Candlemoth (55 page)

    I
stood uneasily, awkwardly, like a child learning to balance.

    I
thought of a small colored girl, no more than five or six, her hair tied up in
wiry pigtails with bright bows at the ends, as if she wore some strange exotic
flowers with sunshine yellow petals and black stems… down there along Nine Mile
Road she was going, tears running down her face, her eyes wide and hopeless…

    And
in that moment I wondered if this was the last thought I would ever have… the
Killing of the King…

    'All
rise,' the bailiff commanded again. 'North Carolina State Appellate Court is in
session, the honorable Judge Thomas J. Cotton presiding.'

    From
the same door through which the bailiff had appeared the Judge came. A tall
man, imposing, distinguished, his bearing immaculate and refined. He walked
across the back of the podium and sat down.

    He
raised his gavel and banged it once.

    'Let's
make this fast. It's early, I'm not supposed to be here. Who's up first?'

    I
heard footsteps behind me. I tried to turn and couldn't.

    Someone
passed me and walked towards the witness box.

    I
watched him go.

    The
bailiff stepped forward to give the oath.

    The man
reached the witness box, took one step up and turned.

    Then
I
knew
I was dreaming.

    It
was Father John.

    He
was not wearing his collar.

    I
tried to stand.

    A
police officer appeared over my left shoulder, his hand on my arm, and he brought
me down into the chair once more.

    I
could hear the bailiff swearing in the oath.

    'Name?'

    'Frank
Stroud.'

    The
Judge turned and looked at him. 'Mister Stroud,' he said, smiling. 'A pleasure
to see you again.'

    I
looked at Father John. He looked back at me. His face was expressionless,
implacable.

    'But
-' I started, my voice weak and strained. 'Father John…'

    The
Judge nodded at one of the police officers and I was told once again to sit
still, to quieten down.

    'Well,
this is a better morning than I anticipated,' the Judge said. 'Well, despite
the fact that we all know you very well, please give your occupation for the
Court stenographer.'

    'North
Carolina Federal Court Special Investigator.'

    'And
what exciting revelations have you today, Mister Stroud?' the Judge asked. 'I
understand that you have an assistant who will be giving evidence, and also
some witnesses.'

    'Yes,
Your Honor. I have an assistant who will outline the facts of this case, and
then statements from three witnesses.'

    My
heart stopped.

    I
started to cry.

    I
tried to turn, tried to see anyone - Mr. West, Mr. Timmons…

    You
told him where we were coming and why?

    I
sensed someone behind me.

    Again
I tried to turn.

    Again
I failed.

    A
hand on my shoulder.

    I
smelled perfume.

    'Sit
still,' a voice said.

    
Her
voice.

    
Caroline.
…

    A
voice from someplace a thousand years before… and within that voice was
everything I could ever remember from home.

    The tears
rushed from me like a wave, running down my face.

    I
could barely catch my breath.

    'Bailiff,
please see to the appellant, give him a glass of water or something,' the Judge
said.

    The
Judge turned once more to Father John, a man he kept calling Frank Stroud. 'And
your witness statements?'

    Stroud
nodded. 'Retired Sergeant Karl Jackson of the Greenleaf City Police Department,
an Audio Forensics expert from the Charleston FBI office, and a Miss Linda
Goldbourne.'

    And
after that name, and after Caroline Lanafeuille sat down beside me, I heard
little else.

    There
were voices, people's faces, names and dates and questions. Endless questions.

    And
when Linny came down there, when she walked past me, and when I saw the
expression on her face - an expression of such pain and sympathy and compassion
and fear - I felt a sound escaping from my lips.

    
Uuuhhh
…

    A
sound like Jack Chantry must have made as he kneeled in the dirt with his
daughter in his arms.

    It
all came back.

    Everything.

    Every
sound, every color, every emotion and thought and broken hope. Everything.

    And
there was silence in my head.

    I
stayed seated for some hollow eternity.

    I
felt nothing.

    Every
once in a while there was a rushing sound inside my head, like someone had let
the sea loose and it was coming to take me.

    At
one point I thought I would faint, and as I pitched forward towards the table,
one of the policemen was there behind me, and I could hear his voice, gentle,
almost comforting, saying something that I cannot now recall.

    And I
sensed
her
beside me… my Caroline… and it was all I could do to restrain
myself from turning to face her… I wanted to see her face, wanted to so much,
but I could not - dared not - for in that moment I believed that if I saw her
face I would wake and find that all this was nothing but a cruel dream.

    And
then more people, people saying things I couldn't even begin to understand. And
time was unravelling around me, and there were voices within that time, voices
from my past, names and moments and memories I had quite forgotten.

    And
all the while
she
was there beside me.

