“When you say ‘the case,’ do you mean the trial? Or was she interested before the trial?”
“Before.”
“Do you know why?”
“Not sure. She had a criminal-justice class she was taking. I figured it was that. She even went and talked to Sydney’s lawyer, the guy before you.”
Jack did a double take. “Neil Goderich?”
“I don’t know his name. The guy who died.”
“That’s Neil,” said Jack. “Celeste met with him? Do you know why?”
“Not really. Like I said, she had that class she was taking. Or maybe she wanted a job. Working for a lawyer is lot more interesting than flipping burgers.”
“When did they talk?”
“Six months ago, maybe.”
Jenna’s phone chimed again. Another text from her workout buddy. “I really have to go,” she said, rising.
Jack and Theo rose. “You’ve been helpful, thanks,” said Jack.
“No problem,” said Jenna.
Jack and Theo stayed at the table as she crossed the bridge to the main entrance and disappeared inside the wellness center.
“I take it you didn’t know she met with Neil,” said Theo.
“You got that right,” said Jack.
“What do you make of that?”
He glanced at Theo, then back at the entrance doors. “I need to dig for some missing notes.”
Chapter Forty
Jack spent the rest of the afternoon at the Freedom Institute. Hannah Goldsmith met them there.
“You gotta turn on the AC,” said Jack. A growing V of sweat pasted his shirt to his back.
“Sorry, not on the weekends,” said Hannah. “Not in the budget.”
Jack knew that rule. Hannah’s father had enforced it strictly up until the day he died.
In twenty-eight years, the old house on the Miami River that was the Freedom Institute had changed little. Four lawyers shared two small bedrooms that had been converted into offices. The foyer doubled as a storage room for old case files, boxes stacked one on top of the other. The bottom ones sagged beneath the weight of denied motions for stay of execution, the box tops warped into sad smiles. Harsh fluorescent lighting showed every stain on the indoor/outdoor carpeting. The furniture screamed “flea market”-chairs that didn’t match, tables made stable with a deck of cards under one leg. The vintage sixties kitchen was not only where lawyers and staff ate their bagged lunches, but it also served as the conference room. Hanging on the wall over the coffeemaker was an old framed photograph of Bobby Kennedy. Hannah’s father had often said that it was the former attorney general who had inspired him to move on from president of the
“I honestly don’t know where else to look,” said Hannah.
They’d adopted a team approach, combing through box after box of archived attorney notes. Neil had never been a computer guy, so if any notes of his conversation with Celeste Laramore existed, they would have been in hard copy. After a dozen boxes, they were empty handed.
“I suppose it’s possible he didn’t keep any notes,” said Jack.
“Dad always took notes,” said Hannah. “The problem is that he used everything from legal pads to toilet paper, and only he knew where he put them.”
“It’s also possible that Celeste’s friend is dead wrong about Celeste ever having met with Neil.”
“Before you draw that conclusion, let me call my mom,” said Hannah. “Could be some boxes at home we can check.”
Hannah dialed. Jack went to the kitchen for a cold drink. The old refrigerator made a strange buzzing noise when he opened it. Jack silenced it with a quick kick to the side panel, the way Neil had taught him. He pulled up a chair at the table and checked in again with Andie.
“Anything more from Sydney?” asked Jack.
Andie had called several hours earlier and told him all about Sydney’s lecture to Andie as Jack’s fiancee, not to Andie the FBI agent.
“Jack, really. Don’t you think I would call you if I’d heard from her again?”
“I suppose so.”
“And the way she left it, the next call is to you, not me.”
“Can’t wait,” said Jack.
“When are you coming home?”
“Not sure. Just so much to do between now and Monday morning. Maybe we can do a late dinner.”
“Sounds good.”
“Love you, ’bye.”
Jack tucked away his phone and went back to the refrigerator. He wasn’t thirsty, but the chilly air felt good. It made him smile to recall the first time Neil had caught him cooling off in front of the open refrigerator, thwarting the no-AC-on-weekends rule. “My opposition to capital punishment has only one exception,” Neil had told him, “and you just committed it.”
Jack walked to the living room where Hannah was giving a second look to one of her father’s boxes. Jack turned his attention to the countless plaques, awards, and framed newspaper clippings on the wall. It had been years since he’d read some of the older articles. While the newsprint had yellowed with age, the clippings still told quite a story, from Neil’s roots in civil rights litigation in the South-“Volunteer Lawyers Jailed in Mississippi”-to his role as gadfly in local politics: “Freedom Institute Lawsuit Against Miami Mayor Sparks Grand Jury Indictment.” All were impressive, but Jack’s gaze locked onto the framed article by the window with the eye-catching headline: “Groundbreaking DNA Evidence Proves Death Row Inmate Innocent.” Jack took a half step closer, reading a story he could have recited in his sleep:
“Some legacy, huh?”
Jack turned. It wasn’t Hannah. It was her mother-Neil’s widow, Sarah. She was carrying a box of Neil’s notes that she had brought from the house. Jack went to her, took the box, and gave her a warm embrace. He hadn’t seen her since the funeral.
“How are you, Sarah?”
“I’m doing okay,” she said.
Hannah took the box from Jack. “I can go through this.”
“Actually, I’m curious to see if the notes are in-”
“Please,” said Hannah, shooing him along. “You can barely read my father’s handwriting anyway. Catch up with Mom. I can handle this. Really.”
Jack thanked her and followed Sarah down the hallway.
“Hot as hell in here,” said Sarah. “You been to the refrigerator yet, Jack?”
“How did you know?”
Sarah smiled as they entered the kitchen. She got a cold soda. Jack still had his.
“I spoke with your fiancee,” said Sarah.
“You spoke to Andie?” he said.
“Do you have another fiancee?”
“No. I’m just-What did you talk about?”
Sarah took a seat at the table. Jack joined her. “You,” she said.
