Tina said, "Clean up my language, okay? You know, make it sound halfway intelligent. And tell Kenny I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I swear to God I didn't."
They sat in the front seat of Anthony's car and watched the Cup 'n' Dip van drive away.
"What do you think?" Gail asked.
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do. You believe her."
"What matters is whether the judge believes her." Anthony started the engine.
"Kenny is innocent," Gail said. "I'm sure of it now."
"You're going to need more than one affidavit to overturn a death sentence."
"But I do feel hopeful, don't you? I think we have some good news for Ruby."
"Listen to me." Anthony put the car back into park and turned to her. "Don't allow your emotions to take over. Remember these words: 'Ruby, I will do everything in my power.' Leave it at that."
"I can't believe you really maintain such detachment with clients."
"Detachment? No, it's professional distance. You're a good lawyer, corazón, but this isn't another of the commercial lawsuits that you are used to."
She smiled at him. "Would you like to come in as co-counsel?"
"No, thank you." He nodded toward the slim leather portfolio on the floor. "Did you bring the fee agreement for Mrs. Smith to sign?"
"Yes, I did."
"How much are you going to charge her?"
"Are you sure you don't want to co-counsel the case?"
"Try to get at least seventy-five thousand dollars."
Gail let out a whoop of laughter. "Oh, my God."
He stared at her, then said quietly, "It will cost you at least five thousand just to copy the existing files, not to mention the thousands of copies you still have to make. Crime scene photographs. Travel expenses, long distance charges, Federal Express. A private investigator. What about your time? Expect to put in hundreds of hours—"
"For a hearing on one motion?"
"How optimistic. What if the judge says no, and you have to appeal his order? Ask her for more money."
"Denise Robinson said they would take the case back if it got complicated, and I'm going to hold her to it. Ruby knows this. I refuse to gouge her on fees."
"No me digas más. " Anthony looked over his shoulder and backed the car out of its parking place. "I offered a suggestion, you don't want to take it, okay."
Gail could feel her temper bubbling. "There's a difference between offering a suggestion and giving orders."
He braked at the road, waiting for traffic to clear. "You know something? When you don't agree with me, it's your case. If you do agree, it's ours. Have you noticed that?"
"Fine. Stay out of it, then."
He laughed. "How?"
Ruby Smith lived in a two-story brick building called Sunset Villas. The lobby was blandly institutional, but the place was clean, and the staff seemed competent. It could have been worse, Anthony thought. Many old people spent their declining days in miserable poverty. This woman was not rich, but she had the money and strength of will to look out for herself.
Gail had told him that diabetes and a bad heart had sent Mrs. Smith to the nursing home. Her three surviving children helped out, but they had scattered to other states. For companionship she had the other residents, a TV, and a turquoise parakeet, which chattered from its cage on a small table by the window. A fresh breeze drifted through.
Smile lines had been permanently etched on the old woman's face, and her brows seemed suspended above the frames of glasses so thick they enlarged her faded blue eyes. The lady's feet, in their socks and pink terry cloth suppers, were propped on a footstool. A walker was within reach. She sent Gail into the tiny kitchen to pour three glasses of iced tea.
Anthony was directed to bring the large tin from the table holding the bird cage. "You ever try peanut brittle? The doctor won't let me have sweets anymore. My pastor's wife brought it over." To be- polite, Anthony took some. The candy was flat, with peanuts in it. It cracked when he bit it, and he caught the pieces against his chest.
Mrs. Smith laughed. "Careful. You like it?"
"Yes, very unusual." He added a small lie: "Delicious."
Gail had told him that Ruby Smith used to live in a small white frame house in the old section of Stuart, not far from the river. She and her late husband had built it with their own hands, Ruby doing most of the work because he'd had a leg shot off in Korea. Ruby had tended him in his last illness, cleaned other people's houses until her body gave out, and never complained. She told the children in her care that everything that happened was part of a divine plan. Gail said she had believed that, as a child.
