Read Online The Guardians: The explosive new thriller from international bestseller John Grisham by John Grisham - Free Book Online
Authors: John Grisham
Ads: Link
Post, searching for the truth in a place like this.”
“It’s my job, Zeke. It’s the only way I can get Quincy out of prison. You and I both know that you’re an experienced snitch who lied to the jury at Quincy’s trial. He never confessed to you. The details of the crime were fed to you by the cops and prosecutor who rehearsed your story with you. The jury bought it and Quincy has been locked up for twenty-two years. It’s time to get him out.”
He smiles as if he’s only humoring me. “I’m hungry. Can you fetch me a Coke and some peanuts?”
“Sure.” It’s not unusual, even in a place like this, for visitors to buy snacks. I tap on my door and a guard eventually opens it. He and I walk to a wall of vending machines where I start shoving in quarters. Two bucks for a twelve-ounce soda, a dollar each for two small packs of peanuts. The guard takes me back to our room and a few minutes later reappears on Zeke’s side and hands him the goodies. “Thanks,” he says and takes a drink.
It’s important to keep the conversation flowing, so I ask, “How did the cops convince you to testify against Quincy?”
“You know how they operate, Mr. Post. They’re always looking for witnesses, especially when they got no proof. I don’t remember all the details. It was a long time ago.”
“Yes. It’s certainly been a long time for Quincy. Do you ever think about him, Zeke? You know how bad prison is. You ever stop and think that you helped put an innocent man behind bars for the rest of his life?”
“Not really. Been too busy doing other things, you know?”
“Don’t know. Quincy has a chance of getting out. It’s a long shot but then all of them are. This is my work, Zeke, and I know what I’m doing. We need your help.”
“Help? What am I supposed to do?”
“Tell the truth. Sign an affidavit saying that you lied at trial and you did so because the cops and prosecutors offered you a sweet deal.”
He crunches on a mouthful of peanuts and studies the floor. I press on. “I know what you’re thinking, Zeke. You’re thinking that Florida is far away and you have no desire to get involved in a case this old. You’re thinking that if you come clean now with the truth then the cops and prosecutor will charge you with perjury and lock you up again. But that’s not going to happen. The statute of limitations on perjury ran out a long time ago. Plus, they’re all gone. The sheriff retired. The prosecutor did too. The judge is dead. The system back there has no interest in you whatsoever. You have nothing to gain and nothing to lose by helping Quincy get out. It’s really a no-brainer, Zeke. Do the right thing, tell the truth, and your life goes on.”
“Look, Mr. Post, I get out in seventeen months, and I’m not doing anything to screw that up.”
“Arkansas doesn’t care what you did in a Florida courtroom twenty-two years ago. You didn’t perjure yourself here. These guys couldn’t care less. Once you’re paroled, their only concern is filling your cell with the next man. You know how it all works, Zeke. You’re a pro at this game.”
He’s stupid enough to smile at this compliment. He likes the idea of being in control. He sips his Coke, lights another cigarette, finally says, “I don’t know, Mr. Post, it sounds awfully risky to me. Why should I get involved?”
“Why not? You have no loyalty to the cops and prosecutors. They don’t care what happens to you, Zeke. You’re on the other side of the street. Do something good for one of your own.”
There is a long gap in the conversation. Time means nothing. He finishes one pack of peanuts and opens the second. He says, “Never knew of lawyers who do what you do. How many innocent people have you sprung?”
“Eight, in the past ten years. All innocent. We have six clients now, including Quincy.”
“Can you get me out?” he says, and it strikes both of us as funny.
“Well, Zeke, if I thought you were innocent I might
“It’s my job, Zeke. It’s the only way I can get Quincy out of prison. You and I both know that you’re an experienced snitch who lied to the jury at Quincy’s trial. He never confessed to you. The details of the crime were fed to you by the cops and prosecutor who rehearsed your story with you. The jury bought it and Quincy has been locked up for twenty-two years. It’s time to get him out.”
He smiles as if he’s only humoring me. “I’m hungry. Can you fetch me a Coke and some peanuts?”
“Sure.” It’s not unusual, even in a place like this, for visitors to buy snacks. I tap on my door and a guard eventually opens it. He and I walk to a wall of vending machines where I start shoving in quarters. Two bucks for a twelve-ounce soda, a dollar each for two small packs of peanuts. The guard takes me back to our room and a few minutes later reappears on Zeke’s side and hands him the goodies. “Thanks,” he says and takes a drink.
It’s important to keep the conversation flowing, so I ask, “How did the cops convince you to testify against Quincy?”
“You know how they operate, Mr. Post. They’re always looking for witnesses, especially when they got no proof. I don’t remember all the details. It was a long time ago.”
“Yes. It’s certainly been a long time for Quincy. Do you ever think about him, Zeke? You know how bad prison is. You ever stop and think that you helped put an innocent man behind bars for the rest of his life?”
“Not really. Been too busy doing other things, you know?”
“Don’t know. Quincy has a chance of getting out. It’s a long shot but then all of them are. This is my work, Zeke, and I know what I’m doing. We need your help.”
“Help? What am I supposed to do?”
“Tell the truth. Sign an affidavit saying that you lied at trial and you did so because the cops and prosecutors offered you a sweet deal.”
He crunches on a mouthful of peanuts and studies the floor. I press on. “I know what you’re thinking, Zeke. You’re thinking that Florida is far away and you have no desire to get involved in a case this old. You’re thinking that if you come clean now with the truth then the cops and prosecutor will charge you with perjury and lock you up again. But that’s not going to happen. The statute of limitations on perjury ran out a long time ago. Plus, they’re all gone. The sheriff retired. The prosecutor did too. The judge is dead. The system back there has no interest in you whatsoever. You have nothing to gain and nothing to lose by helping Quincy get out. It’s really a no-brainer, Zeke. Do the right thing, tell the truth, and your life goes on.”
“Look, Mr. Post, I get out in seventeen months, and I’m not doing anything to screw that up.”
“Arkansas doesn’t care what you did in a Florida courtroom twenty-two years ago. You didn’t perjure yourself here. These guys couldn’t care less. Once you’re paroled, their only concern is filling your cell with the next man. You know how it all works, Zeke. You’re a pro at this game.”
He’s stupid enough to smile at this compliment. He likes the idea of being in control. He sips his Coke, lights another cigarette, finally says, “I don’t know, Mr. Post, it sounds awfully risky to me. Why should I get involved?”
“Why not? You have no loyalty to the cops and prosecutors. They don’t care what happens to you, Zeke. You’re on the other side of the street. Do something good for one of your own.”
There is a long gap in the conversation. Time means nothing. He finishes one pack of peanuts and opens the second. He says, “Never knew of lawyers who do what you do. How many innocent people have you sprung?”
“Eight, in the past ten years. All innocent. We have six clients now, including Quincy.”
“Can you get me out?” he says, and it strikes both of us as funny.
“Well, Zeke, if I thought you were innocent I might
Similar Books
