The Chamber (15 page)

It really mattered little to Lucas Mann. He shrugged, and said, “You’re the boss.”

“Thanks,” Naifeh said. “Just watch Nugent, okay. I’ll watch him on this end, and you watch the legal stuff. We’ll get through it.”

“This will be the biggest one yet,” Lucas said.

“I know. I’ll have to pace myself. I’m an old man.”

Lucas gathered his file from the desk and headed for the door. “I’ll call you after the kid leaves. He’s supposed to check in with me before he goes.”

“I’d like to meet him,” Naifeh said.

“He’s a nice kid.”

“Some family, huh.”

______

The nice kid and his condemned grandfather had spent fifteen minutes in silence, the only sound in the room the uneasy rattling of the overworked AC unit. At one point, Adam had walked to the wall and waved his hand before the dusty vents. There was a trace of cool air. He leaned on the counter with his arms folded and stared at the door, as far away from Sam as possible. He was leaning and staring when the door opened and the head of Sergeant Packer appeared. Just checking to see if things were okay, he said, glancing first at Adam then down the room and through the screen at
Sam, who was leaning forward in his chair with a hand over his face.

“We’re fine,” Adam said without conviction.

“Good, good,” Packer said and hurriedly closed the door. It locked, and Adam slowly made his way back to his chair. He pulled it close to the screen and rested on his elbows. Sam ignored him for a minute or two, then wiped his eyes with a sleeve and sat up. They looked at each other.

“We need to talk,” Adam said quietly.

Sam nodded but said nothing. He wiped his eyes again, this time with the other sleeve. He removed a cigarette and put it between his lips. His hand shook as he flicked the lighter. He puffed quickly.

“So you’re really Alan,” he said in a low, husky voice.

“At one time, I guess. I didn’t know it until my father died.”

“You were born in 1964.”

“Correct.”

“My first grandson.”

Adam nodded and glanced away.

“You disappeared in 1967.”

“Something like that. I don’t remember it, you know. My earliest memories are from California.”

“I heard Eddie went to California, and that there was another child. Someone told me later her name was Carmen. I would hear bits and pieces over the years, knew y’all were somewhere in Southern California, but he did a good job of disappearing.”

“We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I think he had trouble keeping a job.”

“You didn’t know about me?”

“No. The family was never mentioned. I found out about it after his funeral.”

“Who told you?”

“Lee.”

Sam closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then puffed again. “How is she?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Why’d you go to work for Kravitz & Bane?”

“It’s a good firm.”

“Did you know they represented me?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ve been planning this?”

“For about five years.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have a reason.”

“The reason is obvious. You’re my grandfather, okay. Like it or not, you’re who you are and I’m who I am. And I’m here now, so what are we going to do about it?”

“I think you should leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Sam. I’ve been preparing for this a long time.”

“Preparing for what?”

“You need legal representation. You need help. That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m beyond help. They’re determined to gas me, okay, for lots of reasons. You don’t need to get involved in it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, it’s hopeless. You’re gonna get hurt if you bust your ass and you’re unsuccessful. Second, your true identity will be revealed. It’ll be very embarrassing. Life for you will be much better if you remain Adam Hall.”

“I am Adam Hall, and I don’t plan to change it. I’m also your grandson, and we can’t change that, can we? So what’s the big deal?”

“It’ll be embarrassing for your family. Eddie did a great job of protecting you. Don’t blow it.”

“My cover’s already blown. My firm knows it. I told Lucas Mann, and—”

“That jerk’ll tell everybody. Don’t trust him for a minute.”

“Look, Sam, you don’t understand. I don’t care if he tells. I don’t care if the world knows that I’m your grandson. I’m tired of these dirty little family secrets. I’m a big boy now, I can think for myself. Plus, I’m a lawyer, and my skin is getting thick. I can handle it.”

Sam relaxed a bit in his chair and looked at the floor with a pleasant little smirk, the kind grown men often give to little boys who are acting bigger than their years. He grunted at something and very slowly nodded his head. “You just don’t understand, kid,” he said again, now in the measured, patient tone.

