Conviction

SEVENTEEN

IN THE MORNING, HAVING SLEPT LITTLE, TERRI FLEW TO BIRMINGHAM, Alabama, where Tasha Bramwell Harding, a mother of two preschoolers, worked as an accountant for a health care company.

Unlike her approach to Betty Sims, Terri did not attempt surprise—other than to place a call which, from Tasha's first reaction, was deeply unsettling. But her voice recovered its businesslike reserve, and with a note of resignation, Tasha agreed to meet Terri after work on the patio of a local restaurant.

From the plane, Birmingham had not been what Terri had expected. Though squat steel mills jutted from the valley which contained the center city, they were dwarfed by the sleek glass towers of a city on the rise, their windows glinting in the afternoon sun. The summer air was hot and moist, and a lush garden surrounded the patio where Tasha—still the slender, pretty woman of Monk's description—awaited with a look of unease.

She was in her mid-thirties now, with straightened hair, a lineless face whose oldest features were her dark, watchful eyes, and the well-tailored veneer of a professional woman. Her husband, Johnny Moore had told Terri, was a buyer for the region's largest sporting goods store, and they had found a life for themselves in a city which, while bounded by white suburbs, was controlled by a black electorate led by a thriving middle class. The place, and the woman, seemed far away from the Bayview.

Terri extended her hand. "Teresa Paget," she said.

The woman's gaze, like her hand, was cool. "Tasha Harding."

Terri detected an emphasis on the surname, as if to signal that Tasha Bramwell had existed in some other life. They ordered two glasses of iced tea, saying little, Tasha clearly sizing up the woman who had dropped into her new life, dragging the past with her. When the waitress left, Terri said bluntly, "I guess you know Payton's dead."

"Yes." Tasha's voice quivered briefly, then became toneless. "I also know he confessed."

Terri could feel a wall drop, sealing off Tasha Harding from the woman who had loved, and lied for, Payton Price. "According to Payton," Terri said, "the second man was Eddie Fleet."

A look of disquiet, its cause indecipherable, flashed in Tasha's eyes. "And you're wondering if I know what really happened. Maybe something Payton told me."

"Maybe. But not just that. Anything—anything at all—which suggests that Fleet might have been guilty, and lied to save himself."

Tasha appraised her. "Well," she said, "I'd know about lying, wouldn't I."

"That was then, Tasha. Now Rennell's scheduled to die."

Tasha was silent. Eyes hooded, she took a long sip of tea. "I don't know what happened," she said at last. "Rennell was slow, Payton's shadow. I didn't see any meanness in him. But get him on crack, and Payton wanting to do something, and who knows. Rennell might have been dumb, but he came with a man's equipment."

This stark assessment, etched with sexual disdain, brought Terri up short. "You told Monk you'd never known Rennell to have sex with anyone. And according to Flora Lewis, it was the other man she saw—not Payton—who pulled Thuy Sen off the street. Does that sound like Rennell to you?"

Tasha weighed her answer—less, Terri sensed, out of uncertainty than out of doubt as to whether she should answer at all. "No," she said tersely. "I still have a hard time seeing him do that."

"What about Eddie Fleet?"

Tasha gave her a long, silent look. "What's the point of this?" she asked. "I don't know what happened. I lied because Payton asked me to. Now you're asking me to guess about what I lied about. What good will that do anyone—me and my family included?"

For Terri, the last phrase sounded a bell of warning, suggesting a reluctance deeper than Tasha had acknowledged. "Look," Terri said evenly, "they're about to execute Rennell. I know in my bones he's innocent. But unless I can piece together a compelling case—any way I can—I'll have to watch him die.

"Your 'lies' didn't just help Lou Mauriani convict a guilty man, they may have helped condemn an innocent one. I'll take anything you've got to give me—any impressions or scraps of information that might help me save Rennell. I don't care what it is, and for the sake of your own conscience, you shouldn't either. No matter how you try to escape it, his death will be part of your life."

A spark of resentment flashed in Tasha's eyes. "I don't see that. Whatever Payton did to that girl wasn't 'part of my life.' It was part of his, fifteen years ago, when he left me with no one. After that, I made my own life."

Terri stared at her. Softly, she said, "Your husband doesn't know anything, does he. Nothing about Payton, or perjury, or the death of a nine-year-old girl. Nothing but that you worked your way out of the Bayview, and now you're a wife and mother."

Tasha met Terri's eyes. But silence was her only answer.

"You do know something," Terri went on. "I don't know what it is. But you started sparring when I asked you about Fleet."

Tasha placed a finger to her lips, appraising Terri with a mute hostility. Her body seemed to perch on the edge of her chair—as though, Terri suddenly suspected, she were about to leave.

"Don't," Terri said. "Don't do this."

Tasha stared at her. "You come here," she said at last, "and you've got no idea. All you care about is what you want . . ."

Once more, Terri thought of Elena. "I'm Rennell's lawyer," she answered. "He's all I get to care about."

"Really. Have you got a family?"

"Yes."

"Then how would you feel if I barged into your life, asking you to spell out in some court paper stuff you don't want anyone to know?"

Mute, Terri considered her response. "Resentful. Angry. Scared. Maybe ashamed. There are things in my life I don't want anyone to know, things I feel guilty about. But my husband does know." Terri paused. "I guess, in the end, what I did would depend on how I wanted to feel about myself. And whether I thought I could bury shame through silence when someone else's life is at risk."

