The Law of Second Chances (25 page)

“Did you believe him?” Scott Tremaine asked on cross.

“I didn’t really think about it one way or another. James Vernon was certainly not an honest fellow. On the other hand, what was his motivation to lie?”

“In the seventeen years since this murder happened, did anybody ever ask you if James Vernon talked to you about this murder?”

“No. Not until Mr. Tobin did a few weeks ago.”

“No further questions, your honor.”

“Call your next witness, Mr. Tobin.”

As usual, the second day of trial moved a lot faster than the first. Anthony Webster took the stand. He reluctantly admitted that he’d interviewed James Vernon and that Vernon had told him he was at the murder scene with two other men, neither of whom was Henry.

“I really didn’t put much stock in what this guy had to say,” Webster told Jack. “He might have been a friend of Henry Wilson’s or something. As I recall, they both bought drugs from the victim.”

Jack was sure that last line had been recently rehearsed. Webster had no independent recollection when Jack had interviewed him.

“In any event, you told the prosecutor about that interview, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Did you take notes of that interview?”

“I did.”

Jack handed him a document. “I’ve handed you defendant’s exhibit number 10 and ask you to identify that document.”

“These are the notes of my interview with James Vernon.”

“The same notes that you provided to the prosecutor?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions.”

Scott Tremaine had no cross.

“Call your next witness,” the judge told Jack.

“I have no other witnesses, your honor.”

“Mr. Tremaine, do you have any rebuttal?”

“No, your honor.”

“Let’s break for lunch,” the judge announced. “I’ll hear closing arguments when you come back.”

“You handled Webster just right,” Wofford told Jack over lunch. “You kept it tight so he couldn’t give any opinions, although he managed to stick one in—that crap about Henry knowing Vernon. But it didn’t make sense anyway. Just because you know a guy doesn’t mean you’re going to confess to a murder to save him.”

“The only thing that mattered with Webster was that he interviewed Vernon and told the prosecutor about it. That made it a
Brady
case.”

“Let’s hope the judge sees it the same way we do.”

After lunch, Jack argued every point, even though he knew the only viable one left was the
Brady
disclosure. He tried to anticipate Scott Tremaine’s argument on that issue.

“Judge, in a moment Mr. Tremaine is going to tell you that the nondisclosure by the state’s attorney is irrelevant because Wofford Benton could have and should have learned of the Webster interview from other sources. I ask you not to accept that argument. It would, in effect, emasculate the
Brady
rule. It would say to prosecutors, you can still withhold information and get away with it. I do not believe that is the law.”

When Scott Tremaine rose to speak, he had no choice but to make the arguments Jack had already addressed: that the information about Anthony Webster’s interview should have been discovered by Wofford Benton or any other attorney representing Henry Wilson at least four years ago; and that it had been a known fact for fifteen years that David Hawke and his cousin were not prosecuted. He threw something
else in as well—something Jack had been worried about throughout the entire case.

“Finally, Judge, in order for you to grant a new trial, you would have to determine that the outcome of the original trial would have been different. The only new evidence was what James Vernon told three people. If James Vernon was lying, then all that new evidence is meaningless. The evidence is undisputed that James Vernon told three different people two different stories. That’s pretty good evidence he was lying.”

Henry’s fate was now in the hands of Judge Fletcher.

“I’m going to prepare a detailed written order,” Judge Fletcher began, “but I am going to announce my decision at this time.” She proceeded to shoot down the ineffective-assistance-of-counsel argument and all the newly-discovered-evidence arguments before getting to the part Jack was really waiting for.

“With regard to the fact that David Hawke and his cousin were never prosecuted, I don’t believe that that is a
Brady
violation. Mr. Hawke testified at trial that no deal was struck beforehand. However implausible that testimony might be, there is simply no evidence to contradict it.”

Jack tensed. Henry’s options were running out. They now had one issue left—Anthony Webster’s interview.

