Polly is still sitting at his desk, head in hands, when Nell appears in his office, holding a needle and an empty syringe. She sets these on the desk before him, and he looks up. Nell’s arms are crossed; her face is hard.
“This doesn’t set well with me, Polly,” she says. “I’ve held my tongue when I shouldn’t have, but I’ve got to say it. This isn’t right.”
Polly runs his hands through his hair. “This isn’t a good night to talk about it, Nell,” he says, tiredly.
“No, it’s not. It’s too late. I should have said something long ago.”
“She’s my mother,” Polly says. “It’s not an easy decision to make. On top of everything else.”
Nell glares at him. “I’m not talking about your mother, Paul. I’m talking about the boy who’s going to die tonight.”
Of course she is. Of course. Polly averts his eyes; he cannot hold his wife’s condemning gaze.
Nell pulls up a chair and sits across the desk from him, perched on the edge of her seat. “Look,” she says. “When you ran for DA, I supported you, even though I knew that it meant bigger cases, longer hours. I supported you because I thought you were a good man. I thought you were a fair man. I thought you were after justice, not vengeance. But Polly! The death penalty?”
“Nell. Rape is a capital offense.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“But it is.”
“Maybe it is in some towns. Maybe in Houma. Maybe in Baton Rouge. But not here. Here, it doesn’t have to be.” She frowns. “But you made it so.”
Polly takes a moment before replying. “Nell,” he says. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“That’s rubbish,” Nell snaps. “You could have sent him to who knows how long in prison. But you chose to send him to his death. He’s a boy, Polly!”
“He’s a criminal,” Polly counters. “He raped that girl.”
“Even if he did, you answer me this—what white man would ever be put to death for rape?”
Polly sets his teeth. He looks at the ceiling again, the floorboards of Gabe’s room. His eyes burn.
“I thought you were better than the rest of them down here.” Nell says this quietly. She sits back in the chair, puts her hand over her mouth. “I thought you wanted to make a difference. I thought that’s why you ran for DA at all.”
Polly touches the corners of his eyes with his cuffs. “May,” he begins. He drops his gaze from the ceiling and looks Nell in the eye.
“What about May?”
Polly clears his throat. “Last May. Gabe came by the office after school, like usual. We were going to walk home. I told him to wait for me on the steps while I made a last phone call.” He rubs the prickly stubble on his chin. “When I came out a few minutes later, I didn’t see him. Went over to the barbershop. They hadn’t seen him. Went to Western Auto across the street. They hadn’t seen him. I looked for him in the square, the pharmacy, the bookstore. I looked in the woman’s fashion store, for God’s sake!”
Nell is sitting forward again. She listens intently, her forehead troubled.
“I was just about to go inside and call the police when a car pulled up.” Polly stops, picturing the scene; he has dreamed about it vividly on so many occasions that he’s not sure if now he’s remembering a dream or the actual event.
“Go on,” Nell prompts.
“It was Earl Montgomery’s car. There were four of them. Montgomery, Stout Biggs, Leroy Mason, and Pope Crowley.”
He can see that Nell’s jaw is clenched, and her eyes gleam with anger.
“They didn’t hurt him,” Polly continues. His voice cracks. “They didn’t hurt him,” he repeats, “but they took him. And they could have hurt him. They could have done worse. And they told me that if I didn’t do what they wanted me to do, what they’d done just now was to show me what they could do and would do.”
“Those bastards,” Nell says. “Those goddamn redneck ignorant pieces of trash.” Her look transforms from anger into incredulity. “But what about the police, Polly? What those men did’s illegal! Kidnapping! Coercion! Didn’t you ever consider going to the police?”
“Nell. What are the police going to do about it when most of them feel the same way?”
Nell is quiet. “Why didn’t you at least tell me?” she asks, finally.
Polly looks out the window. Across the street, the Gildorfs’ windows are bright; they appear to be having a party. “I suppose there were a couple of reasons,” he says. “I didn’t want you to worry. I felt responsible. Responsible and guilty. I know how you felt about me running for DA—”
“I—” Nell starts.
Polly lifts his hand. “I know you supported me, but I also know it wouldn’t have been your preference.” He lowers his hand. “And then—the fact that my taking the position, taking on this case, should put Gabe in any kind of danger … I was afraid you never would forgive me.” He half smiles, rubbing an eye. “So I did what I felt I had to do.”
Nell sits back. “And here we are,” she says.
“Yes,” Polly says, and he sits back too. He sighs, nods slowly. “Here we are.”