The Chamber (46 page)

“We never believed it was an accident. The crime lab boys down there tried to reconstruct the heater. A lot of it was destroyed, but they were of the opinion it had been rigged to leak.”

“How does this affect Sam?”

“It doesn’t affect Sam.”

“Then why are we talking about it?”

“It might affect you.”

“I really don’t follow.”

“Dogan had a son, a kid who joined the Army in 1979 and was sent to Germany. At some point in the summer of 1980, Dogan and Sam were indicted again by the circuit court in Greenville, and shortly thereafter
it became widely known that Dogan had agreed to testify against Sam. It was a big story. In October of 1980, Dogan’s son went AWOL in Germany. Vanished.” He crunched on some peanuts and tossed the hulls to a covey of pigeons. “Never found him either. Army searched high and low. Months went by. Then a year. Dogan died not knowing what happened to the kid.”

“What happened to him?”

“Don’t know. To this day, he’s never turned up.”

“He died?”

“Probably. There was no sign of him.”

“Who killed him?”

“Maybe the same person who killed his parents.”

“And who might that be?”

“We had a theory, but no suspect. We thought at the time that the son was grabbed before the trial as a warning to Dogan. Perhaps Dogan knew secrets.”

“Then why kill Dogan after the trial?”

They stopped under a shade tree and sat on a bench in Court Square. Adam finally took some peanuts.

“Who knew the details of the bombing?” Lettner asked. “All the details.”

“Sam. Jeremiah Dogan.”

“Right. And who was their lawyer in the first two trials?”

“Clovis Brazelton.”

“Would it be safe to assume Brazelton knew the details?”

“I suppose. He was active in the Klan, wasn’t he?”

“Yep, he was a Klucker. That makes three—Sam, Dogan, and Brazelton. Anybody else?”

Adam thought for a second. “Perhaps the mysterious accomplice.”

“Perhaps. Dogan’s dead. Sam wouldn’t talk. And Brazelton died many years ago.”

“How’d he die?”

“Plane crash. The Kramer case made him a hero down there, and he was able to parlay his fame into a very successful law practice. He liked to fly, so he bought himself a plane and buzzed around everywhere trying lawsuits. A real big shot. He was flying back from the Coast one night when the plane disappeared from radar. They found his body in a tree. The weather was clear. The FAA said there’d been some type of engine failure.”

“Another mysterious death.”

“Yep. So everybody’s dead but Sam, and he’s getting close.”

“Any link between Dogan’s death and Brazelton’s?”

“No. They were years apart. But the theory includes the scenario that the deaths were the work of the same person.”

“So who’s at work here?”

“Someone who’s very concerned about secrets. Could be Sam’s mysterious accomplice, John Doe.”

“That’s a pretty wild theory.”

“Yes, it is. And it’s one with absolutely no proof to support it. But I told you in Calico Rock that we always suspected Sam had help. Or perhaps Sam was merely a helper for John Doe. At any rate, when Sam screwed up and got caught, John Doe vanished. Perhaps he’s been at work eliminating witnesses.”

“Why would he kill Dogan’s wife?”

“Because she happened to be in bed with him when the house blew up.”

“Why would he kill Dogan’s son?”

“To keep Dogan quiet. Remember, when Dogan testified his son had been missing for four months.”

“I’ve never read anything about the son.”

“It was not well known. It happened in Germany. We advised Dogan to keep it quiet.”

“I’m confused. Dogan didn’t finger anybody else at trial. Only Sam. Why would John Doe kill him afterward?”

“Because he still knew secrets. And because he testified against another Klansman.”

Adam cracked two shells and dropped the peanuts in front of a single, fat pigeon. Lettner finished the bag and threw another handful of hulls on the sidewalk near a water fountain. It was almost noon, and dozens of office workers hurried through the park in pursuit of the perfect thirty-minute lunch.

“You hungry?” Lettner asked, glancing at his watch.

“No.”

“Thirsty? I need a beer.”

“No. How does John Doe affect me?”

“Sam’s the only witness left, and he’s scheduled to be silenced in two weeks. If he dies without talking, then John Doe can live in peace. If Sam doesn’t die in two weeks, then John Doe is still anxious. But if Sam starts talking, then somebody might get hurt.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one trying to find the truth.”

