After a few seconds, Kenny nodded.
"We're your lawyers," Gail said. She put her hands over his. "We're on your side. Whatever you tell us won't go any further than this room. You know this."
"Sure. I know."
"The last time I was here, I asked you about some trespassers that you and Glen chased out of an orange grove. Someone paid Glen a hundred dollars, and he took you with him. When you got back to the trailer, your clothes were all covered with dirt. Kenny, what happened that night? Who were those people?"
Clark laughed. "Hey, wait. Are you thinking— Uh-uh. They weren't the people you're talking about. No way. Like I said before, we told some migrants to clear out. They were trespassing. Three men. I didn't see a woman or a kid. They got in their car and drove off."
"And that's all."
"Yes. I swear." Sincere. Bewildered. Brows tilting downward.
Gail looked across the desk into a dead end. She knew no more now than she had five minutes ago.
Anthony leaned a shoulder casually against the wall of the narrow room. He smiled down at Kenny Clark. "What were their names? The Guatemalan trespassers."
Clark let go a little puff of air and shook his head. "Glen never told me."
"He must have told you who hired him."
"No, he didn't."
"What kind of car did they drive?"
"Who?"
"These trespassers. What kind of car?"
"I don't remember. A beat-up old car."
"What did these people look like? What age? Did they speak any English?"
"Yeah, they spoke some English. I don't know how old they were. Maybe forty."
"Were they living in a house or a trailer?"
"I don't remember."
"You previously told Ms. Connor it was a house."
"I'm not answering any more of these stupid questions." Kenny Clark looked at Gail as if she might save him, but she had dropped her forehead into her hand. He glared at Anthony. "What are you doing here? I didn't hire you."
Anthony put both fists on the desk. He spoke in a low voice, never sure if these rooms were bugged. "Let me explain something to you, Kenny. You are under a death warrant. Ms. Connor and I are trying to save your skin. Maybe you were there when the Mendozas died, maybe not. I don't care. We need to lean on Whitney McGrath, do you understand that? If we can't prove these people are dead, we have nothing. What happened to them? Where are the bodies?"
Clark stared at him in sullen defiance. Anthony wanted to backhand him.
"Where are they?"
Still nothing.
Anthony said, "If you expect to rely only on the testimony of Tina Hopwood and Vernon Byrd, you will die on April eleventh as scheduled. Is that clear enough for you?"
Clark leaned against the wall and straightened the knee of his blue cotton pants. His leg irons clanked on the floor. "I'll take my chances."
They had parked in the lot outside the administration building. Anthony turned on the engine but didn't back the car out. Gail was crying silently into a tissue. She looked through the side window at the men in prison uniforms planting fresh flowers along the walkway. A guard stood in the shade of a tree.
Anthony took her hand. "Gail—"
She pulled it away. She was angry. At what? Angry at him. At Kenny Clark. At how this had turned out.
He said, "I've been in your position. When I started in criminal law, I used to believe in my clients. Then I found out most of them lied to me. I hated them for it, for disappointing me, until I realized that it wasn't my job to like them, only to defend them."
"I didn't take this case because it's a job."
"You wanted an innocent client." Anthony leaned his head against the headrest. "Not only innocent of this crime, innocent of any crime. You could feel good about saving him."
"Don't make my reasons sound so damned trivial."
He muttered, "I knew this would happen."
"You've been waiting to say that, haven't you?"
His own anger let go. "Why don't you stop feeling sorry for yourself?"
She looked around, reddened eyes in a pale face. Her lips seemed swollen. "Anthony, I'm just learning something about you. For all the passion you show in some areas, you're very unfeeling. It makes me wonder what you do care about."
He could feel his control begin to slip. "You asked for my help, and I gave it. I have given it generously, and this is what I get in return? Kenny was right. What am I doing here?"
"You don't have to be here. I'll drop you off in Jacksonville and you can fly home. It's faster."
"Whose case is this, Gail? I filed a notice of appearance yesterday. It's our case. I am stuck with it now."
"No, you aren't. File a withdrawal."
"Jesucristo, me vuelvo loco. What do you want?"
