The Law of Second Chances (14 page)

“Well, he came off the line and ran out about five yards, then turned to do a buttonhook. I saw the quarterback look at him and raise his arm to throw. That’s when I made my
move toward him. I remember thinking I could intercept. He just turned and went right past me.”

“Did he give you a fake before he did his buttonhook?” They were on their third beer, but Rico was just as intense as he had been on the field that day
.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Do you remember back in practice before the season started and we were talking about fakes?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did I tell you to be careful about if a guy doesn’t give you a fake before he makes his cut or turns for the ball?”

Johnny didn’t answer right away. His head was a little fuzzy from the beer. Rico had drilled the fundamentals into him, however, and eventually they started surfacing
.

“If a guy doesn’t give you at least one fake before making his cut, then watch for him to go long.”

“That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Johnny felt as if a lightbulb had just gone on in his brain. “The buttonhook was really the first fake and I went for it.”

“Exactly!” Rico shouted. “So if he doesn’t fake before he turns, don’t charge until the ball is released, got it?”

“Got it,” Johnny told him. He and Rico smacked hands
—
the lesson was over. Johnny took a swig of his beer while Rico went to get another
.

“Man, Rico is intense, isn’t he?” Floyd observed
.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, “but he’s right. That’s the way you become a champion.”

Just then Frankie O’Connor yelled over to Floyd. He’d been talking to one of the regulars who had been upset when the team first came into the Carlow East weeks before. Frankie never stopped politicking
.

“Hey, Pink Floyd, come on over here. I want you to meet someone.”

Floyd had earned his nickname only recently. At practice the week before, he’d opened his equipment bag and found that his white practice jersey and pants had changed
color. His mother had washed them with something red and forgot to tell him about it. So Floyd had to dress for practice in a pink jersey and pink pants. The jeering was unmerciful; even Joe Sheffield got into it. Floyd laughed along with everybody else. Most guys would have gotten mad or at least embarrassed, but not Floyd. He had that rare ability to laugh at himself
.

Floyd walked over to Frankie
.

“Pink Floyd, I want you to meet Vinny Gaines.” They shook hands
.

“That was a great story Frankie just told me about how you got your nickname,” said Vinny. “Man, you must have been surprised when you opened your equipment bag. I would have just gone home.”

Before Floyd could respond, he was interrupted by Joe Meeley, another regular, who had been eavesdropping on the story. “We outta be thankful the son-of-a-bitch washed his clothes at all. Most of them don’t.”

Nobody could say for sure what happened next because it happened so fast. As best as anyone could recollect, there was a brief awkward moment after Joe Meeley’s remark when nobody said anything, then Frankie hauled off and punched Joe Meeley right in the nose
.

Joe flew off his bar stool and hit the ground hard, although he wasn’t knocked out. All conversation in the bar stopped as everybody braced themselves for a brawl
.

Mary McKenna came out from behind the bar almost before Joe hit the floor
.

“Joe Meeley, get the hell out of here!” she yelled
.

“But Mary!” Meeley protested. He was on his feet now but going nowhere near Frankie O’Connor. “He hit me and I’m a regular customer here.”

“I heard what you said,” Mary told him. “He had a right to hit you. You won’t come back in here until you apologize to this young man.” She pointed at Floyd. “And anybody else who feels the same way Joe does, you can leave too. Now get going, Joe.”

Mary was taking a big risk. Her regulars came in every
day. They paid the rent. With the Lexingtons it was once a week at best, and then only during the season. But there was something about the exuberance and the casual camaraderie of the young men that had caused her to change her opinion about them. She was gambling that many of her regular patrons had similar feelings, and she was about to find out if she was right
.

Joe Meeley walked out of the Carlow East alone
.

Ten minutes later everybody was laughing and talking like the incident had never happened. Frankie O’Connor’s punch, however, would become a part of the neighborhood folklore forever
.