“You think he’s out there?”

“Could be. Or he might be driving a cab in Montreal. Or maybe he never existed.”

Adam glanced over both shoulders with exaggerated looks of fear.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Lettner said.

“John Doe is safe. Sam ain’t talking.”

“There’s a potential danger, Adam. I just wanted you to know.”

“I’m not scared. If Sam gave me John Doe’s name right now, I’d scream it in the streets and file motions by the truckload. And it wouldn’t do any good. It’s too late for new theories of guilt or innocence.”

“What about the governor?”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, I want you to be careful.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Let’s get a beer.”

I’ve got to keep this guy away from Lee, Adam thought. “It’s five minutes before noon. Surely you don’t start this early.”

“Oh, sometimes I start with breakfast.”

______

John Doe sat on a park bench with a newspaper in front of his face and pigeons around his feet. He was eighty feet away, so he couldn’t hear what they were saying. He thought he recognized the old man with Adam as an FBI agent whose face had appeared in the newspapers years ago. He would follow the guy and find out who he was and where he lived.

Wedge was getting bored with Memphis, and this suited him fine. The kid worked at the office and drove to Parchman and slept at the condo, and seemed to be spinning his wheels. Wedge followed the news carefully. His name had not been mentioned. No one knew about him.

______

The note on the counter was dated properly. She had given the time as 7:15 p.m. It was Lee’s handwriting, which was not neat to begin with but was even sloppier now. She said she was in bed with what appeared to be the flu. Please don’t disturb. She’d been to the doctor who told her to sleep it off. For added effect, a prescription bottle from a local pharmacy was sitting nearby next to a half-empty glass of water. It had today’s date on it.

Adam quickly checked the wastebasket under the sink—no sign of booze.

He quietly put a frozen pizza in the microwave and went to the patio to watch the barges on the river.

      Thirty-two      

T
he first kite of the morning arrived shortly after breakfast, as Sam stood in his baggy boxer shorts and leaned through the bars with a cigarette. It was from Preacher Boy, and it brought bad news. It read:

Dear Sam:

The dream is finished. The Lord worked on me last night and finally showed me the rest of it. I wish he hadn’t done it. There’s a lot to it, and I’ll explain it all if you want. Bottom line is that you’ll be with him shortly. He told me to tell you to get things right with him. He’s waiting. The journey will be rough, but the rewards will be worth it. I love you.

Brother Randy

Bon voyage, Sam mumbled to himself as he crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor. The kid was slowly deteriorating, and there was no way to help him. Sam had already prepared a series of motions to be filed at some uncertain point in the future when Brother Randy was thoroughly insane.

He saw Gullitt’s hands come through the bars next door.

“How you doin’, Sam?” Gullitt finally asked.

“God’s upset with me,” Sam said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Preacher Boy finished his dream last night.”

“Thank God for that.”

“It was more like a nightmare.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Crazy bastard has dreams when he’s wide awake. They said yesterday he’s been crying for a week.”

“Can you hear him?”

“No. Thank God.”

“Poor kid. I’ve done some motions for him, just in case I leave this place. I want to leave them with you.”

“I don’t know what to do with them.”

“I’ll leave instructions. They’re to be sent to his lawyer.”

Gullitt whistled softly. “Man oh man, Sam. What am I gonna do if you leave? I ain’t talked to my lawyer in a year.”

“Your lawyer is a moron.”

“Then help me fire him, Sam. Please. You just fired yours. Help me fire mine. I don’t know how to do it.”

“Then who’ll represent you?”

“Your grandson. Tell him he can have my case.”

Sam smiled, then he chuckled. And then he laughed at the idea of rounding up his buddies on the Row and delivering their hopeless cases to Adam.

“What’s so damned funny?” Gullitt demanded.

“You. What makes you think he’ll want your case?”

“Come on, Sam. Talk to the kid for me. He must be smart if he’s your grandson.”

“What if they gas me? Do you want a lawyer who’s just lost his first death row client?”

“Hell, I can’t be particular right now.”

“Relax, J.B. You have years to go.”

“How many years?”

“At least five, maybe more.”

“You swear?”

“You have my word. I’ll put it in writing. If I’m wrong, you can sue me.”

