Gary sat up straight and stopped smiling.
"Sandy was murdered between eleven-thirty on Friday night and two-thirty on Saturday morning. You got that?"
"Uh huh," Gary answered with a nod.
"Good. When Sandy's body was found early Saturday, she didn't have any identification on her. No one knew her name. So, the police asked the newspaper and the TV to show her picture and ask for help in finding out who she was. Are you following me?"
"Yeah, Pete. They didn't know Sandy's name."
"Right. Good. Okay. Now the newspaper came out around two-thirty in the afternoon and the TV showed Sandy's picture at three. Sandy's roommate told the police Sandy's name around four. Two-thirty in the after noon is the earliest anyone could have known who Sandy was because that's when the paper came out with her picture. Do you see that?"
"They coulda seen the picture," Gary said with a smile.
"Right. But there was no picture before two-thirty."
"No one coulda seen it before two-thirty."
"Right. Now listen up. Here's my question, Gary.
Mrs. Polk says that at one-thirty, at the wedding reception, you told her the dead girl was at the Stallion on Friday evening. Do you remember her saying that?"
"Who's Mrs. Polk?" Gary asked.
"The last witness. That lady with the gray hair."
Gary looked down at the table. He was embarrassed.
"I didn't listen to her too good. I was hungry."
Peter calmed himself with a deep breath. He did not want to get upset. He did not want to yell at Gary.
"That's okay. I was hungry too. Do you remember Mrs. Polk from the wedding?"
Gary's brow furrowed as he tried to remember Mrs. Polk. Finally, he shook his head.
"I don't remember that lady."
"Do you remember telling anyone that the girl was at the Stallion?"
"No.
!:ij k 0 "Well, you did. That's what Mrs. Polk said. So, how could you do that? If no one else knew who was killed at one-thirty, how did you know the girl had been at the Stallion?"
"I don't know."
"Well, think."
Gary started to look worried. He shifted in his seat.
"Maybe it was my powers. Maybe I seen it with my mind," Gary said, anxious to please Peter.
"We've been over this already, Gary. You do not have powers. No one has those powers. Sergeant Downes fooled you."
Gary thought hard for a moment. Then he looked confused. Finally he turned to Peter and asked, "If I don't have those powers, how did I do it, Pete? How did I know who that girl was?" -Shit! Shit! Shit!" Peter screamed as soon as he was safely locked in his car with the music cranked up. The session with Gary had driven him Tomorrow, he would have to give his closing argument. What was he going to say? How was he going to explain all of the facts that Gary knew about this case that only the murderer could possibly know?
Peter wanted to believe that Gary was innocent, but he was starting to wonder. Gary was capable of physical violence. He had attacked Karen Nix.
Elmore Brock had testified that Gary was intelligent enough to plan the murder of Sandra Whiley. Gary seemed so gentle, so childlike, but he had been drinking on the night of the murder.
How could Gary fool him for this long if he was guilty? Brock said Gary could lie and stick to a lie. Mentally handicapped individuals could persevere at a task.
If Gary was frightened of exposure could he maintain a lie for this long?
What if he did not need to lie? That was the most frightening possibility.
What if Gary murdered Sandra Whiley and did not even know it? What if the combination of alcohol and fear had erased the horrible deed from Gary's memory?
The Harmons lived a white, two-story colonial farmhouse. There was a large front lawn bounded by a white board fence. Donna came onto the front porch as soon as she heard Peter's car chewing up the gravel on the circular driveway. She was dying to tell him all of the things she had done on her first day as his investigator. Her smile disappeared as soon as she saw Peter's face.
"What's wrong?"
"That's what I have to talk to you about."
Donna ushered Peter into the large front room. Jesse and Alice were at a church function, so they were alone.
As soon as they were seated, Peter related the testimony that established that Gary knew the victim had been at the Stallion before anyone else knew her identity. Donna looked more and more troubled as Peter spoke.
"Where' was Gary before he went to the Stallion Friday night?"
"With us. Mom cooked a meal for Steve and the farnz. ily. Steve had to leave early to work on his cases so he could go on our honeymoon. He gave Gary a lift into town."