When Mrs. Smith wasn't looking, Anthony put the remains of the peanut candy in his shirt pocket. As he had expected, the women spent a while talking about old times. From one end of the sofa he listened to stories of Gail's childhood that he'd never heard before. Gail herself sat on a chair pulled close to Ruby's, and from time to time she would turn and smile at him to show he was included.
"How do you like living in America?" Mrs. Smith asked him.
Anthony replied that he had been here for thirty years, was a citizen, in fact, and had two children. He took their pictures out of his wallet and showed her. Ruby picked up a magnifying glass and squinted through it. Angela, who just turned eighteen, studying ballet. Luis, a sophomore in high school. Ruby asked questions about his family in Cuba and was astonished to hear that he planned to take his grandfather there next month. He told her that it wasn't so dangerous anymore.
The talk gradually turned to the subject at hand. Her grandson. The man on death row.
"Poor Kenny Ray. He's had a hard time of it. His stepfather was evil through and through. When my Norma walked out on him, Kenny Ray wasn't but ten years old. Norma wanted to live with us, but her dad wouldn't hear of it. He said she made her bed, and she could lie in it. Norma wasn't much of a mother, you know, but my husband was a fool. We lost her, and all them kids suffered, Kenny Ray most of all. We took them in, but I should've seen where he was heading."
"Oh, Ruby. You can't blame yourself."
"Not a one of us can't look back and see things we ought to have done different, but what's past is past. The Lord has given me another chance. He set my feet on the path and led me to you. Norma is gone, but we're going to save Kenny. You're his instrument of salvation."
The weight of this trust settled down on Gail. "I'll do my best, but Ruby, it won't be easy." She leaned closer, elbows on her knees, and spoke about appellate procedure, the difficulties of overturning a conviction, the time it would take. Ruby listened attentively, asking a question now and then, wanting to understand. Gail answered without hesitation. She said she had hope. She said she believed in his innocence.
Listening to this, Anthony felt a jolt of unease. Gail was committing herself to this case as though her own life were at stake. The odds against her were high, but she didn't see this. Or seeing, she had decided not to care. There would come a time when the hard truth would make itself known, but for now, in this small room, with an old friend whose last wish was to save her grandson, hope was not such a bad thing to have.
The palm fronds outside the second-floor window shifted in the breeze, and the curtains moved inward. The sun fell in lacy patterns on the floor.
Gail said softly, intently, "Ruby, I'll do everything I can for him. I promise."
"That's plenty good enough," said Ruby.
"I suppose we should be going," Gail said. As if it were an afterthought, she opened her portfolio and took out some papers. "I brought the fee agreement with me. I'm sorry to have to charge you, but the costs will be pretty high. I'll need ten thousand dollars to start with."
Anthony nearly leaped to his feet. Only ten thousand? ¿Estás loca? Ask for fifty! He shifted on the sofa and cleared his throat. If Gail noticed, she pretended not to.
The amount seemed to stun Ruby Smith as well, for a different reason. "My word." She waved a hand. "No, no, i
t's all right, if that's what it costs, I don't begrudge a penny. If you need more later on, you ask me." She pointed toward her desk and told Gail where to find her checkbook and pen.
"What else am I going to spend it on? Dance lessons? I'm eighty-one years old. I might kick the bucket tomorrow. My kids don't need it. This is for Kenny Ray." She wrote out the check and signed the papers. "There you go, honey. Now when y'all get home, give Irene and Karen a big kiss from Ruby. And tell them to come see me!"
"I will." Gail bent down to hug her. "Good-bye. We'll call you again before we leave."
"Come here, Anthony, you get a hug too. Now help me out of this chair, I want to walk you to the door."
Anthony took her arm, and Gail positioned the walker. The old woman leaned heavily on it. "Gail, you be my boy's champion. Like it says in Psalms, 'Plead my cause, O Lord, with them that fight against me. Let them be as chaff before the wind.' " A smile beamed from her wrinkled face. "It's a glorious day. I want to shout."
CHAPTER 7
Saturday afternoon, March 10
Under a boundlessly blue sky, pine hammocks and sabal palms dotted the monotonous landscape. A few head of cattle watched the car pass. Gail knew that the first Bryces in Martin County had once owned all this land. Looking at a map she could see how Bryce Road would go under 1-95, then veer south, join a small county road, and eventually vanish in endless flat plains of sugarcane. Lake Okeechobee was a blue curve on the left side of the map.
