The Chamber (Page 68)

"Frankly, Mr. Roxburgh, I’m not required to discuss my plans with you. Or with the court, for that matter."

"Of course not," McAllister chimed in for some reason, probably just his inability to stay quiet for more than five minutes.

Adam had noticed the lawyer sitting to Roxburgh’s right, a methodical sort with steely eyes that seldom left Adam. He was young but gray, clean-shaven, and very neat. McAllister favored him, and had leaned to his right several times as if receiving advice. The others from the AG’s office seemed to accede to his thoughts and movements. There was a reference in one of the hundred articles Adam had clipped and filed away about an infamous litigator in the AG’s office known as Dr. Death, a clever bird with a penchant for pushing death penalty cases to their conclusion. Either his first or last name was Morris, and Adam vaguely recalled a Morris something or other mentioned moments earlier during Roxburgh’s garbled introduction of his staff.

Adam assumed him to be the nefarious Dr. Death. Morris Henry was his name.

"Well, hurry up and file them then," Slattery said with a good dose of frustration. "I don’t want to work around the clock as this thing goes down to the wire."

"No sir," Adam said in mock sympathy.

Slattery glared at him for a moment, then returned to the paperwork in front of him. "Very well, gentlemen, I suggest you stick by your telephones Sunday night and Monday morning. I’ll be calling as soon as I’ve made a decision. This meeting is adjourned."

The conspiracy on the other side broke up in a ;furry of papers and files snatched from the table end sudden mumbled conversations. Adam was earest the door. He nodded at Slattery, offered feeble "Good day, Your Honor," and left the ffice. He gave a polite grin to the secretary and as into the hallway when someone called his name. It was the governor, with two flunkies tow.

"Can we talk a minute?" McAllister asked, rusting a hand at Adam’s waist. They shook r a second.

"What about?"

"Just five minutes, okay."

Adam looked at the governor’s boys waiting a few feet away. "Alone. Private. And off the record," he said.

"Sure," McAllister said, then pointed to a set of double doors. They stepped inside a small empty courtroom with the lights off. The governor’s hands were free. Someone else carried his briefcase and bags. He stuck them deep in his pockets and leaned against a railing. He was lean and well dressed, nice suit, fashionable silk tie, obligatory white cotton shirt. He was under forty and aging remarkably well. Only a touch of gray tinted his sideburns. "How’s Sam?" he asked, feigning deep concern.

Adam snorted, looked away, then sat his briefcase on the floor. "Oh, he’s wonderful. I’ll tell him you asked. He’ll be thrilled."

"I’d heard he was in bad health."

"Health? You’re trying to kill him. How can you be worried about his health?"

"Just heard a rumor."

"He hates your guts, okay? His health is bad, but he can hang on for another three weeks."

"Hate is nothing new for Sam, you know."

"What exactly do you want to talk about?"

"Just wanted to say hello. I’m sure we’ll get together shortly."

"Look, Governor, I have a signed contract with my client that expressly forbids me from talking to you. I repeat, he hates you. You’re the reason he’s on death row. He blames you for everything, and if he knew we were talking now, he’d fire me."

"Your own grandfather would fire you?"

"Yes. I truly believe it. So if I read in tomorrow’s paper that you met with me today and we discussed Sam Cayhall, then I’ll be on my way back to Chicago, which will probably screw up your execution because Sam won’t have a lawyer. Can’t kill a man if he doesn’t have a lawyer."

"Says who?"

"Just keep it quiet, okay?"

"You have my word. But if we can’t talk, then how do we discuss the issue of clemency?"

"I don’t know. I haven’t reached that point yet.

McAllister’s face was always pleasant. The comely smile was always in place or just beneath the surface. "You have thought about clemency, haven’t you?"

"Yes. With three weeks to go, I’ve thought bout clemency. Every death row inmate dreams f a pardon, Governor, and that’s why you can’t rant one. You pardon one convict, and you’ll have the other fifty pestering you for the same favor. Fifty families writing letters and calling ‘ night and day. Fifty lawyers pulling strings and trying to get in your office. You and I both know t can’t be done."

"I’m not sure he should die."

He said this while looking away, as if a change f heart was under way, as if the years had atured him and softened his zeal to punish am. Adam started to say something, then alized the magnitude of these last words. He atched the floor for a minute, paying particular attention to the governor’s tasseled loafers. The governor was deep in thought.

"I’m not sure he should die, either," Adam laid.

"How much has he told you?"

"About what?" ‘ "About the Kramer bombing."

"He says he’s told me everything."

"But you have doubts?"

"Yes."

"So do I. I always had doubts."

"Why?"

"Lots of reasons. Jeremiah Dogan was a notorious liar, and he was scared to death of going to prison. The IRS had him cold, you know, and he was convinced that if he went to prison he’d be raped and tortured and killed by gangs of blacks. He was the Imperial Wizard, you know. Dogan was also ignorant about a lot of things. He was sly and hard to catch when it came to terrorism, but he didn’t understand the criminal justice system. I always thought someone, probably the FBI, told Dogan that Sam had to be convicted or they’d ship him off to prison. No conviction, no deal. He was a very eager witness on the stand. He desperately wanted the jury to convict Sam."

"So he lied?"

"I don’t know. Maybe."

"About what?"

"Have you asked Sam if he had an accomplice?"

Adam paused for a second and analyzed the question. "I really can’t discuss what Sam and I have talked about. It’s confidential."

"Of course it is. There are a lot of people in this state who secretly do not wish to see Sam executed." McAllister was now watching Adam closely.

"Are you one of them?"

"I don’t know. But what if Sam didn’t plan to kill either Marvin Kramer or his sons? Sure Sam was there, right in the thick of it. But what if someone else possessed the intent to murder?"

"Then Sam isn’t as guilty as we think."

"Right. He’s certainly not innocent, but not guilty enough to be executed either. This bothers me, Mr. Hall. Can I call you Adam?"

"Of course."

"I don’t suppose Sam has mentioned anything about an accomplice."

"I really can’t discuss that. Not now."

The governor slipped a hand from a pocket and gave Adam a business card. "Two phone numbers on the back. One is my private office number. The other is my home number. All phone calls are confidential, I swear. I play for the cameras sometimes, Adam, it goes with the fob, but I can also be trusted."

Adam took the card and looked at the handwritten numbers.

"I couldn’t live with myself if I failed to rdon a man who didn’t deserve to die," McAllister said as he walked to the door. "Give me a call, but don’t wait too late. This thing’s already heating up. I’m getting twenty phone calls a day."