Mars rolled over in the bed and stared at the wall.
Bogart glanced at Decker, whose gaze was still on Mars.
“Your mother’s blood was found in your car. Do you have an explanation other than it came from you?”
“No.”
“Could she have been in the car before? Maybe cut herself or had a nosebleed?”
“No. None of that happened. She never used my car.”
Decker said, “Did you get along with your parents?”
“Why?” said Mars over his shoulder.
“Well, the motive the prosecution painted during your trial was that—”
“I know what that man said,” interrupted Mars. He rolled back over. His features were calmer, or perhaps just resigned. “My parents never made any demands on me when they knew I was going pro. I was going to take care of them. Buy them a house, a new car, set them up. I had it all planned out.”
Decker cocked his head. “You’re a good planner, right?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. But the prosecution brought in witnesses who said otherwise about your parents. That they wanted more money than you were willing to give them.”
Mars said slowly, “Not both of them.”
Bogart said sharply, “So one of them did say things like that? The testimony was correct? Because you just told us they had made no demands on you. So were you lying to us?”
Mars licked his lips nervously. “My father. He kinda changed the last few months. He was moody and would get mad at Mom and me for the least little thing. I thought he was getting off in the head or something. But I guess it was the money thing. He figured out how much I’d probably be getting with my first contract. This was before the rookie rule. I’d done my homework, and if I went in the top three I was looking at a seven-million-dollar signing bonus. This was over twenty years ago. You know what that works out to be today?”
“Over ten million five hundred thousand,” said Decker.
Mars looked at him funny. “That’s right. How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess. And that was just the bonus?”
“Right. You got more over the course of the contract, but the signing bonus was the thing. And I was looking at maybe a seven-year deal that I could opt out of in three years. If I made All-Pro and led the league in rushing, I could write my own ticket. I mean, my next contract would make my rookie deal look cheap.”
“But you never got that chance,” said Decker.
“Does it look like I did?” he snapped.
“So what did your father say to you about it?”
“He wanted to be taken care of. I told him I would.”
“But?” said Decker.
“But... but he said he wanted something in writing. To make it, you know, legally binding.”
Bogart looked at Decker. “This wasn’t part of the trial transcript.”
Decker kept his gaze on Mars. “No, it wasn’t. And why was that, Melvin?”
Mars sat up. “That was one of the reasons why I didn’t testify at trial. My lawyer was afraid if I got asked about it I would have to reveal it.”
“Reveal what?”
“That I signed a one-page contract saying that thirty percent of my rookie contract would go to my parents.”
“And what happened to this contract?” asked Bogart.
“I guess it don’t matter now.” He let out a long breath. “I got rid of it.”
“How, in a fire maybe?” Bogart said sharply.
“Hey, I know this doesn’t look too good for me.”
“That is an understatement,” retorted Bogart.
Chapter 17
Without taking his eyes off Mars, Decker said, “Agent Bogart, can you give us a minute, please?”
Bogart looked like he was going to say no, but Decker added, “Just two old footballers going to have a little one-on-one. That’s all.”
Bogart slowly rose. “I’ll be out in the hall.”
When the door had closed behind him, Decker drew his chair a little closer to the bed. He put his large hands on top of the bed’s side rail.
Mars said, “Okay, I see how this is playing out. You’re here just to trick me and make sure I go back to prison. Well, I ain’t talking to you anymore without my lawyer being here.”
“I already told you, Melvin, I’m here to find the truth. If you didn’t kill your parents I will do everything in my power to prove that and get you out of prison with a full pardon.”
“I didn’t kill my parents. But I’ve been sitting in a prison cell for two decades getting ready for the needle, and then having to wait some more and then get ready for it again. You know what that’s like?”
“Not even close,” said Decker.
Mars looked surprised by this comment. He glanced toward the door. “Why’d you ask your partner to leave?”
“I thought you might be more comfortable just talking to me and not the FBI.”
“But you’re with the FBI.”
“Until about two weeks ago I was living in a dump in the middle of Ohio with about sixty bucks in my pocket and not much of a future beyond shit PI cases.” He paused. “If you still want your lawyer, I’ll leave right now.” He stood.
“Hold on. You... you told me my case was similar to something to do with your family?”
“Certain parallels, yes.”
“What happened to your family?”
Decker sat back down. “Somebody murdered them. My wife, daughter, and brother-in-law. I found the bodies when I came home from work one night.”
All the hostility in Mars’s features disappeared. “Damn, man, I’m sorry.”
“About sixteen months went by with no arrests. Then this guy walks into the police station and confesses.”
“Shit, did he do it?”
Decker gazed at him. “It was a little more complicated than that.”
“Okay,” replied Mars, looking uncertain.
“But we got the people responsible. And they were held accountable.”
“They in prison?”
“No, they’re in graves.”
Mars’s eyes widened at this.
Decker said, “But that’s history and it’s over. Let’s talk about the present. Your present.”
Mars shrugged. “What you want me to say, Decker? I was a black man accused of killing his parents and one of them was white. Now, this is the South. This is Texas. Everybody loved me when I was a football star. But when I was charged I had no friends left. I was just a black dude fighting for my life. Hell, Texas executes more people than anybody else, and a whole lot of them are black.”
“The contract with your parents?”
“I knew I was innocent, but I listened to my lawyer. I can carry a football and score touchdowns, man. But I didn’t know anything about laws and courts back then.”
“So your lawyer knew about the contract?”
“Yeah, I told him. But he said we didn’t have to tell the prosecution nothing. It was their job to find out about it.”
“I guess technically that’s true.”
“But morally, I know, it sucks. I wanted to get on the stand and tell my story. I wanted folks to hear it from my point of view. But he convinced me not to. So I didn’t. Then we lost and I was screwed anyway.”
“What’d you do with the contract?”
“I flushed it down the toilet. But let me tell you, I had no problem with giving my parents that money. I was going to make a lot more. I was working on endorsement deals that would’ve paid me more than my football money.”
“And then it all went away.”
Mars shook his head wearily. “Faster than I could run the forty.”
“Tell me about your parents.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to know about their pasts. Where they came from? Were they born in Texas? Did they come from someplace else?”