"Well, Ruby asked me to help Kenny Ray. He's been on death row for eleven years. The victim was Amber Dodson. Her name might be familiar. She was twenty-four, married, stabbed to death in her own house. Her baby died of accidental suffocation."
"Right, right. It's an old case. The guy who killed her was a local, a laborer or something. And you're his lawyer?"
"I'm going to file an appeal. I believe he's innocent. This morning we talked to a woman named Tina Hop-wood. She could have given Kenny Clark an alibi, but the lead detective threatened to have her probation revoked if she testified. The case was handled by the sheriff’s department. Jackie, I wanted to let you know up front because technically it puts me and Garlan on opposite sides."
"Who was the detective?" Jackie asked.
"Ronald Kemp."
"I've met him." Her brown eyes revealed nothing else. If she had an opinion of Kemp, she wasn't sharing it. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because I need help locating someone. I thought that since you're with the Stuart PD, you might know. But don't, if you'd rather not."
"Who is he?"
"Vernon Byrd. He's also a jailhouse snitch. He said my client confessed. I think he was lying."
"I know Vernon," said Jackie. "He's about six two, three hundred pounds. His street name is Peanut. We busted him last month for disorderly intox. It took four officers to get him cuffed. He hangs out at the Cherokee Lounge, sort of a bouncer. I could get a home address for you."
"Wonderful. Are you sure it's all right?"
"What do you mean?"
"All right with Garlan."
"I don't see a problem. If you've got questions about procedure or need an address, something like that, I could help you. But I can't go behind anyone's back or give out information you're not entitled to."
"No, of course not," Gail said.
"So you really think your guy didn't do it?"
"That's what we think, but we can't prove it yet. There was an eyewitness, a woman who lived across the street from the Dodsons. She saw a man fitting my client's general description in their yard, but we think she was wrong. I'm going to talk to her about it later today."
Jackie hooked her thumbs in the back pockets of her jeans. She was a couple of inches taller than average, and her body gave the impression of quick, agile strength. "This is good stuf£ I don't get to investigate homicides. Most of my work is fairly routine, you know, being on road patrol." She rocked on her boot heels. "Are you sure it was a break-in? I guess they looked at the husband."
"He was the first suspect," Anthony said. "He's a lawyer, Gary Dodson. He sold the house, but he still practices in Stuart. Do you know him?"
"Only the name. He runs ads in the newspaper. Cheap divorces and wills and things like that. Were he and his wife having problems?"
"His alibi checked out," Gail said. "He was at work by nine o'clock, and Amber died between ten and two."
"Only if you believe the medical examiner," Anthony said. "Time of death isn't that reliable. In fact, querida, you should let an independent forensic pathologist look at the ME's notes."
"You still think Amber's husband did it, don't you?"
"I think he's the most logical choice. Well? Do you want me to talk to a pathologist? I have one in mind. I would trust his opinion."
Gail wondered how much it would cost, then decided it didn't matter. "All right, fine."
"That's not a bad idea," Jackie said. "I went to a seminar on homicide investigation, and one of the speakers was this FBI expert who said it's useless to talk about time of death. There are so many factors that can throw you off. Body weight, air temperature, blood loss, even whether the person had been exercising."
"Exactly so," said Anthony.
The hat made a shadow across Jackie's face. Under the brim her eyes turned to Gail. "What was it you were saying about your client's alibi witness? The police threatened her?"
Gail said, "Kenny was renting a room in Tina Hop-wood's trailer. She could have gone on the stand and contradicted the eyewitness, but she didn't. She told us that Detective Kemp accused her of lying and said he would 'discover' drugs in her house if she gave Kenny Clark an alibi, so Tina kept her mouth shut. She couldn't go to jail. She had two kids to support. She's coming forward now because ... well, I suppose you could say it's a guilty conscience."
"Okay. So who was the guy in the yard? Did the victim have a boyfriend?"
"Who knows? According to one of her coworkers, she wasn't getting much from her husband."
"Were there any other suspects?"
