Ghost writer, p.31
Ghost Writer, page 31
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re kidding.”
Esther took more than two sips of her drink. “And remember when we let Mitchner go? He wanted us to give a letter to one of the prisoners. That letter went to Joseph James.”
“Esther, I think we—”
“Don’t think anything yet,” Esther said bluntly. “Last time you went with your feelings we released a guilty man. Why don’t you leave the intuitions up to me, okay?”
I lowered my head, but my mind was moving fast. “What are their execution dates?”
“A week from yesterday.”
I was aware my mouth was hanging wide open. “We have less than a week, Esther?”
She nodded. “And we have to make the right decision. When we ask the judge to delay the execution and review the case of the prisoner we think to be innocent, the other one will be executed on schedule. And that’s if the judge even agrees to take a look. After the Mitchner episode, our chances are slim.” The waiter appeared with our plates. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
I looked at a plate full of buttered snails and said, “Why wait until tomorrow?”
Oliver Kittle, a small, stiff man with a thick mustache and puffy eyes, greeted me cordially as we entered his small, mildly decorated office. Esther had decided it would be best for me to go by myself. It would draw less attention, since the media was hounding her at every corner. He switched on a single light that hung overhead and sat down behind his metal desk.
“Warden Kittle, thank you for seeing me this evening.”
He smiled and nodded. “What can I do for you, Agent Spade?” His accent was Deep South.
“Well, it may not be ‘agent’ for long. But that’s neither here nor there.”
Warden Kittle lifted up his chin. “They fired you for this whole mess, did they?”
“Not yet.” I scooted forward in my seat. “But I’m not here about me. As you know, there is a debate as to whether or not one of the men on your death row is innocent.”
The warden glanced up at his television set that was still on the news but turned down. “Hard to miss, Mr. Spade. The media’s been callin’ so much we had to put in a second phone line. I refuse to speak to any of them. It’s not my job. But the DA’s sure got herself in a mess this time, hasn’t she?”
I scratched my nose. “Yes, well, I believe the person who is responsible for this mess is Dietrich Donomar.”
“Yes, I heard that, too. That he’s claimin’ he killed one of the people that one of my prisoners is accused of killin’. That he’s had some sort of remorse for it all and doesn’t want to see an innocent man die for what he did.”
I folded my hands together to keep my fingers from shaking. “Well, sir, it isn’t quite that noble. Donomar is a sick, cruel killer. But we do believe that he is telling the truth about this. He’s trying to get us to choose the wrong man. Esther Caladaras, of course, wants to get to the bottom of this. That’s why I’m here.”
The warden stood, went to a file drawer, and pulled out two folders. He set them gently on his desk, found his glasses in his shirt pocket, put them on, and then looked at me. “Mr. Spade, I am responsible for the well-being of these prisoners. All of them. I am responsible for keeping the men on death row alive so they can be executed. Do you understand that?”
I hesitated. “I think so.”
“So if you’re going to sit here and ask me if I think one of them is innocent, I cannot answer that. I cannot afford to think of these men as guilty or innocent. I must think of them as guilty. All of them.” He opened the folder. “This is the body of Mamie White, the girlfriend of Mr. Smith.” He handed me the photo. It was hard to look at. She was horribly beaten and looked as if she had been strangled. Warden Kittle handed me another photo. “This is Christy Krennel, the young college student who was killed by Joseph James.”
This photo was equally hard to look at. The body was naked and in an awkward position, bloody and bruised. I swallowed and held both pictures up.
“Warden Kittle, are you familiar with these cases?”
“As much as I need to be.”
“Tell me about Miss White.”
He glanced at the photo. “Drug user. Had a background in prostitution.”
“What about this other woman? Christy Krennel?”
“Was majoring in nursing. Good student. Plenty of friends. Popular.”
I looked at the photo. I noticed she had a belly button ring and a large tattooed heart on her left shoulder. “She looks a little rebellious to me.”
The warden smiled. “From what I understand, Mr. Spade, that’s just a trend for girls her age. From all accounts, she was a more-than-decent human being.”
I nodded and handed the photos back to him. “Tell me about Mr. James. I hear he is a model prisoner.”
The warden silently filed his folders away before turning back to me. “Yes. It is true.”
“Tell me about him.”
The warden shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what more there is to say. He hasn’t gotten into any trouble since he’s been here. That’s not unusual. Some men are like that.”
I stiffened my posture. “Sir, there’s something you’re holding back.” With twenty years in the FBI, I could tell when people were holding out.
The warden took off his glasses and brushed his mustache with two fingers. Then he said, “All right, Mr. Spade. I’ll tell you about Mr. James. He’s extraordinary.”
I held my breath. “Extraordinary?”
“Yes. I’ve never met anyone like him. When I’m near him, there’s just . . . just something about him. It’s, well, it’s unexplainable.”
“Please try,” I urged. “I understand that many of the prisoners on death row ask for him instead of the prison chaplain the day of their execution.”
