"Where did. you get this information?"
"Gail Connor. She talked to somebody at your old law firm. I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me."
Dodson took hold of the steering wheel, and Jackie saw his nails. She'd gotten a description already from Gail. His hollow eyes closed for a moment. "Mr. McGrath delivered the deed to me. I sent it to the recorder's office. That's all."
"The deed was a forgery, wasn't it?" Jackie spoke as if she was sorry to have found this out. Dodson didn't reply. She squatted on one heel beside the open door. "What I wanted to ask you is, Did my mother know? Please, Mr. Dodson, I don't want to think the worst of her, but I'd like to have the truth."
"I believe . . . my impression is that she notarized the deed as a favor for Mr. McGrath. It's done, you know, sometimes. Notarizing documents like that, on someone's word. It's improper, but..."
"I'm aware of their relationship at the time," Jackie said. "Did you know my mother? Did you ever meet her?"
"Once. A lovely woman. Your mother asked me about the deed. She came to my office. That's when we met."
"When was that? Before she notarized it?"
"Oh, no, after. Several months after. It had been on her mind for some time. She was concerned that she'd acted improperly. I told her she hadn't."
"That wasn't exactly true."
"Yes, but she seemed so distressed. I tried to put her mind at ease. I hope I succeeded. I heard about her accident just a few days after that. My sympathies, Miss Bryce."
"Thank you." Cold air drifted through the door. The condensation from the air conditioner was leaking from under the car, running toward Jackie's foot, but she didn't want to move. "How did you find out it was a forgery?"
Dodson's teeth were bad, and the smile creased one side of his face and not the other. Softly he said, "You're working for Gail Connor. She's trying to free the man who murdered my wife."
"Yes, sir, I am, but the fact is, Kenny Clark didn't do it. Everything you heard in that courtroom today is the truth. I'm helping Gail because she's my cousin. Our mothers were sisters. I know Gail, and she wouldn't lie about anything. If we don't find out who really killed your wife, Mr. Clark is going to die for a crime somebody else committed. We believe it was Rusty Beck. Do you know who I mean?"
"My God." Dodson's hands slipped off the steering wheel into his lap.
Jackie said, "He knew your wife was home sick that day. When you called the office, Vivian Baker answered. She was Amber's boss, if you remember. McGrath was right there, and so was Rusty Beck, and they overheard the call. I could list the evidence we have against Beck, but what I need to ask you is ... and this is real important: Did Amber know about the Mendoza deed?"
Dodson laughed, a quick burst of sound, and his mouth remained open. "Did she know about the deed?”
Jackie stared up at him. "Yes, sir. Did you tell her about the forgery?"
"No."
"You didn't?"
“No. Tell her that? I wasn't exactly proud of falling so low, Miss Bryce. I loved Amber more than the world, and she worshipped me."
"Then how did you explain getting fired?" "I... I..."
Jackie shifted a little, getting closer. "Let me explain. We're looking for proof that Beck killed her. Anything you tell us might help. We've got twelve days. Less than that, actually, before they put Kenny Clark to death."
Gary Dodson sobbed. "Yes, I told her. I said, Amber darling, it was only a favor for Whit McGrath. You see, he and I were going to be partners in a land deal. It was all set, but then he wouldn't do it, and it was too late. He ruined me. He's capable of anything, Miss Bryce."
Jackie played with the strap of her shoulder bag, which she had set on the ground. "Sir, you're aware that the Mendozas are dead, aren't you?"
He went completely still. And then the fabric of his dark gray suit, which had stretched over his shoulders, fell loosely as he sat up and looked at her. It was ages old, she thought, and several sizes too big.
"They're all dead," said Jackie. "Ignacio, Celestina, Ramon, Jose. The whole family. Rusty Beck killed them with a shotgun, and then he got rid of their bodies. That's why Whit McGrath had to forge the deed. Were you aware of this, Mr. Dodson? Did Amber know about it too?"
Dodson's eyes seemed to burn in his face, and his skin had turned gray. Even with the AC rushing out of the vents, he was sweating. "I have to go now."
