Rudy looked across the table directly into Jack’s eyes, smiled and extended his cuffed hands as far as they could go.
“Hi, Mr. Tobin.” Jack saw the resemblance right away. Rudy certainly didn’t look Irish with his shiny, thick black hair and olive skin. It was the smile and the eyes-not the color but the way they lit up when he smiled. There was no doubt this was Mikey’s son.
“Hi, Rudy. Please call me Jack.” Jack had to extend his hand almost across the full length of the table.
“Okay, Jack, thanks. You know, when they first told me a Jack Tobin was coming to visit me, I had no idea who you were. Then I remembered my dad’s stories about being a kid in New York and hanging out with his best friend Johnny-Johnny Tobin.”
“He actually talked about me?”
“Oh yeah. He told me how you guys climbed through the alleys, hitchhiked on the back of buses, snuck out down the fire escape-you guys had some life. And I feel honored to finally meet the Mayor of Lexington Avenue.”
Jack smiled. “He told you about that?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Did he tell you that it was actually his nickname?”
“He told me that Father Burke came up with the name but it fit you better. He told me the whole story.” He said it in a way that told Jack Rudy knew about his father’s prediction.
They were nice memories and it was even nicer that Mikey had told them to his son. They were five minutes into the interview and Rudy had already won him over with his charm and his warmth. He knew instinctively that he was not talking to a murderer. He would have enjoyed reminiscing more with Rudy-but there was so little time.
“Rudy, do you know why I’m here?”
“Yeah. I figure you want to help me in some way. Maybe file another appeal or something.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Tobin-I mean, Jack. One of those groups that are against the death penalty tried to help a couple of times, but, um, I guess you can tell, it didn’t work. When you’re in here, you don’t get your hopes up.”
“Well, I’d like to try, Rudy. It certainly can’t hurt.”
“I don’t know about that, Jack.”
Rudy’s answer surprised Jack. He had expected a little ambivalence at first, but this was more than that, more definite sounding. Jack didn’t get it-where was the harm? Hell, he was so sure Rudy would say yes to his representation that he’d opened his office, hired Nancy and started discovery. Who wouldn’t want another chance?
“I don’t understand, Rudy.”
Rudy smiled. “I didn’t think you would. But here’s the thing, Jack. A lot of good came out of all this bad that happened to me. My mom and dad got together again. I know seeing me in prison and all was hard on them, don’t get me wrong. But I also know I saw something in my mom’s eyes that I hadn’t ever seen before, when I saw them together. They were truly in love, you know.
“And I got to meet my dad. We didn’t spend a lot of time together. I mean we only met here in prison. But almost every time was a real good time, and over ten years it can add up. And I learned all about you.”
Jack started to speak but Rudy held his hand up.
“Let me finish. Maybe those things would have happened anyway, I can’t say. The other thing is-I never really had any friends other than my mother. You probably read all about me being slow and everything. If there’s anything I miss it’s her and being out on my boat riding up and down the canals. The way I figure it, Jack, when this is all over that’s where I’m gonna be. I don’t understand it all-but I’m happy to think I’m gonna be a part of nature and I’m going where my mother and father are. I’m not praying for any delays.
“So you can do this thing and if it works, I guess there’s a reason for me to be part of the world again. But if it doesn’t, I don’t want you to feel bad about it. Okay?”
Jack didn’t say anything for a moment. He just drank in Rudy’s words. Maybe Rudy lacked book-learning smarts and a respectable IQ, but he had a deeper understanding of his place in the world than most people would ever have. He had no fear about taking the next step. At that moment, Jack took his own next step.
“Rudy, I don’t know for sure why I’m doing this myself. All I know is that your father and I loved each other and we let things get between us. I’ve been planning on retiring in Bass Creek for about five years. When I went to your dad’s funeral and found out about your situation and where it all happened, I just knew I was supposed to do something.”
Rudy nodded but didn’t say anything for a long while.