“So explain it to me,” Adam said.

“It would take forever.”

“We have four weeks. You can do a lot of talking in four weeks.”

“Just exactly what is it that you want to hear?”

Adam leaned even closer on his elbows, pen and pad ready. His eyes were inches from the slit in the screen. “First, I want to talk about the case—appeals, strategies, the trials, the bombing, who was with you that night—”

“No one was with me that night.”

“We can talk about it later.”

“We’re talking about it now. I was alone, do you hear me?”

“Okay. Second, I want to know about my family.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Why keep it buried? I want to know about your father and his father, and your brothers and cousins. I may dislike these people when it’s all
over, but I have the right to know about them. I’ve been deprived of this information all of my life, and I want to know.”

“It’s nothing remarkable.”

“Oh really. Well, Sam, I think it’s pretty remarkable that you’ve made it here to death row. This is a pretty exclusive society. Throw in the fact that you’re white, middle class, almost seventy years old, and it becomes even more remarkable. I want to know how and why you got here. What made you do those things? How many Klansmen were in my family? And why? How many other people were killed along the way?”

“And you think I’ll just spill my guts with all this?”

“Yeah, I think so. You’ll come around. I’m your grandson, Sam, the only living, breathing relative who gives a damn about you anymore. You’ll talk, Sam. You’ll talk to me.”

“Well, since I’ll be so talkative what else will we discuss?”

“Eddie.”

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You don’t want much, do you?” he said softly. Adam scribbled something meaningless on his pad.

It was now time for the ritual of another cigarette, and Sam performed it with even more patience and care. Another blast of blue smoke joined the fog well above their heads. His hands were steady again. “When we get finished with Eddie, who do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. That should keep us busy for four weeks.”

“When do we talk about you?”

“Anytime.” Adam reached into his briefcase and removed a thin file. He slid a sheet of paper and a pen through the opening. “This is an agreement for legal representation. Sign at the bottom.”

Without touching it, Sam read it from a distance. “So I sign up again with Kravitz & Bane.”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean, sort of? Says right here I agree to let those Jews represent me again. It took me forever to fire them, and, hell, I wasn’t even paying them.”

“The agreement is with me, Sam, okay. You’ll never see those guys unless you want to.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Fine. I happen to work for the firm, and so the agreement must be with the firm. It’s easy.”

“Ah, the optimism of youth. Everything’s easy. Here I sit less than a hundred feet from the gas chamber, clock ticking away on the wall over there, getting louder and louder, and everything’s easy.”

“Just sign the damned paper, Sam.”

“And then what?”

“And then we go to work. Legally, I can’t do anything for you until we have that agreement. You sign it, we go to work.”

“And what’s the first bit of work you’d like to do?”

“Walk through the Kramer bombing, very slowly, step by step.”

“It’s been done a thousand times.”

“We’ll do it again. I have a thick notebook full of questions.”

“They’ve all been asked.”

“Yeah, Sam, but they haven’t been answered, have they?”

Sam stuck the filter between his lips.

“And they haven’t been asked by me, have they?”

“You think I’m lying.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“But you haven’t told the whole story, have you?”

“What difference does it make, counselor? You’ve read Bateman.”

“Yeah, I’ve memorized Bateman, and there are a number of soft spots in it.”

“Typical lawyer.”

“If there’s new evidence, then there are ways to present it. All we’re doing, Sam, is trying to create enough confusion to make some judge somewhere give it a second thought. Then a third thought. Then he grants a stay so he can learn more.”

“I know how the game is played, son.”

“Adam, okay, it’s Adam.”

“Yeah, and just call me Gramps. I suppose you plan to appeal to the governor.”

“Yes.”

Sam inched forward in his chair and moved close to the screen. With the index finger of his right hand, he began pointing at a spot somewhere in the center of Adam’s nose. His face was suddenly harsh, his eyes narrow. “You listen to me, Adam,” he growled, finger pointing back and forth. “If I sign this piece of paper, you are never to talk to that bastard. Never. Do you understand?”