"Did Steve tell you where he dropped off Gary?"
"I think it was at home. Gary must have walked to the Stallion on his own.
It's not that far from his house."
"Gary says he went to Steve's house from the bar.
When he didn't find him home, he walked to the Ponderosa. Gary ate there, but he also did some more drinking. The bartender at the Ponderosa says he was pretty tipsy when he left around 2 A.m. Gary doesn't remember going to bed, but he does remember getting up early and doing his wash. When did you, see him next?"
"When he and Steve arrived at the church. Steve picked up Gary and drove him over. I asked him to do it in case Gary was having any trouble with his tuxedo."
ji "Was Gary home when Steve arrived?"
"Steve said he was."
Peter thought for a minute. Then, he asked, "Did Gary say anything to you at the church or the reception that relates to the murder?"
Fiji!! i "Gary did say there were police cars at the park. You pass it on the way to the church. I remember that he was excited. But I had the impression that he just saw them as they drove by."
"You know Gary better than anyone. Could he have killed that girl?"
"I'll never believe Gary could be so cruel."
Peter shook his head. He looked exhausted and thoroughly ejecte .
"I'm afraid that he's going to be convicted. He knew Whiley was at the Stallion before anyone else knew who she was. He told Booth about the necklace. He knew the killer used a hatchet and where it was hidden. How can you explain all that?"
"I can't," Donna answered softly. "I just know Gary."
"I don't think he killed Whiley, either, but I don't think I can save him, -Donna. I ... I probably shouldn't have taken the case in the first place. Maybe with another lawyer Donna ut a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You're doing p a great job. You can't blame yourself because the state's witnesses are saying things that hurt Gary."
Peter felt awful. Donna had so much faith in him, but she wasn't a lawyer who would know how poor a job he was really doing. He could no longer hide the truth from himself.
"I can blame myself. I had no business taking on this case. Amos Geary was right. He said I would screw it up and I have. I'm no criminal lawyer. I'm no lawyer at all."
"That's not true. You've worked harder than anyone.
You've done a wonderful job."
Donna was so trusting. Peter felt sick.
"There's something I have to tell you. It's about why I came to Whitaker. I ... I didn't choose to leave Hale, Greaves. I was fired. I was helping out in a big personal injury case my father was trying. Right before we went to court, he had a heart attack. Dad told me to ask for a mistrial, but I wanted to show him and everyone at the firm that I was a great trial attorney, so I lied to the judge and said that Dad wanted me to finish the trial.
"The case was so easy that a first-year, law student could have won it. It took a real genius to screw it up, but I did and..
.-and this poor woman.. ." Peter shook 4 1f) his head. "You should have seen her, Donna. She had nothing. She was dirt poor with five kids to raise by herself and then she became this cripple. Then, the worst thing happened. She got me for her attorney and I destroyed any hope she and her kids had in one afternoon.
And now I'm doing the same thing to Gary."
"You're being too hard on yourself."
Peter looked directly at Donna.
"When I took your brother's case, I didn't even think about him. All I was thinking about was how famous I'd be if I won. I didn't care enough about him to think of what might happen if I screwed up his case the way I did Mrs. Elliot's."
"You care for him now, though, don't you?" Donna asked quietly.
"I do. I admire Gary. He's a much better person than I am. I don't think he would ever intentionally hurt anyone. He thinks about the feelings of other people. When he has to do a job, he tries to do his very best. He's not like me at all and I wish I could be a little more like him."
Donna reached up and touched Peter's cheek.
"I don't know what kind of person you were in Portland. I just know you now. I can see how much you care for Gary." Donna paused and looked down. "I know what you did for me."
Peter wanted to take Donna in his arms, but he couldn't take advantage of her when she was so vulnerable. Donna must have realized how close they were to doing something they would regret, because she pulled her hand back. For a moment, they sat on the couch in an awkward silence, then, Donna said, "I ... I paced off those distances for you this afternoon."
"Great," Peter answered in a shaky voice, relieved that the danger was over. "What did you find out?"
"I started at the Stallion and walked to Gary's house.
