The Law of Second Chances

by James Sheehan

  A special phone was set up outside the death chamber, where the warden would stand. If there was going to be a last-minute reprieve, that phone would ring. In the final minutes and seconds, while Henry was in the death chamber strapped to the gurney, his IVs prepared, all eyes would be on that phone.

  Jack had followed his own procedure, the one he used when he was last at Starke awaiting word on Rudy Kelly’s fate. He went outside the prison gates and stood with the death penalty protesters and sang hymns and said prayers. He felt totally helpless.

  At 5:45, Henry was wheeled into the death chamber. The curtain was pulled open and the waiting began. At 5:57, Henry thanked God in advance for answering his prayer, closed his eyes, and dreamed of his mother and their joyful reunion. Jack too offered his final prayer at roughly the same time, a simple Hail Mary. At exactly six o’clock, as tears streamed down his face, Jack was singing, with all his heart and soul, the hymn “Peace Is Flowing Like a River.”

  Jack didn’t learn what happened in the death chamber until an hour later, when a guard came to the outer gate to let him in and to give him the news. At exactly six p.m., the executioner had begun to administer the sodium pentothal just as the phone rang. He stopped immediately, but Henry was already unconscious. Somehow, Wofford had convinced Judge Susan Fletcher to read the motion for rehearing. She granted it and the request for an evidentiary hearing and entered an order stopping the execution. Henry was by no means out of the woods, but he was about to have his first real day in court with Jack Tobin as his lawyer.

  Two hours later, Jack was in the prison hospital with Henry when Henry woke up. It took him a few minutes to focus and a few more to realize he wasn’t dead. Although he was still quite groggy, he clearly saw Jack.

  “How did you beat me here? And where’s my mother?” he asked.

  Jack smiled and put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “The judge signed the order, Henry, but not before they gave you a little juice.”

  “I guess that’s as close as you come,” Henry said before again closing his eyes.

  Henry didn’t fall right back to sleep. He lay there thinking about what had transpired in the preceding hours. He had started on a journey that had been aborted at the absolute last minute. Something, however, had irrevocably changed. He could feel it in his core. Even though the reprieve might only be temporary, Henry knew that from the moment this journey began, he had embarked on a new life.

  29

  Benny was escorted from the cell block by two guards. They walked for several minutes down long, narrow corridors. Eventually the guards placed him in a small room and told him to sit in a chair facing a rectangular opening with bars across it. One of the guards stayed in the room with him and stood against the back wall. My own little private visiting room with a butler, Benny thought. I wonder if they have carpeting on death row.

  I’m wisecracking to myself, he decided. I must be going crazy!

  Moments later a short, stocky Latino man came into the part of the room on the opposite side of the barred window and sat down facing Benny. Benny had never seen him before.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Luis Melendez,” the man answered.

  Benny struggled for a few minutes to remember where he had heard the name before. Then it came to him from deep in the recesses of his brain, behind closed doors. As he remembered, he stiffened. His stomach started to churn. Rage began to swell. Part of him wanted to leap through the bars and grab the man by the throat. Another part wanted to bolt from the chair and run like lightning as far away from this man as he could.

  Benny caught his rage before it got out. He struggled with it for several moments, acutely aware of the guard behind him. He finally concluded he had two options: ask the guard to take him back to his cell, or quietly ask Luis Melendez what he wanted. He chose the latter.

  “What do you want?” he said quietly.

  “I want to help.”

  Once again the rage began to build and once again Benny fought it down. This needs to be said, he told himself. He bit his lip and waited for the beast within to subside. Then he began to speak, again in a low voice so the guard would not hear.

  “Where were you when I was four years old and I was taken from my mother because she was strung out on drugs? Where were you when I was dumped in a foster home with two animals who beat me every day and locked me in the closet when I cried? I called out to you every day for help. I wanted you to rescue me, to tell me everything was going to be all right. But neither of you ever came.”

  “I tried to find you, Benny, I did.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s pretty hard to find foster kids, especially when you’re the real parent.”

  “I wasn’t thinking straight back then,” his father protested. “I didn’t think to look right away in the foster care program for you. When I finally did, you were gone.”

  “Whatever. You’re too late now. You know, back when I was a kid, I went from fear to terror to ‘I don’t give a shit’ to being so angry I could scream. I took it and took it and stuffed it in every day and it built and built. Eventually I dreamed of killing those two animals and then finding you and killing you and her.” Benny was struggling to keep his voice low. “I never went near a gun my whole life, but I thought about it plenty—about putting one right between your eyes. That man stood over me and I had a gun. I killed him and now you’re too late.”

  Luis just kept looking at his son. Then, as quietly as Benny, he said, “I’m not going to give up. I can’t do anything about what’s already happened, but I’ve found you now and I’m going to do everything I can to help you.”

  “Fine, you do that. You spend every fuckin’ dime you have. I hope it kills you, ’cause it ain’t gonna save me.” Benny turned to the guard. “I’m ready,” he said and stood up to leave.

  30

  The day after Henry’s stay of execution, Jack called Wofford. It was mid-morning, so Wofford was already at work.

