The Advocate's Devil (8 page)

“Joe, you know Justin. This is my daughter, Emma. She wanted to meet you. Her boyfriend is a big Knicks fan. She’ll be able
to dine out on this meeting for a long time.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Emma. You’re very pretty.”

Emma blushed, unprepared—for once—to respond to the unexpected flattery. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Campbell. Good game,
especially the second half. But can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Why did Riley have you guarding Douglas? Don’t you usually match up with Dee Brown?”

“I asked him the same question. I guess he anticipated that my concentration might be off, and he couldn’t take a chance on
Brown walking all over me. Douglas isn’t that much of a scoring threat.”

Abe tapped on his watch. “Time’s up, my dear. It’s home for you now. You can get a cab in front of the out-of-town newsstand.
Bye, we’ve got to get down to business.”

Emma frowned, picked up her book bag, kissed Abe on the cheek, waved to Justin across the table, and extended a hand to Campbell.
Joe shook her hand. “Fine grip you’ve got there. Not used to that in a female.” Emma giggled, uncharacteristically, and walked
off.

Abe leaned in toward Campbell and began to talk in a tone that made it clear the chitchat part of the meeting was over.

“Justin has discovered a very important fact. We’re not quite sure of its implications—or even whether it will be admissible
at a trial—but it is potential dynamite.”

“What is it?” Campbell asked.

“It seems that you’re not the first man this Jennifer Dowling has accused of sexual misconduct. Last year she accused her
boss at a public relations firm of sexually harassing her.”

“Well, maybe he did,” Campbell replied.

“It doesn’t look that way. We don’t know for sure, but it appears that her complaint was dismissed as unfounded. That means
she had no case.”

“Do you know the specifics?”

“Not yet. The records appear to have been sealed.”

“Can this help you get the case against me dropped?”

“Can’t hurt. Could help. Don’t know yet.”

“I’m not surprised,” Joe said. “She mentioned something about a legal mess she had just gotten finished with, and she seemed
to have a lot of animosity toward men. I think I have a better sense now of why she did this.”

Abe wasn’t so sure. “I still can’t figure it. She had to know we would find out about this prior accusation. Her case seems
weaker and weaker. Why did she cry rape if she knew she had no case?”

“She probably didn’t think much about it,” Joe speculated. “She must have called 911 as soon as I left the room, since the
police were waiting for me by the time I got back to my hotel. Maybe she’s thinking about it now, and she’ll reconsider.”

“Could be,” Abe said, feeling mixed emotions about that prospect. “But we’ve got to act as if she’s going full steam ahead.
We can’t leave anything to chance.”

“Is there anything else I can do?” Campbell asked.

“Not for now, other than trying to think of anything else she might have said that could be relevant.”

The waitress interrupted the conversation by telling them that the kitchen was about to close. Campbell asked for a lemonade
and some berries. Abe ordered decaf cappuccino and a chocolate torte. Justin wanted a glass of white wine and some pâté.

As they were waiting for their snack, Joe said, “There is something I remember.”

“What is it?” Abe asked.

“It’s a little embarrassing for me to talk about.”

“Think of us as your doctors. You’ve got to tell us anything that could help you.”

“I’m not sure this helps, but all right, here goes.”

Campbell took a deep breath, as if he were preparing to shoot a crucial free throw. “When we were in bed going hot and heavy,
I went down on her, and she seemed to enjoy it a lot. She sure was moaning. I then asked her if she would… you know, do the
same for me. They usually do. But she didn’t want to. She said something about having a bad experience with oral sex.”

“Stop, please,”’ Abe insisted, putting his hand gently on Joe’s arm. “This is just the kind of thing I was warning you about
this morning when we first met. We could be getting into some dangerous territory here. Let me talk for a minute, before you
go on.”

“Fine, but I think I know what you’re worried about, and it’s not a problem.”

“Maybe so, but let me guide you.”

Abe thought for a minute how to put what he wanted to say. “Okay, let me tell you something about the law of rape that you
probably already know.”

