Joey shook his head. 'No, I've moved around so much.' – The waitress appeared and removed the platter. 'Another margarita?' she asked, but Joey waved her off. Pryor leaned forward on his elbows until their faces were two feet apart. He began, 'You know, Joey, I've worked on this case for years. Spent thousands of hours, not only working, but thinking, trying to figure out what happened. Here's my theory. You went nuts over Nikki, and why not? She was cute as hell, popular, hot, the kind of girl you want to put in your pocket and take home forever. But she broke your heart, and nothing is more painful for a seventeen-year-old. You were devastated, crushed. Then she disappeared. The entire town was shocked, but you and those who loved her were especially horrified. Everyone wanted to find her. Everyone wanted to help. How could she simply vanish? Who snatched her? Who could harm Nikki? Maybe you believed Donte was involved, maybe not. But you were a wreck emotionally, and in that state you decided to get involved. You called Detective Kerber with the anonymous tip, and from there everything snowballed. At that moment, the investigation took a wrong turn and no one could stop it. When you heard the news that he'd confessed, you figured you'd done the right thing. Got the right guy. Then you decided that you wanted a little piece of the action. You concocted the story about the green van, and suddenly you're the star witness. You became the hero to all those wonderful people who loved and adored Nicole Yarber. You took the stand at the trial, raised your right hand, told something that was not the whole truth, but it didn't matter. You were there, helping your beloved Nikki. Donte was led away in shackles, taken straight to death row. Maybe you understood that he would one day be executed, maybe you didn't. I suspect that way back then, when you were still a teenager, you could not appreciate the gravity of what's happening now.'
'He confessed.'
'Yes, and his confession is about as reliable as your testimony. For many reasons, people say things that aren't true, don't they, Joey?'
There was a long gap in the conversation as both men considered what to say next. In Slone, Robbie waited patiently, though he had never been known for his patience or quiet moments of self-reflection.
Joey spoke next. 'This affidavit, what goes in it?'
'The truth. You state, under oath, that your testimony at trial was not accurate, and so on. Our office will prepare it. We can have it done in less than an hour.'
'Not so fast. So, I would say, basically, that I lied during the trial?'
'We can dress up the language, but that's the gist of it. We'd also like to settle the matter about the anonymous tip.'
'And the affidavit would be filed in court and end up in the newspapers?'
'Sure. The press is following the case. Any last-minute motions and appeals will be reported.'
'So, my mother will read in the newspaper that I'm now saying I lied at trial. I'll be admitting that I'm a liar, that right?'
'Yes, but what's more important here, Joey? Your reputation or Donte's life?'
'But you said it's a long shot, right? So, chances are I'll admit to being a liar and he still gets the needle. Who wins that one?'
'He damn sure doesn't.'
'I don't think so. Look, I gotta get back to work.'
'Come on, Joey.'
'Thanks for lunch. Nice meetin' you.' And with that, he slid out of the booth and hurried out of the restaurant.
Pryor took a deep breath and stared at the table in disbelief. They were talking about the affidavit, then the conversation ended. He slowly pulled out his cell phone and talked to his boss. 'Did you get all that?'
'Yep, every word,' Robbie said.
'Anything we can use?'
'No. Nothing. Not even close, really.'
'I didn't think so. Sorry, Robbie. I thought at one point he was ready to snap.'
'You did all you could, Fred. Nice job. He's got your card, right?'
'Yes.'
'Call him after work, say hello, just remind him you're there and ready to talk.'
'I'll try to meet him for a drink. Something tells me he tends to overindulge. Maybe I can get him drunk and he'll say something.'
'Just make sure it's being recorded.'
'Will do.'
CHAPTER 5
On the third floor of St. Francis Hospital, Mrs. Aurelia Lindmar was recovering from gallbladder surgery and doing well. Keith spent twenty minutes with her, ate two pieces of cheap, stale chocolate mailed in by a niece, and managed to make a graceful departure when a nurse popped in with a syringe. On the fourth floor, he huddled in the hallway with the soon-to-be widow of Mr. Charles Cooper, a stalwart member of St. Mark's whose bad heart was finally giving out. There were three other patients Keith needed to see, but their conditions were stable and they would live until tomorrow, when he would have more time. On the second floor, he tracked down Dr. Herzlich, who was eating a cold sandwich from a machine and reading a dense text as he sat alone in a small cafeteria.
'Have you had lunch?' Kyle Herzlich asked politely as he offered a chair to his minister. Keith sat down, looked at the puny sandwich-white bread with a thin slice of some brutally processed meat in the middle-and said, 'Thanks. I had a late breakfast.'
'Fine. Look, Keith, I've managed to snoop a bit, got as far as I can go, actually, you do understand these things?'
'Of course I do. And I did not intend for you to pry into private matters.'
'Never. Can't do it. But I've asked around, and, well, there are ways of gleaning some of the facts. Your man has been here at least twice in the past month, lots of tests, and the tumor thing checks out. Not a pretty prognosis.'
'Thanks, Doctor.' Keith was not surprised to learn that Travis Boyette was telling the truth, at least about his brain tumor.
'Can't say any more than that.' The doctor managed to eat, read, and talk at the same time.
'Sure, no problem.'
'What's his crime?'
You don't want to know, Keith thought. 'A nasty one. Career boy, long record.'
'Why's he hanging around St. Mark's?'
'We're open to the public, Doctor. We're supposed to serve all God's people, even those with criminal records.'
'I suppose. Anything to worry about?'
'No. He's harmless.' Just hide the women and girls, and perhaps the little boys too. Keith thanked him again and excused himself.
'See you Sunday,' the doctor said, his eyes glued to a medical report. – Anchor House was a square, boxlike building of red brick and painted windows, the type of structure that could be used for anything, and probably had been since it was hastily constructed forty years earlier. Whoever built it had been pressed for time and saw no need for involving the architects. At 7:00 on Monday evening, Keith entered from the sidewalk off Seventeenth Street and stopped at a makeshift front desk where an ex-con was monitoring things. 'Yes, sir,' he said without a trace of warmth.
'I need to see Travis Boyette,' Keith said.
The monitor looked to his left, to a large open room where a dozen or so men were sitting in various stages of relaxation and gazing at a very loud, large television, enthralled with Wheel of Fortune. Then he looked to his right, to another large open room where a dozen or so men were either reading battered paperbacks or playing checkers and chess. Boyette was in a wicker rocker, in a corner, partially hidden behind a newspaper. 'Over there,'