“But I do believe,” Judge Fletcher continued, “that Mr. Webster’s interview of James Vernon was
Brady
material, because Mr. Vernon told Mr. Webster that Henry Wilson did not commit this crime. I believe such testimony would have affected the outcome of this trial, and I say that particularly because there was no physical evidence connecting Mr. Wilson to this murder. His conviction was based solely on the testimony of one man. Yes, Mr. Benton should have talked to Mr. Griffin, and if he had, he probably would have learned of the Webster interview. However, that is not the issue. In my opinion, a prosecutor who fails to disclose exculpatory evidence to the defense, whether intentionally or not, must suffer the consequences if that failure to disclose is prejudicial.

“As to the argument that Mr. Vernon may have been lying, that’s an issue that the jury should have been allowed to decide.” She paused, then looked directly at Henry.

“Therefore, I am granting the motion for new trial.”

Henry sat in his chair, stunned. The only spectator in the gallery was Wofford Benton, who gave an audible sigh of relief.

“Did she just say what I thought she said?” Henry asked Jack.

Jack put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Yes she did, Henry. You are getting a new trial.”

It wasn’t over yet, though. Scott Tremaine stood to address the court.

“Your honor, it is my duty to inform you that the state does not intend to appeal your decision. Nor does it intend to retry this case.”

It was Jack’s turn to be stunned. He wondered whether Henry had any idea of what was about to happen. The judge addressed Henry directly.

“Mr. Wilson, would you stand up?” Henry pushed himself out of his chair. His hands were visibly shaking. “In light of the pronouncement by the state, it is my duty to advise you that you are a free man. If you choose, you can be transported back to prison to pick up your belongings and clean out your cell, or I can enter an order right now releasing you and you can send for your things when you get settled. The choice is yours.”

Henry very calmly addressed the judge.

“I’d like to be released right now.”

The judge looked at the sheriff’s deputies. “Release this man,” she ordered.

It took a few minutes for all the shackles to be removed, during which time Henry’s hands continued to shake and tears started to run down his cheeks. Finally, he was freed, and he and Jack embraced.

“I never thought this day would come,” Henry told Jack through his tears. “And I will never forget what you did for me.”

Jack had to clear his throat to speak. He was in almost as bad an emotional state as Henry. “I had a lot of help, Henry—from the man standing in the back of this courtroom.” They looked to the back of the courtroom where Wofford Benton was standing, and Jack motioned him to come forward.

Wofford walked hesitantly to the defense counsel’s table. He and Henry had not spoken in seventeen years. Henry wrapped the small, pudgy man in his arms. Both men cried.

“Thank you, Wofford.”

“Thank you, Henry, and thank God for giving me this opportunity to redeem myself.”

Nobody had anticipated that Henry would be released that day. The only clothes he had were his prison clothes, and the state was not about to let him walk away with those. Wofford volunteered to buy him a new outfit, so Henry and Jack waited in the courtroom for another hour with the sheriff’s deputies while Wofford went shopping.

Jack took the opportunity to have a brief conversation with Scott Tremaine.

“That was a great cross-examination of Wofford,” Jack said, trying to soothe the sting of the judge’s ruling.

“Thanks, Jack. I want you to know I agreed to take the case before I reviewed the entire file,” Scott said. “After I reviewed it, I told the state’s attorney that I would argue the legal points but if the judge ruled against us, I wanted to be able to tell her that there would be no appeal and no retrial. Otherwise, I was off the case.”

“That answers a bunch of questions, Scott, thanks. I wish there were more prosecutors around like you.”

Wofford had done a good job picking out Henry’s new wardrobe, at least in one respect: everything fit. Henry felt a little awkward, but he looked good. Wofford had bought him a blue oxford shirt, a pair of gray slacks, black socks, and black loafers—size fourteen.

“You look like an Ivy Leaguer,” Jack told him when he emerged from the courthouse bathroom in his new ensemble.
Henry gave him an embarrassed smile. He was a little nervous about everything.

The three of them went across the street to have a cup of coffee. “Where are you going to go?” Wofford asked when they were seated.

“He’s coming home with me,” Jack jumped in.

“No, Jack,” Henry objected. “You’ve got too much going on with Pat being sick and all.”

“Exactly, Henry. I’m going to be needing some help. We’ve got plenty of room, and Pat’s been looking forward to meeting you for quite some time.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, Henry,” Wofford suggested. “Just go with it.”

