Pat was livid at what Jack was telling her. They were running through the woods now in a totally secluded area. She started screaming. “This is about somebody’s life! Who cares about public opinion or politics or public defenders or any of that shit? This is about somebody’s life!”
The more excited Pat became, the calmer Jack got. “Do you remember that old psychology question? ‘If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around, does it make a sound?’”
Pat had no idea where he was going. She was emotional and upset and Jack was going off on some stupid tangent. “Yeah. So what?” she replied tersely.
“Well, in this context the answer to that question is no. We know that murder trials, especially those based on circumstantial evidence-eyewitness accounts with no physical evidence, or some physical evidence but little else, as in this case-are fundamentally flawed. As high as thirty or forty percent of the defendants are innocent. Yet people are still being sentenced to death because nobody is listening. Nobody cares. Don’t take this personally, Pat, but you didn’t care until it was Rudy. Neither did I. Nobody cares. They’re putting children to death, retarded people. The state of Texas has executed one hundred and forty people in the last eight years-and they don’t even have a public defender system, which means people are being represented by court-appointed lawyers, some of whom are drunk or sleeping during trial, or whatever. You’re seeing firsthand how a case can get fucked up, but it happens every day in courtrooms all over this country. And it will continue to happen until people start listening and hearing.”
When their run was over, Pat went straight to her room. The thought of eating after that conversation made her want to puke.
Twenty-seven
Jack tried several times to get Tracey James’s number from information so he could call her office and make an appointment to see her. Strangely, she was not listed.
Why would a lawyer not be listed in the phone book? It just didn’t make sense. Maybe she’d relocated. Vero Beach was just an hour’s drive east, so early on Monday morning he decided to drive over and make some inquiries. She can’t hide from me, he thought, half joking. And why would she?
His questions were answered soon after he arrived in town. Jack’s professional investigative procedure was to stop at every law office he saw and ask where Tracey James’s offices were located. The receptionists in the first three places had never heard of her, making him begin to wonder if she even existed. He hit pay dirt, however, on the fourth stop. Perseverance pays off, he told himself. He’d been at it for about half an hour.
“I think someone here used to work for her,” the receptionist at Blaine amp; Dewey told him. She gave him a look before she went to find her co-worker-a look that said there was something she knew and he didn’t but should have.
Maybe I’m reading too much into people’s expressions, he thought, forgetting that this was the first meaningful expression he’d seen that morning.
Five minutes later, a short, overweight woman who appeared to be in her mid-fifties stepped into the waiting room with a grim expression on her face.
“Are you the person who asked about Tracey James?”
“Yes. I understand you worked for her?”
“Right up to the end,” the woman replied, her head downcast. “She was a good boss. Paid well.” Everybody who pays well is a good boss, Jack thought.
“Right up to the end-what do you mean?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?” He hated the twenty questions game.
“Ms. James was killed in a traffic accident a year ago.”
Jack felt compelled to express some sympathy although he didn’t know Tracey James. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. The woman appeared ready to burst into tears at any moment.
Maybe Tracey James really was a good boss, Jack thought. “Do you know who has access to or custody of her files? I’m looking for a particular file on a case she worked on ten years ago-Rudy Kelly?”
The woman just shrugged. “It was probably destroyed. We destroyed all the old files after three years. When she died all her cases were assigned out. I remember that case, but I’m not sure why I remember it. I wasn’t with Ms. James ten years ago. You may want to check with her chief investigator, Dick Radek.”
“Do you know where I can locate him?”
“No, I’m sorry. Wait, I think he mentioned once that he lived in Stuart-by the water. Yeah, he was saying how he got in just before the property values went skyrocketing.”
It wasn’t much but it was a start. Jack thanked the woman and started to leave when he remembered something else-private investigators were usually ex-cops.
“Do you know if Mr. Radek was an ex-cop?”
“Yeah, I think he was,” she replied. “He mentioned one time he was retired from the Miami police department.”
Bingo, Jack said to himself. “Thank you very much,” he said as he headed out the door.
Dick Radek lived in a typical middle-class three-bedroom, two-bath, ranch-type house in Stuart. His just happened to be on the Intercoastal Waterway, where it stuck out like a sore thumb. His neighbors’ homes were all mansions, each one with its own yacht in the backyard.
“I bought at a good time,” Dick told Jack when he saw him noticing the contrast. “They’ve been trying to get me out of here for years. They buy these places and come in and knock down the old homes. I can’t tell you what I’ve been offered for this house.”
They were sitting on old green deck chairs on the screened-in back porch looking out on the water. Dick couldn’t have been more hospitable when Jack knocked on his door a half hour before, ushering him into the house and right through to the porch before the introductions were completed. As soon as Jack was comfortably seated, Dick handed him a beer without asking. He had opened one for himself as well. He’d been fully retired for a year, and although his large frame was still muscular and powerful, it was quite apparent he’d spent a lot of his spare time out here doing just this. His gut told that story.
“Why don’t you sell?” Jack asked.
“I like it here. Besides, I know it pisses all of them off that I’m still around. You know, the white trash in the neighborhood. I kinda like that too. So what can I do for you?”
“I’m representing Rudy Kelly.” Jack just threw the words out there and waited for a response. Dick didn’t say anything.
“Do you remember the case?” he asked after a couple of seconds.
“Sure do.” A draft of cold air had entered the room. The friendly guy who had invited him into his house was starting to clam up. Jack knew instinctively there was something Dick Radek did not want to talk about.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about it?”
“Depends on what you ask.”
“Look, it seems like I’ve hit a nerve here for some reason. I’m trying to save a young man’s life and I’m running out of time. I’m just doing an investigation, trying to find information that might help my client, nothing more. There’s no agenda here, okay?”
Dick seemed to loosen up. “I hear ya. Go ahead, ask your questions. I’ll answer them if I can.”
“Why did Tracey James get out of the case?”
“Money. Tracey never did anything unless there was money in it. Frankly, I was surprised when she took the case. The woman, Rudy’s mother, had no money. I thought Tracey might be bleeding her for whatever she could get out of her.”