Greg Iles - Turning Angel

Late on my second night in the hospital, Mia called. She told me she had wanted to visit earlier, but that Caitlin had told her it was best that I have as few visitors as possible. This surprised and even angered me, but on reflection I understood. It took me a while to realize that Mia was crying softly. To raise her spirits, I asked her to update me on the progress of her investigation. I knew better than to believe my absence would end her Nancy Drew efforts.

Mia had deduced that I’d been kidnapped or killed by either Cyrus White or the Asians, since I had provoked both parties. Because she had no way to work the Asian angle, she had focused on Cyrus. The only possible line Mia had into Cyrus’s organization was Marko, so for the past week, she had talked to every high school student in town, trying to find some clue to Marko’s whereabouts. She’d badgered Alicia Reynolds, Marko’s girlfriend, but Alicia had blown her off. When Mia tried to follow Alicia in her car, she quickly discovered that the police were doing the same thing. After being warned off, she went home and fell into a mild depression. I thanked her profusely for everything she’d done, but this didn’t bring her out of her mood. She’d cut school twice to attend Drew’s trial, she said, and she had a bad feeling about the way it was going.

I wanted to see for myself, but my withdrawal symptoms grew worse, not better. The methadone helped, but it didn’t stop the pain that bored like rusty nails into my bones. I still had an irregular heartbeat, as well, but Dad told me that was caused by the vasculitis, not the withdrawal.

This morning I learned that Shad and Quentin were scheduled to give their closing statements, but as badly as I wanted to hear them, I simply couldn’t function well enough to go to the courthouse. It was all I could do to stand beside my bed for five minutes, or sit in the visitors’ chair watching television. I got so agitated at my failure that Dad finally sedated me. I lay in the bed half conscious, waiting for an update from Caitlin, who was in the courtroom.

I waited in vain. Caitlin wasn’t about to give up her seat in the packed courtroom to call someone who couldn’t do anything about what was happening anyway. I switched on the TV and tried to think about something else, but it was no use. I’d never felt so impotent in my life. I lay shaking under the blanket, troubled by thoughts of Blue, almost wishing the big man would appear at my bedside with his blessed syringe. But he couldn’t do that, of course. He was dead. I’d cut the top of his head off with a battery plate. When the sedative finally overwhelmed me, I almost wept with relief.

”Penn? Penn, wake up.“

I blink my eyes in confusion. My mother is standing beside my bed.

”What’s the matter?“

”Caitlin’s on the phone. The jury’s back.“

A bolus of adrenaline shoots through my body. ”Give it to me!“

Mom passes me the phone. ”Caitlin?“

”The jury’s coming back in,“ she whispers. ”They deliberated ninety-four minutes.“

My face goes cold.

”What do you think?“

”Guilty.“

”If they see me on this phone, they’ll kick me out,“ Caitlin says. ”I’m going to leave the connection open. If you can’t hear the verdict, I’ll tell you as soon as I can.“

My phone begins hissing like a link to outer space. I’ve never listened to a jury verdict this way before. A friend of mine once called me and held up his cell phone at a Paul McCartney concert: ”Eleanor Rigby,“ I think.

”Who is the foreperson?“ asks Judge Arthel Minor, his voice replacing the hiss with amazing clarity.

For some reason, I don’t hear the reply. Probably because the judge has a microphone while the jury box doesn’t.

”Have you reached a verdict?“ Judge Minor asks.

Again nothing.

”Please pass the verdict to the clerk.“

Silence now, but I know what’s happening. The clerk is giving the verdict to Judge Minor, who will check to see if the jury has worded it correctly. Minor will then pass it to the clerk, who will read the verdict aloud. At least three deputies will surround Drew to keep him from bolting in panic in the event of a guilty verdict, or to protect him from angry relatives of the victim in the opposite event.

”Ladies and gentlemen,“ says Judge Minor, ”I’m warning you. There will be no outbursts when the verdict is read, or afterward. There will be quiet and order. Do not test me, or you will find yourself in the custody of the sheriff.“

After a brief silence, Minor says, ”Read the verdict.“

A female voice says, ”In the matter of the State of Mississippi versus Drew Elliott, we find the accused guilty on two counts of the charge of first-degree murder during commission of a felony.“

I sag against my pillow.

”Did you hear that?“ Caitlin whispers.

”I heard.“

”I can’t believe it.“

”Believe it.“

”Are you okay?“

”Yes. Go. I know you need to work.“

”Wait. Judge Minor’s going to poll the jury.“

”They always do that in capital cases. It’s over, Caitlin.“

”I’ll call you as soon as I can,“ she promises.

I let the phone drop and reach for my water glass.

I wish there were some way I could talk to Drew. Right now he’s standing at his table in shock, Quentin Avery beside him, watching Judge Minor excuse the family of the victim-Jenny Townsend and perhaps her ex-husband. Next Drew’s family will be excused. I wonder who was there for him. His parents are dead. Ellen? Probably not. Timmy is certainly not there. But after whoever is there for him has left the courtroom, Drew will be escorted straight back to the county jail. What can he be thinking? An innocent man convicted of capital murder. The realization that twelve citizens believed him capable of brutally raping and murdering a young girl will stun Drew into shock. If it wasn’t for Tim, I’d be afraid he might try to kill himself.

”Penn, are you all right?“ asks my mother.

”Yes.“

”What happened?“

”Guilty. They found Drew guilty.“

”Oh, my God. Oh, no.“

Peggy Cage takes several steps around the room, then stops, shaking her head. ”I just don’t believe it. I watched that boy grow up. He ate tuna fish sandwiches in my house every day, every summer, for years. That boy was raised right. There’s no way on earth he hurt that poor girl like that. No way. This world has turned upside down.“

”I agree with you. But twelve other people don’t.“

”Fools,“ she says conclusively. ”Poor protoplasm.“

”It was a solid case, Mom. But it doesn’t matter now. Now Drew has to look toward the appeal.“

”Did he get the death penalty?“

”That’s a separate phase of the trial. They may do that today, or they might wait until tomorrow.“

Mom walks back to my bed, her eyes worried. ”You look bad, Penn. Worse than you did two minutes ago.“

”I don’t feel too good,“ I admit.

”I’m going to get your father to give you something. Something to help you sleep.“

”I don’t need anything, Mom.“

”You let me worry about that.“

Ten minutes later, my father appears, a syringe in his hand. If only he had what Blue used to bring me…

But soon enough, I’m gone again.

”Penn?“

I groan and force myself to open my eyes.

”Who is it?“ I croak, squinting against the light.

”Me.“

”Who?“

”Ellen. Ellen Elliott. My God…are you all right?“

”It’s not as bad as it looks.“

”It’s probably worse.“

I can see her now, her skin greenish under the fluorescent lights. Ellen doesn’t look too good herself. She’s lost weight over the past two weeks. A lot of weight. Her color job is fading, the Nordic blond hair now rooted with brown and gray.