Uh-oh. Val cast a quick glance at Kendra. "It's a suffocating place, isn't it?"
"No need for evasive tactics, Val. Jason found out about Daniel from Cal Murphy's niece, so we decided it was time he met his other father." Kendra smiled a little wearily. "It went pretty well, didn't it, Jay?"
As Jason nodded, Val said, "Sit down and tell me about it if you have time. If you have any legal questions, ask away."
Kendra and Jason took chairs while Val came around the desk and perched on the edge so she wouldn't look so formal. Jason asked bluntly, "What are the odds of getting him off death row?"
Val wished she could offer whole-hearted assurance, but she couldn't. "We've got a decent shot. At the least, we should be able to get a postponement while the new evidence is evaluated. If the court finds it compelling, maybe his sentence can be permanently commuted to life imprisonment."
Jason absorbed that. "What is the chance of his getting released from prison?"
"We'd have to come up with some really stunning evidence, like the long-lost murder weapon, or hope we could persuade the governor to pardon him." She grimaced. "Since capital punishment is very political, that's not terribly likely."
"It's so unfair." Jason's low voice vibrated with emotion. "I grew up not facing any real racism. Sure, I knew it existed, and that older folks had fought a lot of tough bat- des, but I never realized that it affected me. And it does, doesn't it? Would my... my other father be on death row if he was white?"
It was a question Val had already asked herself. "Given the facts of this case, it's hard to say. He might be. Malloy was killed by a black man. That's never been in dispute, and Daniel did fit the description. A number of the police and prosecutors involved were black, and he certainly wasn't railroaded, not with three eyewitnesses swearing he was the killer. Kendra, did you feel that Cal Murphy was a smart, capable attorney who did his best?"
Kendra nodded. "Even at the time, I thought Murphy was pretty good. He wasn't drunk, didn't sleep through testimony or any of the other awful things you hear about. I appreciate him even more now that I've worked in law offices for so many years."
Val turned back to Jason. "But would your mother's testimony that she and Daniel were together have been dismissed so quickly if she were a white doctor instead of a black clerk? Maybe not. Would the police have done a more thorough investigation if they hadn't had a convenient black suspect with a criminal record? Maybe. There's racism in the system, but it's hard to prove in any given case."
Jason's lips tightened. "If he were white, maybe he wouldn't have been sentenced to death."
"Again, it's hard to say," she replied. "The best predictor of the death sentence is not the race of the killer, but the race of the victim. Death sentences are much more common if the victim is white."
"I find that particularly offensive," Kendra interjected. "As if a white life is worth more than a black one."
"Damned right it's offensive." Val looked down at the floor, trying to formulate ideas she'd never put into words. "Race is the karmic burden of America. Every other immigrant group that came here did so willingly. The brave and the ambitious made incredible sacrifices and took great risks to come to America for the chance to build better lives.
"African Americans are the only exception. They were brought here against their will, enslaved and brutalized, deliberately deprived of culture, education, and the opportunities others took for granted. Now, for our sins as a nation, race haunts us." She raised her gaze to Kendra. "I'm almost afraid to say such things out loud because race is such a volatile, painful subject, but how can we heal if we can't even talk?"
"I've often thought similar things," Kendra said quietly. "Even all these years after the Civil War, race matters. I grew up feeling as if there were invisible walls around me, walls a black girl couldn't climb over. I didn't want Jason to feel the same."
"You succeeded." Jason studied his mother's face with new respect. Val guessed that he had taken his sheltered, supportive upbringing for granted, as young people usually did. At nineteen, for the first time, he was beginning to understand how much conscious parenting had gone into raising him. He'd probably have to have kids of his own before he truly understood how lucky he had been.
Turning back to Val, Jason asked, "Is there anything I can do? I... I like my new father. I don't want to lose him before I have a chance to know him."
"If I think of anything, I'll ask pronto." Val glanced at her clock. "Shall we order in a pizza for lunch? Serious conversation always gives me a desire for saturated fats."