Jackie said, "We need your help. If we can lean on Whit McGrath, he might give up Rusty Beck for your wife's death. Will you help? You want to bring her true killer to justice, don't you?"
"Excuse me," Dodson said, reaching for the door handle. "Please move out of the way. Please"
When Jackie reluctantly moved, Dodson slammed the door. The interior lights went oft He backed out, and the car bounced as he hit the brakes. He stared back at her, and through the window she could see the dash lights making a greenish glow on his face. Muffler rattling, the car streaked out of the parking lot.
Jackie swung her purse over her shoulder, then quickly held it up to look at it. "Dammit." The leather bottom was soaking wet.
CHAPTER 24
Tuesday, April 3
After argument at the Florida Supreme Court, a lawyer coming out of the courtroom would walk onto the terrazzo floor of the rotunda, circled by eight green marble columns, and see the clerk's office down a wide corridor to the left. Gazing in that direction, Gail told Anthony that she wanted to make sure the clerk had all their contact numbers.
"We faxed them a list," he said.
"Let's make sure they got it."
She remembered having sent it, but last night, after finally falling asleep around three o'clock, she'd had a bad dream. The court had ruled, and they needed to give her the order, but they couldn't find her, and she couldn't get into the building. All of the high, metal doors were locked, and if she didn't get the order in her hands, it would be too late. The guards were standing outside Kenny's cell. Kenny? It's time to go.
Anthony gave one of his little sighs. "All right, we'll make sure."
Gail bit her tongue to keep from asking him to stop it. He was being wonderful. He'd bought two first-class airline tickets because that's all there was available, and they'd stayed at the Doubletree in downtown Tallahassee. She had argued the case; he didn't even have to be here, but he wanted to be with her. He was carrying her briefcase. He had rubbed her back last night.
She took his hand. "Te quiero mucho."
Blinking as if surprised, Anthony said, "I love you too." He felt her hand. "You're perspiring. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
In the airy, modern clerk's office, they waited at the counter, and presently the death clerk came out to see them. Gail had expected a woman dressed in black, but Marcia Turner was a pretty blonde with a sweet nature. "I have all your phone numbers, so don't worry."
"How soon will they rule?" Gail asked. "Do you have any idea? This afternoon, do you think?"
"Oh, I don't think so. It could take a few days."
"A few days? But the execution is scheduled for April eleventh—"
Anthony was smiling at Ms. Turner. "Thank you for your help."
"—and my client is innocent, you see, and we need time to appeal. We're going straight to the U.S. Supreme Court—"
"Yes, ma'am."
Gail felt a sneeze and pulled out her tissue just in time.
"God bless you," Ms. Turner said.
"Gail, let's go," Anthony said.
They went out through the rotunda, heels tapping on the floor. She asked Anthony to wait, wait just a minute. She walked over to one of the doors leading into the courtroom. The justices were probably back on the bench already, hearing another case. Gail thought of the things she had wanted to say, but it had all gone so fast. Had they even read the brief? Two hundred pages, argument and exhibits and citations.
Eighteen minutes for the appellant, then twenty for the state. Then another two minutes for rebuttal. The red digital numbers on the lecte
rn had relentlessly counted down. Then the court had thanked her and sent her on her way. The seven of them, two women and five men in black robes, had vanished through the curtained doorway behind Chief Justice Harding's chair in the center.
"They asked a lot of questions about the standard for review, didn't they?"
"You handled it very well, I thought."
"Did I?" She turned to him. "Did you notice how Shaw and Pariente kept asking about the claim of innocence? Shaw was talking about the totality of the circumstances. I think we have their votes. We only need two more."
Anthony took her arm. "Are you hungry? Let's find something to eat."
"The AGA was such an idiot," she said. " 'I'm fixing to answer y'all's question, Justice Quince.' Or this: 'If we go down that road, no tellin' where we'll end up.' He sounded personally insulted that we'd even filed an appeal."
"It's a routine for them, sweetheart." Anthony pushed open the door, and the wind at the top of the steps fluttered his tie and lifted her hem.