    At
one point she reached out and closed her hand over mine. A sensation like electricity,
but slow and gentle, passed through me.

    And
then there was a commotion to my right, and I saw the bailiff standing, and he
turned to the Judge, and the Judge leaned forward, and he said:

    'Appears
to me, Mister Ford, that you have been the victim of a complex and involved
conspiracy. If the technical information given about your taped confession
presented here by Mister Stroud's expert witness, combined with the testimony
regarding the actions taken by Richard Goldbourne to have his daughter
indefinitely incarcerated in the State Psychiatric Hospital, are in fact true…
well, if these things prove to have even a shred of credibility, I would be
hard pushed to find any judge who would not throw this conviction out.

    'Stay
of execution granted.

    'Appeal
granted.'

    The
gavel came down.

    I
could hear myself crying, and then making that sound once more…

    
Uuuhhh.
..

    I
think I pissed myself again.

    Four
months later.

    Reverend
Verney stands in the hallway of his house. From where he stands he can see the
TV in the front room. He can see his wife as she watches it.

    A
pretty blonde girl appears on the screen.

    She
holds a microphone.

    Behind
her Reverend Verney can see a Penitentiary building.

    The
pretty blonde girl speaks.

    'In
yet another revelation today, the North Carolina State Appellate Court ruled
that Daniel Ford, the Sumter Penitentiary Death Row inmate found guilty in 1971
of the murder of Nathan Verney, was tried unconstitutionally and was the victim
of a premeditated conspiracy. North Carolina District Attorney Robert Moriera
today issued a subpoena for ex-Greenleaf City P.D. Lieutenant Michael Garrett
after testimony forwarded by retired P.D. Sergeant Karl Jackson revealed that
Garrett was involved in the conspiracy. In return for his testimony, Sergeant
Jackson is said to have been granted immunity from prosecution.

    'Special
Investigator Frank Stroud, a man who earned his reputation in the early '70s
when he was involved in the failed attempt to prosecute Congressman Richard
Goldbourne for complicity in the assassination of Robert Kennedy, said today
that he was overjoyed at the outcome of the appeal, and stressed the importance
of reviewing the death penalty and its consequences in North Carolina.

    'Perhaps
the most astonishing aspect of this case was that of Linda Goldbourne, daughter
of Richard Goldbourne who, prior to his death, had been a leading political
figure in the State. Information revealed during the appeal indicated that
Linda Goldbourne had been incarcerated in North Carolina State Psychiatric
Hospital by her father for nearly twelve years, in fact the same length of time
Daniel Ford was himself imprisoned.

    'Having
been classified as mentally unfit to give testimony at Ford's original trial in
the early '70s, Miss Goldbourne's legal and personal affairs were managed
exclusively by her father. In order to prevent her from appearing before the
court or making a statement to the police, Richard Goldbourne continued to deny
his daughter access to any visitors except himself and certain immediate family
members. With his death, Linda Goldbourne was interviewed by Special Prosecutor
Stroud and the full facts of the original killing were made available.

    'Though
District Attorney Moriera made it clear that convictions were unlikely due to
the death of Richard Goldbourne, he still emphasized his gratitude to Special
Prosecutor Stroud in uncovering this dramatic miscarriage of justice.

    'And
now, leaving Daniel Ford somewhere in North Carolina celebrating his release
after twelve years of imprisonment, and his rescue just two days before his
date of execution, this is Cindy Giddings for NBC News returning you to the
studio…'

    Mrs.
Verney stands and turns.

    There
are tears in her eyes.

    She
reaches out her hands and her husband walks towards her.

    His
huge presence engulfs her, and she buries her face in his shirt.

    'Praise
the Lord,' he whispers. 'Praise the Lord…'

    No-one
had told me what was happening. Father John said he wished to avoid any
possibility of false hope being given.

    He figured
I was more likely to talk to a priest than a Federal investigator. So he
changed his profession, and he changed his name.

    And
Linny Goldbourne had been the one to start all of this. After her father's
death she spoke freely. Stroud had been there to listen to her, just as he had
listened to me. And if he listened because he wanted to bring Richard
Goldbourne down any way he could it didn't matter. The fact was that he
listened, and he listened good. Linny told him she didn't know who had killed Nathan,
had never seen them before herself, but she did know one thing.

    I had
not murdered him.

    I am
sitting in a diner somewhere in Charleston.

    Opposite
me is Caroline Lanafeuille.

    She
is beautiful. Her hair is multi-hued between amber and ochre and straw. And
then there is the way she tilts her head and half-smiles.

    'And
so she'll return home,' she is saying, but I am not really paying much
attention. I am watching her lips move. I am thinking that once there was a
time when I had kissed those lips. A time that now seems a hundred lifetimes
ago. A life that I believe now could never have been mine.