The Law of Second Chances (7 page)

“Well, let me tell you something, son. In criminal law, sometimes you don’t have any proof and yet you know something’s there. You get a whiff of it in the wind.” Benton leaned forward and lowered his voice. “As I remember, David Hawke was a career criminal, a druggie—kind of like Henry, if you want to know the truth. The state had something on David Hawke, something we’ll never know about. They probably made a deal. That’s how he came to testify at Henry Wilson’s trial.”

“Would the state put on false testimony?”

“It’s never that clear-cut, Jack. They may have nabbed Hawke for something. He finds out about this murder case—there’s a grapevine in the criminal world that you wouldn’t believe—so he concocts a story to make himself a valuable witness. He implicates Henry and starts to negotiate with the authorities. The state looks at Henry’s record and sees that he’s a pimple on the ass of society, sees that he bought drugs from the deceased—and they run with Hawke’s testimony. Should they pause and say, ‘Wait a minute, this guy is
a lowlife piece of shit—we shouldn’t use him to convict somebody else, especially in a death penalty case, without other corroborating evidence’? Yes, they should. Do they? Not usually. Prosecutors have agendas too, Jack. It’s just the way of the world.”

“About this transcript of your interview with James Vernon, Judge—what do you think I should do with it?”

“Don’t be coy with me, Counselor. You know what you’re going to do with it. You’re going to claim incompetence of counsel because I didn’t call Ted Griffin to the stand.”

Jack didn’t respond to the judge’s charge. He hadn’t made any decisions yet. “Did you talk to Griffin about this?” he asked.

“I don’t remember.”

“Maybe Griffin refused to talk to you since he represented James Vernon in the past?” Jack offered.

“He may have, but I don’t remember.”

They talked a little more before Jack got up to leave. His head was spinning from all that he had learned, and he was anxious to get back to his office in Bass Creek and sort it out. The judge continued to surprise him right up to the end of his visit.

“Do what you have to do, Counselor. I’m not anxious to have my record besmirched, but I understand a man’s life is at stake. I’m still not convinced Wilson is innocent, but if he is, I’ve got some responsibility for him being where he is at. Keep me posted on this, will you? And call me if you need a sounding board.”

“I sure will, Judge.”

During their run that evening Jack told Pat all about what he had learned in the past three days. They took a different path, bypassing the river and heading directly into the woods. The crickets were already chattering.

“God, it’s good to be out here,” he said. “I felt like I was swimming in a cesspool today.”

“Why’s that?” Pat asked.

“I’ll tell you in a minute. First, tell me about your day.”

“What’s to tell? I’ve got thirty ten-year-olds all with Mexican jumping beans in their pants.”

“That’s got to be the hardest job in the world. I could never do it.”

“Well, you do have to be a certain type of person. But I love it, I really do. And I’ll tell you what, Jack. I can see how the future criminals of America get started. Kids in foster care, kids who are neglected by their parents—those are the ones with severe emotional problems. These kids don’t have a chance.

“They don’t get lost as adults, Jack. They get lost as children.” She paused, and they both concentrated on their running for a moment. “Enough about me—why did you feel you were in a cesspool today?”

“Because I learned some valuable lessons about how the criminal justice system really works. Do you ever wonder how it is that when you drop a piece of food on the ground, a thousand ants suddenly appear out of nowhere?”

“What does that have to do with your client on death row?”

“Well, apparently when a crime occurs, a similar phenomenon takes place. Eyewitnesses pop out of the woodwork. Criminals with information to sell about other criminals.”

“True information?” Pat asked.

“Who knows? Truth is what a prosecutor thinks he can sell to a jury.”

“Really? Is that what happened in Henry’s case?”

“Wofford Benton thinks it’s possible, and he was Henry’s trial lawyer. The state had no physical evidence against Henry. This guy David Hawke gave them a credible story and they went with it.

“Listen to this. I found a transcript of a conversation Wofford Benton had with a guy named James Vernon, who said he was at the murder scene with two other guys, neither of whom was Henry Wilson. And one of those two other guys slit Clarence Williams’s throat.”