19

Night still lingered on the river when Jack and Pat jumped into their dinghy and headed out on the Okalatchee. At its widest point the river extended only a hundred yards from bank to bank, and at this time in the early morning it was teeming with fishing boats heading out to the big lake. Their dinghy had no lights, so they had to hug the shoreline and be extra careful. Twenty minutes out, Jack made a right turn, and they both ducked as the boat meandered under a thicket of brush and foliage for several minutes until they emerged in a narrow inlet bordered on both sides by mangroves, cypress trees, and tall pines.

Pat had been here many times, but she never ceased to be amazed by the dramatic transformation that occurred in those few minutes. They went from the hustle-bustle of the river—with motors roaring and waves from the bigger boats buffeting the dinghy—to total calm and a chorus of crickets that blended with the peacefulness of the dark.

Jack steered to the middle of the inlet, cut the engine, and let the boat drift. They sat there breathing in the early morning air, neither one of them saying a word. Gradually the sky started to lighten, although they could not see the rising sun through the thick foliage. The droning of the crickets ceased and all was quiet. A slight mist hung just above the smooth surface of the water. Nothing moved.

Minutes later everything began to change again. One
bird sang a note, then another joined in. Before long it was a symphony. A deer appeared on the far bank, dipping its head to the morning water. A heron and two egrets ventured past the edge of the shoreline, studying the shallow water intently for signs of breakfast. A gator surfaced not far away, the shorebirds taking notice. Robins and blue jays glided overhead while above them, atop the highest tree, lording over his realm, sat a lone osprey.

Jack remembered the first time he had brought Pat here. He remembered the wonder in her eyes, the astonished smile on her face, and the satisfaction he felt giving her this gift for the first time. It had been a cool morning, unlike this day, but Pat had shed her warm clothes
and
her bikini and plunged into the brisk water. He smiled to himself at the memory. He had almost tipped the boat that day following her lead.

Pat was having the same memory at the same time.
What better way
, she thought,
to relieve the burdens of yesterday
. She unzipped the light jacket she had worn, slipped out of her bikini, and dove joyfully into the water—again.

As she stood to jump off the boat, Jack kept his eyes on her. She was so beautiful. Admittedly she had been losing weight steadily for the last six months, but she still looked great.
How could anyone who looks that good be so sick?
he thought, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he pulled off his bathing trunks and jumped overboard.

They came up together not fifty yards from the gator. Jack put his arms around her.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“Of what, the gator? No. And I’m not afraid of the rest either, Jack. We’ll get through it one way or the other. Remember this—no matter what happens, we’ll always have this place and these moments to cherish.”

She kissed him and Jack held her tight there in the water. He wished that he could squeeze her so hard that she would become a part of him and he could take up the battle with her. The gator eyed them cautiously.

Later, as they swam together in that narrow cove, they
seemed to blend seamlessly with the mangroves, the shorebirds, the gator, and the osprey.

Jack had filed his motion for new trial the day after he met with Henry. He also filed a request for an evidentiary hearing, knowing that the court would have to first hear testimony from both sides and allow for cross-examination before deciding the motion for new trial. The motion would have to state a basis for the court to even consider an evidentiary hearing. Jack attached with it the affidavits of Wofford, Ted Griffin, and Anthony Webster, along with Webster’s notes. He hoped that was enough.

The case was assigned to Judge Arthur Hendrick, a circuit judge in Dade County. Jack called every day to check on the status of his pleadings—something he normally wouldn’t do, because it might irritate the judge, but he couldn’t afford to adhere to the typical niceties of practice. Henry’s time was running out.

Jack never found out whether it was his constant nagging or a lack of merit in his legal arguments, but five days later the judge denied both the motion for new trial and the request for evidentiary hearing. Jack didn’t even have time to be disappointed—he had less than two weeks left. He called Wofford Benton to see if he had any ideas on how to handle this latest setback.

“Everything’s been denied,” he told Wofford. “I’m not sure whether I should file an appeal directly to the Florida Supreme Court or a motion for rehearing and ask the circuit judge to take another look at it. What do you think?”

