The Mayor of Lexington Avenue jt-1

by James Sheehan

  “And now you are?”

  Pat just nodded.

  “Two more questions and then I’ll drop the subject. It’s too much for one night. If it’s been ten years since Rudy’s conviction, his execution must be scheduled.”

  “Eight weeks from now-to be exact, October 22nd. Apparently they like to schedule these things just before the holidays. You know, give the families a little something extra for the season.”

  “Eight weeks! I still can’t accept the fact that he didn’t call me.”

  “He knew you were in Miami so he probably knew you didn’t do criminal law. Maybe he figured you couldn’t help him anyway.”

  “Then why did he open his eyes and tell you to tell me about Rudy?”

  “I don’t know, Jack. Maybe his thinking changed just before he died. Maybe he had a vision or something?”

  A vision, Jack thought. Why would he have a vision about me at the last minute?

  “Where did this murder take place?” he asked Pat.

  She put her hand on her forehead. “I can’t remember the name of the town where they lived. It was a small town in the middle of nowhere, I remember Mike telling me that. Something Creek, I think.”

  “Bass Creek?”

  Pat pointed at him. “That’s it!”

  Jack knew right then what he was going to be doing for the next eight weeks.

  Twenty-three

  One week later Jack was in Bass Creek doing a little real estate shopping. He bought a building on Broad Street two blocks west of the Bass Creek Hotel, right on the Okalatchee River. He’d spotted the place years before when his dream about being a country lawyer was still fresh. Now that dream was over-almost. He still had a few months of freedom before he became the state attorney, and he planned to put that freedom to good use for the next seven weeks. The office was the first step.

  The next day, back at his plush digs in Miami, Jack called Nancy in. His relationship with her had changed considerably since Corinne had taken her first and only sick day less than two weeks before. He stopped and talked to her every morning. Some days he invited her into his office and they sat and chatted about anything and everything-sports, the news, her love life or lack of it, even his love life or lack of it. Nancy was totally relaxed with Jack now, as he was with her. That one morning they’d shared had broken down the culture of formality and separation that Tobin, Gleason and Gardner had always demanded from its partners and employees-at least for the two of them.

  Elsewhere within the firm, though, their relationship was causing an uproar. Corinne was dumbfounded by the lack of protocol and she had taken her concerns directly to Rick Woods, who had spoken to Jack about it just that morning.

  “You know, Nancy,” Jack said when she’d sat down, “Rick came in earlier to talk about our relationship.” He was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk, his usual posture these days.

  “Which means he’s probably going to fire me,” she said, not really meaning it.

  “You’re probably right.”

  Nancy was shocked. She’d thought as they’d grown closer that he would protect her. But Jack had another plan.

  “Listen,” he continued, seeing the look of consternation on her face, “I’m leaving here, probably in the next few days. It all depends on how soon I can get my affairs in order.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To a little town called Bass Creek-ever hear of it?”

  “Sure. My father’s taken me there a few times when he’s gone fishing,” she replied. Jack knew there was yet another reason he liked this girl: She goes fishing.

  “Why are you going there?” she asked.

  “Well, it has always been my dream to open a little country office.”

  “You? A country lawyer?” The incongruity overcame her concern for a moment and she started laughing.

  “Why not?” he asked, a smile breaking across his face.

  “Jack, those are real people over there. They’ve got mud on their boots. They spill coffee on your carpet. There’s no Momma Corinnes over there.” Jack was laughing wildly now. Corinne could hear him from the outer office. She wondered what the two of them were doing in there this time. It was awful and she was so embarrassed.

  “Stop, you’re killing me,” Jack said, and then he was serious again. “I’ve been planning this for a long time but some pieces are missing.”

  Nancy got it all at once. “Oh no, not me. I’m not going to be your Momma Corinne. You need to find somebody else,” she protested.

  “Think about it for a minute or two, Miss Impulsive. I’ll give you a twenty percent raise, same benefits. Do you know what you can do with that kind of money in Bass Creek? Hell, you can buy the best house in town with an apartment for your father if he wants to visit or even stay. I’ll tell you what, I’ll buy you a house. I’ll give you a mortgage and you can pay me.” Jack had done his homework. He knew the points to hit and to hit quickly. He could see Nancy turning the offer over in her mind, picturing her own house and her dad fishing every day.

  “Why are you doing this? Why me?”

  “Because I like you and I want to be comfortable in my new digs-none of this formal crap. We’ll work hard and we’ll have fun and you’ll learn a lot, I promise you. Maybe you’ll be a lawyer someday.”

  Nancy blushed at the thought. “Can I think about it? I want to talk to my dad.”

  “Sure. Take your time. I can probably take Rick for another two days or so.” They both laughed again. It was good, comfortable. Nancy stood up.

  “I’ll let you know in two days.”

  Two weeks later, Nancy started her new job in Bass Creek. Jack had already been there for a week. Before she made her final decision, he’d let her know what his plans were both for Rudy’s case and for the aftermath.

  “I may burn a few bridges before this is over, in which case I’ll go back to my original plan, being the country lawyer. Either way-at the state attorney’s office or in private practice-you’ll be with me and you’ll have the same salary and benefits we agreed on.”

