The Guardians(24)

Cook’s story sounded plausible and I wrote back. We swapped a few letters and he sent his trial transcript and file. We did a preliminary investigation and became convinced that he was probably telling the truth. I visited him a year ago and disliked him immediately. He confirmed what I had learned through our correspondence: he is obsessed with thoughts of revenge. His goal is to get out and either do bodily harm to his ex-wife and her daughters, or, more likely, to frame them on drug charges and see them locked up. He dreams of one day visiting them in prison. I have tried to temper this by explaining that we have expectations of our clients once they are free, and that we will not be involved with anyone plotting retribution.

Most of the inmates I visit in prison are subdued and thankful for the face time. But, again, Cook is belligerent. He sneers at me through the Plexiglas, grabs the phone and says, “What’s taking so long, Post? You know I’m innocent, now get me out of here.”

I smile and say, “Nice to see you, Gerald. How are you doing?”

“Don’t give me that happy horseshit, Post. I want to know what you’re doing out there while I’m stuck in here with a bunch of perverts. I’ve been fighting these fairies off for seven years now and I’m damned tired of it.”

Calmly I say, “Gerald, perhaps we should start over with this session. You’re already yelling at me and I don’t appreciate it. You’re not paying me. I’m a volunteer. If you can’t keep things pleasant then I’ll leave.”

He lowers his head and starts crying. I wait patiently as he tries to collect himself. He wipes both cheeks on his sleeves and doesn’t make eye contact.

“I am so innocent, Post,” he says, his voice cracking.

“I believe that or I wouldn’t be here.”

“That bitch put those girls up to lying and all three are still laughing about it.”

“I believe that, Gerald. I really do, but getting you out will take a long time. There is simply no way to speed things along. As I told you before, it’s fairly easy to convict an innocent man and virtually impossible to exonerate one.”

“This is so wrong, Post.”

“I know, I know. Here’s my problem right now, Gerald. If you walked out tomorrow, I’m afraid you would do something really stupid. I’ve cautioned you many times about harboring thoughts of revenge, and if that’s still on your mind, then I’m not getting involved.”

“I won’t kill her, Post. I promise. I won’t do something stupid enough to get my ass thrown back into a place like this.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“But what might you do, Gerald?”

“I’ll think of something. She deserves to do some time after what she’s done to me, Post. I can’t just let it go.”

“You have to let it go, Gerald. You have to go somewhere far away and forget about her.”

“I can’t do it, Post. I can’t keep my mind off that lying bitch. And her two daughters. I hate them with every bone in my body. Here I sit, an innocent man, and they’re going about their lives laughing at me. Where is the justice?”

Because I am cautious out of necessity, I am not yet his attorney. Though Guardian has spent almost $20,000 and two years investigating, we are not officially involved. He worried me from the beginning and I’ve kept the escape hatch open.

“You still want revenge, don’t you, Gerald?”

His lip quivers and his eyes water again. He glares at me and nods yes.

“I’m sorry, Gerald, but I’m saying no. I will not represent you.”

He suddenly erupts in a fit of rage. “You can’t do that, Post!” he screams into the phone, then flings it and lunges at the Plexiglas partition. “No! No! You can’t do that, dammit! I’ll die in here!” He begins slapping the Plexiglas.

I am startled and move back.

“You gotta help me, Post! You know I’m innocent! You can’t just walk out of here and leave me to die. I’m innocent! I’m innocent and you damned well know I’m innocent!”

The door behind me jerks open and a guard steps in. “Sit down,” he yells at Gerald who is pounding the Plexiglas with his fists on the other side. The guard yells at him as the door behind him opens and another guard appears. He grabs Gerald and pushes him away from the partition. As I ease through the door to escape he’s screaming, “I’m innocent, Post! I’m innocent.”

I can almost hear him as I drive away from Tully Run.

Four hours later I enter the grounds of the North Carolina Correctional Institute for Women (NCCIW) in Raleigh. The parking lot is full and, as always, I grumble about the money spent on corrections in this country. It’s a huge business, quite literally a profit-maker in some states, but certainly a big employer for any community lucky enough to get itself a prison. In the U.S. there are over two million people locked up, and it takes one million employees and $80 billion in tax dollars to take care of them.

NCCIW should be closed, like all women’s prisons. Very few women are criminals. Their mistakes are picking bad boyfriends.

North Carolina sends its female death row inmates to NCCIW. There are seven of them now, including our client, Shasta Briley. She was convicted of murdering her three children about twenty miles from where she is now incarcerated.