For days, Payton gave Jamal no sign of recognition.
He sat there, stone-faced, the only clue that he acknowledged his surroundings the utter stillness of his eyes when fresh insults issued from the cages all around them. Then Jamal could see him imagining his future, or its end. This two-hundred-foot corridor with cells smelling of urine and packed with restless, stinking prisoners, divided by race—or by sanity from the babbling crazies or those gripped by catatonia—was merely the devil's waiting room; the final step for Payton Price would be hell itself. But his brother, a torpid mass, seemed not to care. Now and then Payton would murmur stuff to Rennell, too soft for Jamal to hear. Sometimes the big man nodded.
It was only on their fourth day in jail that Payton walked over to the bars dividing the brothers from Jamal.
Softly, Payton said, 'I know you, Jamal.'
Even through iron bars, there was something scary about Payton Price—a deadly quiet in his speech, a stone coldness in his eyes. From the next few words, Jamal knew that Payton had a purpose.
'When you getting out?' Payton asked.
Briefly, Jamal hesitated. 'Seven days,' he answered.
He imagined Payton smiling.
* * *
After that, Payton turned to small talk: who they knew in common, who was dead or in prison, whether Jamal had bumped into someone lately that Payton used to know, who maybe had killed someone and gotten by with it. It struck Jamal that Payton was reconstructing the Bayview in his head, like some fucking scientist studying tribes in Africa. Or maybe just some prison psychologist trying to look into Jamal's own head. But the weirdest thing was how soft he talked, so Jamal's cell mates could not hear.
'Could Rennell hear?' Mauriani asked.
'Don't know,' Jamal answered. 'Didn't seem like he much cared.'
* * *
Three days before Jamal got out, Payton motioned him to the bars. Jamal stopped three feet away. 'Come on over here,' Payton demanded.
Apprehensive, Jamal did. Payton stuck his face through the bars until it was inches from Jamal's. 'You know Eddie Fleet?' he asked.
Something in his tone made Jamal fear to answer. 'Yeah,' he acknowledged. 'I know him.'
For once, Payton's cold black eyes seemed to give off light. 'You know why we're in this shithole?'
'Sure. That girl.'
Payton grabbed the bars, eyes locking Jamal's. 'We're here,' he almost whispered, 'because Eddie Fleet lied to that dude Monk.'
Though Payton's voice was soft, Jamal could feel the intensity of his hatred. 'Lied about what?' he asked.
Payton did not answer. When he spoke again, his voice was softer yet. 'No Fleet, no case. You understand what I'm sayin'?'
Silent, Jamal nodded.
'So I want 'no Fleet,' Jamal. Who you know that could make that happen?'
Reflexively Jamal felt his mind begin to work. 'For what?'
'A cut of my business,' Payton answered calmly. 'Maybe five hundred every week. But only if Rennell and me get out.'
Beneath Payton's steel veneer, Jamal could hear the depth of his despair. He glanced over his shoulder at his cell mates, idling or trying to sleep. 'All that,' he murmured. 'Just to kill a man.'
Slowly, Payton nodded. 'All that, Jamal. Maybe for once it could be you.'
* * *
For the next two hours, Mauriani and the cops went at Jamal hard—exactly where Payton stood, who might have seen them, who else Payton might have approached. 'Let's talk about Rennell,' Mauriani prodded. 'How do you know he knew?'
This made Jamal laugh out loud. ' 'Cause after I told Payton I'd off Fleet for them, he sat back down beside Rennell and whispered in his ear. First time I ever saw Rennell Price smile.'
* * *
'So where's Jamal now?' Terri asked.
'Dead.' Mauriani smiled faintly. 'Monk was right about him. He lasted three months past the trial.'
FOURTEEN
BY THE TIME MAURIANI HAD KILLED THE BOTTLE OF WINE, THE sun of late afternoon cast a lengthening shadow across the table. Standing beside it, Mauriani pulled the cork from a second bottle as he continued his soliloquy, his power of articulation surprisingly unimpaired by his solitary consumption of the first. Then Terri remembered, from the news clips she had watched in law school, an alert and tensile man, charged with prosecuting the brothers who had killed Thuy Sen.
'And so,' Mauriani went on, 'Rennell Price had the distinction of being the last man sentenced to death in San Francisco County. After that, Texas went one way and San Francisco another—they believe executing the innocent still works as a deterrent, whereas we've become too precious to execute Ted Bundy. So I suppose your client was more than usually unlucky.
