'Let it go,' Chris answered quietly. 'Rennell was forty-eight hours from execution. We had to argue everything we could.'
Carlo looked from his father to Terri. 'And we've kept Rennell alive. All we need to do now is persuade the Supreme Court not to take the case. I mean, they only grant about one percent of these petitions, right?'
'That doesn't mean much here,' Terri told him. 'Pell has packaged this as Armageddon, creating an absolute necessity for the Supreme Court to save AEDPA, slap down the Ninth Circuit, and pillory Blair Montgomery.' Turning to Chris, she asked, 'How many times does Pell mention Montgomery's name?'
Chris smiled faintly. 'I lost count.'
Carlo stood, stretching his arms over his head. 'Can't we crosspetition on the issues we lost? Maybe the Court will look at the whole mess and decide they don't want to consider whether the entire capital punishment system is all screwed up.'
'Bad idea,' Terri said flatly. 'We want to make this case sound ordinary, and Pell sound like he's hyperventilating. Having to defend the ruling on freestanding innocence will be hard enough.'
'Terri's right,' Chris concurred. 'As I read the Supreme Court, Pell has got three likely votes already—Justices Fini, Kelly, and Ware. Rothbard, Huddleston, and the Chief Justice are probably inclined toward us. We have to pitch this case to the cautious middle: Raymond, Millar, and, especially, Justice Glynn—'
'All Pell needs is one more vote,' Terri interjected, 'and the Supreme Court will take the case. Two votes, and the Court can summarily reverse the Ninth Circuit—without even giving us a hearing. Our best hope is to persuade Glynn, Raymond, and Millar that this case is just about one prisoner, Rennell Price, and nothing to get excited over.'
'In other words,' Chris said dryly, 'that the machinery of death will grind on as before. Just without Rennell.'
* * *
Hearing the identity of his caller, Charles Monk chuckled softly.
'Congratulations, counselor. Been reading where you saved that poor innocent we persecuted. Must be on top of the world.'
'High on life,' Terri said pleasantly. 'As it were. Are you really feeling all that aggrieved?'
'Oh, I'll live, too. I'm more sorry for that girl's family. No end to this for them.'
'And killing Rennell would be an end?'
'For some families it is, of a kind. You never know before they execute the guy. Or in this case, the last guy.' Monk's voice softened. 'But you didn't call me to gloat, or argue capital punishment. You want something.'
'Other than Eddie Fleet?' Terri answered in a pointed tone. 'Betty Sims. I was wondering if you'd found her yet.'
Monk laughed again. 'Guess you think you haven't got the degree of innocence some judges may be looking for. Pell told me he's taking this all the way to the U.S. Supremes.'
'Yeah,' Terri said sardonically. 'It's an outrage, what those two judges did. Pell still thinks there's at least a chance Rennell might actually be guilty, which is more than enough for him. What about you?'
'Me? I'm sitting here looking at some crime scene pictures—double murder of a mom and kid in the Mission District, domestic probably. Killed with a knife. A whole lot nastier than lethal injection, though at least it came as a surprise to the folks in these photographs.' Monk paused a moment. 'About Betty Sims, she's nowhere in the Bayview. I don't have much time these days, and my guess is she's long gone from San Francisco. But I'll poke around a little more.'
'Thanks,' Terri said, her voice revealing more relief than she wished. 'Guess you're more curious than Larry.'
'Maybe about Fleet,' Monk answered. 'You know how cops are. Never a good reason to hide behind the Fifth Amendment.'
With this remark—perhaps, Terri thought, a tacit jibe at Larry Pell—Monk got off.
* * *
'Betty Sims?' Johnny Moore asked Terri. 'Still can't find her. In fact, I've still got nothing concrete that says Eddie Fleet likes little girls.'
'Well, he does,' Terri snapped. 'Take it from this girl.'
'I'm turning over every rock I can find,' Moore answered patiently. 'But a lot of bad things happen to kids no one ever knows about—at least until it's too late.'
Terri stood. 'We may need this, Johnny. I don't want it to be 'too late' for Rennell.' She paused, speaking in a lower voice. 'Or for Elena.'
There was a long silence. 'I understand.' Moore's tone was sober and measured. 'Anything else?'
'Yeah. Tasha Bramwell.'
Moore hesitated. 'Sure you want me to find her?'
Surprised, Terri realized that, in her anxiety, the question had not occurred to her. 'Why not? It seems to me she's a missing piece.'
'But if she knew Rennell was innocent, wouldn't she have said so? Instead she lied—which we've always assumed she did for Payton. What if Tasha knows something about Rennell that you don't want to know?'
'Then I guess I'll have to live with it,' Terri answered.
TWO
ON A DECEMBER MORNING WHEN A CASCADE OF MOIST SNOWFLAKES stuck to the ground and crippled much of Washington, Callista Hill arrived at the Supreme
