Six

“What time is your meeting with Booth?”

“Nine-thirty.” Regan opened her eyes and looked up. Mitch was leaning on one elbow, looking down. “How did you know I was awake?”

“The sun’s up.” He nodded in the direction of the window where light slanted into the room just enough to let them know they hadn’t completely closed the drapes the night before. “You’re always up with the sun, if not before. And you never sleep past six in a hotel.”

“Lucky for you this wasn’t my annual sleep-until-seven morning.”

“You only do that at home.”

“True.” She pulled the pillow to a better fit under her head. “Mitch, did you come down here to protect me from Lester Ray Barnes?”

“Nope.” He leaned down and kissed the side of her mouth.

“Want to tell me how you just happened to arrive down here last night?” she persisted.

“Wasn’t my idea.” He shrugged. “I just go where I’m told.”

Regan rolled her eyes and he laughed.

“Seriously. It was John’s idea. The local office needed some helping hands in going through Potts’s lab. I merely volunteered to be part of the team.”

“’Cause you’re such a team player.”

“You got it, Ace.” He pushed back a blond curl that had fallen across her face and eased it back into place. “The fact that you were here had hardly anything to do with it.”

“Are you going to be meeting with Lederer?” she asked.

“Later today. Maybe he’ll have calmed down a bit by then, since he was obviously in high gear when you saw him yesterday.”

“I can’t blame him for being upset, especially since this scandal broke on his watch. He’s really vehement about Barnes, though. He is convinced he’s guilty.”

“Maybe he is.”

“There’s a damned good chance he is. But you can’t execute a man on the basis of bad evidence. Now, if new evidence could be found, that’s something else, right? Could he be tried again? Would double jeopardy apply, if the first trial was ruled invalid?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a lawyer, and I don’t know Florida law on this point. I can ask, though.” Mitch lay back against his pillow, his arms folded behind his head. “But I don’t think it’s going to matter. There just isn’t any evidence left to test. So, short of an eyewitness coming out of the woodwork, or finding Carolyn Preston’s blood on something of Lester Ray’s, or the original DNA turning up, I don’t see how Lederer can bring charges. It’s costly, and without something concrete, he can’t win. Plus, the man has been more than a little embarrassed by the entire situation.”

“So you’re here to do what?”

“Get as much information as we can about Potts and his activities. Meaning details on all the cases he was involved in during that period of time when he admitted to having screwed with the evidence.”

“Checking his computer data?”

“That’s why they sent the best.” He wiggled his fingers across an imaginary keyboard.

“Your legendary computer skills aside, why isn’t the local office handling the investigation?”

He hesitated before replying, “There is some question about whether or not someone in the local office might have known about what was going on and might have looked the other way.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“Any number of reasons.”

“Just tell me it isn’t Dorsey Collins.”

“It isn’t Dorsey Collins.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. We’re looking at two people, but she isn’t one of them.”

“Good. I liked her.” Regan sat up and pulled the sheet around her. “Did you ever go out with her?”

“Huh?”

“Dorsey. Did you ever go out with her?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I want to know.”

“Uh, maybe once or twice, a few years back. Long before I met you.” He frowned. “Why, what did she say?”

“Nothing.” Regan laughed. “Don’t look so freaked out. I was just curious. She’s really attractive and she seems to be smart and fun and she’s probably good at her job.”

“She is. She’s all those things, but she’s not really my type.”

Regan narrowed her eyes. “I think you might want to rephrase that.”

“Uh…” He shifted uncomfortably, obviously trying to figure out what he’d said that had been objectionable.

His cell phone rang.

His mouth eased into a smile. “Saved by it…” Regan laughed.

Regan went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. When she finished, she wrapped a towel around her and went to the closet for the clothes she wanted to wear that day, noting that Mitch was still on the phone. She went back into the bathroom, taking along the conservative pantsuit and the shirt with the high neckline selected with a visit to the prison in mind. She’d also packed low-heeled shoes, and would wear no jewelry except a plain ring on the third finger of her left hand. (“Don’t even let them wonder if you’re single,” one of her FBI girlfriends had once told her. “Don’t feed anyone’s fantasies.”) She pulled her long curly hair back into a low ponytail.

By the time she’d dressed, Mitch was off the phone and getting dressed as well.