The atmosphere lightened and they began negotiating preferences for pizza toppings. While holding out for onions and Italian sausage, Val gave private thanks for the chance that had informed Jason of Daniel's sentence. If the worst happened... well, Kendra wouldn't have to mourn alone.
* * *
As soon as he escaped the roof where they'd been working, Sha'wan Baker poured water over his head from a bottle stashed in the cooler of his van, then wiped himself dry with a towel. "Thanks for helping out with this job, Rob. If I'd had to spend twice as long painting out that graffiti, I'd be shriveled up like a raisin."
Rob used another towel to wipe down his face and neck. "Nothing like standing on a black roof on a hot day to appreciate air-conditioning."
"With the weather so hot, the taggers haven't been as busy as usual." Sha'wan peeled off his soaked T-shirt, then pulled on a dry one. "Gran wants to know how you're doing investigating that Monroe guy? She's still sorry that she couldn't come up with anything useful when you talked to her."
"Lots of leads go nowhere. At least by talking to your grandmother, I got a better sense of what the neighborhood was like at the time the murder took place." He grinned. "I also got a really sensational piece of fresh blueberry pie, so it was time well spent."
"Gran sure can cook, but I guess she didn't know enough criminals for your purposes. She's a real straight shooter, my Gran."
"You can tell her that we've actually made some progress. It seems likely a drug dealer from a nearby crack house, a bad dude called Omar Benson, probably did the shooting. He was killed in prison a few years later. Though he was a suspect in some gang killings, they never nailed him for murder." Rob pulled a bottle of water from the van's cooler, this time to drink. "If you were a drug dealer who tried to rape a woman, got interrupted, and killed a cop, what would you do with the murder weapon?"
Sha'wan popped a root beer as he thought about it. "For sure the police would come down on the neighborhood like gangbusters since one of their guys was killed. As a drug dealer, I'd be high on the list, so I'd get rid of that gun right away. Can't just toss it in the trash or under a bush because guns turn up real fast. Can't take it back to my business establishment, because that might be searched, me being a suspicious citizen. Probably I'd give it to a homey to hold. A dude I really trusted, maybe a guy who owed me one. Someone who wouldn't be a suspect himself so he wouldn't be searched."
"Makes sense." Rob suppressed a sigh. He hadn't had a lot of luck running down Benson's associates from the crack house; Omar had led an untidy life. "Would I throw the gun out later, toss it in the bay or something? Or would I retrieve it from my buddy and keep carrying it?"
"That might depend on the gun. Was it cool?"
"Very likely. It was a 7.65 mm handgun, which is about equal to an American .32, only this one was European and probably expensive."
"You've checked out this Benson dude's guns in his later life?"
"Yep. He was never arrested carrying a gun this size. He seemed to prefer larger stuff. Fancy show-off guns."
Sha'wan considered. "Suppose Omar shot the cop with a fancy European gun. He knows he can't carry it again anytime soon but he wants to keep it, so maybe his homey stashes it somewhere. Omar goes to prison and dies before he can reclaim it."
"So the gun might be out there somewhere with one of his friends, if I can find any of them alive. That makes sense. Thanks for the thoughts."
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"Anytime." Sha'wan grinned. "I'd rather talk than paint in weather like this."
Rob finished his water and dropped the bottle in the recycling bucket Sha'wan kept in the van. "See you later. I might be talking to one of Benson's old buddies today, so I'll be sure to sound him out about guns."
He climbed into his pickup, grateful for the air-conditioning that blasted on. He was about to put the truck in gear when his cell phone rang. He unclipped it from his belt and pressed the answer button. "Rob here."
A soft, cultivated female voice said, "Hello, I'm Julia Hamilton, Kate Corsi's mother. We met at the Milton Inn. My husband is the judge."
"Of course." Julia was the tall, elegant blonde who looked so much like her daughter. "What can I do for you?"
There was a stretch of silence before she said, "This is a bit awkward, but... you're Robert Smith Gabriel, aren't you?"
