“Uh, yes, Your Honor. I request authorization to have Mr. Thomason’s blood retested by an independent lab.”
“Granted.”
The judge looked closely at Mac. “Mr. McClain, given the State’s announcement regarding the death penalty, it will be necessary to appoint additional counsel to assist you in the matter. Perhaps Mr. Walker would be an appropriate choice.”
Bob Walker was the best young trial lawyer in the circuit. Very busy, he would privately scream in protest at such a major disruption of his life, but in public he would do his duty in a zealous manner.
“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Walker would be an excellent choice.” Mac paused. “However, if I could make a request?”
“Go ahead.”
“Would you consider appointing David Moreland as co-counsel?”
“Who?” Bert Langley asked in a stage whisper to his paralegal from the prosecution table.
“The young man from Tennessee who was admitted last month?” the judge asked.
“Yes, sir. I have already spoken to him, and he is willing to assist me.”
“Very well. Consider it done. I’ll have an order signed Monday.”
“Anything else, gentlemen?”
“I would like to talk to Mr. Thomason in private before he is returned to the jail,” Mac said.
The judge nodded. “Deputy, please take the defendant into the jury room so Mr. McClain can speak with him.”
The judge rose from the bench, and everyone else cleared out of the courtroom in less than a minute. It was, after all, Friday afternoon.
Pete was sniffling and wiping away tears with the back of his hand when Mac came in, closed the door, and sat down next to him. There had only been three death penalty cases in Echota County since the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that each state could decide whether a murderer could be sentenced to death. Mac had not been involved in any of the previous Echota County trials, all of which resulted in guilty verdicts and death sentences. The most recent case, in which a man was convicted in a brutal, execution-style killing of a bank teller during a robbery, had completed its eight-year journey through the appellate court system. The man had been executed shortly before Pete’s arrest. Mac was not philosophically opposed to the death penalty, but debating the theoretical appropriateness of society’s decisions on crime and punishment was not the issue for the young man sitting beside him. Pete was facing his own death, and Mac was his primary line of defense.
Acutely aware of the inadequacy of any words in his vocabulary at that moment, Mac began, “I know you’re upset. But I need to tell you a few things.” He handed his handkerchief to Pete, who blew his nose. “I had a good meeting with Dr. Wilkes, the psychologist. She suggested you may have had Rohypnol in your system and that’s the reason you can’t remember what happened. If so, it could give us a defense based on lack of mental capacity to form the intent necessary to commit a crime.”
“What?” Pete asked, coming out of his fog.
“You were too out of it to choose to hurt Angela.
“Also, why would you take a drug that would knock you out if you wanted to harm Angela?”
“But I didn’t take anything. I didn’t hurt Angela. I didn’t hurt those girls in South Carolina.” Pete raised his voice. “But who is going to believe me?”
“That’s my job—to present a believable case. This blood test is a first step.”
“What was all that about vile and inhuman?” Pete asked.
“I don’t know any evidence that supports Whetstone’s contention, but I’m more concerned about the kidnapping allegation. We’ll have to check it out legally. In the meantime, I suggest you do what I do. Adopt a mind-set that does not automatically accept what the prosecution says as true. They have to prove it to the jury. Try to resist the pressure to give up.”
“Who is the lawyer from Atlanta, and why is he involved?”
“He’s someone Mr. Hightower hired as a special prosecutor. He’s paid to do the same thing the district attorney would have done anyway.”
“And the new lawyer who’s going to help you? Is he any good?”
“David Moreland. He’s very intelligent and, importantly, he wants to help. He may come by to see you. The same confidentiality rules apply to him as me. You can tell him anything.”
Pete shook his head. “Do I have a chance?”
Mac didn’t answer until Pete raised his head and made eye contact with him. “Oh yes, you’ve got a chance. We’ve just begun to fight.”
9
One finds many companions for food and drink, but in a serious business a man’s companions are few.
THEOGNIS
The jail was so close to the courthouse that deputies often walked prisoners back along the narrow sidewalk that connected the two buildings. Following a guard, Pete shuffled outside, his gait restricted by the chains around his ankles. Glancing sideways at the cars passing by the courthouse on the street, he saw a couple of boys in the back of a pickup truck lean forward and point in his direction at the sight of his orange jumpsuit.
When he reached his cell, Pete didn’t mention what had happened in court to his cellmates. The news would spread fast enough on its own. No one talked to him much anyway. Prisoners charged with murder were treated differently by everyone—guards, other prisoners, jailhouse administrators. There was something about a murder charge. No one could pretend it was a petty problem. No one could joke about it. Someone had died. And now, the accused faced the possibility of death or the rest of his life in prison.
He lay in his bunk the rest of the afternoon. Kitchen workers slid supper trays into the cells. Tonight’s fare was a small square of gray meat, mashed potatoes, carrots, and a scoop of brown pudding. Pete’s meal sat untouched beside his bunk. He turned away from the other men in his cell, who were playing cards. Silent tears coursed down his cheeks until the edge of the thin pillow under his head was wet with sorrow.
