44

Mace James left the judicial building and kept his head down as two reporters chased after him, peppering him with questions. They soon gave up, and Mace marched straight to his car. His first call after leaving the parking garage was to the dean of Southeastern Law School. Sylvia Ellison answered on the second ring.

“There’s something I need you to hear from me,” Mace said. “It has to do with a hearing on the Marshall case at the Georgia Supreme Court.”

For ten minutes Mace told the Freddie Cooper story, his narrative interrupted by occasional expressions of surprise and concern by Dean Ellison. She had hired Mace six years ago, had stuck her neck out for him, and had been one of his biggest supporters. But today he couldn’t tell how she was taking this. When he concluded, she asked a number of terse questions and then fell silent for a moment. Mace waited her out.

“We’ve got a serious problem,” she said. “When you represent these clients, you’re not acting on your own behalf. You’re representing our school through the clinic. I’m definitely going to be hearing about this from the other professors and alumni.”

“I know, Sylvia. I’m sorry.”

“I need some time to process this. I want you in my office at 8 a.m. tomorrow. I might have Elias and John here as well.”

Elias was the dean of academic affairs. John was chairman of the law school’s board of trustees and the managing partner of a large Atlanta firm. It was like being called into the principal’s office and knowing that both parents would be there.

“Okay,” Mace said. “I’ll bring my Kevlar boxers.”

“See you tomorrow,” Sylvia said. It seemed the dean had lost her sense of humor.

On the way to Jackson, Mace called a few law school colleagues to tell them his side of the story, such as it was. He also called a few buddies he didn’t want hearing the story for the first time on the news. They were on his side before he could get halfway through the facts. His last call before he arrived at the prison in Jackson was to his pastor. The man listened patiently and promised to pray for Mace.

The conversation Mace had been dreading the most took place ten minutes later. Separated by glass from his client, phone to his ear, Mace gave Antoine a blow-by-blow description of the hearing.

Antoine’s eyes were as big as saucers, and tears started forming as Mace continued. Antoine held the phone tight, struggling to keep his composure.

“You don’t know how much I’ve been praying,” Antoine said when Mace was finished. “I haven’t eaten nothin’ for three days because the Bible says we should fast. Why does God hate me like this?”

Mace knew he didn’t have any satisfactory answers for a man who had already spent eleven years behind bars for something he didn’t do. “I don’t know what’s going on,” Mace admitted. “But I know you were three hours away from dying once, and God spared your life. This is no time to give up.”

Antoine shrugged, his rounded shoulders signaling total defeat. “You’re a good lawyer, Mace. But you can’t beat the system. Maybe it’s time to stop trying. Spend your time on somebody who’s got a chance.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mace promised. He tried to sound more confident than he felt. “In fact, I’m just warming up.”

“Right,” Antoine mumbled, his pity party in full swing. “Maybe I should just help the state out a little. Make everyone happy. End it once and for all.”

Mace leaned forward. If he could have reached through the glass, he would have shaken some sense into his client. “Don’t ever say that again,” Mace said firmly. “We’re going to get you out of here.”