Death Row (17 page)

But they didn't. And now he was free.

He strolled toward the Tulsa Transit bus stop, a happy man. There were always so many women riding the bus. So many women crowded together in such a small space.

The world was filled with possibilities.

Ten minutes after the hearing was supposed to start, there was no one in the courtroom other than the principal players-the attorneys for both sides and the court bailiff. Somewhat ironic, Ben mused. Every time he tried a murder case, the courtroom was packed. People thought trials were exciting (even though, in the main, they weren't), full of tricks and high drama and witness hysterics and Perry Mason-style manipulation-all leading up to that dramatic moment when the jury rendered the verdict. But no one ever came to see an appellate hearing. A bunch of lawyers talking? Who cared? But the truth was, what took place at these hearings was often more interesting-and more final-than anything that happened in a trial.

"Got your argument mapped out?" Christina asked. She was sitting beside him at counsel table, armed with three tall stacks of photocopied case law.

"I think so. I'm going to start with a few token citations to the precedents for granting habeas corpus relief."

"All five of them, huh?"

"Right. But I won't spend much time there, because I know the judge already knows all that. What I hope to make implicitly clear, as I discuss the result in each case, is that the federal courts have traditionally stepped in, on whatever grounds, when they believed there was serious doubt about the defendant's guilt. And then I start laying down all the doubt."

"Think it'll work?"

"It might. If the judge is halfway reasonable, at the very least we should convince him to postpone the execution while we continue to investigate."

"Are you going to use my second-man theory?"

He looked at her sternly. "Christina, we may be desperate, but we don't have to act like it."

From the other side of the courtroom, a heavyset man in a somewhat worn suit approached Ben. "Looks like we have some time on our hands."

"Yeah. Any idea why?"

"Who knows? Federal judges do whatever they want."

"I suppose." Ben knew Jerry Weintraub from the days when he had interned at the DA's office, before he moved to Tulsa. He was a big bear of a guy-always upbeat, impossible to dislike. He was representing the AG's office in this hearing; the attorney general traditionally represented the state in criminal appeals.

"The problem is, these appointed-for-life federal judges all think they're God. And it's hard to keep God on a timetable."

Ben half smiled. Jerry had always been one of his favorites, back in OKC, and he still was-even when he was on the other side. "I can't believe you're still with the AG's office after all these years."

"Hey-it's job security. Don't knock it."

"Don't you get tired of being the AG's gofer?"

Weintraub appeared indignant. "Who's a gofer? I've outlasted three attorneys general and four governors. I run the place. They take orders from me."

"Uh-huh."

"You should never have left the DA's office, Ben."

"After the big blowup with Bullock? I had no choice. Not that it matters. I like choosing my own cases."

"Well, if this is an example of what you choose, you were better off doing government work."

A rustling from the back of the courtroom told them the judge was making his way out of chambers. "Well," Weintraub said, "time to put on my self-righteous-law-and-order-zealot face." He skittered back to his own table.

"All rise." The judge's clerk stepped out of chambers and called everyone to attention. "This court is now in session. The Honorable Richard A. Derek presiding."

Ben's jaw fell three inches lower. "Did he just say-"

Christina nodded solemnly.

"We were supposed to get Holmes. This is Holmes's courtroom. The clerk told us it was going to be Holmes."

"It seems the clerk was wrong."

The two attorneys watched as Judge Derek, Ben's former nemesis at Raven, Tucker & Tubb, slowly walked to the bench, a grave expression on his face. He was, as always, extremely handsome. There was more gray flecking his temples these days, but predictably it just seemed to augment his underwear-model good looks.

"Why him?" Ben muttered under his breath. "Why did it have to be him?"

"Stay calm," Christina whispered.

"How can I stay calm? The man hates me. He goes out of his way to make my life miserable." He cast his eyes upward. "Why couldn't it be Ellison or Seay or Eagan -"

"Isn't she a Republican?"