  He’d lived up to his other promises as well. A week after she agreed to take the job, she’d found a place in Bass Creek for her and her dad, a two-story clapboard house with hardwood floors and a huge front porch shaded by two giant oaks-a house she could only have dreamed about in Miami-and Jack had bought it for her. It had a garage apartment but she had already decided that dad was going to live in the house with her. If she ever met somebody and they decided to roll around in the sack, they could use the garage apartment. The house was unoccupied and Jack paid cash, so the closing was a few days later. The mortgage he drew up for her was a sweetheart deal as well-thirty years with an interest rate well under prime.

  “What if I quit tomorrow?” she asked him just before signing the note.

  “Nothing,” Jack replied. “No strings attached.”

  “All right,” she said as she put pen to paper. She knew she was in for the long haul anyway.

  He’d also advanced her five thousand dollars to buy furniture and had given her that first week to shop for whatever she needed. When she started her new career with Jack, Nancy and her dad were already living in their house. She and Jack had five weeks left to try to save Rudy.

  That Monday morning, as Jack and Nancy sat down in his office to discuss their plans for the next five weeks-he behind his desk in his new burgundy leather swivel, she in one of the two equally impressive burgundy leather early American client chairs-there was a knock on his door. Before he or Nancy could get up to answer it, Pat Morgan walked in.

  “Am I late for the meeting?” she asked, a smile spreading across her face. Jack was totally perplexed.

  “What meeting?” he stammered.

  “The first meeting with your investigative team on the Rudy Kelly case, what else?” she replied.

  “How did you know we were having a meeting on Rudy’s case?”

  “Let’s just say a little birdie told me.”
Pat looked at Nancy and they both laughed. Jack was still completely puzzled so Pat filled in the blanks.

  “You told me to ask for Nancy when I called you at work if you weren’t there, so I did. And Nancy and I started talking and she told me what your plans were and I decided to come down and help.” Jack started to break in, but Pat went right on.

  “Look, I’m retired like you. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I decided you needed my services. I’m organized; I’m good with figures; I know computers; and I can cook and even wash dishes.”

  She sat down in the vacant client chair. Jack looked at Nancy, who just shrugged her shoulders and then broke into a big beaming smile. This was a deal that had already been made.

  “I guess it’s settled then. We now have a chief cook and bottle washer. Welcome aboard, Pat,” he said as he stood up and came around the desk to give her a hug. “And may I introduce my executive secretary, Ms. Nancy Shea?” and they all started laughing.

  “All right, let’s get started,” he said, once they’d all taken their places again. “Let me tell you what we’re up against. Two appeals have already been filed and denied in this case. The only way we will have even a remote chance of success is if we come up with some new evidence-something that was missed, something that creates a reasonable doubt about Rudy’s guilt.

  “My initial plan is to gather all the documentation that exists on this case. I’ve already made a public records request with the state and the public defender’s office for a copy of their files-they should be here soon. I need to read and reread that information until I’m thoroughly familiar with everything that has been done in the past. Then we need to look for the holes. What evidence was missed? What lead wasn’t followed up on? If there are holes in this case we have to find them. That’s our only chance on appeal.”

  “What about solving the murder?” Nancy asked. “Isn’t that better than an appeal?”

  “Absolutely!” Jack replied. “But we’re ten years down the road. Solving the murder is the remotest of possibilities. Finding a winning issue for an appeal is still possible. Let me give you the timetable: Two weeks from now I have to file my brief with the Florida Supreme Court. Because this is a death case the court will immediately set a schedule, probably giving the state five or six days to file a response and setting oral argument five or six days after that. They’ll have a decision a couple of days before the execution date because, if they rule against us, we’ll have one last shot with the United States Supreme Court.

  “Any investigation-any new information-has to be uncovered in the next two weeks.

  “Pat, you and Nancy start setting up to receive all this information,” Jack continued. “Make sure we have all the equipment we need so this operation is completely computerized and that we have a system in place where we can retrieve information instantly. You know what I mean.”

  Pat nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. But it’s going to be expensive.”

  “That’s not important. Let’s just do what we have to and give it everything we’ve got. Any other questions?”

  “Yes,” said Pat, with a twinkle. “What are you going to do before these documents arrive while we’re working our tails off?” It was a question Jack had never been asked at Tobin, Gleason and Gardner. He looked at Nancy, who had that big smile again. She obviously liked Pat’s style.

  “I’m going to do something I’ve never done before,” Jack replied. “I’m going to go solicit a client. I have an appointment to see Rudy tomorrow morning at Raiford Prison.”

  Before he left that afternoon on his trip to the Florida State Prison, commonly known as Raiford, which was just outside the town of Starke, in the northeast section of the state, Jack called Pat into his office.

  “How long are you staying?”

  “For the duration, Jack. I decided that I need a worthwhile cause to complete my resume.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Bass Creek Hotel.”

  “Why don’t you stay with me? I’ve got a big house right on the river five minutes from here. There’s plenty of room.”