"A little understanding! Is that too much to ask? That you not be so goddamn superior? I'm doing the best I can!"
"You want me to care? Why should I? You resent it when I am the only one to maintain an emotional distance, without which, querida, a lawyer becomes unbalanced, and he cannot do his job!"
Through the window he saw the guard watching them, smiling. Two people screaming at each other. . Anthony put the car into gear. "Let's go."
"Wait." She put her hand on his arm. "Please?"
He threw it back into park.
"Maybe we're just ... on edge. Or tired. Do you think?"
He laughed.
Her voice was meek. "I'm sorry for what I said."
He looked at her awhile. "Is this what our marriage would be like?"
She thought about it, and a smile curved her lips. "Maybe not. We're getting better at arguing. We know when to stop."
"I am not detached" he said.
"Of course you aren't." She leaned over to put her head on his shoulder. "What should we do about Kenny? I have no ideas left."
"Neither do I, at the moment."
"Why wouldn't he talk to us?"
"Because he's afraid to. He doesn't trust lawyers. Don't take it personally, sweetheart. If you were on death row for eleven years largely because of an incompetent lawyer, you might feel the same."
"I can't see Kenny murdering four people in cold blood. A family."
"Maybe he didn't. We don't know what happened. Even if he was there and did no more than watch, he could be charged with felony murder. It's a weak case, but the possibility is there. From his perspective, it would be stupid to tell us anything."
Gail was silent for a while. "What about Whit McGrath? We can't do anything with him now, can we?"
"Realistically ... no. If we mention Mendoza, he will point at Kenny."
"We need to find out what happened."
"When you think of a way to do that, tell me."
She sat up straighter and looked at him. "We'll talk to Glen Hopwood."
Monday, March 26
"Tina feels bad about Kenny, like it's her fault, what happened to him. I said no, some guys just draw trouble. He draws it in spades. Christ almighty. At least I'm in for something I did. I got twenty-six years to go, and it's not anybody's fault but mine. Kenny, though. Man."
Glen Hopwood spoke through the thick glass that separated them. Hopwood was heavy, all neck and jowls, a corpulence encouraged by prison food. His voice came through a hole with a metal grill over it.
"The fact is, I didn't do him any favors either, you know? This thing you asked me about. He didn't have a part in it, not directly, you know what I'm saying? It's hard to ... you know ... to converse about certain things. If you're asking did he or didn't he, it's definitely no, he didn't."
Were there no other details he could give them?
"Things in the past... it's like a basement full of spiders you don't want to go into, you know what I mean? It's hard. . . . Well, maybe I should tell you a story I heard from a guy that used to be in here. He knew this guy named Rusty. They met in a bar and went out drinking a couple of times. The first guy—Joe—he ran into Rusty one day, and R
usty said he needed a couple of guys to go with him to put the fear of God into some Mexicans. He said they hadn't paid their rent, and the owner wanted them out. So Joe got a friend of his. Johnny.
"They all went in Rusty's truck. They had some beers first and waited for it to get dark. Joe and Johnny had baseball bats, and Rusty had a shotgun. He said it was for show, to make sure there wasn't any trouble. There was a big dog, but Rusty said it was chained up on the front porch. They parked the truck on a side road and walked through an orange grove to get to the house. Rusty banged on the back door, and they got everybody outside. Four people. Rusty said he had their money for them, and they'd get it soon as they were in the car. Joe and Johnny thought that was kind of strange, but they didn't say anything. Rusty said, take what you can fit in the car and don't stop till you get to Mexico. The woman said they were from Guatemala, and Rusty said he didn't care if they were from China. They spoke a little English, except for the old man. The boy didn't talk much. He was retarded. He looked kind of funny in the eyes, and he walked slow. But he was big as the dad.
"Rusty made the boy stand out in the yard with him so the others wouldn't get any ideas. The car was by the side of the house, and these people started putting their stuff in it. Clothes and things. The woman was crying, and the dog was making a racket. Rusty kept saying hurry up, hurry up. The old man dropped a box, and Johnny helped him pick it up, and he said he was sorry about everything. Rusty said okay, slick, you help them load the car.