“Then let’s do it, Jack.” And then Rudy took a breath, like he was really thinking hard about what he was about to say, trying to find the right words. “Jack, maybe you have to do this just to do it, I guess I understand that. But where it leads you may not be what you want or what you expect. Okay?”
Jack wasn’t quite sure what Rudy meant but the guard signaled that time was up. He just nodded to Rudy and stood to leave.
“One other thing, Jack. Do you think people can see the future when they’re about to die?” Jack figured Rudy was talking about himself, and he didn’t know how to respond.
“I don’t know, Rudy.”
“See, the thing is, the last time my dad came to see me, he knew he was dying and he said the strangest thing to me just before he left. I didn’t understand it at all until now. He said, ‘When Johnny comes to see you, tell him from now on when he’s talking to you, he’s talking to me.’”
Jack left quickly, ran to his car, drove out of the main gate as fast as he could-and when the razor-wire fences and the towers were safely out of sight, he pulled the car to the side of the road, turned the ignition off and wept.
Twenty-five
“How did it go with Rudy?” Pat asked as soon as he was settled at his desk the next morning.
“Good. He has Mikey’s smile,” Jack said, and then started shuffling some papers. Pat wasn’t letting him get off the hook so easily.
“That’s it? He has Mike’s smile? By the way, we stopped calling him Mikey about thirty-five years ago.”
“Yeah, I know, but the reference in my memory bank is Mikey. And that’s not it by a long shot. Rudy was amazing. He was warm. He was friendly. He was intuitive. And he is innocent.”
Pat noticed how Jack clenched his jaw when he said those words. “Wow! Sounds like quite an interview. I thought he was slow-easily led-and that’s how he got convicted.”
“He may be slow in the way we measure intelligence. And he may be too trusting-too believing in people-something we commonly consider a character flaw. But he is wise beyond his years in other ways. Pat, I want you to meet him. I’m going back next week. Why don’t you come?”
“I’d love to. I mean, I don’t relish the idea of visiting death row. But I’d like to meet Mike’s son, especially after what you’ve just told me about him.”
“Great,” Jack replied. “You’ll see, he’s got a lot of his father in him-and something more.”
Pat knew from that moment forward that Rudy was going to have the best representation possible-someone who believed in him with his mind and heart. It really must have been quite an interview.
Two days later, the voluminous files from the state and public defender’s office arrived-in a truck. Jack had the movers load them all against one wall in his office. He planned on taking the next few days to immerse himself in those documents.
He started that first morning with the initial police reports after the murder. He immediately began to see why the police had focused on Rudy. He had been at the victim’s house on the night of the murder. Pilar Rodriguez had given the police a pretty accurate description although she hadn’t picked Rudy out of a lineup. Raymond Castro and Jose Guerrero had also been positive in their description to the police-before they disappeared. The blood on the carpet and the broken glass matched Rudy’s-but hell, that was the most common blood type around, so all that did was not rule him out. But
then there was Rudy’s confession, or to put it more precisely, Wesley Brume’s notes of Rudy’s confession. Is there a recording of the interview? And if not, why not? So far, that was the only red flag he’d found.
He next read the coroner’s report-nothing he didn’t already know in there. Her throat had been severely cut by a blade with a jagged edge.
When he’d read all the investigative material twice-the second time in greater detail-he felt satisfied that he had an overview of the prosecution’s case. Something was gnawing at him, though. There’s something I’m missing in this evidence, something I’m not seeing, he told himself. Maybe that’s it. Maybe what’s bothering me is what’s not there?
He left the office about three and took some of the files home with him. Pat arrived a little after five with bags of groceries. Jack was sitting on the living room floor, leaning on the sofa. Papers were strewn everywhere. He looked like a college student, albeit an old one, pulling an all-nighter to write a term paper on a subject he knew nothing about.
“How’s it going? Have you solved the puzzle yet?” she asked.
