The Lawyer's Lawyer (11 page)

J
ack woke up on Sunday morning, gazed at the beautiful woman lying next to him, and felt blessed to once again have love in
his life. He was happy beyond words.

He didn’t know it was all about to come crashing down.

He drove to Bass Creek that day to get some clothes and go through his mail and, in general, to check things out. Henry arrived
a short time later, which Jack thought was unusual.
What’s going on with Henry? His behavior is strange. He stays with friends instead of me. He shows up at odd times.

They went out on the boat for a little while that afternoon and again on Monday afternoon. Henry seemed to be his old self
again although Jack could tell something was on his mind. He called Danni Sunday night and again on Monday evening and had
a pleasant conversation with her both times although he sensed that she was acting strange as well.
What’s going on? Is it me?
he asked himself.

On Wednesday he drove back to Oakville and showed up at Danni’s house unannounced around six in the evening.

“Hi. I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon,” she said when she opened her door and saw him standing there. She was dressed
in jeans and appeared to be getting ready to go out.

“I never said when I was coming back. I just decided to come today. You look like you’re going somewhere. Do you want me to
come back later?”

“No, no. I was only going to get something to eat.”

“Would you like company?”

“Sure.” She hesitated halfway down the walkway and then stopped altogether. “Come on inside for a minute, Jack. I want to
talk to you.”

They both went inside and sat at the dining room table.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jack.”

“Do what?”

“Continue this relationship.”

“What relationship? We just got started.”

“You know what I mean. Time is no measure of a relationship. You and I have gotten so close so quick it scares me to death.”

“What happened between Sunday morning and today?”

“Nothing happened. I’ve just had time to think. It’s just been too much.”

“We can tone it down. We don’t have to end it.”

“We can’t tone it down, Jack. It is what it is. Hannah has gone off to college and I’m starting a new direction in my life.”

“Does that mean you don’t have time for a relationship?”

“It means I’m not ready for one right now. I need time and space to see where I’m going to land. I mean, I love the time we’ve
had, but it’s too intense.”

“I’ll lighten up.”

“You can’t. I can see it in your eyes. I can’t either.”

“We don’t meet people that we have an instant connection with every day, Danni. Sometimes, we never meet them. You and I are
lucky.”

“I’m just not where you’re at, Jack. It’s the wrong time for me. I’ve got to end this now before we get any closer and I won’t
be able to do it.”

They were both silent for a few moments after that last statement.

“Look, Danni.” Jack finally broke the silence, speaking in a soft, low voice. “I know this has been quick, but I also know
it’s real. I know what I feel and I think I know what you feel. I can’t just walk away from these feelings.”

There were tears in Danni’s eyes. “You’re going to have to, Jack, because I’m not ready for this.”

Silence again for what seemed like an eternity. Jack didn’t know what to do or what to say. He could persuade a judge or a
jury of his peers in the toughest of circumstances, but he had no words for this woman who had taken his heart. Deep down,
though, he knew he didn’t want to persuade her. This was a decision she would have to make on her own.

“I’m going to go,” he said softly. “I’ll be in town for at least another week. You’ve got my number. Call me whenever you
have a mind to—about anything. I’ll be there.”

He stood up. Danni stood up, too, and hugged him tight. He felt from that embrace that this was just as hard for her as it
was for him. Then he left.

J
ack was sitting at the bar in The Swamp putting down his third beer when Ron showed up.

“Out on your own tonight, lover boy?”

“I am. Sit down. I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Can’t. Don’t drink in my own place. That’s a rule.”

“Well then, let’s go somewhere you can drink.”

They’d been friends for too long. Ron could tell there was something not quite right about old Jack. “All right, finish up.
We’ll go in my car.”

They drove down College Avenue heading out of town.

“Henry was in The Swamp last night for dinner. I stopped and chatted with him a little bit,” Ron said.

“That’s funny,” Jack said, more to himself than to Ron. “I thought he’d gone back to Miami. What the hell is he doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

Ronnie took him to a dark, quiet little spot east of town. There were a few people at the bar but other than that it was deserted.
An attractive middle-aged brunette wearing a tight top and showing some great cleavage was tending bar.