He tensed. So he had indeed been recognized. "Yes, though I haven't used the name Gabriel lately."
"Understandable. You must have felt you'd been caught in a tornado for several years." A wry note entered her voice. "You have the right to lie low, and I don't blame you if you prefer to stay in deep hiding. But if you're up for it, I want to ask if you'd consider speaking to a group of prisoners' families."
"I beg your pardon?" Rob blinked in astonishment. "Why would you want me?"
"Because you have suffered as they have, and may have something useful to say." She laughed a little. "I'm one of those useless society types who tries to justify her existence with volunteer work, and this is a good cause."
"There are plenty of good causes. This one isn't an obvious choice," Rob observed, wondering if a member of her family was in prison. "Did you get involved with it because your husband is a judge?"
Another silence. "No. Someone close to me was murdered, though that wasn't immediately obvious. It seemed like an accident at the time. When I found out the truth, I was ready to do murder myself. I might have if the killer weren't already dead. Dealing with the whole wretched business made me realize how much damage was done all around by violence. It's like throwing a stone into a pool of blood. The ripples go on forever, in all directions."
He sighed. "The perfect metaphor."
"Pain is easy. Forgiveness and healing are hard, but essential if the anger and pain aren't to warp one's life. I became involved with the Convicts Circle, the group I mentioned, because I knew a member and I realized these were people largely overlooked by the system. Victims, victims' families, and prisoners have their advocates, but they aren't the only ones damaged."
He suspected that she seldom revealed what she had just told him. "I agree, but I don't know if I have anything particularly useful to say. I'm still dealing with the effects myself, and can't say I'm handling them brilliantly."
"Maybe that's how you feel, but you've done positive things with your grief. The graffiti obliteration campaign, the community center, the way you gave the reward money to the victims and their families. In the midst of disaster, you discovered compassion. That's admirable, and perhaps by telling your story, you can help others who are still paralyzed with grief and guilt."
How far had he moved beyond paralysis himself? Not far enough. "I'll have to think about this, Mrs. Hamilton. I really don't know if I have anything to say."
"Take your time. When and if you decide you have something to say, let me know and I'll schedule you to speak to the group. With your experience, I think you'd make an articulate spokesman, and not just in the Convicts Circle. Have you thought about speaking out against capital punishment?"
"I get the feeling that you have been poking around the Internet," he said dryly. "Too much of my past is recorded there for comfort."
"My son is a computer wizard, and I've picked up some good search techniques from him." She laughed. "It's a sure sign of age when you learn more from your children than they're learning from you. Thanks for hearing me out, Rob, and don't agree to talk unless you're really sure you want to. We committee women can be ruthless, but I'm trying to reform."
If she was ruthless, it was disguised by immense charm. "I'll bear that in mind. Thanks for thinking of me even if I stay in my hole."
After they exchanged good-byes, he hung up, bemused. Though he had plenty of opinions, the idea of him being a useful advocate was strange. But—maybe he could get to like it.
Chapter 24
Rob quietly took a chair in the back of the judge's chambers. As Val had predicted, Judge Frank Giordano had chosen to hold an informal hearing to review new evidence in the case of Daniel Monroe, and he'd granted Val's request to let Rob and Kendra attend the meeting. The state's attorney's office had sent a senior prosecutor, Morris Hancock, who had worked on Daniel's original trial, plus a young female associate.
With the judge, his clerk, and a court recorder present, the judge's chambers were crowded. Rob did his best to look unobtrusive so Giordano wouldn't throw him out. Not only was he intensely involved with this case, but he wanted to see Val in action.
With her hair pulled smoothly back and wearing one of her serious lawyer suits, Val looked sensational—capable, professional, and discreetly sexy. She'd spoken little on the trip to the courthouse. He guessed that she was mentally immersed in the case and didn't want to be disturbed, rather like an actor who was deep into a character.
With her height and presence, Kendra was equally striking, but under her surface composure she was thrumming with tension since she had the deepest emotional investment in the results of this hearing. Jeff's various hearings and trials had torn Rob up every time, despite his brother's unquestionable guilt.
