with a gun."

  Knowing the grief and guilt for a brother, Rob offered, "For what it's worth, Joe wasn't the one who came up with the idea of perjury. That seems to have come from his friend, Darrell Long."

  "As I said, bad company," Lucy said dryly. "They were thick as thieves for years. In fact, they were thieves. Half my attic is filled with boxes of stuff belonging to Joe and Darrell from the days when they were best buddies. They had an apartment together and had to move, so I foolishly agreed to store some boxes. Worthless stuff, or they wouldn't have left it. One of these days I need to sort through and toss, but it's easier to put it off."

  Rob was having trouble reconciling Joe's words with this warm, nurturing woman. "Your brother said his family never visits because they're afraid of getting AIDS. Is that true, or was he just angling for pity?"

  Lucy looked startled. "Joe said that? He may have been trying to manipulate you--he's good at that. Or maybe he really believes we're afraid. Different people in the family do visit now and then, but it's hard for us to see what he's become."

  "When we saw Joe, he looked as if a high wind would blow him away. He may not have a lot of time left."

  "It's that bad? Then I'll call my sister and go visit him tonight." Her smile was wistful. "He's still my baby brother, even though he did go off the rails."

  Driven by impulse, Rob said, "My brother did, too. He was executed in Texas."

  She studied his face. "So you understand. I'm sorry about your brother."

  "And I'm sorry about yours, but at least Joe has done a better job of redeeming himself than my brother ever did." Knowing it was time to go, Rob got to his feet. "Will you go with me willingly, Malcolm, or will I have to carry you?"

  "This will be easier than you think. Walkies, Malcolm!"