"Amber's sister was on the list for a while. Lacey Mayfield. Do you know the name?"
"Sure. She works at Mayfield Antiques on Flagler Avenue in the old downtown. The Mayfields have owned it for years."
"Lacey came by Amber's house early that morning, but she was asleep, so Lacey left and went to work. She was there the rest of the day except for about forty minutes when she went to lunch. Supposedly."
Jackie looked past Gail and called out to someone. "Hey, Dad. You missed most of the party."
Garlan Bryce was heading in their direction. He wore boots and jeans, the attire of the day. The weight of fifty-five years had slackened the skin on his jaw and put pouches under his eyes. He was a little grayer, a little heavier, but no less solid.
He nodded at them. "Gail. It's been a while."
"Hello, Garlan." His cool manner unsettled her, but she calmly introduced him to Anthony. There were polite handshakes.
"Got a minute? There's something I'd like to discuss." He looked at his daughter. "You come too." Without waiting for a reply, Bryce walked over and moved one of the sawhorses that barred the wide entrance to the barn. Anthony took Gail's cup and tossed it and his into a trash barrel. She sent him an inquiring look, and he shrugged.
They followed the sheriff into what could have once been a storage room. Scraps of lumber and metal were strewn about. Light came weakly through dirty, web-draped windows. Jackie appeared unsure what was going on.
Garlan Bryce closed the door. His gray eyes fixed on Gail. "I'll get to the point. An elderly lady by the name of Dorothy Chastain called the office a little while ago. She said a lawyer from Miami was going to come to her house and question her about the Clark trial. This lawyer wanted her to sign an affidavit. Mrs. Chastain wasn't sure if she should. I was just over there. I told her she didn't have to talk to anybody."
The sheriff turned his head toward his daughter. "Did you know about this?"
"No, sir. Well, some of it. We were talking when you arrived."
Gail was about to explain but Anthony was quicker. "Ms. Connor and I are reinvestigating the Clark case. With all due respect, sheriff, the police have no right to interfere."
"Mrs. Chastain is a state witness. If you want to talk to her, you need to get an okay from the prosecutor."
"No, we do not. The trial is over."
"If you disturb this lady again," said the sheriff, pointing stiffly at Anthony, "I will not take it lightly. I got to her house, she started crying. She thought she'd done something wrong. It was hell getting her calmed down. You stay away from her."
Gail broke in. "Garlan, it's my case. Anthony is advising me. I've been retained by Kenny Ray Clark's grandmother."
With a short laugh, Bryce shook his head. "Ruby Smith. Well, that explains how you got into it." He tugged on the front of his vest. "Ruby hired you to file another appeal, did she?"
"Ruby believes that Kenny is innocent, and there's a good chance she's right." Gail hesitated, then said, "Garlan, we have information that your lead detective, Ronald Kemp, threatened a potential defense witness to keep her from testifying."
"What witness? Who are you talking about?"
"Tina Hopwood."
"Who?" He tilted his head.
"She rented a room in her trailer to my client."
"Oh, for the love of Christ."
"Did you know what Kemp planned to do?"
His lips thin
ned against his teeth. "My officers do not threaten witnesses."
"I believe that this one did, Garlan. Look. I'm not trying to attack you or your department. I'm just trying to get to the truth."
"Is that so? Let me save you some time. We don't throw people in jail who don't belong there. We want to get it right, because if we don't, some defense lawyer or judge down the line is going to give us problems. We do not put together a half-assed case and cross our fingers the jury will see it our way. We don't make an arrest until we have evidence. We had evidence when we arrested Kenny Ray Clark. We had a great deal of evidence. I don't doubt for one second that he's right where he belongs."
The air in the small room seemed to be running out. Gail said, "I'll need copies of the crime scene photos. Who do we ask?"
"Get a court order." Garlan Bryce headed for the door, then paused as his glance fell on his daughter.
"I won't be long," she said.
He opened the door and was gone. Jackie let out a breath. "I'm so sorry," Gail said.
Jackie looked fiercely at her. "You didn't tell me everything. You didn't say you suspect my father of framing your client."