Campbell looked at Abe intently as the lawyer continued. “If a woman consents to foreplay or even intercourse, she can still
say no at any time, and she can refuse any
kind
of sex, even after agreeing to any other kind of sex.”

“I do know that,” Campbell interjected. “I remember the Marcus Webb case.” Joe was referring to a former Celtic who was accused
of forcing a woman to have anal sex after she agreed to have ordinary sex. “Don’t worry, that’s not what happened here.”

Abe insisted on maintaining some control over the conversation, even though his original concerns had abated. “So she told
you that she did not want to perform fellatio on you, and you did not insist that she do so, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right. She—”

“Wait, please let me continue. You didn’t force her to perform fellatio. Is that right?”

“That’s exactly right.”

“Whatever she did, she did of her own free will. Right?”

“Right.”

“Okay,” Abe said with a sigh of relief. “Now we can get back to talking like normal people.”

Justin asked Campbell if Jennifer had explained what her bad experience was.

“All she told me was that it didn’t have anything to do with any kind of disease or anything like that. It was something emotional.
She made it clear it was none of my business, and that we should go ahead and have intercourse.”

“And you did,” Abe continued.

“Yes, we did, but it was lousy sex from then on. I don’t know, it kind of threw me off my game, and she seemed nervous, too,
but she didn’t want to stop. It was almost as if we both wanted to get it over with. I certainly did. And I was out of there
like a bat out of hell.”

“Did she ask you to stay?”

“No, but I think she wanted to talk about it. I sure as hell didn’t.”

“Did she accuse you of anything before you left?”

“No, except with her eyes. Her eyes accused me of insensitivity, and my eyes admitted guilt.”

“I think that’s enough for now,” Abe said, again looking at his watch. “We have a busy day tomorrow. Not on your case. On
a death row case we have in New Jersey. On our way back, we’ll drop by to see you in New York. We can go over the next steps
in the case. In the meantime, think of anything else that could be helpful. Investigative leads, witnesses, anything. When’s
your next game?”

“Saturday night. Cleveland. Tough team. Great city.”

With that Campbell seemed to turn off his concern about the case. When the waiter brought the food the three men rehashed
the game. What a kick to be reviewing an NBA game with one of the players, Abe thought. He couldn’t wait to fill Emma in on
Campbell’s analysis of the third quarter. That pleasant task would have to await his return from his morning visit to New
Jersey’s death row.

T
RENTON
—F
RIDAY,
M
ARCH
17

The sight of a prison housing death row always sent shivers down Abe’s spine. The idea of a state deliberately taking a human
life was incomprehensible to him, especially in light of his skepticism about the accuracy of the criminal justice system.
Now he knew for sure that at least one innocent man was scheduled to be strapped onto a gurney and injected with an infernal
chemical concoction designed specifically to snuff out life. The prison in this instance was an imposing gray building surrounded
by bright silver barbed wire. When the morning sun reflected off the glistening metal, it created the appearance of a heavenly
halo, masking what Abe knew was a hellish reality inside the walls.

Death row, Abe thought as he contemplated his visit with Charlie O., was more alive than Haskel’s house. At least there was
hope that some of the young men would survive. New Jersey had a fairly liberal supreme court, and although state law authorized
capital punishment for murderers, the courts had deprived the executioner of his designated victims several times in recent
years. In fact, no one had actually been executed in New Jersey for several decades.

Charlie’s case was different. He had killed a black man. Since the opponents of capital punishment had long argued that no
one in America was ever executed for killing blacks, Charlie made a good case for the state. Almost everyone who believed
in capital punishment wanted Charlie Odell to die. It would make an important statement.

Even Charlie wanted to die—or he had before he started taking his medicine. Now he wanted to live. He wanted Abe to keep him
alive until he could prove his innocence.

Charlie had never once deviated from his original story, a case of mistaken identity. He was doing a drug deal downtown in
Newark at the time of the Williams murder. He was blocks away. Of course, the guy he was selling drugs to—his alibi witness—would
never come forward. Charlie wanted Abe to look for another skinny black kid with an overbite like his.