“Well, if it isn’t the grand pooh-bah come to visit the slums,” she said to Ron who leaned over the bar and planted a kiss
smack on her lips.

“Mabel, this is my friend Jack.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jack. Any friend of Ron’s is a friend of mine—only because Ron might buy this place someday and I need
the job, know what I mean?”

Jack smiled. “I do.”

“What are you having?”

“Give us a couple of martinis,” Ron said. “Jack needs to talk and I’ve got to get him a little drunk first.”

“Sure thing.” She looked at Jack for a minute. “I’d say it’s woman trouble. I’ve been doing this for a long time—usually get
it right.”

“Unfortunately you’re right again, Mabel.”

“Don’t worry. A good-looking guy like you won’t be lonely for long. Not in this town. As a matter of fact, I get off in five
hours if you’re still around.”

That got another laugh out of Jack. “Thanks, Mabel, but I don’t think I’ll be making it that long. Not after this martini.”

Mabel had just handed him and Ron their martinis. She worked as she talked, always in motion.

“I’m here six nights a week, honey. You decide to go slumming again, you come see Mabel.”

Mabel moved on down her bar. The place was starting to fill up and she was greeting her regular customers.

“She’s a great bartender for a place like this,” Ron told Jack. “She’s got the goods—not bad looking, big tits, and a great
personality. She packs the joint.”

“Why don’t you hire her?”

“I’ve got a different type of place. We cater to the college kids, the professors, and the businessmen. This is a workingman’s
bar. You need a little fantasy and a little conversation. Mabel gives you all of it. She creates that little possibility in
your mind that you might be the guy tonight. It keeps ’em coming back. Enough about Mabel; let’s talk about Jack.”

“Nothing to talk about really.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Jack. I see that puppy-dog look in your eyes. You’re a great lawyer but you’re a little sappy when it
comes to the game of love.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that you can tear somebody apart on the witness stand when they try to bullshit their way out of something, but
a woman can wrap you around her finger in a heartbeat. Don’t forget, I’ve been through all your relationships with you. Pat
was a great lady, but you picked some doozies before her.”

“Thanks for the compliment. If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a hell of a job. Remember you introduced
me to Danni.” Jack took a large sip of his martini, finishing it off.

“Take it easy,” Ron told him. “You sip these drinks. It’s not like a beer.”

“Do you think I haven’t had a martini before?”

“I’ve never seen you drink one. Let’s get back to you and Danni. I thought you’d be great for each other. You’ve both been
kind of out there for years. So what happened?”

Jack got Mabel’s attention and ordered a beer. One martini was enough.

“She just said she couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Be in a relationship.”

Ron didn’t say anything for a minute or two. He was thinking about the situation.

“Maybe she just needs a little time, Jack. You guys have been seeing a lot of each other. She may be overwhelmed.”

“I’m an overwhelming guy.”

“And then some.”

Jack stayed in Oakville for another week although he never heard from Danni. He went jogging every day on his favorite path
through the woods. On the morning he decided would be his last day, he came around a bend just after the sinkhole and found
a man kneeling on the path maybe twenty feet ahead of him. The man had a ski cap on and a gun in his hand. The gun was pointed
at Jack.

Jack had nowhere to go. The guy was obviously waiting for him. He desperately dove for the bushes. As he did so, he heard
a
pop.
It wasn’t a gunshot. Maybe the gun had a silencer. Jack hadn’t noticed. He landed in the woods, hidden behind a decayed old
oak amid a slew of dead leaves. He didn’t appear to be hit. He wasn’t in any pain.

What do I do now? Run, or just stay here?

He didn’t hear any more movement so he decided to stay put. If the guy found him, he’d be helpless but if he got up and ran,
he might be an easier target. At least here he was fortunate enough to be somewhat hidden.
A murderer doesn’t have the luxury of spending too much time searching around for his victim.

After about twenty minutes of lying completely still, when he heard no further sounds, Jack stood up and stepped back onto
the path. What he saw shocked him.

The shooter was lying where Jack had first seen him with a pool of blood forming around his head. He was still in the kneeling
position although he had fallen over. Jack carefully checked for a pulse. There was none. Then he saw the bullet wound in
the temple on the right side.