How much worse was it for Kendra, who knew that Daniel was innocent? Rob had met her son, a youthful, confident version of his father. Jason had returned to Colorado, but he would surely be watching the clock at the academy and wondering when he might have news.
Rob shifted his gaze to Giordano. A stocky, balding man in his sixties, he wore black judicial robes and had the deeply lined face of someone who had seen it all. But he was fair, Val said, which was what they needed.
The judge glanced at the court reporter. "I had to squeeze this hearing into a tight schedule, so let's get this going. Miss Covington, state your case. I don't want to hear a lot of rhetorical flourishes. Just present this new evidence that you claim warrants a change in the sentence of Daniel Monroe."
"Very well, your honor." Val's voice was calm but commanding. Rob could almost see the wheels spinning in her head. She had probably planned some rhetorical flourishes and was now reformulating her approach so as not to irk the judge. "I'll briefly review the facts of the case. Then I will show that the state has tragically imprisoned an innocent man for seventeen years."
"Keep it very brief," the judge said dryly. "Mr. Hancock and I were trying this case when you were in grade school."
Refusing to let him rattle her, Val gave a succinct, vivid description of the shooting and went on to explain how Daniel, a hardworking young man with a decent job and plans to marry, had been dragged from the home and falsely accused of murder.
"I'm waiting for something new, Miss Covington," Giordano said impatiently.
"Not only do we have proof of Daniel Monroe's innocence," Val said coolly, "but we know who the real murderer is. Let me show the video."
Rob produced a laptop with the DVD of Cady's testimony loaded. After the damning statement was played, Val presented the corroborating affidavit from Omar Benson's cellmate, then proved how Long and Cady had lied about their lives when they were witnesses and the police had failed to check them out. She finished by weaving all the material Rob had found into a compelling indictment of Benson.
Rob watched with awe. He'd been right that she was hell on heels when it came to arguing a case. Crisp, eloquent, and passionate, she demonstrated why she was one of the top litigators in the city.
The judge listened intently, his expression unrevealing. When Val finished her argument, Giordano turned to the pros
ecutor. "And the state's position, Mr. Hancock?"
"The state is surprised that hearsay from convicted criminals is considered significant evidence." No stranger to courtroom histrionics, the prosecutor gave Val a patronizing smile. "Of course Miss Covington is new to the practice of criminal law, so she doesn't realize how thin her material is. Daniel Monroe is a murderer, convicted on unimpeachable evidence, and the only tragedy is that the family of Officer James Malloy has had to wait so long to see justice done."
He launched into a review of Joe Cady's medical records, suggesting that at the end of his life, Cady had been out of his head. Hancock was good, dammit. Val maintained her composure, but Rob saw Kendra's increasing frustration. She looked ready to explode.
When Hancock finished, Giordano asked Val, "Do you have any rebuttal?"
Val blasted the reliability of Joe Cady and Darrell Long and pointed out how Brenda Harris had failed to identify Daniel in the photo lineup, only singling him out when she saw him in the police lineup because his face had become familiar. A
fter pointing out that this was an error in police procedure, she finished by declaring that the state's case was nonexistent once the eyewitness testimony was discredited. Rob was convinced, but Giordano looked unimpressed.
Val ended by saying, "Since we have clearly demonstrated Daniel Monroe's innocence, I ask that the court order his release. If the court prefers to await further investigation until the guilt of Omar Benson has been established beyond the shadow of a doubt, I ask that the scheduled execution date of Daniel Monroe be postponed. Given the gravity of the charges against Mr. Monroe and the irreversible nature of capital punishment, I believe that the State of Maryland can do no less."
Giordano pursed his lips and tented his fingers as he considered. Surely a postponement wasn't much to ask...
"Petition denied, Miss Covington," the judge said gruffly. "I've been following this case through sixteen years of delays. Mr. Monroe has benefited from skilled defense by some of Maryland's best public defenders. He has received every possible benefit of the doubt, including this hearing.
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