“If that’s the case, how did Henry get convicted?”

“Well, Wofford called Vernon to the stand, and Vernon
took the Fifth. There was another witness Vernon had told the story to, a lawyer named Ted Griffin, and Wofford never called him to the stand.”

“Why not?”

“He just forgot, I guess. He doesn’t remember ever talking to Griffin.”

“You’re kidding me!” Pat said. “Is this Wofford Benton who
forgot about the other witness
still practicing?”

“Practicing? He’s a circuit judge! That’s the guy I went to see. And by the way, none of this evidence means that Wilson is innocent.”

“You’re losing me, Jack.”

“James Vernon told two people two different stories, so he could have been lying.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep on working and see how it all shakes out. I’ll talk to the other witness, Ted Griffin, the lawyer, and listen to what he has to say.”

Later that evening, as they both lay in bed, Pat revisited their earlier conversation.

“Has your gut feeling about Henry changed?”

“I don’t know. I’m still a little too confused.”

“Well, it’ll come to you, Jack.” She kissed him softly. Then they made love. As they moved slowly, rhythmically, Pat felt a sudden stabbing pain in her abdomen. Her body went into spasm and their lovemaking ended abruptly.

“What’s the matter?” Jack asked. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, honey—nothing like that. I think it’s that stomach pain from the gallbladder surgery. It’s never been this severe, though. Maybe it’s just the position we were in. I’m sure it will go away.”

“The same pain you’ve told Dr. Hawthorne about for almost a year now?”

“Well, it’s never been this bad. He says it can take up to a year for these things to heal. I have some pain medication but I just don’t like to take it.”

“Has Hawthorne given you a CT scan?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, honey: Hawthorne may be a good doctor, but he’s a primary-care guy. Let me set up an appointment with somebody I know in Miami, okay?”

“Jack, it’s not necessary. It’s just a minor pain.”

“I’m probably overreacting, but humor me, okay? Let me set up the appointment?”

“All right,” she said and nestled her head in his chest and went to sleep.

Jack stayed awake for a very long time.

8

Melvin Gertz was short and slight, and he had a huge nose that took over his small, narrow face, making him look a little lopsided. He also had a permanent five o’clock shadow, and to make matters worse, his blue doorman’s uniform always looked like he’d slept in it the night before.
No wonder this guy works the night shift
, Nick Walsh thought as Melvin opened the front door of the apartment building for him and Tony Severino.

Melvin wasn’t exactly overjoyed at seeing the two detectives either.

“I told the cop last night I don’t know nothing. People come and go. I open the door for them. That’s it.”

This was a guy who needed Nick’s special brand of persuasion. Nick didn’t need any prompting.

“Melvin, you think you don’t know anything, but you may have a valuable piece of information. You could give us something that could help us solve the whole case.”

“Me? Really? You guys are pulling my leg.”

“No we’re not,” said Nick. “It happens all the time. Remember the cabbie who delivered the baby in the backseat just last week in the Bronx? It was all over the news.”

Melvin was confused. “Yeah, I remember that, but what’s that got to do with me?”

“You give us information that blows open this case, you’re going to be a hero just like that cabdriver.”

“I already told ya, I don’t know nothing.”

“You let us be the judge of that. You just tell us everything you’ve seen. And when the TV cameras are on you and the news reporters are fighting for a quote, put in a good word for Tony and me, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Melvin said as he took a pen and pad from his uniform pocket. “What’s your names again?”

Nick noticed that Tony Severino had turned his back to them. His partner couldn’t keep from laughing at Melvin’s gullibility. Nick handed the doorman a card with both his and Tony’s name on it.

“That’s me, Detective Nicholas Walsh. You can call me Nick.”

“And you can call me Philly,” Melvin told Nick. “That’s what everybody calls me.”

“How come?” Nick asked.

“Well, when I was a kid, I loved Philly cheesesteaks. Everybody in the neighborhood started calling me Philly and the name stuck. And I kinda like it too. I never liked Melvin—never forgave my mother for that one.”

Nick knew what Melvin-Philly was talking about. A lot of guys in his neighborhood had nicknames that had stuck for life.

