Turning Angel (27 page)

”That sounds a bit like Shad Johnson, but not completely.“

”Shad is schizophrenic,“ says Quentin Avery. ”He began as the first type, but failure has pushed him into becoming the second.“

I’m about to ask what the third type of black leader is when Quentin says, ”Shad actually despises his own people. Did you know that? Not all of them, but the ones who most need help. He blames them for their own misfortunes, just like white racists do.“

I nod. ”I’ve heard Shad speak disparagingly of local blacks. He actually used the term ‘bone-dumb bluegums’ in front of me once.“

Quentin bends over to rub his phantom foot. ”That doesn’t surprise me at all. There’s a lot of self-hatred at the root of that language. He’s anti-Semitic, too. He maintains close ties with Louis Farrakhan. It’s sad to see in a man of Shad’s intellectual gifts.“

”Are you all right?“ I ask, as Avery seems to be in some distress.

”I’m fine. Damn diabetes.“ He straightens up. ”The thing is, Penn, to be a genuine black leader, you’ve got to love that lazy, weak-minded brother fishing on the highway bridge with a cane pole in the middle of the workday. If you don’t, you ain’t gonna help nobody.“

I remain silent, trying to decide if I agree with him.

”It’s like Jesus,“ Avery muses. ”Jesus loved the harlot and the sinner. You want to save a whole people, you got to start at the bottom, not in the king’s antechamber. Or in the mayor’s office, as it were.“

Does Avery know that Shad has his eye on the mayor’s office again? ”What’s the third type of black leader?“

A look of regret settles into the lawyer’s face. ”The prophetic leader. That’s Martin, Malcolm…Ella Baker. Or James Baldwin, in the intellectual sphere. Jesse Jackson’s the only recent political leader who had an opportunity to fill that role, but he faltered after 1988. The current generation has produced
no
leaders of this type, much less of that caliber. I’m watching Barak Obama, but I’m not sure yet. The reasons have more to do with the pervasiveness of mass market culture and the failure of the black middle class than with any personal failure.“ Avery waves his hand. ”But that’s not why we’re here. I only mention this because it underpins my feelings toward the district attorney.“

He reaches into his shirt pocket and removes an expensive-looking cigar, which he puts between his teeth but does not light. ”The minute I heard Mayor Jones was terminally ill, I knew Shad would declare for mayor again. Five years ago, he left Goldstein, Henry, in Chicago—that’s a top firm, with many influential black lawyers—and he left there bragging how he was gonna come down South and win the mayor’s office, then use that as a stepping-stone to the governor’s office in Jackson. From the governor’s office, Shad figured, he could reach the Senate. After that, who knows? But he failed his very first test. Wiley Warren beat him, even with all the black celebrities Shad flew down here. Well, young Shadrach wasn’t
about
to go back to Chicago with his tail between his legs. So he ran for D.A. and won. But that’s not what he wants. No, sir. He wants what he told his partners he was coming down here to get. Now, this town desperately needs a good mayor. But Shadrach Johnson isn’t it. Last time out, he promised a color-blind meritocracy and a rejuvenated city. That didn’t get him the mayor’s chair, so this time he’s putting out the word that he’s stepping to an all-black band. Every city position will be filled by a black candidate, qualified or not. Friends are good, family’s better. He’s gonna give whitey a taste of what it’s like to be on the bottom. A lot of local blacks will vote for Shad just because of skin color, but that would be a mistake.“

”I understand your feelings about Shad, Quentin. But I don’t think a courtroom defeat in this case will be enough to keep him out of the mayor’s office.“

”You’re right about that. No, I’m relying on Shad to do the critical damage himself.“

”What do you mean?“

Avery gives me a rogue’s smile. ”Let’s say, God forbid, that Dr. Elliott did kill that poor girl. And let’s assume that a mountain of evidence piles up that seems to prove that he did. Penn, I believe that even in that circumstance, Shad won’t be able to let well enough alone. He won’t trust in the evidence. He’ll do something unethical—maybe even illegal—to stack things in his favor. To make the verdict a lock. And you’ll be right there to expose him. Then
my
personal end will have been accomplished.“

A surge of optimism courses through me, but just as quickly it dissipates. ”Quentin, I’m very encouraged by this meeting. But I’m also worried. You understand the overall situation much better than I do, but the guy you brought me here to meet knows nothing yet. And time is a factor in this case. Shad’s in a big hurry.“