Anthony was cursing in Spanish at the rocks that clattered on the undercarriage of his new black Seville. As they drove west, Gail told him that she didn't plan to ask the sheriff any questions. It would be useless. But she would tell Jackie why they'd come to Martin County, so she wouldn't find out later by accident.
"Why don't you ask her to help you?"
"Help with what?"
"She knows people here," Anthony said. "You don't. Ask her how to find the snitch who said Kenny Clark confessed to murder."
"Jackie's father arrested Kenny. That would be a little dicey, don't you think? Getting her involved like that?"
"She works for the city police, not the sheriffs office. All she has to say is no."
"True," Gail said reluctantly. "We'll see how it goes."
At the ranch, which used to belong to Diddy Bryce, they parked among the other cars inside the wire fence. Further on were pine trees, a long tin roof glinting in the sun, and some outbuildings. A dozen horses cropped the grass in a paddock. A gravel road led toward an open gate where dozens of balloons danced on their ribbon tethers.
The gate was tended by women in matching green T-shirts, and a sign announced that ten-dollar donations to the historical museum would be gratefully accepted. Gail had left her purse under the seat and had only a few dollars in the pocket of her shorts. Anthony reached for his wallet.
"Gail!" She looked around. Jackie was jogging toward them, wearing jeans and a white cowboy hat. Her hair swung at her shoulders.
"Hi. I was about to think you wouldn't make it." Pearl buttons accented her blue denim shirt, and a wild turkey feather decorated her hatband. She put an arm around Gail's waist and spoke to the women selling tickets. "This is my cousin Gail from Miami, and her friend Anthony."
"Well, then, you-all can go in for free."
"No, I'll pay." Jackie bumped Anthony aside with a hip and laid a twenty on the table. The woman waved them through. In a low voice Jackie said, "People are always offering to do me favors. I never say yes. They'd expect me to forget I saw them run a stop sign or something. Why don't you come over for dinner tonight? Or just come over, if you get too stuffed on barbecue this afternoon."
"Oh, I'd love to, but we've already got plans." Gail didn't elaborate. They planned to drop in to talk to the eyewitness, Dorothy Chastain, at five o'clock. "Is your dad here?"
"He was, but he got a phone call. I think he'll be back."
Jackie pointed things out. A picnic tent with tables and chairs, another for food, a third with crafts for sale: quilts, wood carvings, toys, fishing lures. The band played country music from a stage erected near the tin-roofed, concrete block building that Jackie called a barn.
Gail doubted that Anthony had any more of an appetite than she did; room service had brought lunch. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Anthony, would you find us something to drink?" A hint to leave them alone for a minute. She smiled at him.
He smiled back, then asked Jackie what she wanted. "Nothing for me, thanks." He walked into the crowd. Gail saw a couple of women stare at him. He was worth looking at: the way he moved; the dark hair that waved back from his forehead; the full mouth. He wore three rings, a gold bracelet, and a lizard-strap watch. The white shirt, rolled casually to the elbow, had been purchased at the Prada store in New York.
"What a babe," Jackie said. "Are you guys reengaged yet?"
"He's trying to wear down my resistance," Gail said.
"I wouldn't have any."
"Who are you going out with?"
"Nobody, really. Well, this guy in fire-rescue, but"— she grinned—"the man can put out fires, he just can't light them."
Gail hugged Jackie's arm. "I wish you'd come to Miami. We'd have a good time."
"Maybe I will. I've got some vacation days coming."
"Listen," Gail said, "there's this case I'm working on—"
But Jackie's attention had been drawn to the stage. The band had stopped, and two of the members were carefully hoisting an old man up the steps by his elbows. Gail shaded her eyes. "Oh, my God. Is that Diddy?"
"Sure is. Still kicking. He sold the place about five years ago, but he loves to come out here and play cowboy."