“It’s true. And there hasn’t been a man on my death row who hasn’t been changed by him. At nights, sometimes, I hear them all singing old hymns . . . hymns I haven’t heard in years. And when I walk down death row, there’s a peace, even on the day of execution. There’s a peace wherever he is.”
I stood up, unable to sit any longer. “Has he been that way since the day you brought him in?”
“Yes, he has.” The warden adjusted his shirt and tie. “It’ll be a sorry day when I have to execute that fellow.”
I turned to him. “But you must think he’s the one who’s innocent, Warden!”
The warden stared hard at me. “I don’t have that luxury. If I thought about any one of those men being innocent, I would not be able to come to work every day. Do you understand that?” His tone was flat and hard.
“Not completely,” I admitted.
“Of course you don’t,” he said, his voice growing anxious. “No one can understand that.” He stood and pointed his finger at me. “It is not my job to decide who is guilty and innocent! It is that woman DA’s job. And she’s the one who put them here in the first place!”
I held my tongue for a moment and waited for the warden to catch his breath. He did and indicated he was better with a small, apologetic smile.
“Warden,” I said carefully, “you must at least have some feelings toward Mr. James. Some . . . instincts.”
The warden’s hands made their way into the pockets of his cheap pants, and he said, “I know he was found standing over her body, covered in her blood. I also know he’s an extraordinary man who I will be sad to see die. That is all I can tell you, Mr. Spade. Good night.”
I shook his hand and then went to the door. As I turned the knob he stopped me by saying, “One more thing, Mr. Spade.”
“Yes?”
“Mr. James has never said he was innocent.”
I paused, a little taken back. “But I thought—”
“He’s just never admitted being guilty.”
“What does that mean?”
The warden’s hands pressed down onto his desk. “Nothing to me. But maybe something to you.”
The next day Esther and I walked through the prison gates and into the main waiting area. Behind us a horde of media had gathered and shouted questions at Esther. The guards let her through and kept them out.
“So we have one man who says he’s not guilty and another man who doesn’t say either way.” Esther clicked her long fingernails together as we waited for the warden. “Why wouldn’t you say either way?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. Especially since he’s the one who seems the more promising human being.”
We watched as a prisoner was escorted in full chains past us. “I remember him, you know,” Esther said softly.
“Who?”
“James.” She stared down at the dull tile below us. “I remember he wouldn’t take the stand, even though his lawyer proclaimed him innocent. Not too unusual. The story went that he had found the young girl late that night inside his furniture shop, half dead. He tried to give her CPR, and that was why he had her blood all over him.”
I frowned. “Did he call the police?”
“No. The owner of the shop next door said he saw James’s back door open and thought he’d check it out to make sure everything was okay. Inside he found James standing over her. She was dead.”
“Did he try to flee?”
“No. He did nothing. He said nothing. Nothing at all in his own defense.”
“Not exactly an argument for innocence.”
Esther sighed. “He was just like what the warden said. I remember looking at him in the courtroom and there was just something . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence. “Anyway, if you’re innocent, you say you’re innocent, and that’s all there is to it.”
Warden Kittle came around the corner and we stood. He shook my hand first. “Hello, Mr. Spade.” He looked at Esther. “Ms. Caladaras.”
“Are we ready to see Mr. James now?” Esther asked.
The warden shook his head. “Mr. James doesn’t wish to see anyone. I’m sorry.”
Esther and I looked at each other. Esther said, “Did you tell him that I am the DA and we’re here to talk to him about his innocence—”
“I told him, Ms. Caladaras. He isn’t interested.”
I scratched my head and thought hard. Esther was at a loss. Then I asked, “What about Lincoln Smith? Can we talk with him now?”
The warden paused and then said, “Let me make a phone call. Please wait here.”
After a few moments he returned and said, “Yes, Mr. Smith would like to see you.”
We followed the warden down three long white corridors before we came to the visitors’ area. We asked for a private room and the warden obliged. Before we were even seated, Lincoln Smith, a tall white man with no front teeth and long, oily hair was guided into the room, seated at the table, and chained to it.
I waited for Esther to begin. “Sir, you can have your attorney present. You know that, don’t you?” Lincoln Smith sat silently. Esther pulled out a note pad and looked uneasy. “Mr. Smith, I’m Esther Caladaras and this is—”
“I know who you are,” he said abruptly. “I seen both of ya on the television set.” He looked at Esther. “I remember you in that courtroom.”
Esther fueled her own confidence from somewhere inside. “That’s right. I’m the district attorney. I prosecuted you for the murder of Mamie White.”
“I didn’t do it. I said that from da beginnin’. ” He looked at her note pad. “Write that down.”
“So you say,” Esther said smoothly. “You told Harley Waters you were going to kill her for cheating on you.”
“People talk, missy. Don’t ya’ll know that?” He pulled at a piece of his hair.
“Her blood was found in the trunk of your car.”
“I was set up. I didn’t do it.”
“You were a drug dealer, were you not, Mr. Smith?”
“Yeah. That don’t mean I killed the woman.”
