Scott Pratt - Injustice for all

“He was drunk, and he spilled gas on himself when he stopped at a station.”

“That should be easy enough to verify, provided we can ask him which station he went to.”

“You’ll have to find him first.”

“Did he tell you all of this?”

“No. I haven’t talked to him. It’s all secondhand.”

“And what became of this clothing?” Anita says.

“I’m not sure. I think it might have been destroyed.”

“Intentionally destroyed?”

“I’m not sure.”

“By whom?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it could potentially harm someone I love very much.”

“Your son?”

“Someone I love very much. That’s all I’ll say.”

Anita leans forward, the wineglass still dangling from her slender fingers.

“You realize you’re telling me you may very well be guilty of a crime, Counselor. And this person you love so much, he or she could be guilty of a crime as well.”

“I know.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.” I hesitate for several seconds. “I still don’t think Tommy killed the judge, but I guess I just wanted to apologize for not being honest with you from the beginning.”

She’s silent for a minute, and then she does something that takes me completely by surprise. She gets up from the chair, walks over, and sits next to me on the couch. I feel a tightness in my stomach, a rush of excitement. My face flushes, and I immediately feel guilty.

“I owe you an apology, too,” she says. She smells like lilac.

“Really? For what?”

“For getting you fired. Indicting Tommy Miller was my boss’s idea. But sitting there listening to you rip the case apart and thunder away at Mooney made me realize I should have stood up to him. I guess I was feeling a little desperate with all the pressure to make an arrest. Judges and politicians from all over the state were calling my boss, and he was starting to lean on me. You know how cops are. The last thing you want to admit is that you have nothing, that you can’t prove a single thing. So when Harmon came up with this bright idea to go to Mooney, I went along with it. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the first cop who’s given in to the temptation to use the power of the grand jury prematurely,” I say, “and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”

“I never dreamed it would cost you your job,” she says.

She places her hand on my thigh, and my skin tingles. I take another drink of the wine.

“I’m fine,” I say. “We’re fine. Don’t worry about it. Listen, I need to get going. Caroline should be home by now. Thanks for talking to me.”

I set the empty wineglass on the table and stand. Anita leads me back through the condo to the door. She opens it and I step out into the night air. Relief washes over me. I’ve escaped. But I turn back.

“May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Why aren’t you married? I mean, you’re bright, you’re beautiful, you’re talented. I can’t believe they’re not standing in line to snatch you up.”

“I’m waiting for a man like my father,” she says. “I’ve only met one who could even come close, and he’s taken.”

She smiles at me and winks, and gently closes the door.

The next morning I’m at the grocery store, leaning over the fresh chicken comparing prices, when I suddenly feel uncomfortable. I can see someone in my peripheral vision standing about ten feet to my right. I glance over and see a blond, overweight, middle-aged woman I vaguely recognize. She’s staring at me. I try to place her but can’t. The look on her face is one of contempt, and I turn back to the chicken, hoping she’ll go away.

I pick out a small packet of breasts, place it in the basket I’m carrying, and glance back toward her. She’s still there, and she’s still staring. I turn and start walking in the opposite direction. I’ve taken about five steps when I hear a voice behind me.

“We missed you at the execution.”

I keep walking.

“Hey, superstar lawyer! I said we missed you at the execution!”

I suddenly realize who she is, and my throat tightens. It’s Brian Gant’s wife, Donna. I’d read the cursory account of Brian’s execution in the newspaper a few days earlier with a deep sense of regret. With everything that had been going on, I’d forgotten about it completely. I remember mentioning it to Mooney the morning Judge Green was killed, but after that, Brian had faded from my consciousness like fog being warmed by the sun. I stop and turn to face her.

“I’m sorry, Donna. I’m truly sorry.”

She steps up close to me, her eyes filled with fury.

“You’re right about that,” she says. “You’re the sorriest damned excuse for a lawyer I’ve ever seen. How does it feel to be responsible for the death of an innocent man?”

“I can’t explain how it feels,” I say honestly. “I wish I could have done more.”

“Brian told me you came down to the prison a few weeks ago and tried to unload your guilt on him. He said you told him you were sorry. You’re just sorry all over the place, aren’t you?”

“What do you want from me, Donna? I did all I could.”

“You know what the worst part of this is? The only reason Brian ended up with you as his lawyer was because we were poor. Tell me something. When the judge appointed you to represent him, why didn’t you tell the judge you didn’t have enough experience to handle a death penalty case?”

“I thought I was ready.”

“You thought you were ready? You thought wrong, didn’t you? You got your ass kicked by a confused five-year-old girl. And now my husband is dead.”

I look at the floor in shame. The same thing has passed through my mind a million times. I was young, I was eager, and I wanted to make my mark. But she’s right. I wasn’t ready.

“Look at me, you son of a bitch,” she says.

I raise my head slowly and look into her eyes. There are no tears, only the stark face of hatred.

“My husband was innocent,” she says. “Say it!”

“Your husband was innocent.” The words come out weakly. I feel so ashamed, I’m barely able to speak.

“And you killed him. Say it!”

“And I killed him.”

She moves even closer to me, so close I can feel her breath on my cheek. Then she spits in my face.

“I hope you rot in hell.”

She abruptly turns and walks away.

At some level, I’m conscious that I’m dreaming, but my mind won’t allow me to wake up.

I jump from the door of the C-130 Hercules and tuck. The static line snaps me backward as it rips the cover off my pack and deploys the parachute. I take a quick look up at the green canopy and then look down. I’m dropping toward a narrow peninsula on an island, thousands of miles from home. An airstrip extends far out beneath me. The green ocean is beating against jagged rocks no more than thirty feet on either side of the strip.

Two hours earlier, I’d never heard of Grenada. All they told us when we left Georgia was that we were going to war.

During the long flight, they’ve given us a quick briefing. The Grenadian government has been overthrown by left- wing radicals. Russian, Cuban, and North Korean advisers have been spotted on the island. They’re completing a ten-thousand-feet-long airstrip. A military buildup is suspected. There are hundreds of Americans on Grenada, most of them students at the Grand Anse area’s True Blue campus of St. George’s University School of Medicine. President Ronald Reagan has issued an executive order. We’re going in.

Our mission is to jump from only five hundred feet above the airstrip at a place called Point Salines. We’re to neutralize any resistance and secure the airstrip so our planes can land. Once we’ve done that, we’re to evacuate the students from the medical school. They’ve told us that a small number of Delta Force operators are already on the island, along with a few Navy SEALs. A U.S. Marine amphibious force has been diverted from a mission in Lebanon and will be mounting an assault. The Air Force is sending AC-130 Spectre gunships and combat controllers. Two battalions of Rangers are going in, and fighters from the Eighty-second Airborne Division will land as soon as we clear the runway. They’ve told us that Grenada is roughly one hundred twenty square miles, but that the fighting will concentrate around a city called St. George’s. The entire country has a population of one hundred thousand. I remember shaking my head when the lieutenant said that. All this for a country with a population roughly the size of Knoxville?