The Price of Justice (6 page)

C
HAPTER

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2

D
ani and Melanie were back at GDCP, this time with both a court reporter and videographer ready to record Earl Sanders’s deposition. When Sanders was brought into the interview room, he looked like he was disappearing inside his prison clothes. The once-tight garb now hung loosely on him, and his previous pale pallor had turned gray.

“Are you all right?” Dani asked him once he was seated.

He shook his head slowly. His hands, still cuffed, shook. “I got only thirteen more days.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I haven’t been able to eat nothing. I know I have it coming to me. I deserve to die. I didn’t think it would scare me so much, though.”

Dani had sat with many inmates who had to face the same fear. Some pretended to be stoic, some were filled with rage, some felt overwhelmed with regret. Some mourned the families they were leaving behind, while others cut themselves off from everyone to avoid facing their grief. Yet, in each case where she sat with a client whose appeal she’d lost, it was an innocent man preparing for his death. It had been agonizing for her to witness the execution of someone she’d worked with, someone she believed was wrongly convicted yet still held responsible. It was different with Sanders. Although she loathed the death penalty, abhorred the irrevocability of it, she felt no sympathy for the frightened man sitting opposite her. He was a monster, and although she still didn’t wish his death, she would shed no tears for him.

“Do you understand what we’re going to do today?” she asked.

Sanders nodded.

“I need you to answer so the court reporter can record what you say.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I’m going to question you about the murders you say you committed. I want you to answer truthfully, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dani turned to the court reporter. “I want to ask him some questions before we begin, so don’t record this now.”

The court reporter took her hands off the stenotype machine and sat back in her seat.

“Earl, did anyone give you money, or anything of value, to say you killed Carly Sobol?”

Sanders narrowed his eyes and glared at Dani. “Now, what good will money do me when I’m dead?”

“Please, just answer yes or no.”

“No. Not a damn cent.”

“Did anyone give your family, or a friend, money or something of value if you said you killed Carly?”

“Nobody cares about me. Why should I care about them? No. No money to anyone.”

She turned back to the court reporter. “Okay. Let’s get started now.”

Tommy was stumped. He’d been certain Sanders had been paid to take the fall for Melton. He knew Melton’s type. A kid who’d grown up rich and thought he could buy his way out of anything. But so far, he’d turned up nothing. He’d checked jail records, and no Melton had paid a visit to Sanders. Not even a lawyer for the Meltons. The only lawyer who’d visited him was his own, and he hadn’t paid a visit until last month, when Sanders confessed to Carly Sobol’s murder. He dug further, thinking maybe a Melton, or a lawyer for Melton, had contacted Sanders’s attorney, Patrick Dowling, and pitched the bribe to him. Through his contacts, Tommy found someone who could search phone records for Dowling during the months leading up to Sanders’s confession. Nothing again.

The only visitor Sanders had was his mother, who once a month had faithfully visited her son. She’d seen him two days before Sanders contacted Dowling and asked him to come to the prison. His contact traced her phone records, too. Again, no contact between her and a Melton. He decided more legwork was in order.

Letitia Sanders lived in Baily Falls, Georgia, a rural community with a population of less than three thousand people. Tommy flew into Atlanta, picked up his rental car, and drove two hours south to Baily Falls. It was filled with run-down homes, a gas station, a bar, and a town hall. It didn’t even warrant its own post office. It was easy to find the home of Sanders’s mother. On the edge of town hovered a large trailer park. Mrs. Sanders’s double-wide was parked just inside the entrance. Scattered around the other trailers were broken bottles and overflowing trash containers.

She was expecting Tommy, and when he entered her home, she offered him coffee and homemade cookies, still warm from the oven. He gratefully accepted. The small kitchen, tidy and bright, was filled with the smell of the freshly baked treats. Plaid curtains hung on the two small windows, and the tile floor was spotless. Tommy sat at the Formica table and watched Mrs. Sanders as she poured the coffee. Unlike her son’s stout build, she was small-boned, with graying hair pulled back in a stringy ponytail. Fringed bangs hung on her forehead, the ends just reaching the top of her penciled-in eyebrows.