36

Pat was doing even better when Jack arrived at the hospital that afternoon.

“Hi, honey,” she said as he walked in the door. “You’re here early. How’d it go in court today?”

“It went very well,” Jack told her and Charlie.

A smile cut across Pat’s face. Charlie’s too. “Really? You got Henry a new trial?”

“Better than that,” Jack offered teasingly.

“Better?”

“Yup.” He turned to look at the doorway where he had just entered. “Come on in.” He gestured to someone in the hallway as he spoke. “I want you to meet some people.”

Henry walked into Pat’s private room, which immediately got a lot smaller.

“Wow!” Pat exclaimed when she saw Henry. “This is unbelievable. You have to be Henry. I’m Pat, and this is my best friend, Charlie. You’re actually free! I’m sorry, Henry, I feel like I know you already.” Her words came rapid-fire, a combination of the medication and her true happiness for Henry. She extended her hand, and Henry took it in his.

“I feel like I know you too,” he said. “And I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah, the doctor is coming in soon. I feel great. Jack, come over here and give me a kiss, and then the two of you can tell us all about this absolutely remarkable day. Henry, I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t either,” Henry said, his smile widening.

Jack sat on the edge of Pat’s bed and, holding her hand, proceeded to fill her and Charlie in on the events in the courtroom. “I wasn’t surprised when the judge granted Henry a new trial. I can’t say I expected it, but I wasn’t surprised by it. I was absolutely floored, though, when the state dropped the case.”

“So it’s completely over?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “It’s completely over.”

“Where do you go from here, Henry?” Pat asked. “Do you have any family or anything?”

Jack answered before Henry could say anything. “I’ve invited Henry to come home and stay with us for a while until we figure things out.”

“Absolutely!” Pat replied. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Henry told her. “With your illness and all.”

“Nonsense, Henry,” she scolded. “The world isn’t going to stop because I’m sick. Besides, Jack and I could use the company. We’ve worn poor Charlie out.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to go home soon,” said Charlie. “And somebody has to look after these two.”

While they were talking, Dr. Wright came into the room.

“It looks like there’s a party going on in here,” she said.

“Of sorts,” Jack replied. “Do you have anything to tell us?”

“I do. Do you and Pat want to talk to me in private?”

“No,” Pat said firmly. “Charlie here is my best friend, and Jack and Henry have just been through a life-and-death struggle together. They can hear whatever you’ve got to say.”

Dr. Wright looked at Jack, who nodded his head in agreement. “Okay,” she said. “The news isn’t good. The tumors have not shrunk. In fact, they’ve grown a little. That explains why your pain has increased. We can try a different chemotherapy regimen. At this point, that is all I can offer.”

“Will a different regimen shrink the tumors?” Jack asked. He was trying to concentrate on the facts rather than his emotions. Once his heart processed what his brain had heard, he
wouldn’t be able to talk. He tightened his fingers around Pat’s hand.

“It’s possible.”

“What’s the percentage?” Pat asked.

“Less than ten percent, I’m afraid,” Dr. Wright replied.

“What are the other options?” Pat wanted to know.

“There aren’t any.”

“When can we start this new regimen?” Jack asked, clinging to that last bit of hope.

“Today, if you’d like. It would only take an hour, and Pat has rebounded very well from her last treatment.”

“No,” Pat said. She said it in a low tone but it was a firm
no
. The firmest
no
Jack had ever heard. He could feel her words as well as hear them.

Dr. Wright didn’t quite grasp Pat’s statement so clearly. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said.

“It’s very simple, Doctor,” Pat told her. “I want to stop treatment. I want to go home. And I want to enjoy every minute that I have left. I don’t want to spend my last days being poked and prodded and ravaged by chemotherapy.”

Nobody said a word. Jack could hear himself breathing. And he could feel his heart breaking.

37

Pat lived for another three months. Most days, after she took her pain medication, she was alert and pain free. She took short walks with Jack in the morning after breakfast and spent her afternoons on the front porch watching the traffic on the Okalatchee.