The Guardians(31)

“Wait a minute, Post,” he says. “Let’s finish the conversation. Assuming you’re telling the truth here, what, uh, what’s next?”

I sit down calmly and crack my knuckles. Duke will get out earlier if I can persuade Chad to cooperate. If he fights me, which prosecutors usually do, then the exoneration will take months instead of weeks.

“Here’s the best way out of this, Chad, and I’m not going to argue strategy here. For a change, I’m holding all the cards. There are six other pubic hairs. Let’s get them tested too, so we’ll know a lot more. If all seven exclude Duke, then he walks. If all seven nail Carter, then you have a new case on your hands. If you agree to the additional testing, then things will go smooth. If you block it, then I’ll file in state court, probably lose, then go to federal court. Eventually, I’ll get the testing done and you know it.”

Reality sets in and he is angry. He pushes his chair back and walks to the window, deep in thought. He breathes heavily, rolls his head around as his neck crackles, strokes his chin. What all of this produces should surprise me, but it doesn’t. Not anymore. He says, “You know, Post, I can see both of them there with Emily, taking turns.”

“You can’t see the sky, Chad, because you don’t want to.” I stand and walk to the door.

“I believe in my case, Post.”

“Here’s the plan, Chad. You have two weeks. If you’re still delusional in two weeks, I’ll file my motion for testing and I’ll also sit down with Jim Bizko at The Birmingham News. As you know, he’s covered the case and we’re acquaintances. When I tell him about the DNA, you’ll be front-page news and it won’t be the headlines you dream about. Between Bizko and myself, we can paint you as one enormous fool, Chad. Won’t be that hard.”

I open the door and leave. My last image of Chad is him standing at the window, gawking at me, stunned, mouth-breathing, thoroughly defeated. I wish I could have taken a photo.

I leave Verona in a hurry and settle in for the long drive to death row. Duke doesn’t know about the DNA results. I want to tell him in person. Our meeting will be a wonderful occasion.





Chapter 16



There is no urgent need for me to visit Seabrook. All of the players in Quincy’s trial have either died, retired, fled, or disappeared under mysterious circumstances. I have no idea who I’m supposed to be afraid of, but there is a palpable sense of fear.

So I send Frankie on reconnaissance. He spends two days and two nights there moving through the shadows as only he can do. His verbal report is typically blunt: “Ain’t much to it, boss.”

He leaves and drives several hours to Deerfield Beach, near Boca Raton. He roams the streets, works the Internet, scopes out locations, and in short order puts on a handsome suit and makes the call. Tyler Townsend agrees to meet him at a new shopping center his company is finishing. Big signs announce plenty of space to lease. Frankie claims he and a partner are looking at prime spots for a sporting goods store. It’s a new company, one with no presence online.

Tyler seems friendly enough, but a bit wary. He’s fifty now, and he left the law a long time ago, a good move. He’s prospered in south Florida real estate and knows his business. He and his wife have three teenagers in their spacious home. Property taxes on it were $58,000 last year. He drives a fancy import and dresses and looks like money.

Frankie’s ruse doesn’t last long. They step into a 4,000-square-foot space with drying plaster and Tyler asks, “Now what was the name of your company?”

“No name, no company. I’m here under false pretenses but it’s still important.”

“Are you a cop?”

“Anything but. I’m an ex-con who spent fourteen years in a Georgia prison for somebody else’s murder. A young lawyer took my case and proved I was innocent, got me exonerated, and dear old Georgia forked over some cash. My record is clean. From time to time I work for the lawyer. Figure it’s the least I can do.”

“Is this by chance related to Quincy Miller?”

“It is. The lawyer now represents him. We know he’s innocent, as do you.”

He gives a deep breath and actually smiles, but only for a moment. He walks to a large front window and Frankie follows him. They watch an asphalt crew pave the parking lot.

Tyler asks, “And your name?”

“Frankie Tatum.” He hands over a Guardian business card and Tyler examines both sides. He asks, “So how is Quincy doing?”

“It’s been twenty-two years. I did only fourteen as an innocent man, somehow managed to keep my sanity. But every day is another nightmare.”

Tyler hands the card back as if he’s removing the evidence. “Look, I really don’t have time for any of this. I don’t know what you want, but I’m not getting involved, okay? Sorry and all that, but Quincy is a closed chapter in my book.”

“You were a helluva lawyer, Tyler. You were just a rookie, but you fought for Quincy.”

He smiles, shrugs, says, “And I lost. I’ll ask you to leave now.”

“Sure. Your property and all. My boss is a lawyer named Cullen Post, check him out. He’s exonerated eight people and he didn’t do that by taking no for an answer. He wants to talk to you, Tyler, somewhere private. Very private. Believe me, Tyler, Post knows the game, and he ain’t going away. You can save a lot of time and trouble if you’ll just meet with him for fifteen minutes.”