'You know the problem,' Terri said.
It was past eleven at night. Naked, she lay across their bed as Chris rubbed her back and shoulders, one of the conditions of their marriage. 'Sure,' he answered. 'Either you get James's cooperation, or he may blow up in your face.'
'Not just cooperation—I need his enthusiastic testimony that his incompetence sunk Rennell's defense. Suppose we're 'lucky' enough to get an evidentiary hearing in front of Gardner Bond, and I put James on without knowing what he'll say. To pave the way for new evidence under AEDPA, I've first got to prove James was constitutionally ineffective—'
'Which waives the attorney-client privilege, of course.'
'Of course.' Terri turned her head on the pillow. 'Mind concentrating on my neck? I've got a headache going from there all the way through my temples to my eyes.'
Chris's thumbs began pressing into the base of her skull. 'Thanks,' she murmured. 'Maybe James's excuse in the Calvin Coolman case—about not disclosing client confidences—was bullshit. But maybe it wasn't. The risk in our case is that James will testify that Rennell confessed to murder—or that James learned something from Rennell, or maybe even Payton, which points to guilt. That not only would eviscerate any claim of innocence but suggests Rennell is at least smart enough to lie in a consistent way. Lousy atmospherics for claiming he's retarded.'
She heard Chris laugh softly. 'No wonder you've got a headache. Does James have any friends we can locate?'
'Not really. Johnny says his associates from back then seem to have dropped away—mostly sleazebags, anyhow. But there is an ex-wife, and ex-wives can be useful.'
'You might start there. We need to feel out his frame of mind before we go stirring up old memories. And for all you know, he's descended from coke to crack.'
'Maybe. But Johnny says he's working in a law library.'
'Nice to know that James could find one.' Chris's thumbs increased their pressure. 'How's that?'
'Fine. Eyes still hurt though.'
'I'll get you a damp cloth to put over them before you go to sleep. Unless there's some other service I can perform.'
Terri smiled into the pillow. 'Does it require my involvement?'
'It might—depends, I suppose. So what other of your problems can I resolve?'
'DNA.' Terri closed her eyes, feeling the slow release of pain flowing through her neck. 'Retesting the semen may be a long shot. But there's other evidence, too—like the hair caught in Thuy Sen's barrette.'
'Sure. But if the hair's not Rennell's, it doesn't prove him innocent. And what if it is Rennell's?'
Terri's temples still throbbed: the last vestiges of the headache, she guessed, would stubbornly survive Chris's ministrations. 'At least we'll know,' she answered. 'What if the Attorney General already does?'
TEN
RENNELL BEGAN TO SMILE AS SOON AS HE GLIMPSED TERRI.
She waited inside the plastic cubicle as the guards brought him from death row. Tentative at first, his smile broadened into a rare show of teeth as the guards locked him inside with her. Then he reached into his pocket and placed an object on the table with an expression that, despite the smile, struck Terri as imploring.
'I been wantin' to show you this,' he told her.
She could not imagine what it was besides an artifact constructed of paper clips, dental floss, the handle of a toothbrush, a small piece of metal, and two plastic straws with copper wire extending from the straws. To obscure her mystification, Terri said, 'It looks really complicated.'
Rennell gazed down at the object as though it bore a talismanic power. 'You got that right,' he said with a tincture of bravado. 'Took me a long, long time. I'm mechanical, for sure. Bet you can't guess what it is.'
Terri continued her examination of what—however unfathomable its purpose—was quite intricate in design. Smiling, she shook her head.
'It heats water.' The forefinger of his large hand lovingly traced the two parallel copper wires. 'I put these in the socket thing, and the metal part in the water. Then it gets hot.'
Looking up, Terri felt herself grinning. 'Amazing.'
Rennell's expression changed once more, his probing look at Terri combining pride with uncertainty. 'Pretty smart, huh.'
'Yeah,' she answered softly. 'Pretty smart.'
His smile vanished. 'When those tests the doctor talking about?'
Suddenly she could feel his worry as strongly as heat passing through his copper wires—a fear she shared, though she could never let him know this. 'Pretty soon now,' she answered, gazing down at his invention. 'I can't wait for you to show this to Dr. Lane.'
* * *
They talked for another hour. Their conversation drifted with Rennell's shifting attention, sometimes foundering—Terri now suspected—on the shoals of fears too deep for Rennell to acknowledge, a stifling admixture of retardation and repression. But Terri knew that such fear could lead to a more palpable form of numbing—the need to dull consciousness until one's surroundings, and one's actions, seemed part of a dream state occupied by some other, more indifferent Rennell Price.
'I guess sometimes you smoked crack,' Terri ventured. 'To feel better.'