  “Wofford, you worked a miracle. How the hell did you do it?” Jack asked.

  “Well, Jack, I simply walked into Judge Fletcher’s courtroom in the middle of a hearing, introduced myself, and asked her in open court, in front of a full house, what she was doing about that motion on her desk regarding the man who was scheduled to die that day.”

  “I’ll bet that got everybody’s attention.”

  “It did. She was pissed. She called a recess right away.”

  “How did she get from being pissed at you to giving us an evidentiary hearing?”

  “Like I told you, she’s a good judge when she puts her mind to something. We just had to get her focused. She gets a lot of credit in my book. She could have taken the easy way out and gone along with Artie Hendrick. People aren’t going to like what she did, and she’s going to hear about it. She knows it, too. That’s why she’s one of the people who actually should be a judge.”

  “And so are you, Wofford. So are you.”

  “I may not be for long, Jack. If the Judicial Qualifications Commission gets wind of half of what I’ve done, I’m toast.”

  “I’ll represent you, Wofford. Count on it.”

  “I appreciate that, Jack, but you know, I haven’t felt so good since God knows when. Knowing that I’m helping to rectify a wrong that I was part of is all I need to sleep at night. By the way, Judge Fletcher set the evidentiary hearing for two weeks from today.”

  “We’ll be ready. I’ll get my subpoenas out right away. And you can also count on me telling Henry all about your efforts on his behalf.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate that too.”

  Henry’s circumstances had certainly changed since the day before—and not all to the good. He was no longer facing imminent death—so he was back in chains, and the couch and chairs were gone. He and Jack were returned to the sterile room where everything was bolted to the ground. Jack could tell Henry was still a little groggy from the injection and still a little shocked by the turn of events.

 
“I was in a good place yesterday, Jack. I was ready to die—with dignity. But when they strapped me on that gurney and pressed that needle into my skin, I felt degraded, like some sort of guinea pig. Now I’m back in my little cell until they decide to do this again. What the hell do they think I am? I’ll tell you this, Jack—the next time they strap me in will be the last. Everything is different now.”

  “I’m with you, Henry. We’re going to have a hearing before Judge Fletcher in two weeks, and she’s going to decide whether there’s enough evidence to grant you a new trial or not. If the answer is yes, you probably won’t be retried, since the state’s only witnesses are dead. If the answer is no, there will be no more appeals. No more stays. The next time they strap you in will definitely be the last.”

  “Geez, Jack, don’t sugarcoat it like that.”

  For a second Jack didn’t know how to take Henry’s last comment. It wasn’t until the big man started to laugh that he followed suit.

  “By the way, Henry, this reprieve was all Wofford Benton’s doing.” Jack told him blow-by-blow about Wofford’s encounter with Judge Fletcher.

  “And she still granted the motion after all that?”

  “She did,” Jack replied. “Which means you have a good judge hearing your case now.”

  “And a good lawyer defending me,” Henry replied. “Give Wofford my thanks, Jack.”

  Jack was greeted at home as the great liberator by Pat and Charlie.

  “I’m so proud of you, Jack,” Pat told him. “You saved Henry’s life.”

  “It wasn’t me. It was Wofford. And besides, it’s not over yet. We’re going to have an evidentiary hearing in two weeks.”

  Pat seemed to be feeling pretty good, so Jack suggested they take Charlie out to dinner at La Taqueria, their favorite restaurant in Bass Creek, to thank her for forcing herself on them when they needed her most.

  Because of its location in southern Florida, Bass Creek was home to many people from south of the border—Cuba, Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Colombia. Many were transients who worked in the orange groves and the sugar fields, and they formed their own barrio in the northwest part of town. La Taqueria was on the border of that barrio. Its décor reflected that boundary location, which was one of the reasons Jack loved it. Nestled between portraits of matadors and bulls and Spanish, Cuban, and Central American landscapes were stuffed deer heads, gators, and jackrabbits, together with Florida State and University of Miami pennants. There was even a rectangular sign that had no ties to any part of the community. It read: Tips up, Aspen, Colorado.

  The menu at La Taqueria reflected its diversity as well. There were Cuban, Spanish, and Mexican dishes alongside some typical American fare. The meals were tasty and plentiful and the prices were low, so just about everybody came to partake. It was the genuine melting pot of town—busy every night, the conversation always loud and lively.

  Not too many people knew that it was owned by a husband-and-wife team who were Irish and Jewish, respectively. Lisa served as the friendly, helpful hostess while Mike stayed in the back and supervised the kitchen. Since Jack and Pat were frequent patrons, they had become friends with the owners over the years. No matter how busy it was, Lisa always managed to find a table for Jack and Pat in Rose’s section. Rose, a robust Cuban woman, was their favorite waitress.

  “How’s my favorite lawyer?” Rose would say every time as she planted a big kiss on his cheek. She always had a hug for Pat too, but both women knew that she saved her greatest affection for Jack.

  “The chicken chimichanga is great tonight,” she told them.

