“Yes,” said Pat, with a twinkle. “What are you going to do before these documents arrive while we’re working our tails off?” It was a question Jack had never been asked at Tobin, Gleason and Gardner. He looked at Nancy, who had that big smile again. She obviously liked Pat’s style.
“I’m going to do something I’ve never done before,” Jack replied. “I’m going to go solicit a client. I have an appointment to see Rudy tomorrow morning at Raiford Prison.”
Before he left that afternoon on his trip to the Florida State Prison, commonly known as Raiford, which was just outside the town of Starke, in the northeast section of the state, Jack called Pat into his office.
“How long are you staying?”
“For the duration, Jack. I decided that I need a worthwhile cause to complete my resume.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Bass Creek Hotel.”
“Why don’t you stay with me? I’ve got a big house right on the river five minutes from here. There’s plenty of room.”
“You sure I won’t cramp your style?”
“Pat, I don’t have a style to cramp.” They both laughed.
“Are you sure this isn’t too much?”
“Positive. Besides, you’ve already offered that you could cook and wash dishes,” he smiled at her. Pat smiled back.
“All right,” she said with a little nod. “I accept the invitation.”
“Good. Here’s a set of keys. Nancy will show you where the house is and help you move your bags. We’ll get to know each other again. It’ll be fun.”
Twenty-four
Jack was a little apprehensive about his meeting with Rudy and he rolled the reasons over in his mind during the long trip to the prison. Perhaps it was because Rudy was Mikey’s son and seeing him might stir up all those conflicted emotions again. Maybe he was afraid Rudy was guilty and he would sense it right away. Or worst of all, maybe he would just know Rudy was innocent but wouldn’t be able to help him. Whatever the cause, Jack was nervous and he dealt with it by arriving early at the motel in Starke and spending the rest of the evening meticulously making notes in preparation for the interview. The nervousness was new. The note-taking was a habit he had formed many years ago to make sure he covered all the bases when meeting with a client or a witness.
He also spent some time thinking over the call he’d received just before leaving the office from his old friend the governor. It was a call he had expected, though not quite this soon.
“Jack, Jack, good to hear your voice,” Bob Richards said after Jack answered the phone. “Congratulations on your retirement. Already set up shop in Bass Creek, I hear. Don’t you believe in vacations?”
“This is a vacation, Bob. It truly is. I’m sitting at my desk in a pair of jeans thinking about the one case I have.” He knew that would get the ball rolling.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Jack, the one case you have. I just received a call from Bill Sampson, the state attorney-the guy you’re replacing. Bill says you’re looking into the Rudy Kelly case. Says you made a public records request for the case file. Says you asked for the public defender’s file as well.” That’s a little unusual, Jack thought. The public defender informed the state attorney of my request to him?
Bob finally got to the point. “Bill is a little concerned that the man I’m appointing as the next state attorney is asking questions about a convicted felon on death row.”
The call presented another opportunity for Jack to tell the governor to find somebody else to fill the position. But it was an opportunity Jack did not take. Again, he wasn’t sure why.
“Rudy Kelly is the son of an old friend of mine, Bob. I’m just doing him a favor, making sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed in his son’s prosecution-you know, making sure justice was done. You and Bill don’t have any problem with me making sure justice was done, do you, Bob? I mean, isn’t that a state attorney’s job?”
“Sure, sure-that’s exactly what it is. I think Bill is just a little mistrustful of defense lawyers. It comes with the territory. I’ll call him and tell him that you’re just making sure things were done properly-kind of keeping yourself busy until you take over. He’ll be okay with that.”
“Thanks, Bob. Tell Bill it’s an exercise for me. I need to learn criminal law and this is as good a way as any.” Old Bob laughed on the other end of the line.
“That’s a good one, Jack. I’ll tell Bill that one. He’ll get a kick out of it. Listen, sorry I bothered you. I’ll talk to you soon. So long.”
“So long, Bob.”
Jack had sugarcoated it a little bit but what he had said was essentially true. He simply didn’t tell Bob what was going to happen if he found out justice had not been served.
Raiford was nine miles outside Starke, an isolated complex of rectangular concrete buildings, some white, some blue, some shaped like airplane hangars. There were parking lots, recreational areas and some open fields, all enclosed behind shiny steel chain-link fences topped with razor wire. Guard towers with spotlights were strategically placed along the fence line. If some ambitious prisoner somehow made it over the fence, he would find himself in an open meadow where the spotlight could easily pick him up and the guards could just as quickly mow him down.
Jack was there early the next morning and stopped at the front gate, where the guard gave him directions to the main building. From there another guard, this one with an automatic rifle, escorted him to one of the three-story concrete buildings. Jack signed in and was handed off to yet a third guard, who escorted him through a gate of thick yellow steel bars that led to a second gate of thick gray steel bars. When the first gate closed, the second gate opened.
From the moment he walked through the first gate and it clanged shut behind him, Jack was in an alien world, surrounded by concrete and steel, where every sound reverberated. As he followed the guard down a long corridor, he was overwhelmed by the chaos of noise-shouting, screaming, even crying, and the clanging of prison bars opening and closing-the background music of Raiford.
He was taken to a small room equipped with a gray table and four gray chairs, all bolted to the ground. He was told to wait there and sat down in one of the chairs.
Rudy was escorted into the room by two prison guards. His ankles and wrists were cuffed and chained. It was a major project to shuffle him into the room and get him seated. The noise of the chains clinking against the metal chair was unnerving even to an old pro like Jack. He’d been to prisons before to interview witnesses but he’d never been to a maximum-security facility like Raiford and he’d never interviewed someone on death row.
One of the security guards remained in the room standing at the door. Jack’s first inclination was to protest the lack of privacy but he decided against it. He knew the only other choice would put a barrier between him and Rudy and he didn’t want that. They could whisper if necessary.
Rudy looked across the table directly into Jack’s eyes, smiled and extended his cuffed hands as far as they could go.
“Hi, Mr. Tobin.” Jack saw the resemblance right away. Rudy certainly didn’t look Irish with his shiny, thick black hair and olive skin. It was the smile and the eyes-not the color but the way they lit up when he smiled. There was no doubt this was Mikey’s son.
“Hi, Rudy. Please call me Jack.” Jack had to extend his hand almost across the full length of the table.
“Okay, Jack, thanks. You know, when they first told me a Jack Tobin was coming to visit me, I had no idea who you were. Then I remembered my dad’s stories about being a kid in New York and hanging out with his best friend Johnny-Johnny Tobin.”
“He actually talked about me?”
“Oh yeah. He told me how you guys climbed through the alleys, hitchhiked on the back of buses, snuck out down the fire escape-you guys had some life. And I feel honored to finally meet the Mayor of Lexington Avenue.”