"So, what gives?"
Gary hesitated. Peter was emphatic about not talking to anyone about his case. He said that some people in jail would tell the D.A. he had confessed to them so they could get a deal on their own case. Then, they would testify against him in court and tell lies. Peter had warned him to look out for those men, but he couldn't have meant Kevin. Peter probably meant he shouldn't talk to strangers, like Mom had always warned him.
Kevin Booth wasn't a stranger. He was a friend. So, Gary proceeded to tell him everything about his case.
it was late afternoon when Steve Mancini returned to his office. He picked up his message slips at the reception desk and glanced through them as he walked down the hall. One of the messages was from Harold Prescott.
Mancini's mouth went dry and the hand holding the message shook. He closed his office door. As he dialed Whitaker Savings and Loan, he shut his eyes and said a little prayer.
The United States Olympic ski team trained at Mount Bachelor near Bend, Oregon. Three years ago, the state of Oregon had launched a campaign to bring the Olympics to Bend. Shortly after, Mancini had joined a group of investors to form Mountain View, Inc with the goal of building a ski lodge and condominiums near Bend.
Harold Prescott had engineered a construction loan at his bank. The loan was used to start work on the lodge and the first condo units, but the weather, labor problems and escalating costs had eaten up most of the loan and slowed progress on the project. The loan was due soon. Mountain View was trying to get a long-term loan from the bank to pay off the construction loan and complete the first phase of the project. Mancini had invested heavily in the project. If it failed, he would be ruined.
"I'm afraid I have bad news, Steve," Prescott said as soon as they were connected. "The committee met this afternoon. it voted against authorizing the loan."
Mancini felt as if he was going to throw up. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the nausea.
"Steve?"
"I don't get it," Mancini managed.
"I argued for it, but there was too much opposition."
"What's the problem?" Mancini asked desperately.
"We've been dealing with Whitaker Savings and Loan since the project started. Nothing's changed."
"Steve, I warned you about this potential problem two years ago. The Federal National Mortgage Association would not approve the project. Without their approval we can't sell the loan on the New York market. I tried to persuade the others to take a chance, but it was no go."
"Fannie Mae wouldn't approve because it's a resort area and we don't have earnest money for fifty percent of the units. That will change as soon as Bend wins the bid for the Winter Olympics."
"The problem is that there's no assurance Bend will get the games. The rumor we're hearing is that one of the European countries has the edge. The committee was unwilling to take the risk."
"Harold, I don't know who you've been talking to.
Roger Dunn told me his sources say we've got a terrific shot. Once the announcement is made, those condos will sell like hotcakes."
"That wasn't the only problem. There aren't enough liquid assets in your group. Most of the land is only optioned. The feeling was that there wasn't enough hard equity in the project."
The rest of the conversation went by in a dull hum.
Mancini responded automatically as a sharp throbbing pain filled his head.
After a few more minutes, he hung up and stared at the wall. He knew he should call the other partners, but he could not move. All he could think about was his financial ruin.
Mancini told his secretary to hold his calls. Then he took a glass and a half-filled bottle of scotch out of his bottom drawer. He poured a stiff drink, downed it and poured another. The whiskey burned and the numb feeling wore off and was replaced by rage.
It was Shan, his first wife, who had talked him into investing in Mountain View, filling him with tales of the millions they would make. Then, the bitch bailed out, leaving him to face financial destruction. She'd probably known this would happen all along. He could imagine her laughing at him when she read about the collapse of Mountain View. Mancini's stomach knotted and pain ripped through his skull. His hands squeezed together and the whiskey glass shattered, spraying scotch and blood onto the carpet.
"Donna Harmon is here to see you, Mr. Hale," Clara said over the intercom.
"Send her back," Peter answered, relieved that Clara had not buzzed him to say that Amos Geary was on the line. Peter had spent the day in torment as he pondered his decision to leave Amos Geary. He had come to work late, timing his arrival to coincide with the start of court in Cayuse County, and had been out of the office during every conceivable time that Geary could call. Clara had given him several messages from his boss, each longer and more threatening, but Peter had returned none of them.
"Hi," Peter said when Donna stuck her head in the door. She looked excited.
"I think I found some good cases about tricking people into confessing," Donna said, thrusting a manila envelope at Peter.
"Sit down. Let me take a look."
Peter pulled out copies of the cases and articles Donna had photocopied for him.
"There's a great sentence in Miranda v. Arizona," Donna told him, referring to her copy of the famous United States Supreme Court case that established the rule that police had to warn suspects about their constitutional rights to remain silent and to have counsel before questioning them. "It says that even a voluntary waiver of your rights is no good if the accused was threatened, tricked or cajoled into giving the waiver.
And listen to this from a University of Pennsylvania Law Review article about "Police Trickery in Inducing Confessions."
"The author says that "A form of deception that totally undermines the Fifth and Sixth Amendment protections available to an individual occurs when the police deceive a suspect about whether an interrogation is taking place." That's what Downes did. He made Gary think there was no interrogation. He made him believe he was a detective."
"You're pretty good," Peter said with genuine admiration after he skimmed the material. The cases were old and the Law Review article had been written in 1979, but they would make it easier for him to zero in on more recent cases.
"Thanks," Donna answered, blushing from the compliment.
"When did you do this?"
"During lunch."
"Well, I couldn't have done better in that amount of time. This will really help." You think so?" Donna asked hopefully.
"Definitely."
Donna's features clouded. "Have you talked to Gary?" she asked.
"Not since yesterday. He's doing pretty well, under the circumstances. He seems to have accepted the jail."
"He would. Gary never complains about anything."
"You really love your brother, don't you?"
"I love him very much. We all do,"
"it must be hard with his being, uh ... so slow."
Donna smiled. "You mean 'retarded'?"
Peter flushed. "I didn't mean "No, that's okay. I'm used to it. People always think t that a person who's 'retarded' is harder to love, but that's not true. When Gary was small, he was so much fun. You know how handsome he is. Well, he was a beautiful little boy. Always running and laughing. it wasn't until he was older that we realized how dreadfully slow he was and how hard it was for him to learn.
One day Mom came back from school. It had never been official before. just something weknew, but never admitted. Mom told us what Gary's teacher had said about a special class with other 'slow learners." Then, Mom said that Gary was God's child like everybody else and that was all she was interested in. If Gary needed extra help he would get it, but she was not going to treat Gary differently because of his intelligence. As far as sh was concerned, Gary was a kind and moral boy and that was all that mattered.