“‘Cracker’ is the appropriate term,” Pat replied. “I’ve been reading up on old Florida. This is cracker country. But you’re not a cracker either, Jack. You’re just a kid from the neighborhood who made it big and you’ve never felt comfortable in that role.”
“You’re right. I’ve certainly wasted a lot of time.”
“Well, you’ve got the rest of your life to make up for it. Do you think your professional life had something to do with your marriages failing?” It was a question she hadn’t thought about asking. Once again, she heard the words as they left her mouth as if she was a bystander to her own thoughts.
“I’m sure that was part of it. I’ve thought about that a lot. The world of status has its own pressures. But I just don’t think I was husband material anyway. All my wives told me the same thing: ‘You’re not here for me. It’s like you’re always somewhere else. You don’t talk to me.’ All three of them said the same thing at one time or another. I never knew what they were talking about. I thought I was a good husband, a good provider. I talked. We talked every night. I guess I never talked about my feelings but that’s just not the way I am. I don’t like to argue. If I’m mad at you I’ll process it myself. I don’t need to tell you I’m mad at you and what you did wrong and how you hurt my feelings and blah, blah, blah. I don’t need to process the shit that happens at work. I’ll be over it tomorrow.
“I was accused of being insensitive, distant, sweeping things under the rug-you name it. I thought I was being an adult, getting on with life. But eventually, I decided I just wasn’t husband material.”
Pat nodded knowingly and smiled. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard my girlfriends say the same things about their husbands and my guy friends say the same things about their wives. You’re not any different, Jack. This problem has existed since time began. Women want to talk about their feelings, men don’t. Women feel closer when they’re sharing emotions. I’m not sure exactly what men feel but they don’t like to do it. Men are more action-oriented. They assume their wives love them because of their actions, not their words, while their wives are simply waiting for them to say ‘I love you.’ I guess we want strong men who are sensitive, too, but if they’re too sensitive, we think they’re wimps. It certainly can get complicated.”
“Yeah, well my job was complicated enough. I needed simplicity at home. But I’ll say this-and I’m sure you’ve heard this before-none of them had a problem spending the fruits of my labor.”
“Sounds like you still have some issues there.”
“Probably so. That’s why I’m alone. What about you? What’s your story?”
“There is none, really. I had a few long-term relationships but they kind of just fizzled out. I don’t know why for sure. I think maybe I was a little too strong and independent for the men I was with. I made more money than they did too, which may have been a factor.”
Jack was watching her intently as she spoke. He noticed how smooth and soft her skin was. She had few wrinkles and almost none around those large green eyes-beautiful green eyes, he thought. “Well, it’s their loss,” he heard himself saying, feeling the necessity to take a swig of beer right after the words left his mouth.
“Why, thank you again, Jack. Two compliments in one night-my my,” she said, fanning herself with her hand.
“It’s true,” he mumbled, feeling as awkward as a teenager on his first date. What the hell is going on here? he wondered.
Pat just smiled. She knew what was going on. A small fire had been lit-unexpectedly. But this was a fire that needed to burn slowly, if at all. After all, there was a friendship at stake.
Twenty-six
It took another two days and nights but Jack finally got through almost every file. There were a few very thin ones in the last box that he didn’t get to but he was sure he had read all the important stuff. And on their evening runs he took Pat through what he had learned that day. It was good for both of them: Pat was learning about the case in depth, knowledge that she shared with Nancy the next morning at work; and Jack was organizing and summarizing his thoughts as he spoke.
“You were right that Rudy’s private attorney was a woman. Her name was Tracey James, apparently a real hotshot, based in Vero Beach.” They were on the stretch by the river. There were no boats around, just two pelicans swimming along together. A third dive-bombed into the water not far from them, scooped up a fish and flew away, ignored by the two swimmers. They must have already eaten, Jack thought, knowing how pelicans would fight over the tiniest of morsels. Or maybe they’re in love. .
Pat interrupted his daydream. “And she really did quit because they weren’t paying her enough?”
“Who?”
“Who do you think? This Tracey James woman you just told me about.”
“Oh yeah. I don’t know exactly. The files only say she dropped off the case before it went to trial, but if Mike told you that, I’d believe it. It’s not like I never heard of a lawyer only being in it for the money. Anyway, that’s how Rudy got stuck with the public defender. She did a good job, though, before she withdrew from the case. She took the investigating officer apart on the stand at a preliminary hearing. If that had happened at trial, I suspect Rudy would be walking the streets today.”
“Why didn’t it happen at trial?”
“Because the public defender was either a drunk or an idiot.”
“Isn’t that a basis for an appeal?”
“Yeah, but they already tried it and got nowhere. Anyway, at the preliminary hearing Ms. James raised a very interesting issue-whether Rudy, because of his intelligence deficit and his personality, could actually refuse to talk to the police. She also raised the issue of whether the police should have stopped interrogating him when his mother arrived at the police station.”
“I guess the judge didn’t buy it, huh?” It was getting a little deep and Pat was struggling to follow. Luckily, they were running five miles that night.
“Actually, he did. He didn’t grant the Motion to Suppress the evidence but he allowed them to bring up all the circumstances of the confession-how they kept Elena in the other room, how they had video and audio equipment available and never used it. And the confession itself wasn’t really a confession. This detective simply got Rudy to admit that if he was mad enough, he could kill somebody.”
“And you’re saying the public defender didn’t use any of that evidence?”
“None.”
The next night they did a seven-miler. Jack explained to her how the legal advocacy group handled the appeals. The first appeal was based on the denial of the Motion to Suppress. The Supreme Court of Florida denied that appeal, finding that Judge Wentwell’s solution-to allow the circumstances of the interrogation to be presented to the jury-was a proper legal ruling. The second appeal was based on the ineffectiveness of counsel, the public defender, who failed to put into evidence the circumstances of the interrogation.
“I think it was a pretty good appellate strategy,” Jack continued. “Let the court rule that the evidence could have and should have been presented, then follow it with a second appeal based on the fact that the public defender failed to present this crucial exculpatory evidence.”
“Well, how the hell did they lose the second appeal then?” The more she understood the details, the more outraged Pat became.
“You have to understand something: There’s more at stake here than meets the eye. First, appellate courts are reluctant to overturn trial courts-only about fifteen percent of cases are overturned on appeal. Second, the public defender is the trial lawyer in this case. He is a state employee just like the prosecutor. The court is going to be very reluctant to find the public defender ineffective in the performance of his duties. And third, the public likes the death penalty-they don’t like activist judges who interfere with a jury’s decision. The court is not immune to public opinion.”