"Joe was standing by the back door. He saw the kid jump on Rusty and try to get the gun away. Rusty hit him in the head with it, hard, and the kid went down. The woman started screaming. The dad took a machete off the porch and ran across the yard. Rusty shot him. Then the old man. The woman got on her knees, and he reloaded and shot her. The boy was already dead, but he made sure. Fifteen seconds. Maybe less. Joe couldn't believe it. He could smell the gunpowder. It was hanging in the air. Johnny was over there on the ground crying and throwing up.
"Rusty said he had to do it, there wasn't a choice in the matter. He told Joe and Johnny if they talked they'd go down for murder, no question. He shot the dog and said that's you if you open your mouth. He made them clean everything up and put the bodies in the trunk. He made Johnny drive it. They pushed the car into a lake. . . . Where? Someplace south of Bryce Road, where they're building all those houses.... Yeah, River Pines. I mean, that's what I heard, but the guy who told me... he's long gone. You tell Kenny I said good luck. I'll be thinking about him."
CHAPTER 23
Friday, March 30
Every seat in Judge Willis's courtroom was taken, and more people waited in the corridor to replace anyone who left. Few did. Before the doors had opened, the prosecutors had reserved seats for family and friends of the victim, police officers, and anyone else with half an interest in the outcome. Overflow had to go across the aisle and sit behind the defense lawyers. Jackie Bryce was sitting on that side by choice. Her cousin had saved her a seat in the front row.
Jackie had expected a crowd after so much media coverage all week. Channel 5 had gone back out to the scene: "Twelve years ago this quiet Palm City street was rocked by the brutal stabbing death of a young mother." They had replayed the footage of Kenny Ray Clark's arrest and explained why death row appeals took so long: "Even a convicted murderer has rights under the law." There had been a TV interview with the lead detective, Ron Kemp, and another with the Mayfields, who had sat together on their living room couch holding a framed photo of Amber. Amber's husband hadn't shown up on TV, but he'd been quoted in the newspaper: "praying that this will be over soon." The eyewitness, Dorothy Chastain, had been interviewed as well: "I have searched my mind many times, and I wish it weren't so, but he was the man I saw."
That morning's Palm Beach Post said that "a source" in the state attorney's office had revealed facts about Tina Hopwood, the star witness for Clark: "Prosecutors believe that Tina Hopwood's past drug use and felony arrest will affect her credibility." An editorial in The Stuart News had mentioned Clark's lawyers: "A high-powered, high-priced team of Miami criminal defense attorneys, Anthony Quintana and Gail Connor." Gail had said she liked that one.
The state attorney had put the sheriff of Martin County in the front row on the other side, on the aisle. He'd glanced up when Jackie passed by. They made eye contact but didn't speak.
Amber Dodson's parents sat just behind the prosecution table with Amber's sister, Lacey, who watched the proceedings as though lions were about to devour the Christians. At breaks in the proceedings she would whisper to Sonia Krause, and Ms. Krause or her chief assistant would turn around and lean over the railing and see what Lacey wanted. Gary Dodson sat nearer the wall, half hidden behind two other men in dark suits, probably younger prosecutors. For days Gail and Anthony had been trying to get to him and ask about the Mendoza deed. How much had Amber known about it? But he'd been a ghost. His secretary had given excuses: out of the office, in conference, out of town.
Jackie had gone over to the hotel last night to borrow the crime scene photos again, and she had stuck around awhile. They weren't counting on a favorable ruling from Judge Willis. They were putting their hopes on finding more evidence to tie Rusty Beck to Amber Dodson's murder. They had some proof, but not enough. Their investigator was showing Rusty's driver's license photo around Amber's neighborhood, but so far nothing. The plan to force Whit McGrath to turn on Rusty hadn't worked out. The only word from McGrath had been a phone call from his attorney threatening a lawsuit.
It was unfortunate that Glen Hopwood hadn't been able to remember where they'd dumped the bodies. It was also unfortunate, Jackie thought, that the Mendoza boy hadn't grabbed the shotgun away from Rusty Beck and let him have both barrels.