A motion for rehearing was a request for the court—in most cases the same judge—to reconsider the original motion for new trial on the basis that it may have overlooked something. It was rarely granted.

“Did the judge give any reason for the denial?” Wofford asked.

“None. It was just a summary denial.”

“A summary denial,” Wofford mused. “The last bastion of cowards. Who was the judge?”

“Arthur Hendrick.”

“Damn, I could have told you going in that Artie would deny the motion. I’ve known him a long time. We went to law school together and we’ve maintained a pretty good friendship over the years, although our politics are on opposite ends of the spectrum. He’s a wonderful guy in a lot of ways but he’s a law-and-order man. It’s all black-and-white in Artie’s world—no gray areas whatsoever. You’d better just file your appeal, Jack. You won’t get anywhere on rehearing.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. He was mulling over Wofford’s advice when the judge spoke again. “Hang on, I’ve got a better idea—move to recuse him. I’ll give you another affidavit stating the nature of our friendship over the years, including the fact that we room together at all the judicial conferences. Artie would die before he’d enter an order finding me incompetent as an attorney, even if it was seventeen years ago. He simply shouldn’t be on this case.”

“Do you really think he would recuse himself?” Jack asked.

“He has to, especially if I put it in my affidavit, which I will, that he could not be fair and impartial when it comes to me. I’ve even got a case for you right here in Polk County—a similar situation. The attorney was a sitting circuit judge at the time of the motion, and all the circuit judges in Polk County recused themselves from hearing the case. You have an even stronger basis because of my close friendship with Artie. Either he recuses himself or you have a winnable issue on appeal.”

“I’m running out of time, Wofford. Am I better off getting another judge or just appealing this denial?” Jack favored an immediate appeal, but he wanted to hear what Wofford had to say.

“Think about it, Jack. You got a flat denial from Artie—no reasoning, nothing. Your chances on appeal with an order like that are slim at best. On the other hand, if you get a new judge, you’ve got another shot and you still have an appeal.”

Wofford’s analysis made perfect sense. “You’re right,” Jack said. “I’ll get started on both motions today.”

“Take the recusal motion over yourself to his office and bring an order for him to sign, and then wait for him to sign it. I’ll fax you my affidavit within the hour.”

“You guys aren’t going to be rooming together anymore,” Jack told him. “He probably won’t ever talk to you again.”

“I don’t give a shit, Jack. We’ve got more important fish to fry.”

Jack was a little surprised at Wofford Benton’s colorful language but not his message. Something had changed in the judge, and Jack thought he knew why: Wofford Benton had made a mistake seventeen years ago and he wanted to rectify it. The judge was committed to doing whatever was necessary to get Henry a new trial.

20

After Paul and David picked Benny out in separate lineups, Nick and Tony had him brought down to the basement of the station house for questioning. A uniform cop led him into a rectangular room with mirrors on both sides, one door, and no windows.

Benny had seen enough television shows to know what the mirrors were for and what was going to happen next. He remembered what Joe Fogarty told him: “Shut up and ask for a lawyer.”

The cop sat him down in one of four chairs clustered around a steel table and left him with his hands still cuffed behind his back.

Nick Walsh and Tony Severino were standing in a separate room behind one of the mirrors when Benny and the cop walked into the interrogation room. Their lieutenant, Angelo Amato, was with them. Amato had already determined that Nick would do the questioning alone, and Nick could tell that Tony didn’t take too well to that decision. Tony had found Benny, and Nick knew that Tony thought he should get the honors. At that point, it didn’t matter to Nick who did the questioning. His thinking was about to change.

“The brass upstairs wants this case over yesterday,” Lieutenant Amato told Nick before the detective left to enter the interrogation room.

Nick Walsh was a planner about most things. A good
homicide detective had to be able to patiently and methodically build a case, often starting from the minutest details. However, when he walked into a room to question a suspect, Nick did not have a set agenda, a certain style, or even a specific list of questions. He learned in advance everything there was to possibly know about the man he was going to interrogate, and, of course, he knew every detail of the criminal investigation.