Adam watched the finger but said nothing.

Sam decided to continue. “He is a bogus son of a bitch. He is vile, sleazy, thoroughly corrupt, and completely able to mask it all with a pretty smile and a clean haircut. He is the only reason I’m sitting here on death row. If you contact him in any way, then you’re finished as my lawyer.”

“So I’m your lawyer.”

The finger dropped and Sam relaxed a bit. “Oh, I may give you a shot, let you practice on me. You know, Adam, the legal profession is really screwed up. If I was a free man, just trying to make a living, minding my own business, paying my taxes, obeying the
laws and such, then I couldn’t find a lawyer who’d take the time to spit on me unless I had money. But here I am, a convicted killer, condemned to die, not a penny to my name, and I’ve got lawyers all over the country begging to represent me. Big, rich lawyers with long names preceded with initials and followed by numerals, famous lawyers with their own jets and television shows. Can you explain this?”

“Of course not. Nor do I care about it.”

“It’s a sick profession you’ve gotten yourself in.”

“Most lawyers are honest and hardworking.”

“Sure. And most of my pals here on death row would be ministers and missionaries if they hadn’t been wrongly convicted.”

“The governor might be our last chance.”

“Then they might as well gas me now. That pompous ass’ll probably want to witness my execution, then he’ll hold a press conference and replay every detail for the world. He’s a spineless little worm who’s made it this far because of me. And if he can milk me for a few more sound bites, then he’ll do it. Stay away from him.”

“We can discuss it later.”

“We’re discussing it now, I believe. You’ll give me your word before I sign this paper.”

“Any more conditions?”

“Yeah. I want something added here so that if I decide to fire you again, then you and your firm won’t fight me. That should be easy.”

“Let me see it.”

The agreement was passed through the slit again, and Adam printed a neat paragraph at the bottom. He handed it back to Sam, who read it slowly and laid it on the counter.

“You didn’t sign it,” Adam said.

“I’m still thinking.”

“Can I ask some questions while you’re thinking?”

“You can ask them.”

“Where did you learn to handle explosives?”

“Here and there.”

“There were at least five bombings before Kramer, all with the same type, all very basic—dynamite, caps, fuses. Kramer, of course, was different because a timing device was used. Who taught you how to make bombs?”

“Have you ever lit a firecracker?”

“Sure.”

“Same principle. A match to the fuse, run like crazy, and boom.”

“The timing device is a bit more complicated. Who taught you how to wire one?”

“My mother. When do you plan to return here?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. Here’s what we’ll do. I need some time to think about this. I don’t want to talk right now, and I damned sure don’t want to answer a bunch of questions. Let me look over this document, make some changes, and we’ll meet again tomorrow.”

“That’s wasting time.”

“I’ve wasted almost ten years here. What’s another day?”

“They may not allow me to return if I don’t officially represent you. This visit is a favor.”

“A great bunch of guys, aren’t they? Tell them you’re my lawyer for the next twenty-four hours. They’ll let you in.”

“We have a lot of ground to cover, Sam. I’d like to get started.”

“I need to think, okay. When you spend over nine years alone in a cell, you become real good at thinking and analyzing. But you can’t do it fast, understand? It takes longer to sort things out and place them in order.
I’m sort of spinnin’ right now, you know. You’ve hit me kinda hard.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be better tomorrow. We can talk then. I promise.”

“Sure.” Adam placed the cap on his pen and stuck it in his pocket. He slid the file into the briefcase, and relaxed in his seat. “I’ll be staying in Memphis for the next couple of months.”

“Memphis? I thought you lived in Chicago.”

“We have a small office in Memphis. I’ll be working out of there. The number’s on the card. Feel free to call anytime.”

“What happens when this thing is over?”

“I don’t know. I may go back to Chicago.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Is Carmen?”

“No.”

“What’s she like?”

Adam folded his hands behind his head and examined the thin fog above them. “She’s very smart. Very pretty. Looks a lot like her mother.”