Once the coffee was poured, she sat down opposite Tommy and stared at him, as though trying to discern if he was friend or foe.

“I appreciate your meeting with me,” Tommy said to break the silence. “I’m sure this is a difficult time for you.”

“Earl’s made my life difficult ever since he was born. It’s no surprise he’s ending up this way.”

“Yet, you visit him every month.”

“He’s still my boy.”

“Do you have other children?”

“Three more. Three different fathers, not a one of them worth a damn. Darryl, he’s the oldest, then Mary Lou. Earl came next, and last was Willie. I got to tell you, I should’ve had all girls. They’s much less trouble.”

Tommy nodded. “I have five of my own. Two of them girls. I know what you mean.” He thought about Tommy Jr.’s recent skirmish with the law and wondered if it would be just the first time he’d have to go through that stress with one of his children. “Were you surprised when Earl confessed to those other murders?”

“Nothing he ever done surprised me. Like I said, he was a bad seed from the start.”

“One of the crimes he confessed to, some other man was sentenced to death for. My office is trying to get his conviction overturned, or at least get him a new trial. I’m only asking this next question because it’s bound to come up at a hearing in that case.” Tommy paused and looked closely at Mrs. Sanders. “Do you know if anyone offered Earl money if he would confess to killing Carly Sobol?”

“What good would money do that boy now?”

“No good at all. But it might help out his family.”

Mrs. Sanders slapped her knees and threw back her head with a snort. “He never thought about us before. Don’t see him starting now.”

Tommy looked around the trailer and spotted wallpaper peeling at the edges and a couch with ripped upholstery. If she’d gotten any money, it hadn’t been spent on her home. He stayed another ten minutes chatting with Mrs. Sanders, then got up to leave. He’d already formed his opinion. If Earl Sanders had made a deal with any of the Meltons, this woman knew nothing about it.

Letitia Sanders locked the door behind her visitor and sat back down at the kitchen table. Most of what she’d told that investigator was true. Earl had been trouble from the day he was born, his colic keeping her up ’til the wee hours of the night, unable to calm his screams. What she hadn’t told the man, what she’d never told her son, was in spite of his trouble-making, Earl had always been her favorite. Sure, her daughter was easy, but Earl had a sparkle that won over everyone who met him. Until his daddy walked out the door and never looked back. It was as though a light switch had been flipped inside him. He’d been eight years old at the time. That next year, the school folk suspended him nine different times, always for picking a fight with kids bigger and stronger than he. By the next year, he’d figured out he’d come out better if he picked on smaller kids. Maybe if she’d been a better mother, she’d have realized he needed help. But with three other kids, Willie just a baby and needing attention, and no man to help put food on the table, it was easier to look the other way.

It’d come as a shock to her when they locked her boy up. Sure, the others got themselves into trouble now and then. Darryl and his friends got caught hot-wiring a car, but they were just out for a joyride. Still, he spent thirty days in the local lockup for it. And Willie, well, he got himself into drugs and did some things he shouldn’t because of that. But rape and murder? It knocked the wind out of her when she found out. Didn’t believe it for a minute until Earl told her it was true. He seemed like a stranger to her then. When he fessed up that there were others, it didn’t matter. She was already numb. He’d already broke her heart.

She made the trek once every month to visit him anyway. Figured it had to be part her fault he’d turned out the way he did. She also hoped deep inside him was a remnant of the sparkle that lit him up as a child. And finally, it came out. He did something good, something for others.