"No one suggested that."
"My father has more integrity than anyone I know. He would never allow a witness to be threatened, and if it did happen, and he found out, he wouldn't stand for it."
Quietly, Anthony said, "Jackie, you're a police officer. You know how these things go. They were dealing with a violent, highly publicized murder that had to be solved. Any investigator with Kemp's experience would know how to bend the rules, and his supervisors would expect him to."
"Not in my father's office."
Anthony sighed.
Fear of being rebuffed kept Gail from moving. "Jackie, I didn't know Garlan would react this way. Never mind Vernon Byrd, I'll find him somehow. Just don't let this come between us. Will you call me sometime? Please. We won't talk about this case."
Jackie stared past her. After a long moment she said, "I'll call you."
The quick tap of her boot heels receded on the concrete floor of the barn.
Anthony said, "Welcome to Martin County."
"Dammit." Gail sat heavily on a stack of roofing shingles, not caring about the dust. "Could that have gone any worse?"
"Well. It appears that a gap of several hours has developed in our schedule. It's a beautiful afternoon. Perfect beach weather." He stroked her hair, then bent to kiss the crown of her head. "On second thought, why don't we go back to the room?"
"And do what?"
"I could think of something."
She looked up at him. "Be serious."
"I am serious. You kept me up all night."
"Excuse me? I kept you up?" She let him kiss her, then held him down by his shirt collar. "We could look at the trial transcript."
"Mmm. How exciting."
"You said you wanted to see it."
"Give me a summary. I'd like to hear how a case as weak as this one resulted in a sentence of death. You have as much time as it takes for me to drive back to the hotel." He pulled her up and brushed the dust off her bottom. "Let's get out of here."
"No speeding," Gail said. "I don't think Garlan's in the mood to cut you any breaks."
CHAPTER 8
"It doesn't seem reasonable, does it, that Kenny Clark sat in jail for a year before the case went to trial?"
"A year? It's not that unusual, querida. There is no bond in a capital case, and if the cabrón who represented him believed in his guilt, well, let him sit."
Judge P. R. "Pat" Willis, a small, tidy man whose Cracker accent was not out of place in Stuart despite the influx of Yankees, ran his courtroom with brisk efficiency. He ordered that no one mention the Dodson baby's accidental death, as it would have been highly prejudicial to the defendant. The chances were slim, however, that the jurors did not already know about it. Jury selection began the week of January 8.
The trial was not televised, but the news media gave it heavy coverage. As a witness, Gary Dodson attended the trial only on the day he testified. He avoided the press. His bowed head and slumped shoulders said enough.
The victim's sister was a swirling vortex of rage. Reporters sprinkled her comments into their stories for heat. "Kenny Ray Clark is guilty, and he should be put to death by stabbing, like he did to my sister. He stabbed her in the heart. He strangled her. He let her baby die. I want him to pay." In her photos she has long hair, like her sister, but Amber was the pretty blond one. Lacey was in the courtroom every day with her parents, Fred and Rose Mayfield. They all sat in the front row, directly behind the prosecution table, holding hands.
Joseph J. Fowler, the state attorney for the Nineteenth Judicial Circuit, did not usually try cases himself, but he took this one. He was up for reelection in the fall. Two of his top assistants sat with him. One of them was a woman named Sonia Krause, who would eventually take over Fowler's job.
The other table was reserved for the defendant and his court-appointed attorney, Walter Meadows. Photographs show a man in his late fifties, overweight, wearing a rumpled gray suit. At breaks he goes outside to smoke a cigarette. In the afternoon he closes his eyes during part of the state's case. The judge inquires if he is asleep. Then inquires again. Meadows replies, "No, your honor. Wide awake."
"I have known such attorneys" Anthony said. "They drink at lunch. They don't know how to prepare a case because they usually plead a client guilty. They don't investigate because there isn't enough money. How much did Meadows earn?"
"Forty-five dollars an hour."
"Clark got what he paid for."
