Читать книгу Cry Me A River - Ernest Hill - Страница 11

Captain Jack’s office was located on Elm Street in a converted building just north of the post office and just west of the courthouse. Like most streets in Brownsville, Elm was not marked with a street sign, and like most streets, it was not difficult to find. Not only did Elm cross Main Street, but it was also one of the streets forming the popular configuration the locals called the Courthouse Square.

When Tyrone turned off Main Street onto Elm, he did not park at Captain Jack’s office. Instead, he drove to the end of the street, turned left onto Bowman Avenue and pulled into the large parking lot surrounding the courthouse. In his mind, things were moving too fast. It was as if he could hear the ticking of an internal clock, and he could see the sun literally rising higher into the sky. Death was on her way. She had selected her prey. The day had been chosen. The hour had been set.

What did one do when his fate had been sealed? What did he do when there was no place to run? What did he do when there was no place to hide? What did he do when there was nothing to do?

Feeling powerless, Tyrone pushed the door open and stepped to the ground. The bright yellow sun had disappeared behind a huge white cloud, and the warm morning air had given way to a cool summer breeze. Nervous and anxious, he hurried to the street, checked for cars, then dashed to the other side. He looked at the building into which he would enter. It was old and poorly kept. There was a small metal placard on the solid wood door bearing the name Jack Elroy Johnson, Attorney-At-Law. Tyrone flinched; the door opened, and a young white woman came out followed by a middle-aged white man. Tyrone nodded and spoke, then stepped aside. They cleared the doorway, and a second white man appeared. He looked at Tyrone, and Tyrone waited for him to speak.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. His voice was strong and professional, and his tone was pleasant but authoritative.

“I’m looking for Captain Jack,” Tyrone said, then quickly added, “I mean, Mr. Jack … I mean, Mr. Johnson.”

“I’m Johnson,” the man said. “How can I help you?”

“I heard you my son’s lawyer.”

Captain Jack furrowed his brow and tilted his head, but did not speak, and Tyrone realized that he was waiting for him to say more.

“Marcus Stokes,” Tyrone said, then paused.

“Ah, yes,” Captain Jack said. “Come on in.”

Tyrone edged through the door, observing Captain Jack as he entered. He was an older man in his late sixties or early seventies. He wasn’t fat, but he was slightly overweight. His silver hair was combed to the back and neatly cropped just above his ears. His clothes were neat, but they did not appear to be expensive. He wore a plain white shirt, with a bow tie, and a pair of dark-colored slacks that were secured with a pair of bright red suspenders.

“Come this way,” he instructed.

Tyrone followed him through the small room into an even smaller room.

“Take a seat,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Tyrone took a seat in a plain wooden chair that had been positioned before an old oak desk that seemed too large for the quaint, little, windowless room. Captain Jack excused himself, and Tyrone looked over his surroundings. Besides the chair that he sat in, and the file cabinet behind the desk, the only other furniture was a bookshelf that someone had set in the far right corner. The papered walls were bare save for a clock that hung on one wall and an arrangement of frames containing Captain Jack’s diplomas that hung on the other.

Tyrone heard a toilet flush followed by the sound of water running. Then he saw the door open, and he watched Captain Jack enter the room and take a seat behind the desk. The lawyer closed a folder that was sitting before him, pulled open a drawer, and slid it inside.

“So, you would be Tyrone Stokes, correct?” he said, after he had closed the desk drawer and leaned back in his chair.

“Yes, sir,” Tyrone said. “That’s me.”

“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked, then waited.

“I want to know where things stand with my son,” Tyrone said.

“Not good,” Captain Jack told him. “The court handed down its ruling late yesterday evening. Our appeal was denied. The verdict stands.”

“Now what?” Tyrone asked, then slid to the edge of his chair and stared deep into Captain Jack’s eyes, anxiously waiting to hear some clever legal trick that would save his son’s life.

“We will petition the governor for a stay of execution.”

“And then what?”

“That’s all we have left.”

“Will it work?”

Captain Jack did not answer immediately. He cupped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

“He is not showing any remorse,” he said after a brief silence.

“Because he didn’t do it.” Tyrone was adamant.

“There will be no stay without contrition.”

“So he’ll have to lie to live?”

There was silence.

“Mr. Stokes, even then, he would most certainly die.”

“Do you believe he’s innocent?” Tyrone asked.

“I believe I did all I could to defend him,” he said. “There was just too much to overcome. The evidence … his life … you.”

Tyrone opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind him. He turned and watched a young black lady poke her head through.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you were with a client.”

“That’s okay,” Captain Jack said. “Come in.”

Tyrone followed the woman with his eyes as she entered the room and paused before Captain Jack’s desk.

“Janell, this is Tyrone Stokes,” he said. “Mr. Stokes, this is Janell Rainer. She is my part-time paralegal.”

“Hi,” Janell said, extending her hand.

“Hi,” Tyrone said, rising and taking her hand in his own. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Rainer.” He released her hand, then sat back down.

“Janell, Mr. Stokes is Marcus’s father. We were just discussing the status of his case.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said apologetically.

“That’s okay,” Captain Jack said. “Did you need something?”

“No, sir,” she said politely. “Just letting you know that I am here.”

She turned and left the room, and Captain Jack resumed.

“Mr. Stokes, the courts are not perfect. Neither are the people who sit on juries. They’re just ordinary folk subject to the same biases that affect us all.”

He paused, let out a deep sigh, then resumed again.

“You have a pretty sordid history. And because of that, it didn’t take much for the prosecutor to convince the jurors that Marcus was just another pea in a pod. His father was a ruffian, and so was he. The acorn didn’t fall far from the tree.”

Tyrone looked at him but did not speak.

“Mr. Stokes, I hurt for you, and I hurt for your family. God knows I do. But I can’t say any more to you right now than I was able to say to your wife. A jury has said that Marcus brutally raped and murdered an innocent young girl. And for that, a court of law has ruled that he must pay with his life. And so he will, if the governor says the same.”

“There has to be something.”

“If so, I don’t know what,” he said. “I have done all that I know to do. I filed an appeal based on the fact that we were denied a change of venue. I filed a separate appeal based on the fact that our petition to have the jury sequestered was denied. I even challenged the composition of the jury. Mr. Stokes, as far as the appellate courts are concerned, your son had a fair trial, and the verdict will stand.”

“What about a DNA test?” Tyrone asked.

“There is nothing to test.”

“Didn’t they say he raped her?”

“No semen,” Captain Jack said.

“How could that be?”

“Prosecutor’s explanation … He could have worn a condom.”

“What about—”

“Mr. Stokes, I will petition the governor. That’s all I can do.”

There was a long, awkward silence.

“I want to see him.”

“I can arrange that,” he said. “The warden is an old friend of mine.” He paused. “But I can’t do anything before tomorrow.”

Tyrone rose to leave, then stopped.

“How is he?”

“Scared,” Captain Jack said. “Real scared.”

Tyrone looked at Captain Jack, but Captain Jack was no longer looking at him. Instead, he had begun fiddling with some of the papers scattered over his desk. For him, the conversation was over. He was thinking of something else now—his next meeting, his next client, his next case.

“How will I know?” Tyrone asked.

“Know what?” Captain Jack responded, looking up briefly.

“When I can see him.”

“Leave your number with Miss Rainer,” Captain Jack told him. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”