C
HAPTER

13

D
ani and Melanie rushed to finish their motion to the Fifteenth Judicial Circuit in West Palm Beach. Earl Sanders was scheduled to be executed in eleven days. They hoped the judge would order an emergency evidentiary hearing and bring Sanders in to testify. Sometimes, the briefs were easy to prepare. If DNA evidence exonerated their client, Dani merely had to lay out the facts for the judge. Not so with this brief. Sure, the facts were important—even crucial—but the law was tricky. She and Melanie had spent days searching for cases that supported their client’s claim for a new trial, then marshaled the law and facts to create what they hoped was a persuasive argument. Now it was done, and Dani handed it over to a paralegal to file with the court.

Once it was out of her hands, Dani realized she was starving. She checked her watch and saw it was almost one thirty. “I’m heading over to The Market. Anybody want anything?” she called out to the open room. Two people raised their hands, and she took their orders, then grabbed her coat and headed to the elevator.

When she exited the building, she saw it was raining, a soft misty rain that created a gauzy fog over the mass of bodies rushing to their destinations. With only one window in their office space, and that in Bruce’s office, she’d forgotten to check what was happening outside. Her umbrella was neatly stored in her desk drawer.
Damn.
She shook her long curls. By the time she got back to the office, her hair would be a mass of frizz. She could have ordered lunch to be delivered. That was one of the glories of Manhattan. Pick up a phone, and a dozen restaurants and sandwich shops would bring just about any kind of food directly to her. But The Market, a food emporium just one block from HIPP’s office, had the best salad bar she’d ever seen. Three long rows of just about everything that could be imagined. She never knew what she was in the mood for until she walked up and down each row, examined each offering, and then made her choices. So she walked the block in the rain instead of having a sandwich brought to her office.

Despite the late hour, The Market was packed full of customers. Dani made her way over to the salad bar and began her slow stroll down the aisle, examining the day’s offerings.

“Dani Meadows? Is that you?”

Dani turned around and saw a tall, gangly man, dressed impeccably in a navy suit, starched white shirt and burgundy tie, holding a takeout container filled with food from the salad bar.

“It’s me. Ted Bronstein.”

Dani smiled broadly at him. She hadn’t seen her old friend since they’d graduated from Brown University almost twenty-three years ago.

“You look exactly the same,” Ted said as he looked her over.

“Hardly. But you—quite a change from the long hair and ragged jeans of college days.”

“Well, it’s hard to keep long hair when the circle of male-pattern baldness keeps getting wider. Besides, the financial mavens tend to prefer more conservative attire.”

“So, that’s what you’re doing? Finance?”

Ted nodded. “Mergers and acquisitions. In fact, I just finished up a meeting with a client. That’s why I’m down this way. My office is in Midtown. How about you? Did you become a psychologist?”

Although a career as a psychologist had been Dani’s intent when she entered college, by the time she’d graduated, she changed her focus to law. “Nope. Lawyer.”

“I bet you’re with some big firm, partner by now, right?”

Dani shook her head. “As far from that as one can get. I work for the Help Innocent Prisoners Project. My specialty is death-penalty cases.”

Dani saw Ted’s body stiffen, and the smile that had remained on his face since he’d called her name disappeared. “I think they all should fry.”

Dani was used to his reaction. Thankfully, with the news accounts of wrongful convictions, views were gradually changing. In 1994, a Gallup poll showed 80 percent favored the death penalty. Now, only 60 percent did. “Even the innocent ones?” Dani asked.

Ted cleared his throat. “Well, of course not. Only those that are obviously guilty.”

“How do you know who’s obviously guilty?”

“I guess if the evidence is clear.”

“It’s almost always clear to the jury. Otherwise, they wouldn’t vote to convict. Yet, over and over, DNA is proving them wrong.”

“Still, some cases are irrefutable.”

“Like, if they confess to the crime?”

“Well, sure. Who’d confess if they were innocent?”

“Actually, lots of people. Including some who were sentenced to death.”

Ted folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I guess we’re just going to disagree about this.”

