64

Adamsville

The Carey house was too full. The whole family was there, and the news was so good on the one hand and so melancholy on the other that Thomas didn’t know how to feel.

He was always ebullient when Summer was around, finding himself with more energy than he knew he had. Thomas chased her and let her ride on his back as he scooted through the house on all fours. She squealed with delight.

He reminded her to be quiet when they got to Grandma’s room. Remission was but a memory now, and Grace was again bedridden.

The glad news was that Dirk had come along, and he and Ravinia had announced to Thomas and Grace that they were going to give it another go. Dirk was subletting his apartment and moving back home. Thomas was pleased, but he could tell Grace was worried. She wanted them back together, of course, but she had told Thomas privately that she hadn’t heard enough sound reasoning yet.

“I wanted to hear that they had a handle on what went wrong, that they had forgiven each other, and that they knew how to try to fix things. Short of that, I’m just not sure.”

She was right, naturally. She usually was. But Thomas believed they stood the best chance of surviving if they were together to try to work things out, and this had to be best for Summer. It had to be awful to be shuttled back and forth between estranged parents.

The next week in his office, Ravinia made one of her customary visits, and Thomas was able to bring her up to date on Brady Darby. He told her of meeting with him privately and playing Grace’s hymns for him.

“If he can stand that, he may be for real after all,” Ravinia said, laughing.

“He enjoyed it. Wants to hear it enough to memorize the words. I couldn’t get him to sing along, but I know he was moved. He’s reading the Bible and other Christian books, praying, memorizing. He’s even eating better and actually exercising.”

“Praise be.”

Thomas chuckled. “It proves to me he’s coming around mentally. A man doesn’t eat right and work out when he’s depressed. You still look dubious.”

“Well,” she said, “is he going to become like a monk, totally one-dimensional? I mean, it’s bad enough he’s a forced recluse like everyone else in here, but . . .”

“Oh no. He still reads his entertainment and movie magazines. I don’t see the appeal, but it’s a lifetime interest for him. But you know what he needs, Rav? A lawyer.”

“Please. You know he’s got Jackie Kent, the contract guy. Jackie’s jumping through all the mandatory appeals hoops, which are just formalities. Everybody knows nothing is going to happen there, especially with Darby continuing to insist that he doesn’t want his sentence overturned. Oh no—don’t tell me he’s changed his mind on that. I thought you were under the impression that this conversion—if that’s what it is—was not a deathbed type of thing. Is he planning to use this now? Because there are rumors.”

“First of all, to my knowledge, he has not changed his mind about that. In fact, he’s so frustrated with Kent that that’s why I think he needs you.”

“Me? You didn’t say me, you said ‘a lawyer.’”

“Well, you’re the best one I know. But what did you mean about rumors? What kind of rumors?”

“Hold on. He seriously wants to dump Jackie and seek new representation?”

“Yes. He’s confused. He understands there are mandatory appeals at all these different levels, but he doesn’t understand why his own counsel fights him at every turn. Rav, you have been bending my ear for ages now, decrying that these men seem to have lost every civil right and privilege.”

“And they have. And I know in most cases they have brought that on themselves, but they should still be entitled to competent counsel and have their legal rights protected—those few they have left.”

“Okay, then tell me why a man who simply wants to waive his right to appeal his own death sentence should not be able to do that. I can’t make it make sense to him.”

Rav looked away, and Thomas got the impression he was getting to her. “How deeply does he feel about this?” she said.

“Even with his immersion in spiritual things, this consumes him. I wish you’d talk to him.”

“I’d have to talk with Jackie first.”

“You’d actually consider it?”

“For you? Sure.”

“Now these rumors . . . ?”

“Yeah, well, we’re hearing that someone inside is leaking stuff to the press about Darby.”

“Such as?”

“Would you believe none of what you’ve told me has been a surprise? Even down to him listening to hymns in private meetings with the chaplain?”

“Oh no.”

“Who knows all this, Dad?”

“One too many, apparently. Why hasn’t anyone run with it? I haven’t seen anything on the news.”

“It won’t be long,” she said. “I think the source is shopping what he’s got. Or what she’s got. Some think it’s actually coming from someone on the warden’s staff.”

Thomas shook his head. “Heads would roll so fast in here if anyone was even suspected. I can’t imagine it.”

Ravinia shrugged. “You know best. Listen, get me something in writing saying Darby wants a meeting, and I’ll clear it with Kent.”

Even before the meeting between Rav and Brady could be arranged, Thomas suffered two setbacks that—combined with Grace’s regression—made him wonder if this new season of encouragement was over.

First Ravinia broke the news to him that the return to normalcy by having Dirk move back home had ended in chaos and set them back further than they had been before. They had apparently engaged in heated arguments, including one overheard by Summer, and Dirk was already living by himself again.

Ravinia tried to convince her father that, ironically, even after all that, neither believed the marriage was over. Yet.

“We’re going to try to cool down, reassure Summer, keep sharing custody, and take another run at this when we both feel up to it.”