The newspaper sent a sketch artist into the courtroom. The picture of the defendant adds ten years to his age. Kenny Ray Clark's hair is short and spiky; the shading on his lean face looks like stubble; his eyes veer away. Tattoo-smudged hands rest on the table. The artist has drawn them large enough to break bones.
The trial began promptly at 9:00 a.m. on January 15. After opening statements, the first witness was called to the stand: Sergeant Ronald Kemp of the Martin County Sheriffs Office, trim, articulate, professional in manner, holder of commendations, graduate of FBI seminars. With the prosecutor asking a question here and there, Kemp took the jury step by step through the investigation and the evidence that had led them to their man. The eyewitness ID. A confession. The lack of an alibi. Mr. Clark had claimed to be hanging drywall the day of the murder. That lie had been quickly exposed.
On cross, the defense attorney laid the groundwork for a later attack on the eyewitness, Dorothy Chastain. He wanted the jury to think that Kemp had used the photo display to plant Clark's image in her mind. Kemp's patient explanations emphasized that the police had followed accepted procedure.
The only concession that Walter Meadows got from Kemp was that the police had not found any of Amber's missing jewelry in the defendant's possession.
The next day was taken up by detectives from crime scene. The prosecution didn't dwell on the physical evidence, perhaps because Fowler knew they had nothing conclusive. Even so, the state scored some points. Joe Fowler unsheathed the defendant's hunting knife and left it on the low wall of the jury box. Light glinted on its blade. An expert testified that the fragments of coquina rock found on the carpet at the Dodson house were consistent with those found in the tread of the defendant's tires. The long screwdriver taken from the toolbox had been tried on a piece of test aluminum, and the marks were consistent with those on the sliding door. The jurors were shown glossy color enlargements of the knife, blood spatter, a screwdriver, aluminum, and rocks.
To his credit, Walter Meadows managed to obtain an admission that "consistent with" did not mean "the same," and that some other screwdriver could have been used. None of the tools found in the Dodsons' utility shed had been examined.
Luminol had shown blood on the knife seized from the defendant, but in too small an amount to be tested. Meadows said, "Give me a simple answer. Was any of the victim's blood found on the knife or on any
thing whatsoever that belonged to Mr. Clark? Yes or no."
"No."
The next witness was the fisherman who had seen a pickup truck at the county park. His original statement to police had mentioned fender damage; at trial he was certain about a missing rear bumper. Meadows was able to bring out this discrepancy, a small victory.
The state called Vernon "Peanut" Byrd, resident of the "dirt section" of Bahama Street in East Stuart, more recently a resident of the Glades Correctional Facility. Shortly after the defendant's arrest, Byrd and Clark had shared a cell in county lockup. On the stand Byrd freely admitted his convictions for possession of crack cocaine and dealing in stolen property. He denied that anyone had promised him leniency if he testified. He had been asked to show up and tell what he knew.
"Kenny said he didn't want to kill her, but she kept screaming." Byrd provided details. The red silk pajamas. The clock cord tied around her neck.
"How could he have known about the pajamas and the clock?" Gail wondered. "They weren't in any of the newspaper stories."
"The cops told him."
"Oh, really."
"Baby, you have an unrealistically high opinion of the police."
"I sincerely doubt they would frame an innocent man."
"They didn't. They believed Clark was guilty. He murdered Amber Dodson. Why should a technicality like due process stand in the way of justice?"
Meadows went after Byrd's unsavory background, hoping the jury would believe he lied to secure favorable treatment. As the witness was still in prison, the impact of that argument was lost. It would not be until Kenny Ray Clark had been on death row for a year that Byrd was paroled. The state attorney would deny any connection.
Day four of the trial began with the prosecution's most devastating witness. A reporter for The Stuart News wrote, "Dorothy Chastain, 58, a neighbor of Amber Dodson, supplied eyewitness testimony placing Kenneth Ray Clark on the victim's property." In the accompanying photograph she wears a dark suit and white blouse. She is serious but not severe. She could be a librarian, a high school principal, a lay church worker. Her glasses overpower her nose, and her chin recedes. She is all eyes.
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