So I come around this bend and this guy is kneeling ready to shoot me but instead somebody shoots him. Who? And why?

It took him a few minutes to think that one through but when he did, he decided it would be best to leave the premises. If
he was there when the cops arrived, it wouldn’t be hard to put two and two together. He stopped at a convenience store along
the way, asked to use the phone, and called 911, giving the dispatcher the exact location of the body.

Oh yeah
, Jack thought as he ran back to the condo.
It’s definitely time to go home.

J
esus, can they make these damn trucks any smaller? If they’re going to sell them in America, they should make them to fit
Americans.”

Jack was mildly amused watching Henry negotiate the passenger side of his Toyota pickup. The man was just too big. His knees
were banging against the underside of the glove compartment and the rest of his body was squished against the passenger door.
He’d been squirming for the last three hours. Now he was starting to voice his complaints.

“They do make them for normal Americans, Henry, but you don’t fit into that category.”

“You don’t look so comfortable over there yourself,” Henry grumbled.

It was true. Jack wasn’t a small man either, although he wasn’t Henry’s size and he didn’t have his bulk. Still, he’d have
been a lot more comfortable in the Suburban.

“Why didn’t we bring the Suburban?” Henry asked as if he’d read Jack’s mind.

“They have a great tree farm up in Tallahassee. I want to buy some trees and stick them in the pickup and take them home.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of shipping? You order the trees, have them shipped, and we drive to Tallahassee in comfort.”

“It’s not that easy. I like to see the trees and get a feel for them before I buy them. And I like the idea of transporting
them myself.”

Henry just looked at him. “When did you become Chauncey Gardener?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve always liked to garden.”

“Yeah, and I always liked to play the violin, only I never had one. Your gardener quit last year. That’s when you started
this stuff.”

“Okay. And I found I liked it. It’s soothing. It calms me. Do you have problems with that, Mister Macho Man?”

“No. Whatever floats your boat is fine with me, honey. The only thing I have problems with is this damn truck. What are we
going to Tallahassee for anyway? I mean, what am I going for?”

“Ben wants to talk to us.”

“Us? Ben has never talked to me in my life except to say hello a few times. Do you know what it’s about?”

“I have no idea. I assume it’s a case.”

Ben Chapman was the executive director of Exoneration, the anti–death penalty advocacy group where both Jack and Henry donated
their services, Jack as a lawyer and Henry as his investigator.

“Does he normally ask you to come talk to him personally about a case?” Henry asked.

“Never. It’s usually done by telephone, mail, or e-mail.”

“Then this must be something very unusual. What the hell does he want to talk to me about—how to investigate?”

“I have no idea, Henry. I have no idea.”

They found out soon enough. Their appointment was the next morning, Monday, at nine sharp. Ben Chapman was waiting for them.
He was a mid-sized portly man, mid- to late-fifties, with a shaved head, a short gray beard, and a deep voice. Chapman was
an attorney like Jack, but that’s where the similarity ended. He’d been a transactional lawyer with a tax background and had
made his considerable fortune from acquisitions of all kinds, often taking a piece of a deal that he put together as his fee.
After he’d been retired for a couple of years and bored stiff, he looked for a challenge to sink his teeth in. A Texas death
penalty case he’d read about, in which a man had been executed for killing his wife and children and was later determined
to be innocent, got him interested in the process. Then he started reading about other injustices, mostly across the South,
and he was hooked. Unlike Jack, Chapman couldn’t offer his legal services since he had no experience in the courtroom, so
he offered his considerable organizational skills. Before long, he was running Exoneration.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said in that booming voice of his. “Have you had any coffee?”

“We did. We just had breakfast,” Jack replied.

“Well, come on in then.” Chapman led them into his office, where they sat down in the two chairs in front of his desk.

“Are your accommodations okay?” He had set them up in a luxury hotel.

“Very nice, thank you,” Jack said.

“Good, let’s get to it then.” He handed them both a one-page document. “This is a very brief summary of the case of Thomas
Felton. Have either of you heard of him?”

“I have,” Jack said. “He was the serial killer in Oakville about ten years ago.”

“Correct, although he was never convicted of being a serial killer. He was convicted of a double homicide.”