"I should have mentioned Rusty Beck. I should have told them."
"You couldn't. It wasn't in the record."
"Screw the record. They wanted more evidence of Kenny's innocence. I hinted that we had someone else, but I should have been specific. I should have told them. Too damned late now." Gail opened her purse and took out her cell phone. "I need to call Kenny."
Anthony sighed. "Gail, please. You know how long the prison keeps you on hold. Wait till we get to the office. It's three blocks away."
They had dumped their overnight bags with a lawyer in town whom Anthony knew. Gail agreed it would be better to wait until they had a quiet room, and they went down the steps. It was a lovely, small-town day, and the dogwood trees were in bloom, like white butterflies caught among the fresh green leaves.
Gail made a note to herself: Call Ruby. She'd promised to let her know how the oral argument went. They had spoken yesterday. Ruby had told her not to worry. Jesus will save Kenny Ray. I hope so, Gail said to herself, because I'm not doing so well.
Call Kenny. Call Ruby. Check her offices for messages. Had she paid Karen's tuition this month? Call her mother.
At the sidewalk, Anthony turned left, but Gail grabbed his arm. Across the street was another set of steps that led up to the state capitol. "You know what? We should check at McLaren's office and see if he got our message."
Earlier this morning, over Anthony's protests, Gail had gone to the office of the governor's assistant general counsel in charge of death cases to see if the governor would possibly be open to a stay of execution, if absolute proof were presented to him of Kenneth Ray Clark's innocence. A legal assistant to Mr. McLaren had come out to say that the governor was aware of the case. Obviously he was aware, she had replied. He had signed the warrant.
"Forget it. He isn't going to talk to you," Anthony said.
"What harm could there be in trying?"
He took her hand and pulled her along, and an edge came into his voice. "There comes a point when you have to accept that you have done everything that you can do."
"I have an idea," she said. "Let's get the media on our side. Governor Ward won't listen to us, but he reads the opinion polls. We should have done this before! Let's call the Miami Herald, The New York Times, CNN, Forty-eight Hours, Nightline, everybody we can think of. Let's say we know who did it."
"What?"
"Anthony, we have to name Rusty Beck as the killer or nobody would give a damn. We can't keep Whit McGrath out of it any longer. It would be a huge story. 'Palm Beach socialite implicated in death of young mother.' We won't say he's involved, we'll just let the reporters draw their own conclusions."
"Gail, we can't—"
"There would be such a clamor that Ward would be forced to issue a stay. And it doesn't matter if Rusty says Kenny was with him when the Mendozas died, don't you see? He would only implicate himself. We have him in a no-win position."
Anthony set down the briefcase and took her by the shoulders. "Listen to me. We have no proof. If you make unfounded accusations, they will sue the hell out of us."
"I don't care!” Gail felt the heat in her face, her neck. Her blouse was soaked. "All right, then, withdraw as attorney of record, and they can sue me. I haven't got anything they can take."
He shook her. "Stop this!"
"What else can I do? If we lose here, do we rely on the U.S. Supreme Court? Look what they did in Herrera v. Collins. They said innocence doesn't matter, all they care about is rules—"
She broke down, sobbing.
"Niña, no llores." Then she was in his arms, pressed tightly against his chest. He stroked her hair.
"Anthony, I can't let him die. I can't."
"Por favor, corazón, deja de llorar. Todo va a salir bien."
Anthony sat by the window so he could lean against the bulkhead and Gail could lean on his shoulder. An airline blanket covered them both. He had put his jacket in the overhead compartment and loosened his tie. She slid her hand over his shirt, tracing the outline of his muscles.
She'd just finished her second glass of wine. Free in first class. The leather seats were roomy and soft.
"How do you always make it look so easy? You snap your fingers and people walk out of jail."
He laughed softly. "I like to brag about my victories, but I assure you, there have been defeats as well."
"Anthony, have you ever witnessed an execution?"
"Once."
"When?"
"The summer before my last year of law school. I was working for a pro bono capital attorney in Philadelphia."
