He thought of Martha then, at home, running over her closing argument.
“He killed a man. That’s on you.”
She cried hard. “I can’t think of that.”
“Shit, Leah.”
“There’s people in our lives that we’d do anything for. You know that better than anyone.”
That night he walked the streets of the Cape till sun breached the night sky and the day found him. He stopped by the Radley house, Milton’s place, Main and Sunset. He stood by the King house and thought of it being knocked down. Even if Darke didn’t come through with the money then someone else would buy it for less. He thought of shooting hoops on the driveway, of hiding out in the old attic and looking at Rich King’s Playboys. There was a chance they had it right, that Milton had done what Martha said. Maybe Vincent was institutionalized, or maybe he just hated himself so much that he’d rather be put to death than go on living as a free man. There were still so many questions without answers. He knew there was a chance he’d colored it a shade it never was, but still, he felt it in his bones. Vincent King was innocent. And he wouldn’t leave it to chance. Not anymore. He’d come so far, he would get to the finish, even if it cost him his soul.
38
THAT MORNING WALK STOOD IN front of the mirror and shaved.
He watched the basin fill, his face emerged, pale, gaunt, sick. He did not dwell, just splashed his cheeks with icy water and took a long and heavy breath. And then he drove to Las Lomas, and took his seat, and ignored the looks and whispers.
Leah Tallow was led in.
She looked calm, makeup hid the night before, simple dress, heels. She met Walk’s eye as she passed, he did not smile.
Martha ran her background, how she’d worked admin at Cape Haven PD for fifteen years, sometimes dispatch. Part of the furniture, like Walk and Louanne. She spoke confidently, stuttered a couple times but Walk could see the jury liked her.
He’d called her early, told her everything, she’d agreed in a second. A truce of some kind, the repercussions could wait, but this could not. And then he’d called Martha, and told her. And in her voice he heard the doubts, and he knew with some certainty that he was jeopardizing everything they both held dear.
“The system … it’s a running joke. Let’s just say Walk likes things how they were, not how they should be.”
Martha smiled at Walk, who raised his eyebrows. Juror seven caught it and laughed.
“So I’ve been trying to overhaul it for years now, trying to get the file room sorted out. See they brought in new templates four years back, new forms and coding. And the way Walk does it … I mean, there is an order. Organized chaos.”
Deschamps stood, Rhodes moved it on, Martha apologized.
“So I’ve been at it three months now. I’m up to 1993, and that’s when I found it.”
Martha held up the paper. Deschamps objected, the judge called them over to the bench. Walk heard heat in Deschamps’s voice, red face as she turned, shook her head once and returned to her seat. Rhodes allowed it into evidence.
“Can you tell me what it is?” Martha said.
“It’s a break-in report from November 3rd 1993. Number One Sunset Road, the residence of Gracie King.”
“Vincent King’s home. The house he returned to after his release.”
“Yes.”
“Does it say what was stolen.”
“Yes. Chief Walker was thorough, like always. He went through it with Gracie King, Vincent’s mother. Turned out she forgot to lock the safe. They took two hundred dollars in cash, a gold brooch and some diamond earrings. And a handgun.”
“A handgun?”
“Yes. A Ruger Blackhawk.”
Murmurs, till Rhodes quietened them. Deschamps went back to the bar, argued some more with the judge. It got heated enough for Rhodes to call a fifteen-minute break.
Walk took the stand next, did not need to introduce himself or run his credentials again. Martha ran him through the break-in. He spoke with calm. He did not meet Vincent’s eye once, though felt the stare.
And then Deschamps was up. “I feel a little blindsided here.”
“Leah only found it last night. She works evenings sometimes, when her husband can be home with the kids. It bothers her more than me, the system, I know where everything is.”
“So, Chief Walker, if you know where everything is, how come you didn’t bring this to attention earlier?”
“I forgot about the break-in.”
“You forgot?” She looked at the jury, confusion on her face. “You grew up with Vincent King. You knew the family. You used to visit him in prison. It doesn’t strike me, with all that’s going on, as something you’d forget.”
Walk swallowed and took a last breath. He knew it would change after. All of it.
“I’m sick.”
He looked around the room, reporters at the back, a line of watchers. He felt the quiet, the eyes on him.
“I have Parkinson’s disease. My memory is not what it was. I haven’t told anyone yet, thought I could deal with it. I guess I … I guess I didn’t want to lose my place.”
He glanced at the jury and saw compassion. And then across at Vincent, who watched him with sad eyes.
And then he looked down at the break-in report, and he knew that if they studied it, if they looked hard enough, they’d see a slight lean to the scrawl, like it was written with a shaking hand.
* * *
Closing statements began at five, Rhodes said he’d rather give the jury the case late than move into another day. Martha was up first, and she took the floor, every eye on her. She didn’t use notes, Walk could imagine she’d had a late night. She was brief, she’d detailed the facts. She spoke of Star and the tragedy that became of her. She talked of the Radley children, and how they deserved justice, but for the right person. And then Milton, the facts
