James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

Everybody cheered. They wouldn’t have to lug their equipment on the subway to the Bronx. They’d be traveling in style .

Joe Sheffield saved the final surprise for Saturday morning when they were all assembled in front of the big yellow school bus. Mary McKenna was there. She opened the bar up and Joe ushered everybody into the back of the room. He stood next to Mary, who was smiling from ear to ear. They were standing behind a table with two cardboard boxes in front of them .

“Mary called me the other night,” Joe said, scanning their faces. “She didn’t want you guys going up to the Bronx to represent this neighborhood looking like a bunch of ragamuffins. So we had some jerseys made.” Joe pulled a jersey out of one of the boxes. It was white with short sleeves, kelly-green trim around the shoulders, and a shamrock on each sleeve. It had a big number ten in kelly green on the front and back. Everybody cheered when they saw it .

“Everybody has to have a number for the championship game,” Joe went on. “I have already handed in a roster with your name and number on it. There’s a program they’ll hand out today, and each of you will be in it.” More cheers. “So come up here when I call your name, pick up your jersey, and get on the bus. We’ve got to get moving.”

Johnny watched Floyd as he took his jersey and walked over to Mary McKenna and gave her a big hug. Ever since the night Mary kicked Joe Meeley out of the bar they had developed a special relationship .

Joe Sheffield called Johnny’s name. He got his jersey, number thirty-three, put it on over his T-shirt and headed for the bus. After a send-off like this, he was sure they were going to bring the championship trophy back to the Carlow .

Johnny sat next to Floyd on the bus ride to Mount Vernon .

“What happened with that police thing?” he asked. “Rico keeps saying nothing happened.”

“It’s over,” Floyd told him .

“That’s it? They just dropped it?”

“They didn’t just drop it. They didn’t have anything on us, really. I mean, it was just a tackle. Rico kept talking about the ambulance guys not showing up and I think it made them mad-you know, like he was trying to use it as an excuse even though it was absolutely true. If they had showed up in five minutes instead of twenty-five, that guy would still be alive. Anyway, the last time they called us down to the station they had an Army recruiter there. They told us they would drop all the charges if we agreed to sign up for four years. If we didn’t, they were going to charge us with manslaughter.”

“So you signed up?”

“Yeah. We had no choice.”

“You could have fought it and won.”

“Johnny, where we come from, getting rousted by the cops is a daily occurrence. Fighting with them only makes it worse. Part of me thinks that if they’d nabbed you instead of Rico, this wouldn’t have happened. They don’t have the balls to railroad a white kid from a nice neighborhood.”

“I can change that. I can still say it was me.”

“It’s too late now. It’s done.”

Johnny was silent. Floyd was right. There was nothing either of them could do about it .

Charlie decided to stay an extra week when she heard about Henry. Jack and Pat initially protested, but Charlie dismissed their objections.

“I’m staying. You’ve got things to do, Jack, and so do Pat and I. We’re going to spend all your hard-earned money.”

That was the end of it. Charlie’s presence freed Jack up to concentrate on Henry’s situation. Pat was always on his mind-but he could see that Pat was having a lot more fun with Charlie than she would have with him.

He called Susan Fletcher’s office every day that week about the motion for rehearing, but he never managed to speak to her.

“She knows about your motion, Mr. Tobin,” her secretary told him. “I give her your message every day. She’s very busy. She’s in court right now.”

With just three days to go before the execution, Jack called Wofford.

“I can’t get through to Judge Fletcher. I don’t think she wants to overturn a decision of one of her colleagues, so she’s just ignoring it and letting the time run out.”

“You’re probably right,” Wofford told him. “Have you talked to Henry?”

“Every day for about two minutes. I’ve kept him informed, but I need to see him in person. I’ve got a federal habeas corpus action prepared, but I need his permission to file it.”

“You have to talk him into it?” Wofford asked.

“He’s a stubborn man. It was a chore to get him to agree to the original motion. He’s just sick of the system.”

“I’ll tell you what, Jack. You go see Henry, and I’ll take care of the Susan Fletcher problem. Trust me. One way or another, you are going to have an order.”

“Okay, Wofford, I’ll leave Susan Fletcher in your hands.”

The next morning, Jack left for Starke, where he planned to stay until Henry either got a stay or was executed. The last time he’d taken such a trip, Pat went with him. She knew the ordeal he was in for. She held his face in her hands as she kissed him good-bye.

“Remember that I’m with you in this, right next to you. I know that you will do everything for Henry that is humanly possible because that is who you are. I’ll be praying for both of you.”

Henry doesn’t know how lucky he is , Jack thought as he set out on his long journey to North Florida. Having Pat as an advocate before the Almighty is as good as you can get . He was hopeful suddenly that the Almighty, seeing the sorry shape that he was in, would give Pat a little more time before He called her home.

On the eve of his execution, Henry’s handlers were giving him all kinds of special treatment. He was allowed to be with Jack in their special meeting room unfettered by handcuffs and shackles. The two men shook hands for the first time.

“You did a good job, Counselor. You did everything you possibly could for me. Remember that.”

“We’re not done yet, Henry. Not by a long shot. I’ve got a habeas corpus petition to file in federal court. There’s a study that says the lethal injection method is cruel and unusual. I just need your permission to file it.”

“The answer is no, Jack. You may not be done, but I am. I’m not going to let them strap me on that gurney tomorrow night just to release me at the last minute so they can do it again a month from now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Do you honestly think they’re going to stop executing people because there might be a flaw in the lethal injection process? They’ve gone from the noose to the electric chair to lethal injection-which, by the way, is optional. They still have Old Sparky. What I’m saying, Jack, is if I don’t get a new trial and I’m not found innocent, I don’t want to play their game. Let’s get it over with.”

Jack didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Henry had a right to decide when enough was enough. It was now up to Judge Susan Fletcher whether Henry would live or die.

Wofford Benton had thought that because he was a judge Susan Fletcher would take his calls. After trying every hour on the hour for a day and a half, he realized he was sorely mistaken.

On Thursday, October 29, 1998, the day Henry Wilson was scheduled to die, Judge Susan Fletcher was in her courtroom in downtown Miami presiding over preliminary hearings when an overweight, balding man in his mid-sixties walked in and came straight down the middle aisle. He strode deliberately past the bar that separated the people from the judge, her staff, and the attorneys. The courtroom was full with those who were being brought before the court, their attorneys, the state’s attorneys, sheriff’s deputies, and numerous other spectators and court personnel.