”The guy I brought you to meet knows more than you think.“

”How’s that?“

Avery takes the cigar out of his mouth and smiles. ”He’s sitting right in front of you.“

It takes me several moments to absorb the full implications of this. ”Are you telling me you plan to defend Drew at trial? Personally?“

”I do.“

”Because of Shad Johnson.“

”That’s right. But my motive shouldn’t bother Dr. Elliott too much. He’s gonna get a better defense than he ever dreamed.“

I sit silently, trying to take this in. ”I know you’re right about that. But…“

”What?“

”Drew doesn’t seem to grasp the jeopardy he’s in. Or doesn’t care much, if he does. I think Kate’s death put him into some kind of shock, and he hasn’t come out of it yet.“

Avery chuckles softly. ”Don’t worry. When he sees those twelve supposed peers sitting in the jury box staring at him like he’s Charles Manson, it’ll sink in. In a big damned hurry, too.“

The realization that a legend like Quentin Avery has taken up the cross I thought I was going to have to bear alone brings relief unlike any I’ve experienced in years. ”I tell you, Quentin, I feel like a new man.“

”Don’t celebrate yet. I’ve got a feeling we got more bad news coming.“

”What kind?“

”Evidence. Evidence that won’t help the doctor any.“

I nod slowly. ”I hope you’re wrong.“

”Sometimes I am. But it happens less and less, the older I get.“

From anyone else’s lips this would sound arrogant, but from Quentin Avery it doesn’t.

”It’s one of the paradoxes of old age,“ he adds. ”Your prick gets weaker but your reasoning gets stronger.“ He laughs richly. ”The two must be related. Maybe intelligence is more a matter of focus than anything else.“

”You could be right.“

I drop my palms flat on the desk with a slap. ”What do you want me to do?“

He ticks off a list on his long fingers. ”Reserve some rooms at the Eola Hotel. A suite for me, plus four or five regular rooms for offices and overflow. I’ll need a retainer of sixty thousand dollars, and another fifty thousand deposited in an account for expenses. That’s just to start.“

”Consider it done,“ I say, praying that Ellen Elliott doesn’t have control of Drew’s liquid assets.

”That’s what I like,“ Quentin says, ”a man who knows what talent is worth.“

”It’s easy when it’s somebody else’s money.“

”You’ve got a point there.“

”What about me personally? How do you see my role?“

The old lawyer purses his lips like a man trying to figure out the function of an unfamiliar machine. ”Let’s call you my chief investigator. You’ve shown a flair for it, which is only what I’d expect from a former prosecutor. Come to think of it, you’re the enemy by constitution. But I’d rather have you inside the tent pissing out.“

Without preamble, Quentin Avery lifts his cane and struggles to his feet—or to his foot, I guess.

”Let me walk you to your car,“ I offer.

”No, thanks. I’ve got somebody to do that.“

Nevertheless, I accompany him to the waiting room. Avery walks with great purpose despite his limp. When we open the door, a beautiful black woman of about forty stands and starts forward.

”Is this your daughter?“ I ask, as she holds the front door open for us.

They both laugh.

”Doris is my wife,“ says Quentin, limping outside. ”Penn Cage, Doris Avery.“ He winks at me. ”Now you see why I spend so much time at home.“

”Yes, I do,“ I say awkwardly, wondering if Quentin has more sympathy for Drew than I thought. At probably thirty-five years older than his wife, he must view a separation of twenty-three years as relatively minor.

As though reading my mind, Quentin says, ”Kate Townsend was seventeen; we can’t let ourselves forget that.“

”No,“ I agree.

”Sexual battery is a statutory offense,“ he says gravely, ”and Dr. Elliott could well get thirty years for it, no matter what happens with the murder case.“

”I understand.“

”
But“
—Quentin winks at me—”if any lawyer can talk a jury into a little human understanding on the issue of younger women, I’m your man.“

I can’t help but laugh. ”I’ll bet you are.“

We proceed slowly to the parking lot, Doris supporting Quentin’s right side by bracing his right arm. She looks strong, with taut calves showing beneath her skirt.