For the first time, Tasha looked down, eyes focused on the table.

"Eddie Fleet," Terri repeated.

For a long time, Tasha was silent. Finally, she said, "I don't know that whatever I've got to say makes any difference."

"But you're not sure it doesn't."

Tasha touched her lips again, and sorrow seeped into her gaze. "Promise me—unless it really matters, I don't want you to use this. And if you do, I want time to tell my husband." Her voice was raw with feeling. "I saw my name in the papers once, for lying. I don't want my family reading about this."

Though the words held little meaning, Terri said, "I promise."

* * *

A few nights after the brothers were arrested, Eddie Fleet knocked on Tasha Bramwell's door.

She had always despised him—there was something twisted about him, something treacherous she could not quite identify, though the insinuating way he looked at her was bad enough. Since Payton's arrest, she had barely slept, and Eddie's gold-toothed smile made her skin crawl.

"What you want?"

His smile broadened. "A little conversation, sweet thing."

"Save it for the police," she snapped. "I know you lied to them about Payton. Now I may never see him outside of jail, or a coffin."

Eddie shrugged. "What's a man supposed to do, po-lice on your ass day and night. Didn't tell no lies about Payton, either. You just got to face the facts, sweet thing."

Tasha quivered with disbelief and anger. "Go away."

Eddie's grin broadened, as if he were struck by a new idea. "Maybe I could do that. Just go away. Without me, the police won't have no case, and your man be back in your arms. Not to mention other places."

Tasha hoped she did not understand him. "Then go," she said. "No one stopping you."

He leaned in the doorway. "There's the one person stoppin' me," he said softly. "Till she sends me on my way."

Tasha's grip tightened on the door. "Consider yourself sent."

Eddie gripped her wrist. "Not quite yet."

"Stop, or I'll tell Payton."

"What's he gonna do," Eddie said coolly. "He's in jail, and there be only two people hold the key. Me, and you."

Tasha writhed in pain. "Let me go."

Eddie loosened his grasp but did not release her. "You got a choice, Tasha. Do what I want, and you'll get your boyfriend back. No one ever know but us."

Tasha could not speak. The intimacy in the way he spoke her name sickened her. "Don't need to say a thing," Eddie continued quietly. "All you need to do is let me in, and listen."

When Tasha did not answer, he pushed her inside, closing the door behind them.

"You want him back," he said. "I can see it. So I'm gonna spell out just what you need to do to make that happen."

He told her.

Undressing, Tasha willed her soul outside her body.

Eddie unzipped his pants. "On your knees," he said. "Do me like I know you did for him."

* * *

As Terri listened, sickened, Tasha bowed her head. "Eddie lied to me," she said. "I never could tell Payton. All I could do was lie when Payton asked me to. 'Cause I loved him."

To Terri, her voice was that of the younger Tasha, bereft and without defenses. Filled with her own fear and anger directed at Eddie Fleet, Terri struggled to discern the meaning of what she had just learned.

"Oral sex," Terri said at last. "That's all he wanted."

Tasha nodded.

As with Thuy Sen, Terri thought, and Lacy Sims. But though she could not yet parse the uses of Tasha's story, she felt the undercurrent of her own misgivings.

"I'm sorry," Terri told her.

Tasha shook her head. "You haven't heard it all. There's only one thing I know for sure—Eddie Fleet's as evil as any man I ever met."

* * *

The night after Payton and Rennell were sentenced to death, Eddie returned to her apartment.

This time she peered through the peephole and saw him. Tears of grief and rage ran down her face.

"I know you're here," he said through the door, voice deep but soft with laughter. "Figure you be needin' a man now, and wantin' what I have to give you."

Tasha leaned against the door, teeth gritted. "You lied to me."

She heard Eddie laugh aloud. "You knew I was. And I know you miss it from me, baby. You be comin' round."

A week later, Tasha Bramwell left the Bayview, never to return.

* * *

"I didn't want to go back there," Tasha said. "I still don't." She paused, voice quieter. "I hate the person I was. But I outran the evil of that place, the evil of that man. I don't want to go back there, dragging my family with me."

Terri placed her hand on Tasha's wrist. "If you do," she promised, "it will be to save a life."

* * *

It was two in the morning before she sat with Chris, the signed declaration from Betty and Lacy Sims spread across their breakfast table, and told him what she had learned from Tasha Harding.

"Forced oral copulation," Chris said. "Jealousy toward Payton of Iago-like proportions. There's a pattern. But you know what the problems are."

"Yes. Tasha's already committed perjury. She knows nothing about Fleet being a pedophile, or anything that bears directly on Thuy Sen's death. In fact, Fleet told her—truthfully—that Payton was involved."

Chris nodded. "And said nothing about his own role, or Rennell's. I can hear Pell now: assuming that Tasha's to be believed at all, what Fleet told her confirmed his story. He'll say the whole thing's just sexual one-upmanship between a couple of crack dealers, evidence of nothing but our own desperation."

Drained, Terri finished her coffee. "I feel sorry for her. But our only obligation is to Rennell. Should we use this?"

"Not yet. Let's hope we find something else."

The next morning, based on the declarations from Lacy and Betty Sims, the Pagets began preparing a third habeas petition for the California Supreme Court.