The Chamber (Page 67)

At six Tuesday morning, he casually picked up the Jackson paper and learned that the supreme court had turned him down, that the matter was now in federal court, assigned to judge Slattery, and that both the Attorney General and the governor were claiming another victory. Odd, he thought, since he hadn’t yet officially filed anything in federal court. He jumped in his car and raced to Jackson, two hours away. At nine, he entered the federal courthouse on Capitol Street in downtown, and met briefly with Breck Jefferson, an unsmiling young man, fresh from law school and holding the important position of Slattery’s law clerk. Adam was told to return at eleven for a meeting with the judge.

Although he arrived at Slattery’s office at exactly eleven, it was obvious a meeting of sorts had been in progress for some time. In the center of Slattery’s huge office was a mahogany conference table, long and wide with eight black leather chairs on each side. Slattery’s throne was at one end, near his desk, and before him on the table were stacks of papers, legal pads, and other effects. The side to his right was crowded with young white men in navy suits, all bunched together along the table, with another row of eager warriors seated close behind. This side belonged to the state, with His Honor, the governor, Mr. David McAllister, sitting closest to Slattery. His Honor, the Attorney General, Steve Roxburgh, had been banished to the middle of the table in an obvious losing battle over turf. Each distinguished public servant had brought to the table his most trusted litigators and thinkers, and this squadron of strategists had obviously been meeting with the judge and plotting long before Adam arrived.

Breck, the clerk, swung the door open and greeted Adam pleasantly enough, then asked him to step inside. The room was instantly silent as Adam slowly approached the table. Slattery reluctantly rose from his chair and introduced himself to Adam. The handshake was cold and fleeting. "Have a seat," he said ominously, fluttering his left hand at the eight Leather chairs on the defense side of the table. Adam hesitated, then picked one directly across from a face he recognized as belonging to Roxburgh. He placed his briefcase on the table, and sat down. Four empty chairs were to his right, in the direction of Slattery, and three to his left. He felt like a lonesome trespasser.

"I assume you know the governor and the Attorney General," Slattery said, as if everyone had personally met these two.

"Neither," Adam said, shaking his head slightly.

"I’m David McAllister, Mr. Hall, nice to meet you," the governor said quickly, ever the anxious glad-handing politician, with an incredibly rapid flash of flawless teeth.

"A pleasure," Adam said, barely moving his lips.

"And I’m Steve Roxburgh," said the Attorney General.

Adam only nodded at him. He’d seen his face in the newspapers.

Roxburgh took the initiative. He began talking and pointing at people. "These are attorneys from my criminal appeals division. Kevin Laird, Bart Moody, Morris Henry, Hugh Simms, and Joseph Ely. These guys handle all death penalty cases." They all nodded obediently while maintaining their suspicious frowns. Adam counted eleven people on the other side of the table.

McAllister chose not to introduce his band of clones, all of whom were suffering from either migraines or hemorrhoids. Their faces were contorted from pain, or perhaps from quite serious deliberation about legal matters at hand. "Hope we haven’t jumped the gun, Mr. Hall,"

Slattery said as he slipped a pair of reading glasses on his nose. He was in his early forties, one of the young Reagan appointees. "When do on expect to officially file your petition here in federal court?"

"Today," Adam said nervously, still astounded the speed of it all. This was a positive evelopment though, he’d decided while driving o Jackson. If Sam got any relief, it would be in federal court, not state.

"When can the state respond?" the judge sked Roxburgh.

"Tomorrow morning. Assuming the petition ere raises the same issues as those raised in e supreme court."

"They’re the same," Adam said to Roxburgh, en he turned to Slattery. "I was told to be here t eleven o’clock. What time did the meeting tart?"

"The meeting started when I decided it would tart, Mr. Hall," Slattery said icily. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Yes. It’s obvious this conference started some me ago, without me."

"What’s wrong with that? This is my office, end I’ll start meetings whenever I want."

"Yeah, but it’s my petition, and I was invited here to discuss it. Seems as though I should’ve been here for the entire meeting."

"You don’t trust me, Mr. Hall?" Slattery was easing forward on his elbows, thoroughly enjoying this.

"I don’t trust anybody," Adam said, staring at His Honor.

"We’re trying to accommodate you, Mr. Hall. Your client doesn’t have much time, and I’m only trying to move things along. I thought you’d be pleased that we were able to arrange this meeting with such speed."

"Thank you," Adam said, and looked at his legal pad. There was a brief silence as the tension eased a bit.

Slattery held a sheet of paper. "Get the petition filed today. The state will file its response tomorrow. I’ll consider it over the weekend and issue a ruling on Monday. In the event I decide to conduct a hearing, I need to know from both sides how long it will take to prepare. How about you, Mr. Hall? How long to get ready for a hearing?"

Sam had twenty-two days to live. Any hearing would have to be a hurried, concise affair with quick witnesses and, he hoped, a swift ruling by the court. Adding to the stress of the moment was the crucial fact that Adam had no idea how long it would take to prepare for a hearing because he’d never tried such a matter. He’d participated in a few minor skirmishes in Chicago, but always with Emmitt Wycoff close by. He was just a rookie, dammit! He wasn’t even certain where the courtroom was located.

And something told him that the eleven vultures examining him at this precise second knew full well he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. "I can be ready in a week," he said with a steady poker face and as much faith as he could muster.

"Very well," Slattery said, as if this was fine, a good answer, Adam, good boy. A week was reasonable. Then Roxburgh whispered something to one of his warlocks, and the whole bunch thought it was funny. Adam ignored them.

Slattery scribbled something with an ink pen, en studied it. He gave it to Breck the clerk ho treasured it and raced off to do something who with it. His Honor looked along the wall of legal infantry to his right, then he dropped his gaze upon young Adam. "Now, Mr. Hall, there’s something else I’d like to discuss. As you know, this execution is scheduled to take place twenty-two days, and I would like to know if this court can expect any additional filings on behalf of Mr. Cayhall. I know this is an unusual bequest, but we’re operating here in an unusual Situation. Frankly, this is my first involvement with a death penalty case as advanced as this one, and I think it’s best if we all work together here."

In other words, Your Honor, you want to make damned sure there are no stays. Adam thought for a second. It was an unusual request, and one that was quite unfair. But Sam had a constitutional right to file anything at anytime, and Adam could not be bound by any promises made here. He decided to be polite. "I really can’t say, Your Honor. Not now. Maybe next week."

"Surely you’ll file the usual gangplank appeals," Roxburgh said, and the smirking bastards around him all looked at Adam with wondrous amazement.