The Last Mile (Amos Decker, #2)(10)

Mary Oliver was in her midthirties, with auburn hair cut short and square glasses over her sparkling green eyes. Her angular, pretty face was sprinkled with freckles.

“You don’t, Melvin,” she said. “Nothing can do that. But they haven’t confirmed Montgomery’s story yet, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I don’t know this dude. I never met this dude. I never knew he even existed until they came and told me. So they can’t say I paid him to kill my parents. And if they can’t show that, I’m out of here, right?”

Oliver rustled some papers in front of her. “Look, it’s not that simple. We have to let the process work, okay?”

Mars rose and smacked the wall behind him, drawing a stare from the burly guard stationed in the center of the room. He was far enough away that he could not hear their privileged conversation—at least spoken at normal levels—but close enough to step in if need be.

“Process? I let the process work before, and you see what it got me? They took my damn life, Mary.”

“It’s natural to feel betrayed and taken advantage of, Melvin. Everything you’re feeling, it’s natural.”

Mars looked like he wanted to slug something, anything, as hard as he could. But then he saw the guard’s hand move to the head of his baton. He also saw the guard’s mouth twitch in anticipation of kicking some prisoner ass.

Just give me a reason, asshole, please.

Mars calmed and sat down. “So how much longer does this process have to work?” he said in a normal voice.

“There isn’t a set timetable for this because of its unusual nature,” explained Oliver, looking relieved that he was being more reasonable. “But I will keep on top of it every second, Melvin. I promise. I will push them. And if I even see them starting to drag their feet, I will call them on it. I swear. I’ll file motions.”

He nodded. “I know you will.”

She said, “This must be so hard for you. When I first heard of it, I was flummoxed. I still don’t know the connection between your parents and this Charles Montgomery.”

“Well, if there is a connection, they didn’t tell me. Maybe it was a stranger thing. He breaks into the house and kills them.”

“But there was no evidence of a break-in. And nothing was stolen. That was why the police started to look at you.”

“But you believe me, right?” he said quickly.

“Yes, of course I do.”

Melvin stared at her. Running through his mind was the thought, Sure you do.

“Where we lived, nobody locked their doors. And it wasn’t like my parents had much someone would want to steal. You know how we lived. My father worked in a pawnshop. My mom made money on the side sewing clothes and teaching Spanish and cleaning up other people’s messes.” He shook his head. “I was going to change all that when I got to the NFL. Was going to buy them a house, put money aside. They could quit their jobs. I had plans.”

He slapped the palm of his hand against the table. “I had plans.”

“I know you did, Melvin,” she said soothingly.

“I always thought this was a big mistake somebody was going to finally figure out. That I’d be out of prison in a few months and be playing ball. Then a year went by and then another and another. And then five. And then a decade. And then…shit!”

He grew silent, started shaking his head from side to side, his face pointed downward. A tear smacked against the laminate. Mars swiped it away with his hand.

“If I get out of here, what then? I got no family. I got no job. I got no nothin’.”

“The state of Texas can compensate you.”

“How much?”

“It’s capped at twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Mars looked up at her, incredulous. “Twenty-five grand! For twenty years of my life?”

“I know it’s grossly unfair, but that’s what the current law is.”

“Do you know how much I could have made in the NFL?”

“A lot more. I know.”

“So I walk out of here with maybe twenty-five grand, or maybe less since that’s a ‘cap,’ and then what?”

“We’ll help you with that. We’ll help find you housing. And a job.”

“Doing what? Pushing brooms? Maybe I can get my father’s old job in that pawnshop. That part of Texas, man, pawnshops do big business, because nobody has shit.”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time,” Oliver said, trying to keep her voice level and calm.

“Even if they let me go, they might not pardon me. Which means I got two felony murder convictions on my record. Who’s going to hire my ass? Tell me that? Tell me!”

Mars could see that she was growing more nervous by the second.

Petite white woman, big, angry black man. That’s what she sees. That’s all she sees. And she’s on my side.

He looked away and his tone changed again. “Hell, I don’t know why we’re even talking about this. They’re never gonna let me out of here, Mary.”

“Melvin, they have to if you’re innocent.”

“I’ve been innocent for twenty damn years,” he snapped. “What difference did that make?”

“I mean, if there is definitive proof of your innocence, they can’t keep you in prison.”