This courtroom was familiar to Jackie, who had testified on several felony cases. Like the rest of the building, it was typically modern. White walls, acoustical tile ceiling, rows of blue-upholstered chairs bolted to the floor. The judge sat behind a raised, oak-paneled dais with two flags behind him and a state seal over his head. He rocked slowly in his beige upholstered chair, and now and then he would pull back the sleeve of his robe and glance at his watch. "Let's move along, counselor."
Presently on the stand was the state's last witness, a sheriffs deputy who said that a few months ago he had arrested Tina Hopwood's son, Jerrod, and that Hop-wood had been "extremely angry" about it. They were trying to show that Tina Hopwood had made up the story about Kenny's alibi because she wanted to get back at the police.
Tina had been the first witness on the stand. She had long, straight black hair and pale, angry eyes. Anthony Quintana had held open the swinging door in the railing for her, and her dress had swished like a cat's tail as she'd stepped up to the witness box. She'd been nervous at first but settled down as Gail took her through what had happened. Gail asked her about her past, getting it out of the way before the prosecutor could make her look bad. Sonia Krause had tried to, but Tina had given it back to her. Gail had coached Tina to keep her temper and to hide nothing.
Anthony Quintana took the next witness, Vernon Byrd. He was dressed in a suit, and except for his size, Jackie wouldn't have recognized him. He swore that nobody had promised him anything to testify. "I shouldn't have made up that story about Kenny Clark, but I wanted to get out of prison. The prosecutor said he'd be grateful if I told the truth, but I didn't. I lied, and I'm sorry."
Sonia Krause's assistant hammered on Byrd's credibility.
After that, the defense called the two men from Fort Pierce who'd seen Kenny Clark so soon after the murder that it was unlikely he could have done it. Gail's voice was getting husky. She started coughing, and had to go back to the desk to get some water. Anthony stood up, spoke to her quietly, and she nodded, then sat down. Her skin was flushed. From her seat in the front row Jackie mouthed the words, Are you okay? Gail gave her a little smile. Anthony finished questioning the witness.
After a break, the state's case began. Ron Kemp testi
fied that he didn't know where Ms. Hopwood had come up with this story, but it was absolutely not true. She had been drunk, had cursed him and Detective Federsen. They had let her sober up, then had come back, and she'd told them that Mr. Clark had left the trailer around nine-thirty that morning. Federson got on the stand to say the same thing.
Anthony Quintana cross-examined both of them, and it was blistering. He had looked into personnel files, found other incidents where witnesses complained that Kemp or Federsen had pushed them around. Kemp nearly lost his temper. That scored some points, Jackie thought.
Then Sonia Krause put on the deputy who had arrested Tina Hopwood's son.
Jackie glanced over at Gary Dodson again. He was slouched in his seat, head in his hand, hiding his face. Jackie decided she would talk to him. The reporters would be all over Gail and Anthony, and they wouldn't be able to get out of here fast enough, but Jackie thought she could catch up to Gary.
Finally the deputy was excused.
"If there are no other witnesses," the judge said, bringing his chair around, "I'm going to allow you-all to make a short summary, but please make it quick. It's past six-thirty, and we need to move along."
Gail had wanted to give the summation. Jackie saw her reach over and squeeze Anthony's hand. He smiled at her, then rose to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket as he strode to the lectern on the defense side. His wavy hair was tamed straight back off his forehead, his suit was conservative gray, and his cuffs closed with buttons, not gold cufflinks. Every other time Jackie had seen him, he'd been wearing three rings. Now there were none. He put both hands on the lectern. His voice was strong and resonant, with a slight Spanish accent. Jackie had come to like it. She thought it made him sound more dramatic.
"Your honor, this is a case about actual innocence. Kenneth Ray Clark did not kill Amber Dodson. The evidence proves it. A witness, previously unknown to the defense, now says that Mr. Clark could not have committed the crime because at the time of death, he was with her. She didn't come forward twelve years ago because she was afraid. The lead detective, Ronald Kemp, and his partner, Tom Federsen, came to her home, where her children were sleeping in the next room, and threatened to plant drugs, to revoke her probation, and send her to jail if she told the truth. This is outrageous police misconduct, by itself enough to justify a new trial.
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