by Scott Pratt
Grace began to pack up her things. The smugness, the arrogance that was being displayed was making her angrier by the second.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Miss Alexander,” Blackburn said.
“What question?” Grace said through clenched teeth.
“What . . . do . . . you . . . want? Within reason, and without Mr. Clancy going to prison. I’m the United States attorney for the Eastern District of Tennessee. I was appointed to this office by the president of the Unites States. I simply will not allow you to bring disgrace upon me and everyone else in this office. I will not allow you to make us all look like fools by agreeing to sacrifice one of my assistants, especially one who has been a friend for most of my life.”
“I can’t believe you’d allow him to continue to—”
“He won’t be continuing. Today will be his last day on the job if you and I can come to some kind of agreement. He will retire. Ben Clancy has been, for the most part, an effective and passionate prosecutor, although I admit he has, on occasion, become overzealous.”
“Overzealous? He orchestrated a murder and pinned it on Darren Street. That’s a bit beyond overzealous, don’t you think?”
“Again, what do you want?”
“I want the jury’s verdict vacated in Darren Street’s case immediately and I want him declared not guilty. I’m sure an escape charge has been filed against him in the district court in California, and I want that dropped. I want Darren to be able to get his life back, the life Ben Clancy took from him. I want a guarantee, in writing, that James Tipton will not face any criminal charges for killing Jalen Jordan, or for anything else. He gets blanket immunity.”
“I can’t put it in writing, but I’ll give you my word,” Blackburn said. “Tipton won’t be bothered.”
“And Darren Street?”
“Done,” Blackburn said.
Grace felt her jaw drop.
“Done? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“How can you do it?” Grace said. “I mean, without the press knowing. Can you sell it to a judge?”
“Like Ben Clancy, Judge Geer happens to be an old and dear friend. I’ll stop by his house this evening. When we go into open court, after the judgment is entered and Mr. Street is officially declared not guilty, I’ll request the files be sealed due to the sensitive nature of the ongoing investigation. Nobody will really care that Jalen Jordan’s killer might still be walking around, so I don’t expect there to be a huge uproar, and even if there is, I’ll refuse to talk to anyone in the press. It will blow over quickly.”
“And you’ll call off the dogs at the Marshals’ and the FBI so Darren doesn’t get killed before we get it done?”
Blackburn nodded.
“So do we have a deal, Miss Alexander?” Blackburn said. “Your client goes free and James Tipton gets a free pass on a murder that he may or may not have committed.”
“And Clancy never sets foot in a courtroom again,” Grace said.
“And Ben retires, effective immediately. He’ll still have a law license. Nothing I can do to keep him from practicing if he wants to. I’m assuming you can produce Mr. Street?”
“I know how to get in touch with him.”
“Have him in Judge Geer’s courtroom at eight thirty in the morning, and if anyone from the press shows up, I’ll know it was you who called them.”
“I won’t talk to them,” Grace said, “and I’m sure Darren will feel the same way.”
“If he doesn’t, it will definitely be a problem, and now that I think about it, I’m going to protect myself just a bit. I’ll ask the court to vacate the jury verdict and dismiss the murder charge with prejudice, but I’m going to keep my options open on the escape. I’ll get the US attorney in California to ask the court there to dismiss the case, but not with prejudice. That way, if your client decides to start popping off to the press, he’ll suddenly find himself doing ten years.”
“I’m not going to let you hold him hostage,” Grace said.
“Take it or leave it. You already know how I feel about taking a case against Ben to the grand jury. If you want to rely on the press to be your knight in shining armor, be my guest.”
Grace looked at Blackburn closely, trying to read his face. She hadn’t heard anything about Blackburn in her three years in the federal defender’s office that would cause her to distrust him, but the compromise he was proposing was almost untenable. Clancy walk away scot free? From a murder? And besides, could she trust him?
On the other hand, she’d accomplished her primary goal, which was to set Darren free and get the escape charge dismissed. He could walk out of court tomorrow a free man. To hell with Clancy, she thought. I’ll take it.
She set her briefcase on the floor, stood, took a step toward Blackburn’s desk, and, as much as she hated the thought of touching him, stuck out her hand. Blackburn also stood. Their hands clasped.
“I don’t know how you live with yourself,” Grace said.
“I sleep quite well, Miss Alexander,” Blackburn said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
As soon as Ben Clancy saw Grace Alexander walk past his office, he was on his feet. He strode past Stephen Blackburn’s secretary and burst into Blackburn’s office without knocking.
“I’ve never been so humiliated in my life,” Clancy said as he stood in front of Blackburn’s desk. His heart was pounding, and he could feel heat in his cheeks.
“It could have been worse,” Blackburn said calmly. “Sit down, Ben, and keep your mouth shut.”
“How dare you speak to me in such a—”
“I said SIT DOWN AND SHUT YOUR MOUTH!”
Clancy was stunned by the tone. In all of the years he’d known Blackburn, he’d never heard him speak so harshly. Clancy slid slowly into the chair, wondering what was to come next.
