James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

“So what is it that’s so important?” Webster finally asked.

“A man’s life.”

“Oh shit, you’re not one of those DNA activists, are you? ‘Everybody in jail is innocent! Everybody was wrongfully convicted!’”

Jack could tell this was going to be a challenging interview.

“No, nothing like that. DNA isn’t involved. It’s about a death-row case though, a man named Henry Wilson. He was convicted seventeen years ago based solely on the testimony of a convicted felon, David Hawke. Do you remember that case at all?”

“Not at all,” Webster replied.

Jack refused to be deterred by Webster’s faulty memory. “The deceased was a guy named Clarence Waterman, a drug dealer who also worked as a hairdresser. David Hawke said he drove Henry Wilson and Hawke’s cousin to Waterman’s place and waited while they killed him and then drove them away.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Neither David Hawke nor his cousin were ever charged with the crime, even though by Hawke’s own testimony they were both guilty.”

That last remark finally hit pay dirt. “That kind of shit happened all the time. Who was the prosecutor?”

Jack thought back to the records he had reviewed but couldn’t come up with the name. “I’m not sure. It was Man-something.”

“Mancuso?”

“That’s it.”

“It figures,” Webster replied. “Mancuso was famous for shit like that. I’ll never testify to that though, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Hang on a second, Mr. Webster. An attorney named Ted Griffin represented a guy named James Vernon-”

“Ted Griffin,” Webster interrupted Jack again. “Now, there’s a piece of shit.” Jack had him interested again-at least momentarily.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that one,” Jack replied, feeding right into the negativity. “Anyway, Vernon was a possible suspect in this murder. At least, that’s what the defense thought, and Griffin says that Vernon told him he’d talked to you. Do you remember that?”

“Do you have any idea how many thousands of people I’ve talked to? No way can I remember one particular interview.”

Jack was at his wit’s end. Of course Webster couldn’t remember. The murder happened seventeen years ago. He kept talking though.

“Would you have taken any notes? Where would they be?”

Jack was never to know why Anthony Webster gave him anything. Maybe the man had it in for the prosecutor, Mancuso. Maybe he simply didn’t like the system that allowed a man to be convicted on a felon’s word. But something Jack said flipped a switch in the former investigator.

“I always suspected that somebody was going to get caught with their tit in the wringer one day for using convicted felons as prosecution witnesses in cases like this. Don’t get me wrong-most of the prosecutors were hard-working, honest guys. Every barrel always has a few rotten apples, you know what I mean?”

Jack took his cue. “I sure do.”

“I don’t know if any notes exist, Mr. Tobin. I always made notes of my interviews, so if I interviewed this guy, there is a record of it. Prosecutors, especially guys like Mancuso, never produced those notes to the defense. They claimed they were work-product or some other bullshit terminology lawyers use when they don’t want to produce something. Anyway, those notes would probably be considered a public record by now. If you make a written request for the investigator’s notes in the prosecutor’s file for Henry Wilson, they should produce them, if they exist. You can call too. Ask for Margo Drake-she’s the records custodian. She can help you. Just tell her it’s a public record-those are the magic words. You didn’t get this information from me though. Understood?”

“Understood,” Jack replied, crossing his fingers.

Webster hung up the phone before Jack had an opportunity to thank him.

Jack got Margo Drake’s number and called her right away. He told her who he was and what he was looking for. He didn’t have the faith Anthony Webster did that the magic words public record were going to do the trick, so he added a few extra.

“Anthony Webster was the investigator on that case and he instructed me to give you a call and to tell you his notes were now a public record.”

“Oh, I’m glad you told me that,” Margo Drake told Jack. “Because we don’t usually give out anything in the prosecutor’s separate file. That file contains all the prosecutor’s notes and everything. However, since this case is so old-and you just want Mr. Webster’s notes and not the prosecutor’s and Mr. Webster instructed you to call to tell me it is a public record-we’ll have to comply. It will take me a few days because those files are in storage.”

Jack thanked her and told her a few days would be fine. He then sent her a letter confirming their telephone conversation.

The notes arrived five days later. Anthony Webster had indeed interviewed James Vernon, and Vernon had told him essentially the same story he told Wofford Benton-that he was just a witness to the murder.

Jack’s dilemma still remained the same. James Vernon had told two different stories to four different people. He had no credibility, and therefore, in Jack’s mind, the question of Henry Wilson’s innocence was still very much in doubt. On the other hand, Anthony Webster’s notes changed the legal ballgame entirely. If Wofford Benton had been able to call the prosecutor’s investigator to the stand instead of a prison snitch to talk about what James Vernon told him after the state had put on its case and rested and after Vernon had taken the Fifth, Henry Wilson might not have been convicted. Jack’s burden was now clear: he would have to convince a judge that Anthony Webster’s testimony was newly discovered evidence.

He sent a copy of the notes to Webster, along with an affidavit confirming under oath that the notes were indeed his and that the interview took place during the prosecution’s investigation of the case, a month before Henry Wilson’s trial.

When he received the signed affidavit back in the mail, Jack called Wofford Benton. The judge was in the middle of a hearing. To Jack’s surprise, he recessed his hearing temporarily to take the call.

“What’s up, Jack?”

“Well, Judge, I just want to update you on the case. You asked me to do that.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you.”

“I just received an affidavit from Anthony Webster. He was an investigator at the state’s attorney’s office.”

“Yeah, I vaguely remember him. He was wound a little tight as I recall.”

“That’s the guy. Anyway, I found notes of an interview between Webster and James Vernon in which Vernon told Webster the same thing that he told you. Did you know that Vernon had spoken to the prosecutor’s man a month before the trial?”

“Of course not. How did you find out?”

“Ted Griffin told me when I talked to him.”

“Dammit!” the judge swore. In the silence that followed, Jack could hear Wofford breathing heavily on the other end of the line. He was processing the information, and it didn’t take him long to arrive at the same conclusion Jack had reached.

“Let me ask you this, Jack. Do you think Henry would have been convicted if I had been able to put the state’s chief investigator on the stand to testify on his behalf rather than that jailhouse snitch, Willie Smith?”

“I don’t think so, Judge.”

“Neither do I. I’ll go ahead and prepare my own affidavit, and you use it however you need to. Even though I don’t think you will be successful with the ‘incompetence of counsel’ defense, I understand that you have to raise the issue.”

Wofford Benton no longer appeared to be a disinterested observer. He had joined the appellate team.