“You look like a librarian from the fifties,” he told her. “Or possibly a nun. A contemporary one.”

“That’s the idea.”

“I’ll be at the Fremont lab most of the day, but I’ll have my cell phone with me.”

“I think I should be back by four or so,” she said. “Maybe we can find someplace fun for dinner.”

“If you’re in the mood for seafood, I know just the place.”

“I’m always in the mood for seafood. That’s why I live on the Chesapeake.” She checked the time as she strapped on her watch. “I think I’ll give Bliss a quick call before I leave, see if everything’s okay.”

“So you think she’ll work out?” Mitch rubbed his chin. “I think I need to shave…”

“I think she’s going to be perfect. I spoke with her last night before you got here, and she already had a database started and was halfway through one of the file cabinets in the study.”

“Aren’t you sorry you didn’t hire someone sooner?” he called from the bathroom.

“Nope. I probably wouldn’t have gotten Bliss, and I like her.” Regan checked the contents of the large shoulder bag she preferred to a brief case. Satisfied that she had everything she’d need for the day, she closed the flap and walked to the bathroom door. Mitch was just about to turn on his electric razor.

“You leaving now?” He paused, razor in hand.

“I’m not sure how long it will take me to get to Booth’s office, and I don’t want to be late.”

She leaned through the doorway to kiss him good-bye. He met her halfway. She rubbed the rough side of his face with hers. “You’re sexy with a little stubble.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before I started shaving?” He frowned at his reflection in the mirror.

“I’ll see you later.” She laughed. “Hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for at Fremont.”

“Part of me hopes I don’t.” He met her eyes in the mirror. “I hate to think that someone I know, probably someone I’ve worked with, would encourage anyone to screw around with evidence.”

“Well, maybe it’s just a rumor.” She kissed him again. “Remember what you told me about keeping an open mind.”

Regan grabbed her bag from the foot of the bed and left the room, checking her pockets for the keys to her rental car. She opened the door of the Maxima, slid behind the wheel, and backed out of the parking space.

Roland Booth’s office was sixteen miles from the motel, and she made the trip in under twenty-five minutes. She parked right out front, then sat for several moments to study the locale. Booth’s office was in a small strip mall, the blinds in the storefront windows closed, though the sign on the front door said the office was open. ROLAND ALFRED BOOTH, ATTORNEY AT LAW was painted in black across the window, followed only by the phone number. A pot of dried-up gardenias stood near the door. The overall impression was that of a lawyer who either wasn’t practicing all that much law, or wasn’t charging enough for the law he did practice.

Regan got out of the car and walked to the door. The strip mall, much like Booth’s office, didn’t appear to have much business. Only a handful of parking spots were occupied, and few of the stores showed any sign of activity. Several had FOR RENT signs in the windows.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

“Mr. Booth?” she called out.

The reception area—if one could call it that—was an eight-by-eight space furnished with two orange plastic chairs and another gardenia, this one only slightly healthier than the one that stood sentinel outside. Two doors—both closed—were set in the back wall. At her call, one door opened and a tall rangy man with large hands and surprisingly pale skin came out.

“Miss Landry?” he asked.

“Yes. Are you Roland Booth?”

“I am, yes. Come in, please.” He gestured to the open door, apologizing for the boxes that stood on the floor between her and the office. “Sorry about the mess here. I’m moving to another office and just haven’t had the time to finish up here.”

He stepped aside for her to enter, then hastened behind her to remove a box from the one side chair that faced the worn wooden desk.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I thought this would be the best place for us to talk, since I’ve been giving the new address and phone number out for the past week.”

“I wondered why there were no reporters hanging around,” she said. “I would have expected to see at least one or two, since your client’s case has garnered so much attention recently.”

“You have no idea.” He shook his head of thinning pale brown hair. “It’s been crazy. I never imagined it would be like this.”

“The press can be relentless.” Regan smiled as she took the seat. “I’ve seen my share over the years.”

“Oh, of course. Josh Landry was your father.” Booth pulled his chair out from the desk and sat. “That was terrible, what happened to him. I was a fan.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you telling me.”

“Think your father would have been interested in my client, Miss Landry?”

“It’s Regan,” she told him, “and yes, I think he’d be interested. It could be a very compelling story.”