"Even so. Better a judge who wants to hang the defendant than one who wants to hang the defense attorney."

Derek stopped on his way to the bench to harangue his clerk. Ben couldn't hear what was being said, but he could tell the poor underling was getting a major chewing-out. Probably forgot to pick up Derek's dry cleaning or something.

Ben sighed. The man hadn't changed a bit in the years since they had both been at Raven. This was going to be a disaster.

Derek took his seat, placing his hand against the side of his head. He made it look like a scratch, but Ben knew better. He was checking the lie of his toupee. A more vain man never lived.

Derek gazed out into the courtroom. As soon as he laid eyes on Ben, his expression soured.

"Great," Ben muttered. "Just great."

His shoulders heaving, Derek read from the papers already on his desk. "This is Case Number CJ-675-03D, In Re the Habeas Corpus Petition of Raymond D. Goldman. Are counsel ready to proceed?"

Weintraub stood. "We are, your honor."

Christina nudged Ben. "Go for it."

Ben shook his head. "No way."

"What do you mean, no way?" she hissed. "You can't back out now. Think about Ray."

"I am thinking about Ray," he whispered back. "And guess what, Christina? You just became lead counsel."

"Did I mention that I don't want to be here?" Mike asked.

"No," Baxter said wearily. "But I'm sure you will."

Mike watched as the mourners-and there weren't many-filed past the gravesite. Did Erin really have so few friends? he wondered. Or did the fact that her death was commonly believed to have been a suicide keep people away? Had she had so much trouble reuniting herself with the real world, after the tragedy she had endured?

A few of the ten or so people in attendance at Erin Faulkner's funeral Mike recognized from the organ clinic-Dr. Palmetto, for one. But most he didn't know. And as he watched, it seemed to him that most of them didn't know one another, either.

In the movies, Mike thought, it was always raining at funerals. But not here, not today. The sun was shining and it was unseasonably warm. Some of the attendees were probably melting in their black clothes. Didn't seem right, somehow. This was play weather. This was a day for the park. Not Bartlett Cemetery.

He and Baxter kept a good distance away so as not to be a distraction, but not so far that Mike couldn't pick up scattered words and phrases. "We need not grieve for this woman," he heard the minister try to assure those present. "Now she is home. Now she is at peace."

"I think coming to Erin 's funeral to conduct interviews is in incredibly bad taste," Mike muttered.

"It wasn't my idea. Sheila Knight requested that we meet her here. And I thought that as long as we're doing one interview here..."

"This is the sort of idea that might appeal to a new cop, but anyone with any seasoning would know better."

Baxter's face clouded over. "I'm new to Tulsa, Morelli. I'm not new."

Mike watched as the minister with the red scarf around his neck closed his small Bible. The interment rites would soon be over. "We should've met her at her home."

"She specifically said she didn't want us to come to her home."

Really? That was interesting. "Then you should've made her come downtown."

"And if she said no? Leave me be, Morelli. Go hit on one of the mourners or something."

Mike shoved his fists deep into his coat pockets. "And furthermore, I hate funerals. I didn't even go to my father's funeral, and I adored him."

Baxter shrugged. "We all have to die sometime."

"Right. 'Send not to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.' "

"Is that more of your poetry?"

"It's Donne."

"Thank goodness." The funeral was over, and the assemblage was beginning to break up. "I'm going to talk to Sheila. Maybe you could track down the boyfriend."

Because you don't want me horning in on your interview with Sheila? Messing up the girl talk? "No, I'll do Sheila. You find the boyfriend. He's probably the young guy in the cashmere coat."

Baxter frowned. "Sure you don't want me along? It might involve some... you know. Women's issues. Girl stuff."

What Baxter obviously wanted, Mike realized, was for him to tell her he needed her. That she might be useful. Which he wasn't about to do. "I'm sure. It'll save time."

"Suit yourself." She started toward the gathering, then stopped. "But try not to make any remarks about her panties, okay? That sort of thing can really mess up an interview."