“Real funny, Sam. Real funny.”

A door clicked open at the end of the hall, and heavy footsteps came their way. It was Packer, and he stopped in front of number six. “Mornin’, Sam,” he said.

“Mornin’, Packer.”

“Put your reds on. You have a visitor.”

“Who is it?”

“Somebody who wants to talk to you.”

“Who is it?” Sam repeated as he quickly slipped into his red jumpsuit. He grabbed his cigarettes. He didn’t care who the visitor was or what he wanted. A visit by anyone was a welcome relief from his cell.

“Hurry up, Sam,” Packer said.

“Is it my lawyer?” Sam asked as he slid his feet into the rubber shower shoes.

“No.” Packer handcuffed him through the bars, and the door to his cell opened. They left Tier A and headed for the same little room where the lawyers always waited.

Packer removed the handcuffs and slammed the door behind Sam, who focused on the heavy-set woman seated on the other side of the screen. He rubbed his wrists for her benefit and took a few steps to the seat opposite her. He did not recognize the woman. He sat down, lit a cigarette, and glared at her.

She scooted forward in her chair, and nervously said, “Mr. Cayhall, my name is Dr. Stegall.” She slipped a business card through the opening. “I’m the psychiatrist for the State Department of Corrections.”

Sam studied the card on the counter in front of him. He picked it up and examined it suspiciously. “Says here your name is N. Stegall. Dr. N. Stegall.”

“That’s correct.”

“That’s a strange name, N. I’ve never met a woman named N. before.”

The small, anxious grin disappeared from her face,
and her spine stiffened. “It’s just an initial, okay. There are reasons for it.”

“What’s it stand for?”

“That’s really none of your business.”

“Nancy? Nelda? Nona?”

“If I wanted you to know, I would’ve put it on the card, now wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. Must be something horrible, whatever it is. Nick? Ned? I can’t imagine hiding behind an initial.”

“I’m not hiding, Mr. Cayhall.”

“Just call me S., okay?”

Her jaws clenched and she scowled through the screen. “I’m here to help you.”

“You’re too late, N.”

“Please call me Dr. Stegall.”

“Oh, well, in that case you can call me Lawyer Cayhall.”

“Lawyer Cayhall?”

“Yes. I know more law than most of the clowns who sit over there where you are.”

She managed a slight, patronizing smile, then said, “I’m supposed to consult you at this stage of the proceedings to see if I can be of any assistance. You don’t have to cooperate if you don’t want.”

“Thank you so much.”

“If you need to talk to me, or if you need any medication now or later, just let me know.”

“How about some whiskey?”

“I can’t prescribe that.”

“Why not?”

“Prison regulations, I guess.”

“What can you prescribe?”

“Tranquilizers, Valium, sleeping pills, things like that.”

“For what?”

“For your nerves.”

“My nerves are fine.”

“Are you able to sleep?”

Sam thought for a long moment. “Well, to be honest, I am having a little trouble. Yesterday I slept off and on for no more than twelve hours. Usually I’m good for fifteen or sixteen.”

“Twelve hours?”

“Yeah. How often do you get over here to death row?”

“Not very often.”

“That’s what I thought. If you knew what you were doing, you’d know that we average about sixteen hours a day.”

“I see. And what else might I learn?”

“Oh, lots of things. You’d know that Randy Dupree is slowly going insane, and no one around here cares about him. Why haven’t you been to see him?”

“There are five thousand inmates here, Mr. Cayhall. I—”

“Then leave. Go away. Go tend to the rest of them. I’ve been here for nine and a half years and never met you. Now that y’all are about to gas me, you come running over with a bag full of drugs to calm my nerves so I’ll be sweet and gentle when you kill me. Why should you care about my nerves and my sleeping habits? You’re working for the state and the state is working like hell to execute me.”

“I’m doing my job, Mr. Cayhall.”

“Your job stinks, Ned. Get a real job where you can help people. You’re here right now because I’ve got thirteen days and you want me to go in peace. You’re just another flunkie for the state.”

“I didn’t come here to be abused.”

“Then get your big ass out of here. Leave. Go and sin no more.”

She jumped to her feet and grabbed her briefcase. “You have my card. If you need anything, let me know.”