“But as I recall,” Jack continued, “the murder weapon had been identified from a previous murder.”

“That’s almost correct,” Chapman said. “Actually, there was an attempted murder, and the young lady who survived identified
the weapon. She was subsequently killed, by the way.”

“So I take it,” Jack said, “that you want Henry and me to get involved in Mr. Felton’s case.”

“Precisely. The death warrant has been signed. His execution is scheduled for March fourteenth, and our office has been assigned
to represent him in any post-conviction relief. The chief judge of Apache County has appointed Circuit Judge Andrew Holbrook
to hear any post-conviction motions, and he’s set a status conference for the thirty-first of this month. That’s two weeks
from now. We need to look at the case and decide if we want to file anything at that time. The judge, if he is going to set
an evidentiary hearing, has to do it between the thirty-first of January and March fourteenth, leaving time for our client
to appeal to the Supreme Court. We’re under the gun, gentlemen.”

“I don’t—”

Before Jack could finish his sentence, Chapman cut him off. “Before you say no, Jack, I want you to hear me out. This is the
case we’ve been looking for. Nothing is more high profile than a serial killer. This is a circumstantial evidence case and,
frankly, the evidence isn’t that strong. It’s pretty much all hearsay, or hearsay exceptions. Since the girl who originally
identified the weapon is dead, the police officer she identified the weapon to testified in her place. So the weapon from
a previous attempted murder was found at the scene, outside of the apartment in the woods, and that was the sole basis for
the conviction. This guy was convicted because they were desperate to catch somebody.”

“You’re forgetting a couple of things, Ben.”

“What’s that?”

“Felton’s fingerprints were on the murder weapon and the murders stopped after Felton was arrested and convicted.”

“All I want to do is stop the execution. If Felton stays in prison for the rest of his life, I’m okay with that.”

“What if he gets off?”

“We don’t necessarily want that.”

“You don’t always get what you want, Ben. We could find a technicality that nobody came up with before. If I took Felton’s
case, I would be ethically bound to give him the best representation I could muster. I can’t pick and choose how I’m going
to represent him. So I have to make a determination at the outset if I want to give my best efforts to represent an alleged
serial killer knowing that I might possibly get him off.”

Ben Chapman could see he was losing Jack. It was something he had anticipated. He had to approach the issue from another direction.
This was where Henry came into the equation.

“Let’s just take this out of the realm of Mr. Felton for a second and look at the bigger picture. What is our work here? What
is our goal? We want to eliminate the death penalty. We know the criminal justice system is flawed. Henry is a concrete example
of that. He wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t exposed the flaws in the system, Jack.

“You’re the best lawyer we have. There’s no doubt about that. You’re a lawyer’s lawyer. But frankly, Jack, you cherry-pick
your cases. You look to represent only those people you believe are innocent. So, in your cases, you’re not necessarily putting
the death penalty on trial. The Felton case is high profile. It’s a circumstantial evidence case. We have the best opportunity
we have ever had to expose the death penalty and the flaws in the criminal justice system to the world.”

“To what end though, Ben? I mean, is it better to expose the flaws in our system of justice and let a very dangerous man walk?”

“I’m not talking about letting this guy walk, Jack. I’m after the issue of capital punishment. I don’t need an answer now.
Think it over. We can meet tomorrow or possibly the next day, but I need an answer soon.”

When they were outside the offices and headed for the parking lot, Henry finally piped up. “Boy, it’s much colder up here
in North Florida,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down his upper arms.

“Yeah,” Jack mumbled. He was still mulling over Chapman’s words in his head. It was chilly, but the sun was shining and the
wind wasn’t too bad.

“Now I know why he wanted me here,” Henry said when they were in the car and driving back to the hotel.

“Why is that?”

“He figures I’ll convince you to take the case. I’m his ace in the hole. He brings the two of us up here, goes through that
dog and pony show, and leaves me to work on you for the next day or so.”

“And why is he so sure of you? You said he doesn’t even know you.”

“He doesn’t. But he does know that I spent seventeen years on death row. He assumes that I am a staunch opponent of the death
penalty because of my own experience.”

“And?” Jack asked.