Derek's face was so flushed and angry Christina began to wonder about his blood pressure. "Are you telling me you want this court to grant relief based upon your hearsay testimony regarding the statements of a woman who is not only not present-but dead?"

"That's about the size of it, your honor."

"Ms. McCall, the only reason I have not already thrown you in jail is that I know you are a recent graduate and that you've probably acquired your understanding of evidence law from your co-counsel." Derek's quick glance in Ben's direction was enough to send chills down his spine. "That could account for a multitude of sins. Incompetence is contagious."

"I have researched this, your honor," Christina said firmly. "There is precedent for making hearsay exceptions. For instance, the rule regarding dying declarations."

"Which this isn't."

"Granted, but it only missed by a few hours."

"You're not helping yourself, Ms. McCall."

Maybe not, but she wasn't going to let him bully her into stopping the attempt. He might terrorize Ben, but to her he was just a blowhard with an overinflated ego and a bad hairpiece. "There are also hearsay exceptions pertaining to any situation where the declarant is unavailable."

"Those exceptions presume that the statement has been made in such a way or under such circumstances as to suggest truthfulness. Here, I have only the word of counsel for the defendant-the one who's trying to escape a rapidly impending execution date. Does that suggest truthfulness to you?"

Christina looked the judge right in the eyes. "I take my professional reputation and my ethical responsibilities seriously, sir. If you're suggesting that I'm making false statements to the court, with no basis whatsoever, I will not hesitate to file a judicial complaint."

"Young lady-"

"Don't you young-lady me. I don't care if you're a federal judge or the Prince of Wales. I will not allow you to cast aspersions on my character."

Ben stared at her, his eyes wide as balloons. Did she
want
to spend the night in jail?

To his amazement, Derek backed down. "Counsel, let's return to the case at hand, shall we? I am not going to allow this pseudo-testimony into evidence, and I am certainly not going to reverse a well-reasoned jury verdict on its basis. Do you have anything else?"

Christina's voice dropped several notches. "We've made several allegations of error in our petition."

"All of which have been ruled upon previously by other courts. Do you have anything that is remotely new?"

"Not really."

"Then under those circumstances, Ms. McCall, I'm afraid I have no choice but to-"

"Wait a minute. I do have something else. Something the police missed entirely."

Ben sat up straight. Christina...

"And what would that be?"

"The fact that Ray Goldman couldn't be the killer who massacred the entire Faulkner family." She paused. "Because there were two of them."

"Two? Miss McCall, what do you take me for?" If Derek had been angry before, now he looked ready to gnash Christina's law diploma to pieces with his bare teeth.

Baxter nailed the boyfriend-James Wesley-on her first guess. Not that there were that many candidates at the funeral from whom to choose.

She discreetly flashed her badge, introduced herself, and asked if they could talk a moment in private.

"I suppose." His expression was phlegmatic and contained. Was he really so unmoved? Or was he putting a brave face on it? "This day can't get any worse."

They moved to the shelter of a large oak tree in the corner of the cemetery. "I know this must be hard for you. I understand you were Erin Faulkner's boyfriend."

"Boyfriend may be pushing it." He was a handsome black man, well educated. Way too young for Baxter, but he had an obvious appeal. His curly black locks alone would be the envy of many a woman. "We went out maybe five or six times."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Sheila Knight referred to you as Erin 's boyfriend."

"Too bad she didn't tell Erin."

"Something happened between the two of you?"

"Not that I know about." Wesley ran his fingers through his curls. "Everything went fine on our dates. They were a trifle slow or awkward in places, but for first dates, really, they were fine. I wanted to see her again."

"And you asked her?"

"Repeatedly. But she turned me down."

"Did she give an explanation?"

"Not really. Just said she couldn't do it again. Something like that."

Baxter whipped her pocket notebook out of her jeans and made a few notes. "Any idea why?"