“Dan Reid came to me the day after Jalen Jordan was shot—and after you’d accused him and his people of being involved—and told me he thought you were responsible. He couldn’t prove it, of course, but he made a far more compelling argument than you did at the time. I let it go because I thought both of you were simply overreacting to the stress of the situation and because I couldn’t allow myself to believe that I’d misjudged your character so badly.”
“You haven’t misjudged my—”
“I told you to be quiet, and I meant it. You’re this close to being arrested for murder.”
Clancy folded his arms and began rocking back and forth in the seat. He rolled his eyes, scoffing at the idea he might be arrested.
“After having seen and heard what I did a little while ago, I’ve come to the conclusion that you were directly responsible for the death of Jalen Jordan and that you knowingly and intentionally framed Darren Street. You conspired with James Tipton to commit murder, you instructed him to plant and manipulate evidence, you obstructed justice, you committed perjury, and you suborned perjury. You initiated and perpetrated a blatant fraud on the United States District Court, and you did it purely out of spite, because you hate Darren Street. And why do you hate Darren Street? Because he exposed you for doing the same kind of thing to his uncle. I’ve been a fool, Ben. You’ve played all of us for fools, but that stops today. I made a deal with Miss Alexander. Darren Street gets out, and so do you. You’re out of here, Ben, as of this minute. I was thinking about allowing you to retire, but I’ve decided I’m not going to ask the taxpayers of the United States to keep you up after what you’ve done.”
Clancy started to say something as Blackburn picked up his phone and punched in a few numbers, but Blackburn held up his hand.
“Marshal Cole?” Blackburn said. “Would you please send three of your people to Ben Clancy’s office immediately to escort him out of the building? He’s been fired.”
Clancy leaned forward and
extended his hands, palms up, as Blackburn set the phone down.
“Stephen, please,” Clancy said. “We’re old friends.”
“Not anymore.”
“But this will ruin me. My reputation . . . how will I make a living?”
“I don’t care. Now get out before I change my mind and have you arrested.”
Clancy stood. He could feel his cheeks warming, and his hands had involuntarily clenched into fists.
“You haven’t heard the last of me,” Clancy said. “I’ll sue. I’ll drag you into court.”
“Be my guest,” Blackburn said, just as the marshals walked through the door.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Ben Clancy looked over as his wife, Rose, finished her morning coffee, rinsed the cup in the kitchen sink, and loaded it into the dishwasher. He’d grown to hate the woman over the years, but right now he had other people to hate, primarily Stephen Blackburn.
“Ben,” Rose said, “this is really bothering me. Why won’t you tell me what happened at the office?”
“Nothing happened,” Ben snapped.
“I tried to call Stephen Blackburn yesterday after you got home and he wouldn’t speak to me. Maybe he was out of the office, but I didn’t—”
Ben was in her face immediately.
“Don’t ever call there again!” he yelled. “How dare you? I’ve never struck you, Rose, but I swear, if you continue to push me and nag me, I don’t know what I might do.”
“Go ahead and hit me,” Rose said. “You’ll very quickly find yourself in one of those jails you loved to fill with other people.”
Clancy spun around and walked toward the garage. He was soon in his car, which he drove down the road a short ways. He turned left onto a dead end called Charlie’s Cove, parked the car, got out, locked the door, and stuck the keys in his pocket. Charlie’s Cove was about a half mile from his home on the Tennessee River. The morning was brisk and windy because a cold front had rolled in. The sun was not quite over the ridge to the east, and Clancy had dressed quickly and warmly in a jacket and a stocking cap. He carried a stick of hickory in his right hand and began walking.
The shock of what had happened the previous day was still fresh in his mind. The nerve of James Tipton. Shoes? Clancy had never remotely considered that Tipton might have the brains or ingenuity to pull off something so clever. But the videos had been of poor quality and the audio really didn’t prove much. And Tipton was the real killer. So why was he, Clancy, being persecuted?
His tenure in the US Attorney’s Office might be over, but Clancy wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. He would take a brief vacation and leave his carping wife at home. The South Carolina coast was always beautiful. He’d go there and think, consider his options.
Congress, he thought suddenly. I’ll run for a seat in the United States Congress and I’ll win. The guy in office now is an idiot.
Charlie’s Cove dead-ended at a circular cul-de-sac, and it was just as he’d gone around the circle and was heading back in the opposite direction that Clancy first noticed the SUV coming slowly toward him. He encountered traffic on Charlie’s Cove occasionally, but he could go days without seeing a vehicle. The vehicle rolled slowly by. It was black with windows tinted so darkly that Clancy couldn’t see inside.
Clancy kept walking. The rush of the wind drowned out the sound of the van’s engine, and within seconds, Clancy’s mind had moved on to the organization he would have to build in order to make an effective run for Congress. Many of the pieces were already in place from the last campaign he ran when he was defeated by Mike Smith in the Knox County district attorney general’s race. There were a few people he wouldn’t ask to return, people he thought were ineffective and who had reacted slowly and stupidly to Darren Street’s smear campaign.