“Not hardly. I’ve just jumped into the swamp with the alligators.”
“Well, I’ll make you a nice meal tonight-fatten you up good-so when they eat you, at least they’ll be satisfied.”
“Thanks. Seriously, I thought we’d eat out tonight.”
Pat dropped the grocery bags on the table. “That’s fine with me.”
“There’s a little Mexican place in town. It’s my favorite place to eat. Do you like Mexican?”
“I love it, but I can’t go right away. I’ve got to run first and then do my exercises.”
“I didn’t know you were a runner.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jackie boy.”
“Why don’t I run with you? While you do your exercises I’ll do my swim. Then we can go eat.”
“That’s what I like-a planner,” she said as she finished putting the groceries away.
Five minutes later, they were both in their running outfits and heading out the door. Jack couldn’t help but notice how fit Pat was. Her long legs were toned, her midriff was tight, and so was the sports bra she was wearing, compressing those “bumps” he and Mikey first noticed years ago.
I have to check that out, Jack found himself thinking. But then he caught himself. Whoa, boy! That’s Patty you’re talking about!
“How far do you want to run?” he asked after they’d both spent a few minutes stretching. “I’ve got a three-mile course, a five-mile course, eight miles, ten-you name it.”
“Well, since I just arrived in town and haven’t run in a few days, why don’t we start off with three?”
“Okay.”
Jack didn’t have to slow too much to stay with Pat. She held a good pace. Probably eight and a half minute miles, he thought. He was usually under eight minutes but this was fine. He’d work up a sweat and it was fun to have somebody to talk to while he ran.
Pat knew he’d want to talk about the case. He’d lived with those files all day-he’d have to spill some of it out. She decided to be proactive.
“So what did you find today?”
Jack shrugged his shoulders as he jogged. They were running along the river. It was a typical fall evening in Florida-clear skies, cool, crisp air. The river was calm. A few small motorboats, a cabin cruiser and a sailboat puttered by in the “No Wake” zone, but for the most part it was peaceful and quiet.
“Well,” Jack began, “Rudy was definitely at the victim’s house on the night of the murder around the time of the murder. He admits that himself. But he says he got sick and tried to get out of the house to puke and he tripped and broke his beer mug and cut his hand. Then Lucy, the victim, kicked him out of the house.”
“So his blood was found in the house?”
“Yeah.”
“And the only other blood found was the victim’s?”
“Yup.”
“Sounds like you’ve got real problems.”
“That’s not the half of it. The only way that it could have happened the way Rudy says it happened is if somebody else came to the house after he left. Now there were three guys down the block, two of whom saw Rudy going to Lucy’s and coming from the direction of her trailer later-but those two up and disappeared, and the police never even got a chance to talk to the third guy, he was gone so fast.”
“Sounds fishy.”
“Yeah, but sounding fishy gets you nowhere. If there was some evidence that put somebody else inside that house that night, then we might have something. Then the disappearance of these guys might sound and smell fishy.”
“And there’s nothing like that?”
“No. These local cops are yokels. Mind you, I’m not very experienced at crime scenes myself, having been a civil lawyer all my life, and this was ten years ago. But when somebody is murdered, especially a brutal murder like this, there’s usually some clues left behind-fingerprints, footprints, hair follicles-something! These guys found nothing. It’s almost as if they found traces of Rudy’s blood and stopped looking.”
“It could be that Rudy was the only one there,” Pat offered. “You can’t discount that possibility.”
“I can if I believe Rudy, and I believe Rudy.”
Pat didn’t respond. They were already back at the house and she couldn’t even remember the run. It was amazing how fast time passed when you were engaged in a good conversation. But that good conversation worried her. Jack’s taken the plunge, but what if Rudy is really guilty or there’s no way to prove him innocent? How will Jack deal with all of that now that he’s met Rudy and apparently is taken with him? From the little she’d heard, it sounded like a strong circumstantial evidence case against Rudy. And didn’t they have a confession as well? Pat suddenly was rethinking her decision to visit the prison. Do I want to get to know somebody-especially Mike’s son-just before he’s about to die?