  “You sure I won’t cramp your style?”

  “Pat, I don’t have a style to cramp.” They both laughed.

  “Are you sure this isn’t too much?”

  “Positive. Besides, you’ve already offered that you could cook and wash dishes,” he smiled at her. Pat smiled back.

  “All right,” she said with a little nod. “I accept the invitation.”

  “Good. Here’s a set of keys. Nancy will show you where the house is and help you move your bags. We’ll get to know each other again. It’ll be fun.”

  Twenty-four

  Jack was a little apprehensive about his meeting with Rudy and he rolled the reasons over in his mind during the long trip to the prison. Perhaps it was because Rudy was Mikey’s son and seeing him might stir up all those conflicted emotions again. Maybe he was afraid Rudy was guilty and he would sense it right away. Or worst of all, maybe he would just know Rudy was innocent but wouldn’t be able to help him. Whatever the cause, Jack was nervous and he dealt with it by arriving early at the motel in Starke and spending the rest of the evening meticulously making notes in preparation for the interview. The nervousness was new. The note-taking was a habit he had formed many years ago to make sure he covered all the bases when meeting with a client or a witness.

  He also spent some time thinking over the call he’d received just before leaving the office from his old friend the governor. It was a call he had expected, though not quite this soon.

  “Jack, Jack, good to hear your voice,” Bob Richards said after Jack answered the phone. “Congratulations on your retirement. Already set up shop in Bass Creek, I hear. Don’t you believe in vacations?”

  “This is a vacation, Bob. It truly is. I’m sitting at my desk in a pair of jeans thinking about the one case I have.” He knew that would get the ball rolling.

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Jack, the one case you have. I just received a call from Bill Sampson, the state attorney-the guy you’re replacing. Bill says you’re looking into the Rudy Kelly case. Says you made a public records request for the case file. Says you asked for the public defender’s file as well.” That’s a little unusual, Jack thought. The public defender informed the state attorney of my request to him?

  Bob finally got to the point. “Bill is a little concerned that the man I’m appointing as the next state attorney is asking questions about a convicted felon on death row.”

  The call presented another opportunity for Jack to tell the governor to find somebody else to fill the position. But it was an opportunity Jack did not take. Again, he wasn’t sure why.

  “Rudy Kelly is the son of an old friend of mine, Bob. I’m just doing him a favor, making sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed in his son’s prosecution-you know, making sure justice was done. You and Bill don’t have any problem with me making sure justice was done, do you, Bob? I mean, isn’t that a state attorney’s job?”

  “Sure, sure-that’s exactly what it is. I think Bill is just a little mistrustful of defense lawyers. It comes with the territory. I’ll call him and tell him that you’re just making sure things were done properly-kind of keeping yourself busy until you take over. He’ll be okay with that.”

  “Thanks, Bob. Tell Bill it’s an exercise for me. I need to learn criminal law and this is as good a way as any.” Old Bob laughed on the other end of the line.

  “That’s a good one, Jack. I’ll tell Bill that one. He’ll get a kick out of it. Listen, sorry I bothered you. I’ll talk to you soon. So long.”

  “So long, Bob.”

  Jack had sugarcoated it a little bit but what he had said was essentially true. He simply didn’t tell Bob what was going to happen if he found out justice had not been served.

  Raiford was nine miles outside Starke, an isolated complex of rectangular concrete buildings, some white, some blue, some shaped li
ke airplane hangars. There were parking lots, recreational areas and some open fields, all enclosed behind shiny steel chain-link fences topped with razor wire. Guard towers with spotlights were strategically placed along the fence line. If some ambitious prisoner somehow made it over the fence, he would find himself in an open meadow where the spotlight could easily pick him up and the guards could just as quickly mow him down.

  Jack was there early the next morning and stopped at the front gate, where the guard gave him directions to the main building. From there another guard, this one with an automatic rifle, escorted him to one of the three-story concrete buildings. Jack signed in and was handed off to yet a third guard, who escorted him through a gate of thick yellow steel bars that led to a second gate of thick gray steel bars. When the first gate closed, the second gate opened.

  From the moment he walked through the first gate and it clanged shut behind him, Jack was in an alien world, surrounded by concrete and steel, where every sound reverberated. As he followed the guard down a long corridor, he was overwhelmed by the chaos of noise-shouting, screaming, even crying, and the clanging of prison bars opening and closing-the background music of Raiford.

  He was taken to a small room equipped with a gray table and four gray chairs, all bolted to the ground. He was told to wait there and sat down in one of the chairs.

  Rudy was escorted into the room by two prison guards. His ankles and wrists were cuffed and chained. It was a major project to shuffle him into the room and get him seated. The noise of the chains clinking against the metal chair was unnerving even to an old pro like Jack. He’d been to prisons before to interview witnesses but he’d never been to a maximum-security facility like Raiford and he’d never interviewed someone on death row.

  One of the security guards remained in the room standing at the door. Jack’s first inclination was to protest the lack of privacy but he decided against it. He knew the only other choice would put a barrier between him and Rudy and he didn’t want that. They could whisper if necessary.