“It’s a great story,” Booth told her confidently. “And both Lester Ray and I are thrilled that you’re going to be writing it with him. It’s going to be a huge bestseller, don’t you think?”

“Ahhh…Mr. Booth…”

“Roland.”

“Roland. I haven’t decided whether or not I want to write your client’s story. And if I do, I will be writing it alone. I won’t be writing it with Lester Ray, or you, or anyone else.”

“How do we…how does he…get compensated for his story?” Booth frowned.

“If I decide to pursue this, we’ll try to come to some sort of agreement based upon his personal involvement in the actual writing of the story. Generally, I work alone. However, there have been instances in the past where my father had wanted certain sections written in the subject’s own words. We may want to do some of that here. But right now, compensation is a non-issue. I’m only starting to look into this. I don’t know if it will ever become a book.”

“I see.” Booth rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. “Maybe you should meet with Lester Ray right off the bat. You’ll see what kind of a man he is, you’ll be able to tell right away how badly he’s been maligned by the press, how he’s been misjudged by the DA.”

“The DA didn’t judge him, Roland,” Regan pointed out. “A jury did that.”

“True.” The lawyer stood. “But the DA did everything he could to paint the most vile picture of Lester Ray. He’s really a sweet guy. So what do you say, you game? You want to meet him this morning?”

“Oh, sure.” She stood also. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Just let me make a quick phone call to the prison and let them know we’ll be there a little earlier than we’d planned. Normally, you’d need thirty days notice to get in, but since you’re with me, and the warden’s such a good guy, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

Booth dialed the phone on his desk, and Regan went back into the lobby to wait. There were dark rectangles on the walls where something had hung for a long time. Bare walls, bare floor—the rug had recently been removed too, she thought, judging by the condition of the floor.

“We’re all set,” Booth told her as he joined her outside the office door.

“Fine.”

They left the building, and he paused to lock up. He looked at her car, then back at the old station wagon parked next to it.

“This yours?” he asked, pointing to the car.

“A rental.”

“Nice.” He looked it over longingly, front to back, then glanced from the station wagon to her rental. “Maybe you’d like to drive. The A/C doesn’t work very well in mine.”

“Sure.”

“I’m looking for something else, though, as soon as I have time,” he said as he got into the passenger’s seat. “Something like this might be nice.”

New office, new car? Regan figured Roland Booth for a man who thought his ship was just about to dock, between all those lawsuits Lederer suspected the attorney would be filing.

“I heard there were two other prisoners on death row with your client whose DNA results were—or could have been—compromised. I know that the one—Capshaw?—has already been released,” Regan said. “What about the third man? What do you know about him?”

“Oh, Armas Dunmore.” Booth nodded. “He won’t have grounds for appeal. Turns out he confessed midway through the trial. Old Armas isn’t the brightest guy, from what I hear from Lester Ray.”

“Did he confess before or after Potts testified?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t handle his case.” He shrugged. “What difference would it make?”

“Well, if he’s of diminished capacity, and he confessed after the so-called expert testified, couldn’t a smart attorney make a case that Armas confessed because he was intimidated by Potts’s testimony, figured the jury would convict him on the basis of what Potts said?”

From the corner of her eye, Regan could have sworn she saw the whole scenario playing out in Booth’s mind. Finally, he said, “Maybe.”

She figured he was still thinking about it, though, as they drove on for another ten minutes without his speaking, except to give her directions.

When they arrived at the prison gates, she and Roland both handed over their IDs, had their names crossed off the list, and were waved through. Regan parked in a visitor’s spot, and they went inside. They signed in and followed a narrow corridor accompanied by a short stocky guard. When they reached the room where they’d meet with Lester Ray, the guard opened the door for them without speaking, then closed them in.

Lester Ray Barnes was already seated at the worn table with the chipped Formica top. He wore an orange T-shirt and blue pants.

“It’s okay, Lester Ray.” Booth waved him back into his seat when the inmate started to stand. “You don’t need to get up.”

Lester Ray looked directly at Regan. “I like to stand when a lady enters the room.”

“It isn’t necessary, but thank you.” Regan took one of the two wobbly chairs. “I’m Regan Landry, Lester Ray.”

