Cruel Justice (19 page)

Approximately two thousand white men surrounded the courthouse, hoping to hang the arrested teenage boy. Later about seventy-five armed black men arrived to help the sheriff defend the prisoner. Shots broke out, and in minutes the race riot was in full force. Pistol-packing white mobs surged into Greenwood, burning and looting businesses, destroying homes, and shooting residents. The rioters particularly targeted the homes of wealthy and prosperous black families. An elderly black couple was killed while walking home from church. Another black man was killed after surrendering peacefully to a gang of looters. Less than twenty-four hours after the riot began, all of black Tulsa was in flames, and hundreds were dead. It was the worst race riot in American history, not excepting the more recent Los Angeles riots.

Greenwood was eventually rebuilt, and became known in the 1930s as the Black Wall Street. But it was never the same. The sense of optimism that once permeated Greenwood never returned, and the black community never recovered the autonomy, mobility, and economic and political power it once had. As time passed, north Tulsa became another inner-city slum—poor, shoddy, ruined. Although recent urban-renewal efforts had restored some historical landmarks, most North Side residences were still poor, the businesses were still struggling, and the streets were still dangerous. If you didn’t live there, you didn’t go there.

Ben turned onto the street where the Hayes family resided. The street was lined with small white houses—shacks, really—with thin plywood walls, warped and swollen, and peeling paint, where there was any paint at all. Torn screen doors, chipped steps, cracked sidewalks. Trash littering the street, the lawns. Everything spoke of poverty of the worst, most debilitating sort.

Ben carefully mounted the stone steps to Ernie’s house. Actually, they weren’t steps; they were cinder blocks. The house appeared to have once been red, but age and weather had turned it an ugly rust orange. He noted two cars parked on the street outside—the smashed Ford Pinto and a Chevy station wagon, about fifteen years old by Ben’s guess. While it was no prize, it was certainly more presentable than the Pinto. He wondered why Ernie had driven the clunkier car to Ben’s office.

Through the screen, Ben saw Ernie hurry to the door. Was it his imagination, or was his limp not nearly as pronounced as it had been before?

Ernie Hayes had intentionally driven his worst, most beat-up-looking car, and limped like an accident victim as he approached Ben’s office, which of course had resulted in Ben’s taking this case.

Hmmm.

“Mr. Kincaid,” Ernie said. “Ain’t this a nice su’prise.” He showed Ben into the tiny living room of his home.

Ben was appalled. The room was cluttered with food containers, potato-chip bags, empty beer bottles. There was no central air, and in this unrelenting heat, the room was a sweatbox. Every window was open as wide as it would go. Ben’s own apartment was small and cheap, but in comparison with the Hayes residence, it was a mansion. In fact, their so-called living room could probably have fit in his bathroom. And at the moment there were six people in it.

“This must be your family,” Ben commented.

“This’s my brood.” He pointed at the kids on the floor. “What’s left of it, anyhow. Monique and Kevin and Julius and Corey and Bartholemew. That’s my family, not counting the three that done already left home. And Leeman, of course.”

Ben’s lips parted. “You have nine children?”

“That I do. My wife and I, we got along real good, you know? She was a honey, God rest her soul.” He took Ben’s arm. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

They walked into the small kitchenette and sat at a wobbly plastic table. “This here’s where Leeman grew up,” he explained. “I know it ain’t much, but I’ve done the best I can with what little we’ve had. It ain’t been easy. ’Specially since I lost my job at the glass factory.”

“What happened?”

“Got laid off. I’d been there eighteen years, and I got nine kids and all that, but I was still one of the first let go. I complained to that big white supervisor they put over me, even though he’s half my age, and you know what he said? He said, ‘Aw, don’t go cryin’ them crocodile tears to me, Ernie. You’ll probably be a lot happier drawin’ welfare anyway, won’t you?’ ”

“What about the children?” Ben asked. “Some of them look old enough to work, at least part-time.”

“I’ve been trying to get Julius—he’s my oldest at home—to get a job. But he won’t listen. Says I’m just a stupid old man. Been hanging around with one of them street gangs that’s crawlin’ all over this neighborhood scarin’ everybody. And they’re always goin’ out to that damn country club where Leeman usta work. As if that cursed place hasn’t caused this family enough misery.”