And Abe had done just that. He had hired a black private investigator from Newark to comb the city. No luck. Newark was a
place where people came to hide for a while—to blend into the neighborhood—and then leave. There were lots of transients,
especially in the world of crime. If there were another skinny black kid with an overbite who’d actually killed Williams,
the PI finally reported to Abe, he was probably gone by now.

After they parked, the two attorneys locked their valuables in the car they had rented at the Philadelphia airport. This was
mandatory for visitors to death row. No one was allowed to carry anything into the prison. Guards even searched the bottom
of Justin’s right shoe when the hand-held metal detector buzzed. Justin had stepped on a thumbtack, which had embedded itself
in his heel. The guards removed it before letting Justin through security. Then Abe and Justin had their hands stamped and
were led into a room that locked from both sides. From there they were led to a visiting area that adjoined death row. A special
lawyer’s room was reserved for them so they could meet their client in private. The room was divided by a Plexiglas panel
separating the lawyers from the condemned inmate. The panel had airholes through which they could talk. All touching was prohibited.

Charlie was already seated as Abe and Justin took their places. Charlie placed his hand against the glass partition, and Abe
placed his on the other side so that their fingers met across the glass. It was the death row handshake. Justin did the same.
The young black man then placed his face in his hands and spoke in a monotone. “Please don’t let them kill me. I’m scared.
Please help me. I didn’t do it.”

The ill-fitting orange prison uniform flapped against his body as the man rocked back and forth—the only physical evidence
of his anxiety. Abe had been working with the prisoner long enough to recognize that beneath this young man’s relatively calm
exterior were buried the emotions of a lifetime in poverty—the pain of neglect, despair, and hopelessness.

“We know you didn’t do it.” Abe stood and placed a hand reassuringly near Charlie’s head across the partition. It was the
best he could do to comfort the young man in a setting where actual touching was impossible. Abe could see the initials of
Charlie’s “old lady” sculpted into his Brillo-like hair. Abe spoke through the holes in the glass partition. “I’ve got some
promising news. Justin has somebody who knows who did do it.”

“Who?’

“She won’t tell me yet,” Justin interjected. “I’m working on her. It may take some time, but I’m confident that I will eventually
find out.”

“That’s just what I got none of—time. It’s less than six weeks now.” Charlie was rocking faster.

“Look, Charlie, I do have an idea.”

“What?”

“It’s a gamble, but we’ve got no choice.”

The rocking stopped. “What?”

Abe leaned over and whispered through the holes in the glass into Charlie’s ear. “Charlie, you’re gonna have to stop taking
your medicine for a while.”

Charlie looked bewildered. “If I stop, I’ll go crazy again. Do you want me to go crazy?”

“Yes, I do,” Abe said somberly. “Try to follow me.”

Charlie listened as Abe tried to explain the idea he had gotten from Haskel’s refusal to take his medicine.

“They can’t execute you under New Jersey law if you’re crazy—if you’re legally insane. And without your medicine, you
are
legally insane, psychotic. You don’t have to help them kill you. You don’t have to help them keep you sane so that they can
execute you. Just stop taking the medicine.”

“They’ll force me to take it.”

“They may try, but we’ll take them to court. Under New Jersey law, they can’t force you to take medicine unless you are dangerous
to others or yourself.”

“When I don’t take the medicine I try to kill myself. I bang my head against the wall.”

“They can protect you by putting you in a padded cell. It’s worth a shot. It will certainly buy me time.”

Justin remained silent. He was doubtful, both about the likelihood of succeeding and about the ethical implications of a lawyer
advising his client to stop taking his medicine. In the airplane on the way to the prison, Abe had told Justin about a Texas
case in which a death row inmate had stopped taking antipsychotic medicine and a judge had postponed his scheduled execution.
“If it worked in Texas, it could certainly work in New Jersey.”

“That may be true,” Justin replied. “But what about the ethics of advising a client to stop taking his medicine? He might
kill himself.”

“There are different rules on death row. This is about saving life,
not
covering our asses. We’ve got to take some risks here.”