”Now that we’ve got things settled,“ Quentin says, ”I have one question for you, Penn.“

”Shoot.“

”What’s the real reason you’re not handling this case? Your friend’s life is at stake, and you’ve got the chops to defend him. I
suppose
you might have the good sense and detachment to realize you shouldn’t handle it, but I don’t think that’s it.“ He looks hard into my eyes. ”About the only reason I can see you giving it up is that you know he’s guilty.“

I shake my head. ”That’s not it. The truth is, I’m thinking of running for mayor myself in the special election. And if I go to war with Shad to defend Drew—and lose—I’ll lose the election, too. So…maybe the future of the town is more important to me than Drew’s fate, as terrible as that sounds.“

Quentin Avery appraises me for several moments. Then there’s a wrinkling around his eyes, a glint in his pupils, and finally his lips break open to reveal his shining white teeth. ”Boy, you’re gonna put a big old kink in Shad’s world, aren’t you? He’s gonna want to kill you before the month is out.“

Doris stops us at a shining new Mercedes and opens the passenger door.

”What do you think about me running for mayor?“ I ask.

Quentin shrugs. ”Don’t know you that well yet.“

”Fair enough. What do you think about another white mayor instead of a black one?“

The renowned lawyer chuckles and looks down into the valley of kudzu behind my father’s office. ”What I’d like to see is a
good
mayor. This town’s in a world of hurt, and it’s got no time for racial ideology. It’s got no time for anything but getting down to the business of business. Maybe you’re the man for the job, and maybe you ain’t. All I know is, you’re the man who put Del Payton’s killer behind bars, and that’s more than I could do back in 1968.“ He grins. ”So I’m willing to give you a
look,
anyway.“

Quentin climbs into the passenger seat, settles himself, then peers up at me. ”I sense you’ve got a question for me, too. Maybe more than one.“

He’s right. I want to ask him why he seemed to abandon the civil rights movement in the 1980s and ’90s to pursue personal injury and class action cases, which greatly enriched him but did little for the people he professes to love. But I don’t dare offend him. Drew can’t afford to lose a lawyer of this caliber, not with the system already aligned against him. ”I’m just trying to get my mind around all this,“ I reply, not untruthfully.

”No, you’ve got questions,“ insists Avery. ”But we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming days. After you get your confidence up, you can grill me to your heart’s content.“ He faces forward and laughs. ”Tell your daddy I’ll see him later in the week.“

Doris Avery closes the door, then takes me by the upper arm, pulls me to the rear of the Mercedes, and speaks in a low but intense voice.

”I want to make you aware of something, Mr. Cage.“

”Please call me Penn.“

”All right, Penn. Quentin’s in a lot worse shape than he pretends to be. Diabetes is a terrible disease, and it’s taken more away from him than a foot. A lot more than he’ll admit.“

Doris Avery’s eyes are wet with private pain, but she doesn’t cry. ”I’m not going to tell him not to take this case. But I’m telling
you
—don’t push him too hard. I’ve already got a lot fewer years to spend with him than I’d like. And he gave far too much of himself over the years to people who didn’t appreciate it to kill himself doing the same thing now.“

”I hear you, Mrs. Avery.“

She nods once, then turns and walks to the driver’s door. Then she smiles, just a little. ”You can call me Doris from now on. Good day to you.“

Chapter
20

Driving up the curving entrance to St. Stephen’s Prep, I realize I’ve given Sonny Cross all the time I can afford. I voice-dial his cell phone as I park in front of the high school. He answers after five rings.

”Yeah?“

”It’s Penn, Sonny. It’s six p.m. I’m about to go into the board meeting. You have anything for me?“

A squawk like a muffled yell comes through my phone. A cutoff grunt follows.

”Soon,“ hisses Cross.

”Sonny? What the fuck was that?“

”Don’t know. Must be your cell phone. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.“

Something’s going down, but I don’t have time to press him on it. ”You’ve got nothing on Marko Bakic?“

”Right. As of now.“

”Don’t forget to call me.“

The St. Stephen’s boardroom looks just as it did on the night I learned Kate Townsend was dead. The ten faces gathered around the rosewood table are more than somber. It’s as though some catastrophic threat faces the entire town, and we are meeting to consider extreme responses. Holden Smith opened the meeting before I arrived, making it clear that my status in this group is now equivocal. Only the headmistress, Jan Chancellor, looks happy to see me arrive.

”Sit down, Penn,“ says Holden. ”Afraid we had to start without you.“

I sit but don’t respond.