'But if it's true,' Callista countered, 'Fleet came close to admitting guilt—'if you choke to death, at least it'll be an accident.' Shouldn't Price's lawyers have time to find the woman who called them? Why does the State insist on killing him tonight?'
'There'll always be something, Justice Fini would say—it's not this Court's job to wring our collective hands over every last wisp of 'new evidence.' ' With an anger she knew to be misplaced, Caroline turned on her clerk. 'What's the legal justification for granting a stay, Callista? AEDPA? Do you think Justice Fini and his four allies will find this 'clear and convincing'? And where's the constitutional violation which kept this evidence from coming out in trial?
'It didn't even exist at the time of trial, for Godsakes. And it's inadmissible—'
'It wouldn't be,' Callista cut in, 'if Price's lawyers could find this woman.'
Caroline reined in her own emotions. 'Callista,' she said more calmly, 'I went out on a limb a few days ago. The Court dissolved my stay. If I keep doing this, it will look like I'm sticking my thumb in Fini's eye. At some point I have to think about my own credibility, and not inflaming tensions on the Court. There are other cases.'
Callista folded her arms. In the bleak light of the Chief Justice's office, she looked both sad and fierce. 'Maybe so,' she answered, 'but Rennell Price has only got one life.'
Caroline studied her. 'I'm sorry,' she said at last. 'But perfect justice does not exist.'
'I know that.'
The cool response was more disturbing to Caroline than more argument. Turning from the screen, she walked to her window and gazed out into the darkness, at nothing.
'I won't enter a stay,' she said. 'But call the others. Make sure they see this petition and know they should vote by two A.M. If you want to draft a short recommendation, you can.'
'Thank you,' Callista said simply. When the Chief Justice turned from the window, her clerk was already gone.
* * *
At nine-thirty, Pacific daylight time, Terri had no word from Chris. Picking up the telephone, she called Rennell in his holding cell.
'We still haven't heard anything,' she said, as though passing on routine information, then tried to infuse some cheer into her voice. 'I just felt like talking with you.'
'Yeah.' Rennell's voice was soft. 'Preacher's here with me. But I feel like talkin' to you, too.'
'Do you know what I was thinking about? Some of the good things that happened in your life.'
'Like Payton?'
'Like Payton. But I was thinking about Mrs. Brooks, your third-grade teacher. She really cared about you.'
She heard Rennell breathe heavily, a sound akin to a sigh. 'Think she did?'
'She kept your picture, Rennell. All these years, and she still kept it. She wanted to remember you.'
Again, Rennell was silent. Then he said, 'Talkin' to you makes me feel better.' He paused again. 'I'm real tired, though. You tired?'
'A little,' Terri said gently. 'But I'm still waiting to hear from Chris. After that, I'll call again.'
* * *
Howard Shipler's solarium had floor-to-ceiling glass walls, wicker furniture, and a full complement of miniature palm trees and exotic leafy plants. Tautly waiting for the Governor in an oversize chair worthy of the Viceroy of British India, Chris half-expected a cockatoo to appear in Darrow's place.
Instead, the Governor stepped briskly into the room, his shirt starched, his thin blade of a body erect, his eyes keen. Even in the company of such very good friends, Craig Darrow drank only soda water.
'Chris,' Darrow said, shaking his hand, 'I know these are some pretty bad hours. For both of us, however hard that may be to accept.'
'Worse for Rennell Price,' Chris answered. 'He's only got two hours left, and only you can save him—'
'What about the Supreme Court?'
'We haven't heard. But I'm not expecting that they'll help.'
Darrow shoved both hands in the pockets of his pin-striped suit. 'But you expect that I will.'
With effort, Chris achieved a tone of reasoned calm. 'Aside from Fleet's murder, we have new evidence, an anonymous call. It's another case where Fleet—the State's witness—forced a minor into oral copulation. Only this time he used a gun, and offered a kind of confession.'
'Yes,' Darrow said coolly. 'I read your letter myself. Have you found the caller?'
'Not yet. That's why we want more time.'
Gazing at the tile floor, Darrow grimaced, then placed a hand on Chris's shoulder. 'I respect what you're doing, Chris. I consider you a friend. But how many courts have looked at this, how many different times . . .'
'That's why they call it clemency. It's not about AEDPA, or even about standards of guilt or innocence—it's about mercy. But we're not even asking for that. All we want is a reprieve—a chance to find new evidence.' Disheartened by the opacity of Darrow's gaze, Chris said abruptly, 'Dammit, Craig, he didn't do it.'
'So you say,' Darrow answered in a tone of resignation and apology. 'But so does any lawyer say. If I intervene for this man, it would seem as though I was doing a favor for a friend. And so I would be.'
The transcendent cynicism of this answer frayed Chris's nerves even further. 'What will a few weeks' grace