It's a little over three quarters of a mile and it took me about twelve minutes. Then, I went back to the bar and continued to the park entrance. It's one-quarter mile from the Stallion to the entrance, so it took me sixteen minutes to walk from the house to the park."
"That means Gary got home at about eleven-twelve if he left the Stallion at eleven and walked straight home."
"if he was walking my speed," Donna corrected. "He could have run or walked faster."
"Okay, but he's still got to take some time trying to find a weapon."
Peter worked the numbers in his head.
"Damn. It could still work out. If he leaves his house around eleven-twelve, follows Whiley and gets to the park around eleven thirty-six ... If Howell and his girlfriend left the park around eleven thirty-five and Whiley passed by a little after ..
"I've been thinking about that, Peter. If it's only a quarter mile from the Stallion to the main park entrance, and it takes about fifteen minutes for the average person to walk one mile, it would only take about three minutes to walk a quarter of a mile. If Whiley left the bar around eleven-twenty, she should have reached the entrance to the park before those kids."
"You're right! That would put her there around eleven twenty-five. But Howell said that Jessie made a wish at the well around eleven-thirty and the body wasn't there. Where was Whiley between eleven-twenty, when she left the Stallion, and eleven thirty-five, when Howell and Freeman left the park?"
"Did you ask Howell and his girlfriend if they saw anyone when they were in the park?"
"Yeah. They don't remember spotting anyone, but they were probably too wrapped up in each other to notice anything. Tell me about the rest of your results."
"Gary could have made it to the Ponderosa from the park in fifteen to twenty minutes, so he could have killed Whiley around eleven thirty-seven and made it to the bar by eleven fifty-five."
"Did you go from the park to the storm drain where the hatchet was found and back to the Ponderosa?"
"Yes. The storm drain is near the campus. We're talking a little under two -miles. Even if Gary ran it in a seven-minute mile, there's no way he could kill Whiley after eleven thirty-five, ditch the hatchet and make it to the Ponderosa by midnight."
"So he'd have to hide the hatchet somewhere before going to the Ponderosa, then pick it up later. That sounds a little complicated for someone of Gary's intelligence but I'll have to ask Elmore Brock about that."
Peter stood up. He looked depressed.
"I've got to go back to the office to work on my closing argument. You keep working on character witnesses for the penalty phase. I hope we don't need them, but I'm afraid we will."
Chapter TWENTY-SIX.
They came for Gary just as the sun was setting. His heart fluttered like the wings of a trapped bird. In the back of the police car, the city fading in the gathering darkness, Gary prayed, "Please, God, please, God," over and over. He promised God he would be good. He promised he would never make Mom and Dad ashamed or mad again. Please, God.
The reporters were waiting on the courthouse steps, cigarettes dangling, cameras resting on the concrete slabs, engaged in loose conversation or lost to the stillness of sundown, until someone spotted the police car.
All at once, they were up, jerked into action like marionettes. When the car doors opened, the mob pressed in, jabbing at him with microphones and screaming questions at him. Gary cringed in a corner of the backseat.
The sheriff's deputies cleared a path as Gary struggled out of the car, the task more difficult because he was handcuffed. He looked for a friendly face and saw Peter pushing through the crowd.
"What did they say" Gary asked, as Peter helped him up the ste s.
p "I don't know. They have to read the verdict in court.
The jurors are waiting in the jury room."
"Are Mom and Dad here?" Gary asked as they took the elevator up to the courtroom, surrounded by sheriff's deputies.
"Yes. I called them, first thing. Donna is with them."
The guards escorted Peter and Gary to the defense table. As they took off Gary's handcuffs, a stir in the back of the courtroom signaled Becky O'Shay's entrance. She looked grim and intentionally avoided eye contact with Peter and his client. The bailiff scurried into the judge's chamber to tell him that all of the parties were in the courtroom. Moments later, the bailiff emerged from chambers and entered the jury room.
When the door to the jury room opened, the undercurrent of noise in the courtroom stopped. There was a rus hi.
tie of clothing and a tap of heels as the jurors worked their way to their seats in the jury box. Peter searched their faces for a clue to the verdict, but the jurors would not look at him or O'Shay. Beside Peter, Gary twisted anxiously in his seat.