The Law of Second Chances

7

The next morning, Jack was a very conspicuous visitor at Rooster’s, sitting among the farmers as he waited for the judge to arrive. He’d taken a shower at the hotel that morning, but for the third day in a row he had to don the same clothes-clothes that had spent the previous day in Wofford Benton’s barn. That, however, actually made him fit in with the breakfast group. He stood out because he was a stranger.

Wofford came in about ten minutes after Jack and made the rounds of each table, shaking hands with everybody in the place.

“You can never stop politicking,” he said as he sat down at Jack’s table. “You forget to shake one hand and it could cost you a hundred votes in this town. Word travels like lightning.”

Ruthie, the waitress, came over and simply inquired if the judge was going to have “the usual.” Wofford nodded that he was. Jack had already given his order.

“Did you find anything interesting?” Wofford asked when Ruthie had left.

“I did,” Jack replied. “I found the transcript of your interview with James Vernon.”

“Well. .?”

“Well, Vernon told you that he was there when Clarence Waterman was murdered. Vernon claimed to have been there with two other guys he wouldn’t name, neither of whom was Henry Wilson. One of those other two guys supposedly slit Clarence Waterman’s throat.”

Wofford thought about what Jack had said for a moment. “It makes sense,” he finally said. “That’s why I called Vernon to the stand. I hope you noticed something though. Vernon told me he was there at the scene. He told Willie Smith, the prison snitch I called to the stand at trial, that he actually committed the murder. One of those statements is a lie, and James Vernon supposedly made both of them. Of course, Willie Smith could have been lying. It’s a problem with these criminals-they never tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

“There was something else, Judge.”

“Really?”

“Vernon said that he also told Ted Griffin, his lawyer on the case he was in jail for, about the Waterman murder. Did you know Ted Griffin?”

“Yeah, I knew him.” Ruthie arrived with the food, and both men were quiet for a moment. Jack was careful not to press the judge. He wanted Wofford to stew over the information and come to his own conclusions.

“I guess I should have anticipated that Vernon might take the Fifth and should have had Ted Griffin ready to testify at trial. He’d have made a much better witness than that snitch I had to use-Willie Smith,” he said finally.

Jack was glad Wofford had seen the problem on his own. It didn’t matter what version of the story James Vernon gave Ted Griffin. It would have been dramatic and compelling testimony to have a lawyer on the stand telling the story after Vernon refused to testify, and it might have made the difference in the outcome of the trial. Jack had another issue he wanted to address, however, before coming back to the judge’s mistake.

“Judge, did you know that neither David Hawke nor his cousin was ever prosecuted?” he asked.

“Who are they?” the judge asked.

“David Hawke was the only witness who testified against Henry Wilson. There was no other evidence to connect Wilson to the crime. Hawke was a convicted felon, and he testified that he drove his cousin and Henry to Clarence Waterman’s house and waited outside while they went in and killed him.”

“I vaguely recall that now,” Benton admitted.

“So you didn’t know that Hawke and his cousin were never prosecuted?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What I don’t understand is why Hawke would testify that he drove his cousin and Henry to Waterman’s house and waited while they killed him. It doesn’t make sense-Hawke implicating himself like that in the crime if he was actually innocent.”

Benton looked at Jack quizzically. “Are you a criminal defense attorney?”

“No, sir. I spent my career representing insurance companies. I’ve only taken up representing death-row inmates in the last couple of years.”

“I see-your personal penance for representing those insurance companies for so long?”

Jack smiled. “I guess that’s part of it.”

“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.