The thought of Street made his blood pressure rise even more. Street, whom he’d convicted of murder, had escaped from a federal penitentiary and now he would be walking the streets a free man. Clancy shook his head. He should have found ways to kill both Street and Tipton.
But he’d be back. He had to make it back. Living well was the best revenge, and Clancy intended to live well. He’d served the taxpayers of the district his entire adult life. He saw no reason to stop now. Being elected to the US Congress would pay him nearly $200,000 a year, more than he made as a district attorney general and more than he made as an assistant US attorney. He snickered at the thought of being run out of governmental service only to return triumphantly with more power and at a higher salary.
Clancy saw a flash to his left and realized the SUV had pulled up next to him and stopped. The doors popped open and men with guns quickly surrounded him. Dan Reid, the special agent in charge of the Knoxville office, walked around the front of the car. He was smiling.
“You’re under arrest, you miserable son of a bitch,” Reid said as Clancy felt cold steel wrap around his wrists.
CHAPTER SIXTY
I’d barely slept in two nights. The first night, I was up with James and Grace all night while he was showing her his video and audio evidence. It was the second time I’d seen and heard Clancy scheming to frame me for murder, and it made my blood boil. The next night, after Grace had her meeting with Stephen Blackburn, I was so full of conflict I could barely close my eyes. On the one hand, the realization that my nightmare might be over was creeping into my consciousness, causing me to feel a cautious excitement. Would I really be allowed to start over? Would I practice law again? Would I sleep in a regular bed and eat real food again? Would I hold my son in my arms?
Or would I be locked up again as soon as I showed my face in court?
Granny had allowed me to stay in a small, spare bedroom at her house that was usually reserved for when one or more of her grandchildren wanted to sleep over. She’d fed me a breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and biscuits and gravy with coffee. It was the best food I’d tasted in years, but I’d eaten very little. At 7:00 a.m., I dialed my mother’s number on the second of my three burn phones.
“Hello?” she said.
“It’s me.”
I heard her inhale and exhale deeply.
“I thought you . . . I thought you might be . . .”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m not all that far away from you. Can you be at the federal courthouse at eight thirty?”
“I . . . I . . . why, Darren?”
“I’m going to turn myself in.”
“Turn yourself in? Why did you escape in the first place? What the hell was going through your mind? Did you really think you could get away with it? Did you think you’d ride off into the sunset? Did you think you’d somehow miraculously prove yourself innocent and they’d let you go? Or were you hoping they’d kill you?”
“Calm down, Mom.”
“Calm down? They’re going to squash you again, Darren, and if you think I’m going to come to the courthouse and watch them do it, you’ve got another think coming!”
“They’re going to let me go.”
There was a long silence. I could envision her, standing or sitting in her kitchen with her forehead resting on her long fingers.
“What did you say?”
“They’re going to let me go, Mom, at least that’s what I think. Grace did it. I’ll explain it to you afterward because what you’re going to see and hear in the courtroom won’t be the whole truth. Will you come? Please? I’m going to need a place to stay for a while.”
She broke down. I could hear her crying at the other end of the phone and desperately wanted to wrap my arms around her.
“I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through, Mom,” I said.
She continued to cry, apparently unable to speak. Eventually she was able to squeak something that sounded like, “I’ll be there,” and the phone went dead.
Eugene gave me a ride down the mountain and dropped me off in downtown Knoxville,
about five blocks from the courthouse. I was still wearing the bruises from the beating he’d given me, but I felt absolutely no animosity toward him.
“Thank you,” I said as I climbed out of the Jeep.
“Good luck to you, Counselor,” Eugene said, and he pulled away from the curb and drove off.
Grace and I met a block away and walked in the front door at 8:00 a.m. The two marshals who manned the metal detectors recognized me immediately. Both of them walked toward me as one produced a set of handcuffs. Both were pressing the buttons on their ear sets and talking quietly. I felt an urge to turn and run.
“Wait,” Grace said as she stepped between them and me. “This is prearranged. The charges against him are going to be dismissed.”
“But as of this moment, they’re still pending and he’s a fugitive,” the taller of the two marshals said. “He’s going to holding.”
“Stop it!” Grace said. They were pulling my hands behind my back. She reached out and tried to pull one of them away. He held her off while they finished locking the cuffs.
“We didn’t shoot him,” the marshal said, “and we could have. We’re just following orders. He walks in the door; he gets cuffed; he goes to lockup until the judge is ready for him. After that, we’ll see.”
They were pulling me away from the door by the elbows as two other marshals showed up and took their places on the door.
“It’ll be fine, Darren,” Grace was saying behind me. “Everything will be okay.”
“You’re one lucky sonofabitch,” the marshal to my left said into my ear as we walked down the hall to an elevator.
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“Break out of Rosewood in a helicopter and you’re still alive a week later? Up until this morning, we’ve all had orders to shoot you on sight.”