During his own brief walk from the courthouse to his office, Mac began the process of regaining his equilibrium under the responsibilities that now rested on his shoulders. There was an emotional burden associated with any legal case no matter how minor, but different types created various levels of stress.
On Mac’s grading scale, disputes between prosperous businesses or wealthy individuals were the least burdensome. The parties might become red in the face during the course of the litigation, but regardless of the outcome, nobody would miss his next tee time at the golf club or forgo a planned fishing vacation on the coast.
Pressure increased when he represented an individual who was severely injured. The outcome of those cases would have a significant effect on the client and his or her family for many years.
Mac rarely handled divorce cases. The issues surrounding marital breakup and custody of children were gut-wrenching. Mac hadn’t entered the domestic relations wrestling ring in years.
Four times in thirty years of law practice Mac had served as defense lawyer in a murder case. Two times he stood solemnly beside a man and heard the judge sentence his client to life in the Georgia State Penitentiary. Twice his clients walked out of the courtroom free men after a jury found them not guilty. Murder trials were unique, and the stress caused by the responsibility of one human being for another had few parallels. Only doctors and nurses who treated patients with serious medical problems knew a greater responsibility. State v. Thomason would be Mac’s first death penalty case in more than thirty years of law practice. He could only imagine what it would be like to hear the judge sentence Pete to death. He didn’t want to find out.
Seated behind his desk, Mac summoned the troops into his office. His three employees once again gathered before him.
“The State is seeking the death penalty in Thomason,” he said.
Judy sank down in a chair.
“Are they serious or just trying to pressure you into a guilty plea for a life sentence?” Vicki asked.
“Possibly, but based on my conversations with Thom
ason, a guilty plea is not an option.”
“How do you feel?” Vicki asked.
“Shaken, but recovering. It’s time to get busy.”
“What next?”
Mac shifted in his chair. “The judge approved an independent blood test. Vicki, locate a private lab and make arrangements for proper transfer of the sample from the state crime lab. I want a specific test for Rohypnol in Pete’s blood.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Also, the judge has appointed another lawyer to help me.”
“Who?” Judy asked.
“David Moreland. He’s very green but, according to his résumé, very smart.”
“He’s funny, too,” Mindy added.
“Yes, I forgot,” Mac said. “He’s very funny.”
Judy and Vicki exchanged a puzzled look.
“Mindy, please copy everything in the Thomason file for Mr. Moreland. I’m going to call him in a few minutes and ask him to come over so we can go over the case.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I guess that’s all.”
As the women turned to leave, Mac said, “Vicki. Good job finding a psychologist. She has already been a help.”
Mac called David Moreland’s office. Not surprisingly, the young lawyer answered the phone himself.
“David Moreland’s office.”
“David, Mac McClain. I thought some more about your closing argument the other day and have some news for you. Judge Danielson has appointed you as my co-counsel in the Thomason case. An order will be issued Monday.”
“Great. Thanks for reconsidering my offer.”
“That’s not exactly how it happened. The State intends to seek the death penalty and under the local court rules that means another lawyer is automatically assigned to the case.”
“The death penalty?”
“That’s right. And this is not a law school trial practice course.”
“Have you ever handled a death penalty case?” David asked.
“No. We’ll learn together.”
Mac listened to several seconds of silence.
“Okay. What do you want me to do?”
“Come over in about forty-five minutes. My receptionist is copying the file for you.”
“I’ll be there.”
Mac read the witness statements Joe Whetstone had given him. He wasn’t too surprised that the State’s investigators had discovered the dark blot on Pete’s record. Staff Sergeant Walter Monroe, currently stationed in Okinawa, gave a detailed account that made Pete sound like an apprentice to the Boston Strangler. There was nothing in the file from the other Marine involved in the incident, Harry O’Ryan, “address unknown.” One of the girls, Sally Tompkins, told investigators that Pete bought her a drink at the nightclub where they met, but neither girl remembered leaving the bar nor any events thereafter.
The pictures of Angela were tough to look at. The contrast between the girl’s high school graduation picture and the scratched and bruised face at the bottom of the cliff was tragic beyond words. Thinking about the pain Alex and Sarah Hightower were experiencing, Mac carefully put the pictures back in the envelope. Others might not sympathize, but Mac was no stranger to their painful brand of sorrow. He’d seen death up close.
A law book propped open on his desk, Mac was making notes when Mindy buzzed him.
“David Moreland is here.”
“Okay. I’ll be right out.”
“Also, Dr. Wilkes is on line one.”
“I’d better talk to her,” Mac said. “Give David the file you copied and tell him I’ll be with him in a minute. He can wait in the library.”
Mac wasn’t going to waste his best hello a second time on Dr. Wilkes’s male straight-jacket assistant.
“Hello,” he said gruffly.
“Mr. McClain?” Anna Wilkes’s voice came through the receiver.
“Oh, yes. Dr. Wilkes. How are you?”
“Fine. Did I call at a bad time?”
