"How many inmates are on death row in Mississippi?" Goodman asked.
"Forty-eight, as of last month. Twenty-five black, twenty-three white. The last execution was two years ago, Willie Parris. Sam Cayhall will probably be next, barring a small miracle."
Goodman chewed quickly on a large bite. He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin. "A large miracle, I would say. There's not much left to do legally."
"There are the usual assortment of last ditch motions."
"Let's save the strategy talks for later. I don't suppose you've ever been to Parchman."
"No. Since I learned the truth, I've been tempted to return to Mississippi, but it hasn't happened."
"It's a massive farm in the middle of the Mississippi Delta, not too far from Greenville, ironically. Something like seventeen thousand acres. Probably the hottest place in the world. It sits on Highway 49, just like a little hamlet off to the west. Lots of buildings and houses. The front part is administration, and it's not enclosed by fencing. There are about thirty different camps scattered around the farm, all fenced and secured. Each camp is completely separate. Some are miles apart. You drive past various camps, all enclosed by chain link and barbed wire, all with hundreds of prisoners hanging around, doing nothing. They wear different colors, depending on their classification. It seemed as if they were all young black kids, just loitering about, some playing basketball, some just sitting on the porches of the buildings. An occasional white face. You drive in your car, alone and very slowly, down a gravel road, past the camps and the barbed wire until you come to a seemingly innocuous little building with a flat roof. It has tall fences around it with guards watching from the towers. It's a fairly modern facility. It has an official name of some sort, but everyone refers to it simply as the Row."
"Sounds like a wonderful place."
"I thought it would be a dungeon, you know, dark and cold with water dripping from above. But it's just a little flat building out in the middle of a cotton field. Actually, it's not as bad as death rows in other states."
"I'd like to see the Row."
"You're not ready to see it. It's a horrible place filled with depressing people waiting to die. I was sixty years old before I saw it, and I didn't sleep for a week afterward." He took a sip of coffee. "I can't imagine how you'll feel when you go there. The Row is bad enough when you're representing a complete stranger."
"He is a complete stranger."
"How do you intend to tell him - "
"I don't know. I'll think of something. I'm sure it'll just happen."
Goodman shook his head. "This is bizarre."
"The whole family is bizarre."
"I remember now that Sam had two children, seems like one is a daughter. It's been a long time. Tyner did most of the work, you know."
"His daughter is my aunt, Lee Cayhall Booth, but she tries to forget her maiden name. She married into old Memphis money. Her husband owns a bank or two, and they tell no one about her father."
"Where's your mother?"
"Portland. She remarried a few years ago, and we talk about twice a year. Dysfunctional would be a mild term."
"How'd you afford Pepperdine?"
"Life insurance. My father had trouble keeping a job, but he was wise enough to carry life insurance. The waiting period had expired years before he killed himself."
"Sam never talked about his family."
"And his family never talks about him. His wife, my grandmother, died a few years before he was convicted. I didn't know this, of course. Most of my genealogical research has been extracted from my mother, who's done a great job of forgetting the past. I don't know how it works. in normal families, Mr. Goodman, but my family seldom gets together, and when two or more of us happen to meet the last thing we discuss is the past. There are many dark secrets."
Goodman was nibbling on a chip and listening closely. "You mentioned a sister."
"Yes, I have a sister, Carmen. She's twentythree, a bright and beautiful girl, in graduate school at Berkeley. She was born in L.A., so she didn't go through the name change like the rest of us. We keep in touch."
"She knows?"
"Yes, she knows. My aunt Lee told me first, just after my father's funeral, then, typically, my mother asked me to tell Carmen. She was only fourteen at the time. She's never expressed any interest in Sam Cayhall. Frankly, the rest of the family wishes he would quietly just go away."
"They're about to get their wish."
"But it won't be quietly, will it, Mr. Goodman?"
"No. It never is. For one brief but terrible moment, Sam Cayhall will be the most talked about man in the country. We'll see the same old footage from the bomb blast, and the trials with the Klan marching around the courthouses. The same old debate about the death penalty will erupt. The press will descend upon Parchman. Then, they'll kill him, and two days later it'll all be forgotten. Happens every time."
Adam stirred his soup and carefully picked out a sliver of chicken. He examined it for a second, then returned it to the broth. He was not hungry. Goodman finished another chip, and touched the corners of his mouth with the napkin.
"I don't suppose, Mr. Hall, that you're thinking you can keep this quiet."
"I had given it some thought."
"Forget it."
"My mother begged me not to do it. My sister wouldn't discuss it. And my aunt in Memphis is rigid with the remote possibility that we'll all be identified as Cayhalls and forever ruined."
"The possibility is not remote. When the press finishes with you, they'll have old blackand-whites of you sitting on your granddaddy's knee. It'll make great print, Mr. Hall. Just think of it. The forgotten grandson charging in at the last moment, making a heroic effort to save his wretched old grandfather as the clock ticks down."
"I sort of like it myself."
"Not bad, really. It'll bring a lot of attention to our beloved little law firm."
"Which brings up another unpleasant issue."
"I don't think so. There are no cowards at Kravitz & Bane, Adam. We have survived and prospered in the rough and tumble world of Chicago law. We're known as the meanest bastards in town. We have the thickest skins. Don't worry about the firm."
"So you'll agree to it."
Goodman placed his napkin on the table and took another sip of coffee. "Oh, it's a wonderful idea, assuming your gramps will agree to it. If you can sign him up, or re-sign him I should say, then we're back in business. You'll be the front man. We can feed you what you need from up here. I'll always be in your shadow. It'll work. Then, they'll kill him and you'll never get over it. I've watched three of my clients die, Mr. Hall, including one in Mississippi. You'll never be the same."
Adam nodded and smiled and looked at the pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Goodman continued. "We'll be around to support you when they kill him. You won't have to bear it alone."
"It's not hopeless, is it?"
"Almost. We'll talk strategy later. First, I'll meet with Daniel Rosen. He'll probably want a long conference with you. Second, you'll have to see Sam and have a little reunion, so to speak. That's the hard part. Third, if he agrees to it, then we'll get to work."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me, Adam. I doubt if we'll be on speaking terms when this is over."
"Thanks anyway."
Chapter 5