Once Philly got to feeling good and started talking, he was a treasure trove of information, as Nick knew he would be.

“Two nights before the murder, she comes home with this beautiful woman—tall, dark hair, a knockout.”

Nick interrupted. “You’re talking about Angie coming home with a woman?”

“Yeah, Angie. I didn’t think anything of it, you know. I figured they were just friends or something. Anyway, when I came on the next night, I was telling the day guy about how good-looking this broad was when the two of them come walking out dressed to the nines. They weren’t holding hands or anything like that but—what am I trying to say—they looked like they were together, if you know what I mean. Then the day guy tells me he didn’t see them all day. I don’t
want to say anything bad about anybody, you know what I mean—I’m just telling you what I saw.”

“Great, Philly. It’s exactly what we want—your observations.”

That was when Philly laid the big bombshell on Nick and Tony.

“Speaking of seeing things—there’s two gay guys on the first floor here who saw the guy who did it. They say he ran right by their window, stopped, and practically posed for them. They were pretty surprised that nobody came by to talk to them.”

Nick looked at Tony, who shrugged his shoulders, letting Nick know he didn’t have a clue.

“See what I mean, Philly?” Nick said. “We didn’t even know about those guys. This is the kind of stuff that’s gonna get you in the newspapers.”

“Well, I better get my uniform clean and get a haircut. My wife won’t believe this.”

Nick was trying to get a picture in his mind of the woman who was married to Melvin “Philly” Gertz.
Probably an old battle-axe who leads him around by the nose
, he thought as he looked at that nose again.
She’s certainly got a lot to work with
.

“Those two guys,” he asked, “would they happen to be in right now?”

“They sure are, and they’ll want to talk to you. I know you guys are macho cops and everything, but Paul and David, they’re really great.”

“I’ll take your word for that, Philly. Why don’t you give them a buzz and see if we can talk to them right now.”

“I sure will.” Philly picked up the telephone receiver on the wall. Before he started dialing the number, Nick slipped in another request.

“Do you think you could come down to the station when you get off and maybe look at a few pictures? See if you can identify this woman from some photographs we have at the station?” That lie always rolled off the tongue so easily:
“Maybe look at a few pictures”
—
actually, it’s several books full of pictures, and you may be there for a few hours!

“Sure thing,” Philly replied. “Whatever you guys want.”

Paul and David were both in their mid-thirties, clean-cut and very fit. Paul worked at home and had converted one of the two bedrooms into an office. Tony questioned Paul in his office while Nick and David chatted in the living room.

“We were sitting in the living room watching TV—I can’t remember what show it was. I think it was
NYPD Blue,
” Paul told Tony. “We heard this noise. It sounded like a blasting cap or a firecracker. You know, you don’t normally think, hey that’s a gunshot, because frankly I never heard a gunshot before except on TV. We both went to the window. We didn’t rush or anything—just kind of curious. The sound had been pretty close.”

“Did you see anything?” Tony asked.

“Yeah. We look out and to the left we see this car with the driver’s door open, and there’s a man lying on the ground. And there’s this other man leaning over him—he could have been checking him out to see if he was okay. I’m not saying he’s the person who shot the man—I couldn’t say that. I didn’t even know he was shot at the time. I found that out later. Anyway, the man who was leaning gets up and he walks toward us and then he sees us at the front window. He’s looking at us and we’re looking at him—and then he takes off. I wrote a description down right away. So did David. And we didn’t compare our descriptions. Nobody came to talk to us, so we figured you must have caught the guy.”

Paul handed Tony the description he’d written. Tony took a couple of minutes to read it, then looked up at Paul. “How far away from you was this man when you saw him?”

“Well, when we first saw him he was maybe twenty, thirty feet, but when he came closer, he was six or eight feet from us.”

“What about the lighting? Was it light enough for you to get a good look at him?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll show you before you leave. We have security lights on the side of the building. It’s like daylight out there.”

“Could you see if he had a gun on him?”

“I didn’t see a gun.”

“Did you see him take anything off the deceased, like a wallet or something?”