“I know.” He smiled broadly. “I was so excited when Mr. Booth told me you were coming to see me. You’re, like, famous. A celebrity. Just thinking about you coming to see me…”

Regan smiled weakly at his attempt to flatter.

“And I read all your books, all your father’s books. At least, I did when I was outside. Not so much since I’ve been in here.” He continued the chatter.

She was about to ask him which had been his favorite but he never slowed down.

“But I’m going to be out of here soon, you know? I’ll catch up on all the books I’ve missed. All the books, all the music…” His eyes filled with tears. “I’ve missed so much since I’ve been in here, but I’ll make up for it. I’ll have my whole life ahead of me, right, Mr. Booth?”

“That’s right, Lester Ray. Pretty soon you’ll be walking out that door for the last time.”

“I can hardly believe it myself.” Lester Ray looked as if he was about to pinch himself.

It was all Regan could do to keep from grinning at his performance, which wasn’t all that good.

“And to think there’s going to be a book about me. When Mr. Booth told me you were going to write a book about me, I just couldn’t believe it. I mean, you are a famous writer, and…”

“Whoa, hold up there, Lester Ray.” Regan shook her head. “As I told Mr. Booth this morning, I never said I was going to write this book. I only asked if I might speak with you, and him, as a means of exploring the subject, to see if this case was one I’d like to write about. You need to understand that if I decide to do this book, it isn’t going to be about you.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to write about me?” Lester Ray frowned. “Mr. Booth said the story has everything.”

“That being the case, I should tell the entire story, don’t you agree? I should write about the victim, I should write about the system that permitted you to be convicted on bad evidence, and the system that set you free. After I’ve learned all I can, perhaps I’ll decide to write the story, and perhaps I’ll pass. Right now, we’re just talking, Lester Ray.” She tried to sum up the situation as simply as possible. “Is it all right if I call you Lester Ray?”

He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Could you call me Darren instead?”

“Darren? Is that your real name?”

“No. I just like the name. That’s the name I would have picked if I coulda named myself. It’s a great name, don’t you think? Kinda suave?”

“Very nice.” She nodded.

“I’m thinking about changing my name, all legal like, once I’m out of prison.” He leaned forward as if sharing something confidential. “Lester Ray just shouts redneck, don’t you think? I don’t think that Florida jury would have convicted Darren, but they sure didn’t like Lester Ray.”

“I don’t really think your name played into your conviction, Lester Ray,” she told him.

“Darren.”

“Right. But I do think that you were convicted on the basis of Eugene Potts’s testimony.”

“Yeah, what do you think of that, coming into court and just flat-out lying about me.” Lester Ray’s eyes darkened. “Made up shit…I mean, stuff…about me. Said he found my DNA on that girl.”

He leaned closer still, his voice soft, sincere.

“Miss Landry, I did not kill that girl. I swear on my mother’s grave, I did not kill that girl. I never saw her before they showed me her picture, the one they took of her on that couch, with the blood all around her mouth?” He shivered. “’Bout made me sick. What kind of a sick person would do something like that to such a pretty girl, then smear her up like that, lay her out like that?”

He shook his head, quietly horrified at the very thought.

“I’ve done some things in my life I’m not proud of, but I never done nothing like that to no one. I couldn’t even think of something that evil, Miss Landry. Whoever did that to that girl is evil through and through, but it wasn’t me.”

His gaze was steady, his expression solemn.

“I swear, Miss Landry. It wasn’t me.”

He appeared to be waiting for her to react, and when she did not, his eyes filled with just the barest trace of tears.

“You cannot imagine what it is like to be in this prison, counting down the days you still have left, knowing that everyone else is counting them down, too. And no one cares. There’s stuff that has to be done, official stuff, before you execute a man, and that’s all that’s been on anyone’s mind around here. The paperwork. The stuff they have to do before they kill me.” A tear dropped from each eye. “If I’d done what they said to that girl, it would be right. It would be justice. But there’s no justice in killing me, since I didn’t kill her, and I didn’t kill anyone else.”

Lester Ray began to sob.

“I do not want to die, Miss Landry. I want to live honorably for a long time. I want you to write my story, whether they execute me or not. Either way, I want you to be the one to tell it. Someone should.” He looked up and wiped his eyes with the back of his forearm. “Someone has to…”