Turning Angel (56 page)

”Who was in the woods?“

”Well, Drew, I guess. I mean, I know that now. But in my mind he was still at his office. I’d taken the note off his car, so why would he show up there? Anyway, the louder the noise got, the more I panicked. I just couldn’t wait around to see. I’m not even sure why I was so afraid, except…God, I’ve been wondering if part of me—and I hate to admit this, Penn—if even then part of me was afraid it
was
Drew. You know? I was afraid that if Drew knew I’d killed Kate, he might kill
me
in a rage.“

”Has Drew ever been violent to you?“

”Never. Oh, he slapped me once, but I was in withdrawal. I was slugging him like some redneck bitch. He should have hit me with a hammer.“

The pitch of Ellen’s voice is rising, and her words are coming faster. Though she appears to be in control, I sense that she’s headed for some sort of breakdown.

”Where’s the note now? Kate’s note?“

”I burned it.“

Damn.
”Listen to me, Ellen. I want you to be very calm, all right?“

”I am calm.“

”Now that you’ve told me all this, what do you want me to do?“

She looks at me as though I’ve asked the world’s stupidest question. ”I want you to tell the district attorney,“ she says in a brittle voice. ”I want you to get Drew out of jail. I mean, you have to tell the D.A., don’t you? Now that I’ve confessed?“

If only it were that simple.
”Was there anyone in my room when you walked in?“

”Your mother was reading by the bed. I asked her to leave me alone with you.“

”All right. She’s probably still outside. I’m going to talk to her, and then I want you to wait outside with her. Go to the cafeteria and have some coffee.“

”That’s all right. Jackie’s here with me.“

”Tell Jackie to go home.“

Ellen looks confused again, but then she seems to get it. ”All right. I’ll tell her.“

”Don’t tell my mother anything you just told me. Okay?“

”What are you going to do, Penn?“

”Try to get Drew out of jail.“

Relief smooths the lines of Ellen’s face. ”Thank you. My God…it’s finally out. I couldn’t go one more minute carrying that around.“

I force a smile and pick up my bedside phone.

Quentin Avery is staring at me like he would an insane person. He has just listened to Ellen Elliot repeat her tale of murder—or manslaughter, in my book—and Ellen has just walked out to rejoin my mother in the hospital cafeteria.

”You believe that story?“ Quentin asks.

”Every word.“

He nods slowly. ”I do, too. But it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.“

”What?“

”It doesn’t change anything.“

”What?“

Quentin runs both hands through his gray Afro, then looks down at me like a patient law professor. ”Drew Elliot was just convicted of capital murder. That woman is his
wife.
Nobody’s going to see this as anything but a last-ditch effort to save her husband from the death penalty.“

”By risking prison herself?“

”Hell, yes.“ Quentin snorts in frustration. ”I’ve seen this a half dozen times, at least. Mothers try it all the time. And you can bet Judge Minor has seen it, too.“

”But it’s the truth, Quentin.“

He looks at me with something like pity. ”Are you a lawyer or a philosopher? The person you’d have to take this story to is Shad Johnson, who at this moment is celebrating the biggest triumph of his career. Shad thinks this conviction’s going to propel him straight into the mayor’s office. Do you think he’s going to bend over backwards to overturn that conviction? Throw away Drew and capital murder to nail the wife for
manslaughter?
You think he’s even gonna
listen?
“

”We’ll go to Judge Minor, then.“

Quentin throws up his hands. ”You told me yourself that he’s on Shad’s side, and you were right. Judge Minor so blatantly favored the state that I have no doubt about the outcome of the appeal.“ Quentin lays a hand on my shoulder. ”Forget this craziness, Penn. Drew’s best bet is the appeals process.“

”He’s innocent, Quentin. And they’re about to enter the death phase of the trial. At the least, Ellen’s story could introduce enough doubt to keep the jury from voting for execution.“

Quentin looks down at a vase of wilted flowers. After about a minute, he looks up, his eyes filled with resolve. ”All my experience and instinct tell me that would be a mistake. With this D.A. and judge, it’s the wrong way to play it. We should save the impact of Ellen’s story for the appeal.“

”Fuck the appeal,“ I mutter. ”I want a new trial.“

Quentin’s eyes darken. ”I’m chief counsel, Penn.“

”This isn’t your call. It’s Drew’s.“

The old lawyer sighs angrily. ”If you really want to upset him like that, I’ll go down to the jail and put this to him.“

I shake my head. ”I’m going with you.“

”You can barely make it to the bathroom.“

I raise myself onto my hands and sit up. ”I’m going with you, Quentin.“

He picks up his coat and walks to the door.