So Grace had been right. It had been too soon, and they had really not had anything solid to build on.

The second trauma was that Ravinia had been right too. The Adamsville Tribune had apparently won the bidding war for inside information from one Rudy Harrington, who made enough from the sale that he was able to quit his job before being fired by Frank LeRoy.

The papers had been on the street for less than an hour before every other news agency in town and around the state, and soon the country, was running with the story. While Harrington had most of the details right, the pundits decided what it all meant, and by that evening the story hit all the tabloid news shows on TV.

Everybody from paid commentators to the man on the street had opinions about the Heiress Murderer and his finding that old-time religion.

Most called it an obvious attempt to sway the appellate court to stay his execution.

Hardly anyone believed it was sincere.

Many people of faith said they hoped it was real and that people should take a wait-and-see attitude.

It was the topic of radio and TV programs for days, though Frank LeRoy had taken action immediately. He announced that the state would file suit against former corrections officer Harrington for violating his sworn duty. He further stated that any leak traced to any current employee would result in immediate termination. And he decreed that no one within the state penitentiary besides himself and the chaplain would be available for comment on Brady Darby.

The warden’s comment:

“It does not fall to me to judge the veracity of a man’s personal beliefs. My job is to ensure that convicted criminals serve their sentences. Mr. Darby has been sentenced to death in this facility in less than two and a half years. Unless I hear otherwise from the legal system, our plan is to carry out that sentence.”

Thomas’s comment:

“No one knows the genuineness of a man’s heart except God and that man himself. I do know, however, that despite Mr. Darby’s profession of faith in Christ for salvation, he remains adamant that he will not seek any reduction, mitigation, or stay of his sentence. He insists, as he has all along, that he is guilty of the crime with which he was charged and will not cooperate with any attempts to appeal his fate.

“Based on such assurances from him, I believe his spiritual transformation is real and that he does not intend to benefit from this in any legal sense.”

Warden Frank LeRoy did not have jurisdiction over Jordan North, who was eager to add his two cents’ worth:

“Two and a half years is not soon enough to see the end of the monster who murdered our daughter. He can make any claim or profession he wants, but if there’s a God and He doesn’t send Brady Wayne Darby straight to hell, they deserve each other.”

The press rode the story for as long as it could, but with LeRoy having effectively shut down the information coming from inside the prison and the newshounds’ inability to dredge up any evidence that Brady had changed his mind about his death penalty, the din finally faded.

Isolation Room

When Ravinia Carey-Blanc, acting under the authority of an official request on the part of her new pro bono client, met with contract attorney Jackie Kent, he proved more than relieved to be out from under the Darby appeals. She told Brady, “We’re still required by law to file these appeals, but you finally have counsel who takes into consideration your personal wishes, unconventional as they may be. The necessary documents will be filed with each appellate board at the last minute on the days they’re due, and we will do nothing to encourage the court to act on them. When asked, if I understand you correctly, I will remind them that you wish each appeal to be summarily denied and the sentence expedited with dispatch.”

Brady peered at his new lawyer through the Plexiglas and cocked his head. “If what you just said means I want to lose and lose fast, you got it.”

“Anything else?” she said.

“Like what?”

“You being treated okay? Not every inmate still has a lawyer. You might as well take advantage of it. Is anyone treating you poorly? denying you anything? humiliating you? harassing you? making you wait egregiously?”

“No, I’m good.”

“You have rights, Brady. That’s all I’m telling you. Not many, of course. Neither of us should be naive about this. Nearly everything normal has been stripped from you, but it is not legal for you to be treated less than humanely, especially when it is clear you are not high maintenance. You’ll let me know, won’t you?”

He nodded.

“Now,” she added, standing, “I want to remind you one more time: I am honoring your request to get these appeals denied, but just like your previous counsel, this flies in the face of everything I believe and everything I was taught. It’s never too late to change your mind. I mean, you aren’t likely to win after all the fighting you’ve done to lose, but all you have to do is say the word, and I can put on the brakes. I can probably buy you another year or two. Execution after just three years’ incarceration is almost unheard of.”

“But you promised to work for me, not against me.”

“By all means. This is totally your call. Just know that I stand ready to serve you, regardless whether your decision changes.”

“You know you look like your dad?”

Brady thought she blushed.

“People say that, but I think I look like my mother.”

“I don’t guess I’ll ever meet her.”

“Probably not. I’ll bring a picture sometime.”

“That’d be nice. I sure love her singing.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Tell her I want some more.”

“I’m not sure she’ll be up to that. You know she’s not well.”

Brady shook his head. “Reverend Carey never said that. What’s wrong with her?”

“Leukemia.” Ravinia told Brady how it had manifested itself. “Maybe my dad didn’t think you needed to know.”

“That makes me sad. I’ll pray for her. Will you tell her that? But don’t say anything about me wanting more music.”

Later, as Thomas met with Ravinia, he was surprised at her tone.

“There is something about that young man, Dad. A sadness. Grief maybe. But despite his obvious lack of education, he’s got some sort of depth. I might just enjoy helping him.”