The Victim (67 page)

As Anton understood the deal, a non-dangerous class two felony qualified for probation but there were two dead teenagers involved. Mitigated, Billingsley was willing to recommend two years state prison. With good time, Jack was confident Anton would do about fifteen months.

Six weeks from the date of his arrest and Jack had the whole thing wrapped up. It only took two trips out to Arizona to seal the deal. Jack shook hands with Billingsley, a good sign, and took a seat at the defense table beside Roger Banks, the Gila County attorney whose job was to do little more than serve as local counsel. Jack had handled everything. He winked confidently at Anton, assuring him that the two-year plea was a done deal.

Billingsley clapped a stack of papers on the tabletop. “Your Honor, the State will dismiss the indictment charging two counts of second-degree murder.” He approached the deputy clerk and handed her a copy of the information. “The State files an information charging the defendant, Anton Mackey, with two counts of manslaughter, a class two felony, alleging that on March 16, 2003, the defendant did recklessly cause the death of another person, to wit: Kelsie McEvoy, and Evan Rangel.”

Ptomey adjusted his glasses and read the information. A bronze Seal of the State of Arizona hung on the oak-paneled wall behind the bench.

Judge Ptomey asked the deputy clerk seated in front of the bench to place Anton under oath. The judge went through the requisite plea colloquy, determining that the defendant was freely and voluntarily giving up his right to a trial and that he had not been threatened or coerced into accepting the guilty plea. The judge further advised him that if he was not a United States citizen, entry of the plea would subject him to deportation. The judge determined that he could read and write in the English language and understood the proceedings. Anton acknowledged that he was satisfied with the services of his attorney.

“
Mr. Mackey, how do you plead to the amended charges?”

“
Guilty, Your Honor.”

Ptomey nodded. “This court accepts your plea of guilty and finds a factual basis for the plea. This court finds that you are alert, intelligent, and have been represented by competent counsel. Mr. Billingsley,” he asked, turning his attention to the prosecutor. “What does the state recommend as a sentence in exchange for the defendant’s guilty plea?”

Billingsley rose and smoothed out his jacket. “Your Honor, the state recommends a sentence of two years state prison.”

Ptomey nodded, although he kept his poker face. Anton couldn’t tell whether or not the judge approved.

“
Mr. Mackey? The state has recommended a sentence of two years for the deaths of two young kids. You do understand that as you are charged today, this court could legally sentence you up to ten years state prison per count. Running consecutive that’s twenty years, sir. You understand that by pleading guilty, you are permitting the court to sentence you as the court sees fit? The State is merely making a recommendation. You understand that, sir. Don’t you?”

Anton’s stomach tensed and he felt dizzy. He looked to Jack who gave him a
not to worry
nod. The judge was just putting him through the ringer.

The judge said, “While this court is impressed with the quality of representation you have provided your clients, as well as your assistance in freeing a wrongly convicted federal inmate, the court cannot overlook the misdeeds of your past. I believe that a person should be judged by more than their worst day, Mr. Mackey. But in a moment of sheer self-indulgence with no regard for anybody but yourself, you took the lives of two young people. While the court understands that thirty-two is a long way from twenty-one, two deaths demand accountability. I take no pleasure in this, Mr. Mackey, but I am rejecting the state’s recommendation of two years. This court hereby sentences you to four years in the custody of the Arizona Department of Corrections.”

Jack was on his feet, objecting to the sentence. Ptomey quickly, but politely, shut him down, the subtext of his words ever so clear.

This is how we do things out here.

Jack sat down, his eyes deliberately cast away from Anton. The plea deal shot down, double the prison time imposed. As the deputies made their way over to the jury box to take Anton to be fingerprinted, then back to his cell, where he would await transport to state prison, Anton spoke.

“
Your Honor.” Jack shot him a look that all defense attorneys give when their clients speak up in court without first discussing it with them. “Your Honor, I respect the sentence of this court. I’m not looking for mercy, Judge. This court’s been more than fair. I just ask one indulgence.”

Ptomey raised his brow. “What’s that, son?”

“
I just ask that I be given a moment to kiss my daughter goodbye.”

The gravity of the words took the edge off the old man. He removed his glasses and blotted his eyes with a handkerchief he had pulled from his pocket.

He gave a nod to the deputy stationed near the jury box and said, “That request is granted.”

The deputy held the swinging gate for Gina. The movement roused Charley from her sleep. She stretched her legs, which seemed so much longer to Anton who hadn’t seen her in six weeks. She was just a week shy of her first birthday. Her hair had grown out, thick and curly. With his hands cuffed he couldn’t hold her but Gina stood on the other side of the jury box railing, lifting her up to his face so he could smell that honey scent of her hair and kiss her cheek. His beard must have tickled because she let out a giggle, smiling brightly, staring into her father’s eyes. She cooed indecipherable noises that in no time at all would form complete words. Gina told him she had started taking some steps a week earlier. His eyes grew wet at the thought of all the things he would miss over the next few years. And miss them he would because he would not have his daughter come visit him where he was going. The horrors he was about to witness and endure would be his and his alone. He’d die a thousand painful deaths to keep his daughter from ever getting anywhere near there.

“
How’re you?” he asked Gina, stroking Charley’s cheek with his knuckles. His handcuff chains rattled.

She shrugged. Her eyes were worn but rested. He knew that Gina’s mother had come down to stay with them.

