"I never loved Mom more than I loved her when she said that. It shaped Gary's life. We never made him feel like a freak or demanded less than he could accomplish."
Donna paused. Her features were set in stone.
"He is a good boy, Peter. A good, simple boy, just like Mom said. He's always been like that. He couldn't do what they're saying."
Peter wanted to say something to reassure Donna, but he knew that anything he said would sound wrong.
Donna took a deep breath and stood up. She was embarrassed by her sudden display of emotion.
"I ... I'd better go. I have to shop for dinner."
"Thanks for the cases."
"I hope they help," Donna said as she left the office.
Peter closed the door behind Donna and wandered I th u back to his desk, lost in ought. Donna really tr sted him, so did Gary. They believed that he would set Gary free. Was their faith misplaced?
Peter remembered his phone conversation of the day before with Amos Geary.
His boss had told him bluntly that he was not competent to try an aggravated murder case. Was Steve Mancini mistaken in his belief that Peter had the tools to handle a capital murder? Was Peter fooling himself? What if a death case was too complicated for him at this stage of his career? What did he really know about trying a charge of aggravated murder? It occurred to Peter that he should talk to someone with a little experience in this area in order to get some idea of what he was getting into.
Peter looked up the phone number for the Oregon Criminal Defense Lawyers Association. The secretary at the OCDLA gave him the names of three experienced death penalty attorneys. Peter decided not to call the first two names on the list. They practiced in Portland and he was afraid they would know who he was. Sam Levine was a Eugene attorney and he was in.
"So this is your first death case," Levine said after Peter explained why he was calling.
"First one."
"I remember my first. I'd tried about seven, eight murder cases and I thought I was a hotshot." Levine chuckled. "I had no idea what I was getting myself into."
"Why is that?" Peter asked nervously.
"No other case is like a death case. They're unique.
The biggest difference is that you have to prepare for two trials from the get-go. The first trial is on guilt and innocence. If your guy is convicted of aggravated murder, there is a whole second trial on what penalty he should receive.
"With your usual case, you don't think about sentenc A ing until your client is convicted. With a capital case, you have to assume he's going to be convicted even if you're personally convinced you're going to win, because the penalty phase starts almost immediately after a conviction in front of the same jury that found your client guilty and you won't have time to prepare for the penalty phase if you wait until the last minute." Peter asked question after question and felt more and more insecure with each answer. Levine explained the special jury selection procedure he should request and told Peter that there was an entire body of law peculiar to capital murder cases. After three quarters of an hour, Levine said that he had to meet a client, but he told Peter he would be glad to speak to him again.
"Thanks. I really appreciate the time you've taken."
"You'll learn that there's a real fraternity among death penalty lawyers. I always call other attorneys for help. You've got to. When you try a driving while suspended, you can afford to fuck up. What are they going to do to your client, give him a weekend in jail? But with a death case, you have to be perfect. If you make one small mistake, the state eats your client."
Donna Harmon's arms were loaded with groceries, so she backed through the front door, then pushed it shut with her foot.
"Steve, I in home," she shouted cheerfully, as she deposited her packages on the counter next to the sink.
The house was dark. Donna turned on the kitchen light.
It was late and Donna assumed Steve would be home by now. She called out his name again as she walked down the hall to the living room. When the lights went on, Donna was startled to see her husband sitting silently by the fireplace.
"Why didn't you answer me?" she asked, still smiling.
But the smile faded as her husband looked up at her.
Mancini's eyes were bloodshot and his clothing was rumpled. He was holding a drink and it was obvious that it wasn't his first. The hand holding the glass was bandaged.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I cut it."
"How?" she asked, crossing to him.
"If you were concerned about me, you would have been here when I needed you."
The anger in Steve's voice made Donna Stop.
"I had no idea you were hurt, but I have something that will make you feel better. Veal and spinach pasta with a sauce I read about in Gourmet magazine."
"Do you know what time it is?"
"I lost track of time. I was meeting with Peter about some research I did in Gary's case. I'm sorry if I'm late."
"I'm sorry," Mancini mimicked. "Is that supposed to make everything better? I bust my ass all day for you and all I ask is that you have my dinner ready when I get home."
Mancini stood up slowly and walked over to Donna.
He was speaking in a monotone. The muscles in his neck stood out and his face was flushed. For the first time since she'd known him, Donna was frightened of her husband. Mancini stopped in front of her. She could smell the thick odor of alcohol when he spoke.
"Now, let's get one thing straight here. You are not a lawyer and I don't expect you to pretend to be one.
You're a goddamned secretary and my wife. You work from eight to five, then you get your ass home. Is that clear?"
Donna was so hurt it was hard for her to speak. Tears welled up.
"I I said I'm sorry. I appreciate how hard you work ..
Mancini stared at his wife with what looked, unbelievably to her, like contempt.
"I would like a little less appreciation," Steve said between clenched teeth, "and some food. Do you think you can manage that?"
"You .. . You're not being fair," Donna stuttered. "I was trying to help Gary. I .. . I know I'm not as smart as you, but I can do research. I ... I can be useful."
"What did I just say, you cunt?" Mancini shouted.
The first blow was backhand and rattled her teeth.
The second was openhanded and sent her stumbling backward. Donna was in shock. She gaped at her husband, unable to accept what was happening even though she could see Steve's fist moving toward her. The blow struck her in the solar plexus, driving all the air from her. Donna sank to her knees, then crumpled onto her side, flailing for oxygen. Mancini kicked her in the ribs and watched her writhe on the floor.
Mouth open, Donna sucked in air. She could not breathe and she thought she would die. Nothing but air mattered. Her lungs filled and a sob escaped from her As her breath returned, she was gripped by terror.
Donna rolled on her side and saw her husband put on his jacket. By the time she could speak, he was gone.
Had Steve really hit her? It seemed incredible, even though she knew it was true. Donna curled up on the floor and tried to piece together what had happened from the moment she opened the front door. What had she done to deserve a beating? She was late, but that was because she was helping Gary and Peter. She was sorry she was late. She was sorry dinner wasn't ready.
Sorry, sorry, sorry. But did she deserve to be beaten because she was late with Steve's dinner? There must be something else, but what could she have done, that was so awful that it had driven her husband to hit her?
Donna asked that question over and over as she lay sobbing on the living room floor.
Chapter FIFTEEN.
When Donna awoke, it was to the scent of roses. The pungent smell confused her, because there hadn't been any roses in her bedroom when she had finally passed out from exhaustion, alone, in the early hours of the morning. Donna sat up to find every inch of the bed, the floor and the furniture covered by roses of every color and her husband sitting in a corner of the room watching her. Memories of the night before flooded in. Donna shrank back against the headboard.