After a moment, Elena looked away. 'I'm tired now,' she said at last.
Terri kissed her forehead and left, gently closing the door behind her.
NINETEEN
'HOW DO PRICE'S LAWYERS RATIONALIZE THIS?' THE CHIEF JUSTICE asked Callista. 'Under AEDPA, Price has no right to be here.'
Callista remained standing in front of Caroline's desk. 'They claim that the Constitution gives this Court jurisdiction over habeas corpus petitions, including a claim of freestanding innocence, that can't be limited by Congress. In other words, AEDPA can't stop us from hearing a new claim.'
'And just what is it we're supposed to hear?'
'They found a teenage girl who claims the State's key witness—Eddie Fleet—forced her to give him oral sex when she was ten years old. They also claim California's failure to immunize Fleet meant they couldn't cross- examine him about his own involvement in the victim's death.' Callista paused for emphasis. 'Bottom line, Price's lawyers say we're the last chance to stop the State of California from killing an innocent man.'
'What about the Governor?'
'They're trying. But the Governor hasn't been heard from.'
Caroline felt caught between her conscience and a wholly practical concern—that intervening would further inflame the tensions on the Court, pitting her against Justice Fini, to the discomfort and resentment of her colleagues. With an uncharacteristic sigh, she asked Callista, 'What would you do?'
Without invitation, Callista sat. 'I'm a black woman,' she said bluntly. 'You probably noticed. But a lot of white folks still barely notice me at all. And some that do couldn't pick me out of a lineup of other black women about my age and height. They've got no practice telling one of us from another—all they see is 'black.'
'Fleet has no credibility left—not after this latest thing against him. So we're going to execute Price because an old white lady thought she could differentiate him from Fleet looking through a window across the street? Come on. Anyone who's comfortable with that is way too white for words.'
Despite her misgivings, Caroline smiled. 'Even the Assistant Attorney General who argued the case for California?'
'Especially him,' Callista answered with disdain. 'Do you believe Price did it?'
The blunt question, stripping Caroline of legal hedges, gave her pause. 'No,' she answered. 'But if you're Justice Fini, that's not the point.'
Caroline saw Callista hesitate, torn between her sense of injustice and the fear of crossing the line between Chief Justice and clerk. More quietly, she said, 'My mama's mouthy and opinionated, and I guess she raised another one. So I have to ask this, even though I know I'm out of line: What's the point for you?
'Can we just sit here and watch them kill this guy? Isn't Justice Glynn's penchant for worrying too much about Court politics exactly what got Price here? What greater good is the Court serving if it sacrifices Rennell Price? And do we even have the right to ask that question?' Callista lowered her voice again. 'Call me stupid—any black person in America can tell you 'justice' is hit or miss. But that's no reason for us to close our eyes.'
Caroline considered her. 'I guess Price wants an immediate stay of execution,' she said. 'Until this Court, or some other Court, rules on his new evidence.'
'Yes.'
'How many days until his execution?'
'Five.'
Caroline glanced at her calendar. 'Write this one up,' she ordered. 'And keep close contact with the Governor's office. I want to know what happens with clemency.'
* * *
Three days passed, filled with fruitless scraping for new evidence, searching for Fleet, jumping when the phone rang, checking for faxes at the office and at home. Chris looked tired; Carlo was irritable and jumpy. No one could find Fleet.
'The Court's playing chicken with the Governor,' Chris opined. 'No one wants to go first.'
Rennell had stopped eating. 'Don't need food no more,' he said to Terri. The fear in his dull eyes made Terri miserable.
'Don't give up,' she told him.
Two nights before the date of execution, Eddie Fleet came to Terri in a dream. Hugging her, he said quietly, 'I can't let Rennell suffer anymore. Tell me what I need to do.'
When she woke, reality overtaking her, only Chris was there.
* * *
Three hours later, at the office, the fax machine emitted a letter from the Governor headed 'In the Matter of the Clemency Petition of Rennell Price.'
Every court available, the Governor explained, had reviewed this matter—several times—including an exhaustive analysis by the United States Supreme Court. Given this meticulous and repeated judicial scrutiny, the deplorable nature of the crime, and the wishes of Thuy Sen's family, the execution of Rennell Price could not reasonably be called a miscarriage of justice. Clemency denied.
There was no time for emotion. Swiftly, Chris and Terri sent a supplemental pleading to the death penalty clerk of the United States Supreme Court, attaching the Governor's letter, for review by the Chief Justice.
Thirty-seven hours separated Rennell from death.