The Taqueria was on the edge of the barrio but it was a notch or two above the dives that functioned as restaurants within the barrio itself. There was a dining room and a separate barroom for the “just drinkers.” The decor was haphazard, overdone, and decidedly un-Mexican: A stuffed gator hung from the ceiling, and Florida, Florida State and Miami pennants adorned the walls nestled between deer heads, stuffed jackrabbits and other assorted paraphernalia-including a rectangular sign that read, “Tips up, Aspen, Colorado.” A large poster of El Cordobes, the famous matador, hung on one wall but he was of course Spanish, not Mexican.
Jack and Pat found a place in the corner to the left of El Cordobes and seated themselves. Pat kept looking around, fascinated by the decor.
“I think I finally found the Redneck Riviera,” she said with a chuckle. They were both freshly showered and dressed in jeans and tee shirts.
Jack laughed. “Wait until you taste the food.”
“Is it that bad?”
“No, I’m just kidding. It’s really good.”
When the waiter came they both ordered chicken burritos and bottles of Dos Equis beer. The beer came right away and Pat took a healthy sip.
“It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to run three miles and then start drinking beer, huh?” she said, smacking her lips.
“Sure it does,” he said, clinking her bottle. “The beer makes you feel good, the running makes you look good-and you look good.”
She raised her eyebrows and then smiled. “Why, thank you, Jack. And you look pretty good yourself, especially in that Speedo.” She was referring to the very skimpy bathing suit he’d worn to swim his laps in the pool at his house. “It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”
Jack’s face reddened. Suddenly he was seeing his old pal Pat.
“I didn’t know you noticed.”
“Well, I did.” She looked directly into his baby blue eyes.
Jack returned her gaze, and the new Pat came to the fore again. “Me too,” he said.
The mood was momentarily interrupted by the wait
er who brought the burritos.
They ate in silence, each contemplating what had just happened. Pat certainly hadn’t planned to make a remark loaded with sexual connotation. She hadn’t ever thought that way about Jack-at least, not until she’d opened her mouth. I just told him he looked good, she reassured herself. You can’t read too much into that. Jack was telling himself the same thing. Pat decided to change the subject.
“How are you adjusting to this new life? I mean, this is a far cry from Miami and the big firm.”
“Actually it hasn’t been an adjustment at all. I’ve spent my weekends here for years. The adjustment was always going back to Miami. The big firm was never me. I was successful but I was miserable. When I left it was like walking out of a role I’d been playing for twenty years. This is the real me. I guess I’m really a Florida redneck.”
“‘Cracker’ is the appropriate term,” Pat replied. “I’ve been reading up on old Florida. This is cracker country. But you’re not a cracker either, Jack. You’re just a kid from the neighborhood who made it big and you’ve never felt comfortable in that role.”
“You’re right. I’ve certainly wasted a lot of time.”
“Well, you’ve got the rest of your life to make up for it. Do you think your professional life had something to do with your marriages failing?” It was a question she hadn’t thought about asking. Once again, she heard the words as they left her mouth as if she was a bystander to her own thoughts.
“I’m sure that was part of it. I’ve thought about that a lot. The world of status has its own pressures. But I just don’t think I was husband material anyway. All my wives told me the same thing: ‘You’re not here for me. It’s like you’re always somewhere else. You don’t talk to me.’ All three of them said the same thing at one time or another. I never knew what they were talking about. I thought I was a good husband, a good provider. I talked. We talked every night. I guess I never talked about my feelings but that’s just not the way I am. I don’t like to argue. If I’m mad at you I’ll process it myself. I don’t need to tell you I’m mad at you and what you did wrong and how you hurt my feelings and blah, blah, blah. I don’t need to process the shit that happens at work. I’ll be over it tomorrow.
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