“The woman? She was your girlfriend, Mr. Smith. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”
Lincoln Smith looked around suddenly and then bit his fingernail. “I wasn’t too sad she was gone, if that’s what you mean. She was cheatin’ on me. I knew it. She deserved it.”
“She deserved to die for cheating on you? You must think awfully highly of yourself, Mr. Smith.”
I smiled. Lincoln frowned, not completely following. “Don’t know what you mean, missy. She’s a prostitute. In the Bible, women—they were stoned to death for it. What’s the big deal?”
Esther took more notes and then said, “You say you were set up. By whom?”
Lincoln Smith’s face twisted into an expression of panic. His breath became shallow, and he looked us both in the eyes as he leaned forward. “I seen all this on the news. I know what’s goin’ on. And I tell ya somethin’ else. That Donomar fella, he’s the one that killed Mamie. I heard her talkin’ ’bout him. She’d talk about some of her clients sometimes. I couldn’t stand it, but she said it was her work. The night ’fore she was killed, she said she was with some creepy dude who was really tall. Ain’t that Donomar? Ain’t it?”
Esther glanced at me with disdain and then back at Lincoln. “Why didn’t you mention this before, Mr. Smith?”
“Before? There wasn’t nothin’ to mention. She had a ton of clients. I hated all of them.”
Esther stood. “Thank you. That is all.”
“All? You don’t believe me? Is that it? Is that it?” Two guards came in at the commotion. “I swear it’s true! I swear on my mama’s grave!”
Esther was closing her briefcase when I said, “I have one more question.” I avoided Esther’s stare and looked directly at Lincoln.
“That crazy serial killer killed Mamie and set me up. That’s what happened!”
I leaned forward on the table and looked Lincoln Smith hard in the eyes, so hard he looked away twice. “Lincoln, do you think Joseph James is innocent of his crime?”
Lincoln’s eyes widened with surprise and he looked over at Esther, his expression suddenly turning to worry. “What?”
“You know him, don’t you?” I continued and Esther sat back down.
“ ’Course I do. He’s right next to my cell.”
I nodded. “He’s accused of killing a college girl. Do you think he did it?”
Lincoln’s hands wrapped around his chains. “What’s that got to do with me?”
I acted remarkably cool despite the pressure I was feeling in my chest. “Don’t you know it’s got everything to do with you, Lincoln? One of the two of you is innocent. Either you or him.”
“Keaton, I don’t think—”
I waved Esther off with a hand. Lincoln’s eyes sparked with indecision. “It’s quite simple. If you get off, Joseph James will lose his life next week. If he gets off, you will. Who deserves it?”
Lincoln’s eyes shined with a trace of moisture. “I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die.”
“That’s not the question, Lincoln. The question is, do you think Joseph James is innocent of his crime?”
“He never said he was,” Lincoln breathed quietly.
My tone tightened. “That’s not what I asked you. Do you think he’s innocent?”
Lincoln’s eyes met mine. “He’s a good man, that Joseph James. He’s a good man.” Lincoln glanced over at Esther. “He . . . he taught me to read. Did you know that? I read an entire chapter from the Bible all by myself. In the King James.”
I lowered my voice to keep things smooth. “Is a man like Joseph James capable of murdering a young woman, Lincoln?”
Lincoln didn’t hear the question. “He’s a good singer. Did you know that? The night that Mikey was executed we all sang ‘Amazin’ Grace’ together. All of us.”
“You’re not answering my question. Did Joseph James kill that girl? Or is he going to be executed for someone else’s crime? Dietrich Donomar’s crime?”
I barely got the last word out when Lincoln slammed his fists down on the table. The guards rushed over to restrain him. Esther’s chair slid back five feet, but for some reason I didn’t even flinch.
“I don’t wanna die!” he yelled. “I’m innocent! Donomar killed Mamie! I didn’t do it! I swear! I swear on my mama’s grave!”
The guards escorted Lincoln Smith out of the room as he continued to yell. I rubbed my eyes and turned to find Esther. She was standing above me.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” she growled.
I stared up at her. “What do you mean?”
“You think I run some kind of crazy circus here, Keaton? You think anything Lincoln Smith tells us about Joseph James is in the least bit reliable?”
I stood so she wouldn’t tower over me. “It was worth a shot. After all, these two men are dueling to see who will live.”
“And pitting them against each other isn’t going to move our case along any faster. Besides, the whole thing is tainted anyway.”
“What?” I followed her out of the room.
“You heard him. He concocted the whole story off the media. Nothing he says can be reliable now. The same goes for James.”
I grabbed at her as she rounded a corner. “Are you saying this is it? You’re not going to do anything else?”
“My hands are tied,” she said dryly and wiggled loose of my grip. I stood breathless as she exited out the doors without me.
The chapter ended and Jonathan set down the pages. The story was good. Very good. He couldn’t imagine where in the world Clyde was going with all this, but he sure hoped he had finished it. Before he could read more, Eleanor and Kathy made their way into the living room. Eleanor carried a warm brownie on a plate.
“Working on a holiday!” she scolded, handing him his brownie.