Diddy Bryce put his harmonica to his lips and reedy notes came out in a lively tune. A guitar and banjo played backup. From time to time the old man stopped to shout instructions to what Gail finally realized was an imaginary dog chasing a fox.
"Git 'im! Cut 'im off!" More reedy notes on the harmonica, then another shout, "In the woods!" The banjo player stepped forward to do a solo, and Diddy Bryce's toe tapped as he played along. "Git 'im! Go'n, boy!" He stopped abruptly, grinning and pointing upward. "Treed 'im!"
The audience laughed and applauded.
Diddy held on to the microphone. "Used to be all kinds of wildlife in them woods yonder. Foxes and bear and coons and wildcats. Gators too. We still got gators in the ponds and canals, so watch out when you go skinny-dippin'." The crowd laughed. "Back when my pa was a young man, 'fore there was fences, he run about two hunnerd head of cattle free-range, and he'd round 'em up with cattle dogs. They had their dogs and their bull whips. My arm ain't so good anymore, but here's my sidekick, Rusty Beck, to show you how it's done."
While Diddy talked, volunteers had been moving the crowd back from the stage, and two boys had dashed around setting empty soda cans on the ground. A chestnut horse trotted into the clearing. The rider kept his fist tight on the reins, and the horse pivoted, kicking up dust. The man threw a leg over the pommel and slid off.
Rusty Beck carried a leather bullwhip and a knife in a sheath on his belt. Sleeves rolled past his biceps showed off hard, ropy muscles and a tattoo of an eagle on his right arm. His hair was tied back in a graying ponytail, and the sun picked up the red in his goatee and mustache. A hat with a silver band shaded his eyes.
Gail stood on tiptoes to try to locate Anthony in the crowd, hoping he could see this. When the boys had led the horse away, the man made a quick movement like throwing a ball overhanded. The whip uncoiled with the crack of a rifle shot. Walking in a slow circle, his arm moving rhythmically, he snapped the long whip to left and right. The crowd moved back. He turned quickly and one of the soda cans leaped up in a puff of dust. Sharpened steel glinted at the tip of the bullwhip. The dented can fell back and spun. The man sent another one flying, and as it descended, he cut it wide open. He worked his way across the open ground, his steps accompanied by loud cracks. Cans jumped and clattered.
Gail spotted Anthony shouldering his w
ay slowly through the crowd, smiling his apologies. Taking a shortcut, he appeared at the edge of the clearing with two large paper cups. The bullwhip cracked over his head, and he froze.
A line of small explosions cut off Anthony's path. People moved back, laughing in alarm. Anthony turned slowly to face the man with the whip and stared at him through his sunglasses. Dirt leaped up within a few inches of his polished shoes, and grit dusted his pleated trousers.
Gail grabbed Jackie's arm. "He's going to get hurt."
"No, he won't, but it's rude." Jackie yelled, "Rusty, stop showing off!"
Laughing, the man turned his back, and the long whip came down on another soda can. Anthony stood still for a moment, then stepped away. The crowd applauded, but his lips were pressed too tightly to return their smiles. Reaching Gail, he gave her one of the cups.
Jackie looked toward the stage. The man was getting back on his horse. "He always does that, and usually it's one of his friends in on the joke. I'm sorry it was you."
Anthony made a slight shrug. "Who is he?"
"Russell Beck—Rusty. This is his property. He's the one who bought Diddy out. I should tell him to watch his manners."
The band was playing again. Anthony nodded toward the pine trees at the other end of the barn. "Let's stand over there." As they walked, the noise diminished. "There's a sign by the food tent. The catering has been donated by the JWM Corporation. That stands for J. Whitney McGrath, no?"
"That's right, but everybody calls him Whit."
"You know him?" Gail asked.
"We say hello. He keeps a couple of horses in the barn. Rusty looks after them."
Jackie caught the glance that Gail and Anthony exchanged. "Why'd you ask about Whit McGrath?"
Gail explained. "His name showed up on a murder investigation in Palm City twelve years ago. I'm representing the man who was convicted of the crime, Kenneth Ray Clark. His grandmother is Ruby Smith. She used to babysit for us. Do you remember her?"
Jackie slowly shook her head. "Not really."
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