“I found out earlier today that the State is seeking the death penalty in the Thomason case.”
“Does Pete know?”
“Yes. He was in court when the special prosecutor announced his intentions.”
“How is he?”
“Devastated.”
“Have you made arrangements to have Pete’s blood retested?”
“Yes. The judge approved it, and my paralegal is working on it. I hope your hunch is right. I need something to back them down.”
“Let me know. But actually, the real reason for my call is personal. I’m taking my son to the mountains east of Dennison Springs on Sunday afternoon and wanted your advice about places to visit. I remembered the photograph on the wall in your office and thought you might have some suggestions.”
The psychologist’s request reminded Mac that the world continued to turn regardless of State v. Thomason.
“I checked the weather forecast, and it’s supposed to be sunny and mild,” she said.
“Most places worth seeing are somewhat hard to find if you don’t know the area. I’ll be working Sunday afternoon. Why don’t you stop by the office—I’ll draw a map and give you directions.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
“It will be easier than trying to tell you over the phone. What time?”
“We’ll be leaving Chattanooga after church and should get to your office by one-thirty.”
“I’ll be here. Just ring the bell if the front door is locked.”
Mac hung up the phone and daydreamed about one of his favorite spots in the mountains. It was a place called Bob Stratton Bald, a grassy meadow on top of a five-thousand-foot-high mountain in western North Carolina. On one side of the open clearing was a tiny spring that bubbled out of the ground and began its long descent across smooth stones into the valley below. On the other was a place where Mac liked to camp underneath some small trees and, after his campfire died down, gaze at the thousands of stars that couldn’t be seen on the clearest night within fifty miles of city lights. It was a unique place. Then he remembered David Moreland.
Mac looked in the library, but the young lawyer wasn’t there. He heard the sound of Mindy’s laugh from the reception room and stuck his head around the corner. David was sitting in a chair next to Mindy’s desk.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, David. This is a law office, not a doctor’s waiting room.”
“That’s okay.”
“Mindy, it’s after five. You can go on home.”
“I didn’t mind staying a few minutes extra,” Mindy said, smiling at David.
Carrying his freshly copied paperwork from the Thomason case, David followed Mac down the hall.
“I was reviewing additional information served on us this after- noon,” Mac said. “I’ll make a copy of the statements for you before you leave.”
It was Friday afternoon, and Mac felt the tug of his weekly ritual. “Before we get to work, let me ask you a question.”
“What?”
“Were you in a social fraternity at Vanderbilt?” he asked.
“No,” David said, a surprised expression on his face. “Will Phi Beta Kappa do?”
Mac shook his head. “Probably not. I was going to have my Friday afternoon beer. It’s a collegiate thing. You can have one, too, but I’m not sure what a Phi Beta Kappa from Maryville, Tennessee, drinks to unwind on Friday afternoons.”
David laughed. “Spring water is my beverage of choice.”
“I think my bar stocks that. I’ll be right back.”
Mac returned with a beer, a plastic bottle of spring water, and two frosty mugs. He set the mugs and drinks on a small, glass-covered table and poured their drinks.
“I want to propose a toast,” Mac said. “A prayer might be more effective, but I’m a better toastmaster than prayer-maker.” Raising his glass, he said, “To our cooperative efforts on behalf of Pete Thomason. May we conduct ourselves with skill and integrity.”
“Amen,” David said as they clinked glas
ses.
“If you’ll bear with me, I don’t want to do anything serious right now except enjoy my beer.”
“Okay. I’ll pretend I’m sitting with my feet in a cool mountain stream on a hot summer day,” David said.
“That’s the idea.”
So the two men sat silently in their chairs, sipping their drinks, and taking journeys down imaginary paths. Reality would draw them back soon enough.
In a few minutes, Mac drained the last drops of his brew and set his mug down on the table. “I’ve enjoyed drinking with you, David. I’d be honored if you would join me about this time one Friday afternoon in the future.”
“Thanks.”
“Now to the task at hand. Except for our little interlude, keep track of your time spent on the case so we give an accurate bill to the county. The hourly rate is low, but at least you will get something.”
“I’ve already adopted one rule for my law practice,” David said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s better to be working for something than doing nothing for nothing.”
“That’s true.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh. You may continue to say ‘yes, sir,’ but now that we have had our frosted-mug, male-bonding experience you may, if you choose, call me Mac.”
“Thanks. I’ll probably ease into that.”
“I know I must look old to you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mac chuckled. “Mindy was right about you.”
“In what way?”
“She said you were funny.”
Mac gave David a summary of the case and brought him up to date regarding his conversation with Dr. Wilkes and the supplemental information received from the State. “At some point you can look at the pictures of Angela the State intends to use at trial.” Mac put his hand on the envelope resting on his desk. “Do you know the law on their admissibility?”
“Usually admissible as demonstrative evidence according to the Court of Appeals in Kirkland versus State,” David responded.
“Correct.”
“I may as well get it over with.”
The Trial Page 8