”Go back to the hotel,“ I tell him. ”If I haven’t called you in a half hour, go talk to Drew alone. Fair enough?“

He nods once. I expect him to offer an olive branch—or fire a parting shot—before he goes, but he does neither.

After he’s gone, I pick up the plastic device that connects me to the nurses’ station and punch the Call button.

”Yes, Mr. Cage?“

”Is my father still in the hospital?“

”His light’s on.“

”Would you page him and ask him to come to my room?“

”Yes, sir.“

”Thank you.“

Ten minutes later, my father walks into my room and closes the door.

”What’s the matter?“ he asks.

”I need to get out of here, Dad. You’ve got to help me.“

”What’s going on? I heard they convicted Drew.“

”Ellen Elliott just confessed to Kate’s murder. Right here in this room.“

Dad’s mouth opens, but no sound emerges. Then he says, ”You believe her?“

”I do.“

”Jesus Christ.“

”You’ve got to get me out of this bed. I’ve got to see Drew face-to-face, and that means going to the jail. I want to overturn his conviction, but Quentin doesn’t see eye to eye with me on that. I’ve got to make sure Drew has a chance to save himself. If nothing changes between now and the sentencing phase, I’m afraid he’ll be sentenced to death. His son shouldn’t have to go through that, even if the decision is reversed six months from now.“

Dad sits on the side of my bed and surveys me from head to toe. ”You’re in bad shape, Penn.“

”How bad?“

He sighs deeply. ”Your heart’s sounding better, but the vasculitis is still a serious problem. If you start moving around, you’re going to have hydrostatic problems with your blood pressure. You could faint very easily.“

”It’s not my blood vessels that are keeping me in this bed. It’s the withdrawal. I get horrible muscle cramps when I move. If I stand for ten minutes, I fall down and twist into a ball of agony.
That’s
what I need help with.“

”The methadone’s not helping?“

”Not enough.“

Dad makes a clucking sound with his tongue.

”Drew saved my life,“ I say quietly. ”You remember.“

”I remember, all right.“ Dad taps his right fist into his open palm. ”There’s one thing I could try. It’s unethical as hell, but…Hang on, I’ll be back in a minute.“

”Where are you going?“

”Hospital pharmacy.“

He’s back in less than five minutes. In his left hand is a bottle of pills, in his right, a mortar and pestle.

”What’s that?“

”Oxycontin.“

”Will that help me?“

His eyes glint beneath raised brows. ”We’re about to find out.“

He takes out two yellow tablets, drops them into the china vessel, and crushes them to powder. ”Abusers crush the tablets because they’re time-release formulas,“ he says. ”Crushing them gives you the full dose almost instantaneously. It’s a lot more like mainlining heroin.“ He takes a white card from the flowers by my bed and carefully brushes three quarters of the powder into the glass of water on my bedside table.

”Drink it down.“

I swallow the bitter mixture.

”That ought to give you some relief.“

”How long will it last?“

”I don’t know. But don’t do that yourself. When the pain comes back, just take one pill by mouth.“

Dad dons his stethoscope and lays its cold bell against the skin beneath my left nipple, over the apex of my heart.

”What are you listening for?“ I ask. ”My heart slowing down?“

”No. With a narcotic dose like this, your respiration will slow down, but your heart may race to try to provide more oxygen. It’s called reflex tachycardia.“

The rush doesn’t come as quickly as the one from Blue’s syringe, but come it does. After five minutes, I feel the warmth spreading from beneath my heart. ”Jesus,“ I murmur. ”That’s it. The pain is
gone.
“ I flex my arms, then stretch gloriously in the bed. ”Talk about a miracle drug.“

”There’s a reason opium has hung around since Alexander the Great.“ After a while, Dad removes his stethoscope and says, ”Your heartbeat’s within normal limits.“

I take several deep breaths, then sit up and hang my feet over the edge of the bed. Dad takes hold of my arms and helps me stand.

”I feel like a new man. Literally.“

”Only while the drug lasts,“ he says. ”Remember that. You’re like Cinderella at the ball.“

”Right.“

”Your mother would boil me in oil if she knew about this.“

”Don’t tell her.“ I suddenly feel light-headed, but I mask my difficulty by sitting on the bed again.