Gang members at the country club? How could that be? Ben couldn’t imagine what gang members would be doing at the country club, but whatever it was, it probably wasn’t legal.

“Now, Corey, he’s a good boy,” Ernie said, his face brightening slightly. “He sells papers.”

“He has a paper route?”

“No, not ’zactly. He tried to get him one of those, but they wouldn’t give it to him. Said someone else already had all of ’em. He goes through people’s trash, see, finds old newspapers, goes into eating places, and sells them. Till he gets chased out.”

They heard a knock on the door. “Papa!”

If Ben remembered properly, the shouting offspring was Julius. “I’m goin’ out with Booker.”

“I don’t want you hangin’ out with that boy! He’s trouble!”

Through the passageway, Ben saw Julius smirk. Ignoring his father, he slapped a high five with his friend and went outside.

Just before the door closed, Ben caught a fleeting glimpse of the visitor. The face was familiar.

It took Ben a moment, but he finally pulled the memory out of deep storage. It was Joni’s boyfriend. The one he had seen her smooching with out his bedroom window.

If Ernie was right about Julius’s connection to youth gangs, Joni’s new romance was going to be even more controversial—and dangerous—than he had imagined. No wonder she hadn’t mentioned it to her parents.

Ben ran to the front window and watched them depart. They both wore matching jackets with a bloodred emblem on the back—a swastika with a heart around it. Ben made a mental note to ask Mike about that later.

Ben returned to the kitchen and tried to ask Ernie a few questions about the case.

“Mr. Hayes, I understand that the murder ten years ago took place late at night—after midnight. Do you have any idea what Leeman would have been doing out there at that hour?”

“ ’Course I do. It was the middle of the week, Mr. Kincaid. He was out there late every night.”

“Surely there was no caddying after dark.”

Ernie laughed. “Well, ’course not. Naw, he slept out there.”

“He slept at the caddyshack?”

“Sure. Why not? That shack is a nice lil ol’ place. Leeman had a lot more room out there than he did here, and he didn’t have to share it with all these brothers and sisters, neitherwise. He’d sleep out there during the workweek, then come home on the weekends.”

“Did the management approve of his sleeping in the caddyshack?”

Ernie tilted his head to one side. “Well … to tell you the truth, I’m not entirely sure they ever knew. We figgered, what they don’t know cain’t hurt them, right?”

It might not have hurt them, Ben thought, but he wondered if it hadn’t hurt Leeman. To the tune of about ten years. “Did you hire an attorney to represent Leeman when he was arrested?”

“With what? My good looks?” He laughed again. “Naw. We got one of them freebie lawyers appointed to us.”

“How was he?”

“I think he did the best he could under the circumstances. Didn’t think he was the brightest man I’d ever met, but he seemed earnest. Problem was, he had about twenty other cases he was juggling, all at the same time. He’d run in real quick like and expect Leeman to tell him his whole life story in ten minutes, which for Leeman was absolutely impossible. He never had no time to do any real checkin’ around.”

“Did you ever … talk with Leeman about the murder?”

“Talk with
Leeman
?”

“In pantomime. Or however you used to communicate.”

“Not as I recall.”

“Weren’t you … curious?”

“ ’Bout what?”

“Well, about whether he killed Maria Alvarez.”

“Didn’t have to ask no fool questions to know he didn’t commit no murder. ’Specially not like that, what with the golf club and bein’ so mean and all. Not my Leeman. A boy’s papa knows these things.”

“Mmmm.” Not an answer that was likely to carry much weight in court, unfortunately. No matter. There was little point in calling Ernie to the stand, anyway. The jury would assume a father would be willing to lie to prevent his son from being executed. “You were present when Leeman was questioned by the district attorney, weren’t you? I saw you on the videotape.”

“Oh, yes,” he said wearily. “Lord, yes. I was there.”

“You know the prosecution considers that performance by Leeman to be a confession. That’s probably going to be the most damning evidence brought against him.”

“Yes,” he repeated. “Yes, I ’spect so.”

“Did you ever talk to Leeman about that? Or did you understand what he was trying to do?”

He shook his head sadly. “No, Mr. Kincaid. Cain’t say as I did.”