“I suppose so.” Dani touched his arm. “It was good running into you, Ted. But I’ve got to get back to the office. Lots of innocent prisoners need my help.” She smiled, turned away, and continued her walk down the salad bar. Moments later, she felt a tap on her shoulder, turned, and saw Ted.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at what you do. You always were an idealist in college.”

Dani smiled. “If memory serves, so were you. What happened?”

“I grew up. Got married, had a couple of kids, and realized that my obligation is to them, not the rest of the world.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Besides, one man can’t make a difference.”

Dani’s face grew somber. “Oh, no, Ted. You’re wrong. For my clients, one person can be the difference between life and death.”

“The governor’s on the phone, sir.” No matter how hard Ed Whiting tried, he couldn’t get his assistant to stop calling him “sir.” He supposed it was her military training. He had to admire a woman who served in Afghanistan, though, so he didn’t push her too hard on it. No easy job for anyone, man or woman.

“Thanks, Charlotte. I’ll take it in my office.”

Whiting stepped behind his desk and picked up the phone. “What can I do for you, Governor Ashton?”

“You can tell me the rumors I’m hearing are a goddamn lie.”

Polished in front of crowds, Ashton was a crass boor in private, a bloated huckster who’d weaseled his way into the state’s top office. Word was his aspirations went higher. All the way to the White House. Whiting despised the man. God help the country if his ambitions are realized, he thought.

“What rumors would those be, Governor?” Whiting knew just what he was talking about. In fact, it surprised him the governor had waited this long to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Only Ashton thought it belonged anywhere he wanted.

“Don’t play coy with me. It’s about Winston Melton.”

“What about him?”

“Someone confessed to killing that girl—the one blamed on Winston. And I hear you’re doing nothing about it.”

“Not nothing. I considered his confession, and it didn’t seem credible.”

“You two-bit nothing. Don’t you realize his grandma can make or break candidacies?”

It was the only thing that mattered to this governor—reelection. Whiting wished he could simply hang up on the buffoon, but even he knew that would be going too far. Instead, he pulled a notepad over, picked up a pen, and began doodling. He let Ashton drone on about the wealth of the Melton family, the opportunity this confession afforded them, how it was a win-win all around. Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“You know, Governor. We’re on different sides of the aisle. The Meltons may have given you a ton of money, but my campaign hasn’t seen a penny from them.”

“You’re not getting the big picture, son. Maybe they haven’t given you money—so far, that is—but they haven’t funded your opponent either. They don’t care which party you’re in. Those folks just want someone in office who’ll pay attention to them. Play this right, and you’ll come out a winner next election. Fuck them, and it’s a guarantee your opponent will receive the full benefit of their bounty.”

Whiting wished he could will his assistant to come knocking on his door—give him an excuse to get off the phone. He knew she wouldn’t interrupt him, though, when the high-and-mighty governor was calling. If only she knew what an empty suit he was. Finally, with the notepad page filled with his scribbling, he interrupted the blather.

“I hear what you’re saying, Governor. But my bottom line is that I was elected to do my job, and that’s to put away criminals. If I look the other way, then I don’t deserve to be reelected.”

“But that’s just it. Winston isn’t a criminal. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I don’t believe that’s the case. There’s nothing that ties Sanders to the crime other than his confession, and I simply don’t trust it.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Whiting could picture Ashton’s face getting redder as he tried to control his temper. Soon, speaking slowly, enunciating every word, Ashton said, “I am telling you to back off. Now do it.”

“Sorry, Governor. I don’t work for you. I work for the people of Florida. If you feel so strongly about Melton, then commute his sentence. Knock it down from death to life. Or even pardon him, if you truly believe he’s innocent. You can do any of those without me.”

Now Ashton exploded. “Dammit, you know I can’t do that! How’s it going to look if I go easy on a big contributor’s grandson?”

“That’s not my problem. If there’s nothing else, I have a meeting to attend.”

His voice still booming, Ashton shouted into the phone, “You’ll regret this, Whiting! And that’s a promise I’ll keep.”