"You never told me about that." She picked her head up. He was looking out the window. The sun had set, leaving only an afterglow. His eyes were intensely dark, nearly black. She waited, then settled her head back on his shoulder. "Can you talk about it?"
"The attorney had chest pains, but he'd promised the client that somebody would be there, so ... I was the lucky one."
"Was it terrible?"
"The client was guilty, which was some consolation. Henry Lamar Williams. A twenty-six-year-old black man with an IQ of seventy. He raped and murdered a thirteen-year-old white girl. There was no doubt, because the police found her body in the shed behind his house, and he confessed. He said he didn't mean to kill her. We argued that it was cruel and unusual punishment to execute someone who was retarded, but the state said he wasn't officially retarded. He had one too many IQ points. So they put Henry in the electric chair. He saw me and smiled. Then they dropped the hood over his head. Zzzzzzt. The next thing I remember, they were loading me onto a stretcher. For months afterwards, I dreamed about it. But maybe it did me some good. I have defended more than a dozen murder cases since then, and none of my clients has been sentenced to death."
"You fainted?"
He put his lips to her ear. "Don't let this get around, but... I am not superhuman."
"Yes, you are." Gail kissed him and smiled. "Mi macho. Listen, if ... you know, if. You won't have to be there. They only allow one lawyer, and Kenny asked me if I would, and I said yes."
"I wouldn't put you through that," Anthony said.
"Whose case is it?"
"Ours, so I thought."
"Sorry, but I have seniority," she said. "Ha-ha."
Her hand went under the blanket, and he let some time go by before lifting it out. He rubbed his nose across hers. "I think you're a little drunk, señora."
"I deserve to be." The stars in the window seemed to shift suddenly downward. The jet was making its turn toward Miami, coming in from the west, the black and endless Everglades below them.
A little while later, the lights in the cabin came on, but Gail couldn't begin to rouse herself or open her eyes.
"Sweetheart, sit up, we're about to land." Anthony gently shoved her off him.
She hid a yawn behind her hands. "I've been thinking. What about Gary Dodson? Maybe he knows where the bodies are. The way he acted with Jackie, he knows something, Anthony. It would exp
lain why McGrath gives him legal work, to keep him quiet."
Anthony pressed a button, and his seat came up. "If that is true, Dodson isn't getting much for his silence."
"God, if we could just get through to him. What about Hector? He was amazing, getting a retraction out of Vernon Byrd."
Anthony glanced at her. "No, Hector isn't right for someone like Dodson. Is your belt fastened?" She clicked it shut. He leaned over and nuzzled her neck. "Come home with me tonight."
"Can't. Sorry. I need to be with Karen. I promised her I would, and then I have to get up early and work on the Supreme Court stuff
He sighed.
"Anthony, I want you to do something for me."
He looked at her sideways. "What?"
"I want you to go see Kenny."
"Why? You just spoke to him."
"Make him come clean about the Mendozas. You could do it. You're a guy. Beat him up if he won't talk. Make him tell you where they dumped the car. He drove it, he has to remember. Tell him we have to find them."
Anthony focused somewhere over her head. "I don't want to get back on an airplane in the morning. What good will it do, hearing his lies?"
"Please?"
His eyes shifted to fix on hers. His full lips pursed into a kiss. "I'm keeping a list of all these things I do for you. Oh, yes. And someday, señora, I am going to collect."
Wednesday, April 4
The guards came to the death watch cell with the cuffs and leg irons and said his lawyer wanted to see him. Kenny put out his cigarette—no more Top tobacco; he was using up the last few dollars in his trust fund on Marlboros, living large. The moke out in the corridor made a note: 2:25 p.m. Inmate puts out cigarette.
He rolled off his bunk, ready to go: 2:26 p.m. Inmate taken from cell for legal visit. Between two guards he shuffled down the long corridor to the attorney visiting rooms, thinking he'd see Gail Connor. He was wrong.
It was her Cuban boyfriend on the other side of the desk. They unhooked the cuffs from the waist chain, and Kenny sat down across from him.
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