”Are you going to the jail now?“ Dad asks.

”Yes.“

”I’ll drive you.“

”That’s all right. Kelly will take me.“

”Even better.“ Dad looks me from head to toe again. ”Let’s get some clothes on you.“

Chapter
38

”Where’s Ellen now?“ Drew asks in a voice I can barely hear.

”At the hospital with my mother.“

Drew blinks rapidly, then looks down. Even through the bulletproof glass of the visiting window, I can see he’s close to breaking. His skin is so pale that he looks like he’s suffering from severe anemia. With Quentin standing behind my chair, I’ve just recounted what happened between Ellen and Kate at St. Catherine’s Creek. To his credit, Quentin did not interrupt once.

”Drew, you’ve got a big decision to make,“ I say. ”And it’s yours alone.“

He closes his eyes. Quentin lays a hand on my shoulder, but before I can turn, a single, racking sob bursts from Drew’s throat. His mouth makes it appear that he’s laughing, but I’ve seen that effect in many distraught people. I wish I could shatter the glass separating us and hug him, but there’s no way to do that. As I watch helplessly, he starts banging his forehead against the window like an autistic child.

”Drew? Drew!“

He doesn’t seem to hear me.

I rise and put my mouth up to the metal vent in the window.

”Drew!“

”Dr. Elliot!“ Quentin barks from behind me. ”We’ve got to make a decision about this matter!“

Drew stops banging the glass and stares at Quentin. ”Decision?“

”Your wife wants us to take her confession to the district attorney.“

He blinks in shock. ”Take Ellen to Shad Johnson?“

”That’s what she wants,“ Quentin says. ”She’s ready to confess to Shad that she killed your lover.“

I glare at him, but Drew is already shaking his head. ”No,“ he says. ”Absolutely not. She can’t do that.“

Quentin looks at me in triumph. ”Those are exactly my feelings, Doctor. The D.A. wouldn’t believe her anyway. Neither would Judge Minor. We have to focus on your appeal now.“

”Drew, listen to me,“ I implore. ”Right now, Tim is at risk of losing his father. At the very least, you’re about to be sentenced to spend the rest of your life in prison. At worst, you’ll get death by lethal injection. And
Timmy will know that.
All the time you’re waiting for your appeal, Timmy will be suffering. If you had killed Kate, that would be one thing. But you didn’t. I believed you before, but now I
know.
All through your trial, you told Quentin that you wanted the jury to know the truth. Well, now we know the real truth. And the jury should know it, too. Don’t you see?“

Drew is staring at me as though paying close attention, so I press on.

”If we can prove Ellen’s story, your conviction will be overturned. You’ll be a
free man.
Free to be the father Tim needs.“

”What would happen to Ellen?“

”She’d probably serve a brief sentence for manslaughter.“

”He can’t guarantee that,“ Quentin says. ”Your wife could get life for murder.“

”Manslaughter,“ I insist. ”No jury’s going to convict Ellen of murder for fighting with a girl who was pregnant by her husband. We could plea-bargain it ahead of time. There wouldn’t even have to be a trial. I’d represent Ellen.“

Drew stirs at this, but then Quentin says, ”You’re forgetting Ellen’s drug habit, Penn. How Kate was used to feed that habit. No jury is going to buy Ellen as a noble wife who lost control just once.“

”It doesn’t matter,“ Drew says in a monotone.

Quentin and I fall silent, waiting for him to explain.

”If I hadn’t gotten involved with Kate, none of this would have happened. Ellen did what she did because I put her in an impossible position. I won’t have her punished in my place. Not for my weakness.“ Drew stares out of the little cubicle with absolute conviction. ”I carry my own water, guys.“

”Drew—“

”Let it go, Penn. I’ll take my chances on appeal.“ He stands and holds his cuffed hands up to the window. ”I appreciate you trying. But I want you to forget what Ellen told you. Every word of it.“

I bow my head, marshaling my strength for further effort. Then I flatten my hands against the window like starfish and lean close to the vent. ”You want to punish yourself? Fine. But don’t cheat Timmy out of a father. You owe it to him to be there for him.“

Drew lifts his eyes to mine, but all I see in them now is resignation. ”Tim will be okay with Ellen. Go home and hug Annie. Don’t worry about me anymore. Let it go.“