“You know I am. But I’m not necessarily opposed to some wacko serial killer being fried. I mean, nobody should ever mistake
me for being a bleeding heart.”

“I certainly wouldn’t, Henry. Not after Oakville.” Jack was referring to the killing of the man who had been about to shoot
him while he was jogging. It was something they had never spoken about. Since he’d brought the subject up, Jack decided to
get some closure at the same time. “That is over, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Henry said without acknowledging his part in anything. “The Eel called me a few days later and said it was finished.
It’s one less thing you have to worry about, Jack.”

“Good. I won’t bring it up again. Now back to this man on death row. You’re forgetting something, aren’t you, Henry?”

“What’s that, Jack?”

“A lot of people said pretty much the same thing about you. Nobody gave a rat’s ass about a career criminal like you going
to meet his maker.”

“One slight difference, Jack: You don’t rehabilitate serial killers. They’re like vampires. You have to cut out their heart
to make them stop.”

“Just because it’s a serial killer case, everybody, including you, assumes this guy is guilty. He could be innocent.”

“You’re the one who pointed out that Felton’s fingerprints were on the murder weapon and that the killings stopped after he
was arrested.”

“The prints are pretty substantial evidence, but I don’t think the same way about the cessation of the murders. Serial killers
for the most part are not stupid. And, contrary to popular opinion, most of them don’t want to get caught. So somebody gets
arrested for the murders. It’s a perfect time to move on. The killings don’t stop, they just move to a different location.
That can be new and exciting for a killer.”

“I guess you’re right,” Henry said. “You know, Jack, for a guy who has been clean as a whistle his whole life, you do a good
job getting inside of the heads of criminals. So what are you going to do?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“And what’s a lawyer’s lawyer? I never heard that term before until Chapman said it.”

“It’s just a figure of speech.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s a term to describe a really good lawyer—you know, the guy other lawyers want when they get in trouble.”

They arrived at the hotel. Henry slid out of the passenger seat chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Jack asked.

“I was just thinking,” Henry said. “What happens to the lawyer’s lawyer when the lawyer’s lawyer needs a lawyer?”

“Is that a tongue twister? And why would you think it was funny that I wouldn’t have a lawyer?”

“I don’t know—sick sense of humor, I guess. Besides, I’m the only one of us who gets in trouble and I’ve got you.”

“Babe.”

“What?”

Jack was laughing now. “I’ve got you—babe.”

“I don’t know about you, Jack. I think I just might get my own room.”

Jack was still laughing. “More space for me. You were never meant for a double room anyway, Henry. And I won’t have to wear
earplugs anymore.”

“Jesus, Jack, you’re brutal. Gimme a break, will ya?”

“You don’t mess with the lawyer’s lawyer, Henry.”

The next morning at eight, Jack called Chapman’s office and set an appointment for eleven. He hadn’t made up his mind yet
but he wanted to set a deadline for himself. That left him three hours to bounce things off of Henry.

“I don’t mind taking the case. I really don’t. I think there’s merit in arguing that this was a circumstantial evidence case
and that it doesn’t merit the death penalty. I mean, the murders were gruesome enough to warrant it, but the evidence was
a little flimsy, at least according to Chapman. I haven’t seen anything yet.

“The thing that bothers me, and I don’t know why, maybe it’s just a feeling—what if there’s a loophole and this guy goes free?
Do I want that on my conscience?”

They were at breakfast in the hotel dining room: silver coffee pot, cloth napkins, white table cloth.

“Don’t you have to ask that question in every case, Jack? I mean, you weren’t absolutely positive that I was innocent, were
you? Yet, you got me set free.”

“I was pretty sure of you, Henry. I’d have staked my life on you by the time it was all over.”

“Why don’t you give this Felton guy the same opportunity to convince you of his innocence? Tell Chapman you’ll review the
file and you’ll visit Felton and then you’ll make your decision.”

“He won’t like that. He wants me to represent Felton whether he’s innocent or not.”

“Who cares what he wants? You’re not looking at him when you look in the mirror in the morning.”

“I could still make a mistake.”

“You could, but you convinced me of something last night, Jack. Something I had not thought about in a while. This man might
be innocent and you, my friend, are probably the only person capable of saving him from his date with the grim reaper.”