  “I’ll have that,” Pat said. She knew she would pay for the choice later, but she didn’t care. Tonight she was going to have fun. So far, Pat had avoided most of the symptoms of chemotherapy, although she had slowed down somewhat. She was nauseated from time to time, however, and Mexican food was not exactly the prescribed diet.

  “I’ll have that too,” Charlie piped in.

  “Just give me one of Mike’s Cubans, Rose, with some black beans and rice,” Jack said, having not even looked at the menu.

  “And a pitcher of sangria,” Pat added, looking at Charlie and Jack. “I’m with the man I love and my best friend and I’m feeling good. I’m going to have a good time and that’s it.” Jack saw the sparkle in her eye and decided not to say anything. It was best to enjoy the moment.

  “I’m going home for a week and then I’m coming back,” Charlie told them after Rose had brought the pitcher and filled their glasses.

  “No, Charlie,” Jack protested. “You’ve already done enough. We’ll manage, won’t we, honey?”

  “Listen, it’s not an inconvenience for me,” Charlie responded quickly. “This is still the off season in the tax world, and I’ve got more vacation time than I know what to do with. If I don’t use it, I’ll lose it. Besides, I love it here. And Jack, I covet your pool. Do you know what it’s like to swim in a lane with three other people every day? I know you think I’m going out of my way for you guys, but there’s a lot in it for me.”

  Pat shrugged. “She’s hard to fight, Jack. And she never takes no for an answer.”

  “Charlie, you should have been a used-car salesman,” Jack told her. In truth, he was glad once again that Charlie was so insistent. With her there, he could devote his attention to Henry’s hearing without worrying constantly about Pat.

  “Then it’s settled,” Charlie declared. “I’m going to go home for a week, and then I’ll be back. That’ll give you a full week when I return to prepare for your hearing, Jack.”

  They had a second pitcher of sangria and talked and laughed into the evening. Jack kept one eye on Pat. He was sure this wasn’t good for her, although she continued to laugh and to sparkle.

  “By the way, your Uncle Bill came by every day you were gone,” Pat told him.

  “Really? Does he know you’re sick?”

  “He must. He hasn’t said anything to me directly, but there’s no other reason he’d be coming around so much.”

  Not long after he came to Bass Creek, Jack had persuaded his Uncle Bill to move from St. Petersburg, a city on the west coast of Florida. Uncle Bill was eighty-seven years young and Jack had always been close to him. He was a retired merchant marine, a salty old tar and a sharp contrast to his brother, Jack’s dad, who had been an accountant. Jack had gravitated to his colorful uncle at an early age. It was only natural that he would want Uncle Bill close to him when he himself retired to Bass Creek to become a fisherman.

  Uncle Bill had very quickly established his own group of friends and usually only visited Jack and Pat one night a week for dinner. “I don’t like to be a bother,” he’d told Jack when Jack had inquired why they saw him so seldom.

  “It’s really strange how word just gets out in Bass Creek,” Jack said.

  “It sure is,” Pat agreed.

  Pat paid a price for her fun night out. Although she’d only had two small glasses of sangria, she was miserable the next day. The combination of wine, food, and Taxol and Carboplatin, her chemotherapy cocktail, was simply too much for her system.

  “I should have put my foot down,” Jack said as he brought her a couple of aspirin and a glass of water. She was lying in bed moaning.

  “It’s not your fault, Jack. It’s not anybody’s fault. I made my own decision. I knew there would be repercussions. I’ll have to remember this feeling the next time I’m tempted to stray from the straight and narrow.”

  The next time was the following Monday. Pat had her third chemotherapy treatment earlier in the day, and that night she and Jack had visitors. Jack was against having anybody over, but Pat once again convinced him it was okay.

  “I usually don’t feel the effects of the chemo until the next day, and we’ll have them over after dinner. It’ll be fine.”

  Jack finally relented. He could never say no to her when she wanted to do something. Besides, the visitors were old friends, and seeing them would probably be good for the both of them.
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br />   During the time that Jack represented Rudy Kelly, he had two retired homicide detectives, Dick Radek and Joaquin Sanchez, working with him on the case. An important witness in part of the litigation was a woman named Maria Lopez. For security reasons, they had all lived together for several months, initially in Jack and Pat’s house in Bass Creek and later in a ranch house owned by a friend of Jack’s, Steve Preston. They became very close as a result of the experience. Joaquin and Maria fell in love and were married in a joint wedding ceremony with Jack and Pat. Dick eventually bought the ranch house they had all stayed in, and he married Steve Preston’s sister, Peggy. The six of them got together from time to time.

  This evening, however, was different. Jack could tell from Dick’s tone of voice when he called to make plans that they knew of Pat’s illness. It was just another example of bad news traveling through unknown channels very quickly.

  It turned out to be a wonderful evening. Although Jack could tell that Joaquin, Maria, and Dick were initially shocked that Pat had lost so much weight and appeared so pale, he could also see how happy the visit made her. They sat on the patio out by the pool and reminisced about their “commune” days. Poor Peggy, the newest member of the group, had to listen to the stories every time they got together.