Ben had hoped Ernie might have some insight that made it all make sense. No such luck. If anything, he appeared to consider the evidence even more damaging than Ben did. It made Ben wonder if he was as certain of Leeman’s innocence as he claimed.

Or if he knew something more he wasn’t telling Ben.

“Mr. Hayes, can you recall anything else you haven’t told me that relates to this case?”

Was there just the slightest hesitation, or was it all in Ben’s imagination? “No, sir. Nothing.”

“Well, then I’ll be going.”

Ernie grabbed Ben’s arm and held him down. “Do you think you’ll be able to help my boy?”

“I’ll make every possible effort—”

“That ain’t enough.” Ernie drew himself up slowly, his eyes dark and clouded. “You know, Leeman was my favorite, ever since he was a little tyke. I wouldn’t tell none of the other kids that, you understand, but it’s true. I usta work out at that country club myself. Part-time, in the evenings, to make a little extra to spread around the family. I was a waiter at that fancy restaurant. In fact, I got Leeman his job there. It was all my idea.”

He shook his head sadly. “When Leeman got arrested and taken away—I felt responsible, you know? Felt jus’ awful. Like someone ripped my heart out and sealed it in a box for ten years. I felt so powerless. I kept thinkin’, if I was some rich white dude like them country-club boys, my Leeman would be a free man. I felt so bad. So guilty.” He looked, up suddenly. “It’s hard to go on livin’, thinkin’ like that. You know?”

Ben nodded sympathetically. “I’ll be in touch before the trial.”

Ernie walked Ben to the screen door. “I couldn’t help but notice,” Ben remarked. “Your arthritic limp seems to be considerably better than it was when you came to my office.”

A quick grin snuck across Ernie’s face but was immediately suppressed. “Comes and goes, don’t you know. Comes and goes.”

Right, Ben thought as he walked through the doorway. You’re a sly old dog, Ernie Hayes.

“I know what people think,” Ernie said abruptly. “They don’t say nothin’, but they think, Well, you’re probably better off now with that dumb retarded kid off your hands. But he’s my
boy,
Mr. Kincaid, you know?”

He took Ben’s hand and pressed it between his. “I couldn’t bear to see nothin’ more happen to my Leeman than what already has. I jus’ couldn’t bear it.”

Ben swallowed, didn’t say anything.

“Take care of my boy, Mr. Kincaid.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ben replied, his voice cracking.

Ben walked back to his car. As he left the house he surveyed the landscape—the dirt lawns, the cracked and ruined houses, the filthy streets. And just over the top of the Hayes home, just over the horizon, he could see the upper stories of the elegant Utica mansions, not ten miles away from this abject poverty.

It was like two cities, really. Two cities in one.

What a thing to be reminded of, day after day. Bad enough to live in these horrible conditions. But then, as if to add insult to injury, every time you cast your eyes upward, you see the tall gables, the blue swimming pools, the fancy cars of millionaires who spend more on their stereo systems than you make all year long. And then you go to work at their country club, and have constant firsthand exposure to the lifestyles of the pampered and privileged. The people who have everything you don’t.

That, Ben speculated, could drive a person to do almost anything.

B
EN EXPERIENCED A PROFOUND
sensation of culture shock as he drove across town to the Edward Woltz Spa for his meeting with Rachel Rutherford. In less than ten minutes, he had left the poverty and degradation of the North Side for safe south Tulsa—upscale, clean, trendy. Caffe latte bars, children’s bookstores, gourmet groceries.

A world of difference.

Ben parked his Honda and entered the austere white front lobby of the spa. The cosmic tinkling of piped-in New Age music drifted through the walls. Rock crystals were artfully arranged on the countertops. A prim, dark-haired woman greeted him at the front desk. She was wearing something that was not quite a doctor’s or a nurse’s uniform, but it had a certain sense of officialdom to it, just the same.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“I’m Ben Kincaid. I’m here to see Rachel Rutherford.”

“Right. She told me to show you on back. Follow me.”

The woman pushed open a swinging door. Ben followed her down a long white corridor with doors on either side. Through the windows in the doors, he saw people, mostly women, engaged in various therapeutic exercises, lying on massage tables, or soaking in tubs.

He peered through a large window into the room on his immediate right. A green face popped up suddenly on the other side.

“Yikes!” Ben said, jerking his head back. “What was that?”