“
The money in our joint savings is running out fast. I know you’re not contesting the divorce, so I won’t touch the money since half’s yours. The bills are piling up and with no income in six weeks, it’s been tough. Never knew how expensive our lifestyle was. You owe more on your car than its worth so I’m just going to let it get repossessed. My parents have been giving me a little bit to help cover some weekly expenses like groceries and stuff.” Anton felt that one stinging at his pride. “The house is for sale. The realtor says the Parkland market’s a bit flat but we’re listing it for four-seventy-five. I hope we get four-fifty. Minus what we owe and closing costs I think we’ll net eighty, which we desperately need. Half of that’s for you so I’ll make sure to keep it in savings.”

Anton vehemently shook his head. “Absolutely not. You take that for you and Charley.”

She smiled tightly. “Thank you.”

“
Then what?”

She exhaled. “Jeez, I’m not sure. I’m gonna move us back to Orlando; hopefully get a place near my parents. I need a job, but the IT business is nothing like it used to be and nobody’s hiring, especially salespeople. I have a friend from high school who’s still up there, managing a Starbucks. Maybe I can grab something part-time. And my parents said Charley and I can stay with them as long as we want so we’ll be able to save up for a place. What a winner I am, thirty-one and moving back home.”

Anton smiled, drawing on his survival instincts to help delve up some humor. “Don’t forget your disbarred soon-to-be ex-husband, who’s in prison.”

She laughed through her tears. “What the fuck happened to us?”

“
Gina. I’m so sorry. For everything. For all the lies and just…” He sighed, unsure of how to say it. She nodded assuringly, letting him know that the message was well taken.

“
I know you are. I know that through my issues, I wasn’t available the way you may have needed me to be. If this was just a fling or something, well maybe I could get past it. But there’s like this whole other side of you that I don’t know. And I can’t get past that. I’m sorry. I wish I could, even just for Charley’s sake, but I can’t live like that. I’ll always love you, Anton. You’re the father of my child. You’ll always be in my life. But we just can’t…be together. Not after this.”

The deputy started moving toward the jury box, indicating that the moment was over. Another deputy came to escort Gina back to her seat while Anton eased out of the jury box, taking short shuttle-steps, his strides encumbered by a dozen links of chain. He brought his cuffed hands to his lips and blew a kiss to his mother, his father, Gina, and Charley, mouthing
I love you
before the deputies ushered him out of the courtroom.

THREE YEARS LATER

CHAPTER 80

The rental car idled by the curb outside of the Release Center at Arizona State Prison Complex, Perryville. Located in Goodyear, about twenty miles west of Phoenix, Jack’s most recent letter indicated that he would be happy to fly out and pick him up. The prison was about a half-hour drive from Scottsdale Airport, where the jet would be waiting that would take them back to Florida. Beyond that, Anton had no idea of his plans.

Jack sat in the driver’s seat, doing a double take at the man lumbering down the walkway. Did they release the right guy? If so, Anton was a different person. He wasn’t necessarily prison-hardened, just different. Thirty-five, but he could have passed for forty. With gain time, the three years and two months he’d spent in custody had cut deep creases around the corners of his eyes and across his forehead. His complexion had transformed into reddish-brown under the ruthless desert sun. His head was shaved and stubble peppered his jawline. He filled out a pair of ADOC sweats, having put on what Jack guessed was nearly fifty pounds.

Jack got out of the car and they embraced. Anton held a paper bag in one hand, no doubt his personal belongings. Jack assumed that the clothes Anton was wearing at the time of his arrest were balled up in there, but the staff at the prison had been kind enough to let him leave in a pair of baggy sweats—there was obviously no way he could fit into his old clothes.

Jack clapped him on the shoulder, standing back, trying to mask his disbelief. “How the hell are you?”

“
I don’t know yet.”

“
Let’s get out of here.”

They got into the car and sped off until the razor-wired perimeter of ASPC-Perryville was just a glimmer in the rearview.

“
Can I ask?”

Anton stared out the window as they sped down I-10 toward Scottsdale Airport. “About?”

“
Well…you were adamant that nobody was allowed to visit you. Other than about a dozen handwritten letters I haven’t seen or spoken to you in over three years.”

Anton cleared his throat. “I was in protective custody. The powers-that-be figured since I was a first-timer and not to mention an educated guy, I might be a target for some of the clever cons. They were concerned about the lifers, the dudes who shake down squares like me. I spent twenty-three hours a day in my own cell. Showered twice a week. Yard three times a week. No weights or anything like that. They had a handball court and one piece of exercise equipment, this dip bar/pull-up combo thingy. I tried to keep at it for the first few months but ultimately said fuck it.” He patted his belly. “Three slices of bread with every meal, nothing but reconstituted, reheated shit over and over again. No protein, all fat.” He pulled down the sun visor, grimaced at his reflection. “Holy Jesus, Jack. What the fuck happened?”

Jack forced a tight smile. He knew that Anton was out of prison but far from free. The white suburban dream of career advancement and family and foreign cars and gated communities was done. Thirty-five and nothing ahead but a gradual fade into obscurity, failure. To become a cautionary tale told to teenagers caught with that little baggie of marijuana.

You don’t want to turn out like Anton Mackey, now do you?

If he was lucky and worked extra hard and found somebody willing to give him a second chance, then maybe he could score some mindless service job. A life lived straddling the poverty line. Statistically, a man in his predicament would reoffend and go back to prison.