The Whole Truth

  Over a seafood lunch, in a booth by a window overlooking a beach and the Atlantic Ocean, I try to calm them down a little. They both look charming, Kim in a cotton suit that suits her large frame perfectly, and Katherine in a belted, shirtwaist dress. Kim’s in red, Katherine’s in black, which is probably hot on her. But whether they know it or not, they’ve dressed perfectly for being interviewed on television.

  “Here’s what we’ve done so far,” I tell them, talking slowly so they can take it all in. We have sweating glasses of ice water in front of us, and a platter of stone crabs they haven’t touched. I have a lot of information to dump on them all at once.

  “I’ve talked to Detectives Anschutz and Flank—” I examine their faces to see if they recognize those names, and they do. “They told me they have talked to you, to bring you up-to-date on their investigation and their search. Is that true?”

  Both women nod at me, looking pale and wide-eyed.

  “That’s great, and did they tell you what their public information officer has done? He called the major local newspaper, which is the Bahia Sun, and every television station, including cable, and told them about your story. They’re all extremely eager and willing to put you on the air. He went ahead and set up some taping and live news times, and he hopes that’s all right with you? ”

  Looking bewildered, they nod their heads.

  The detectives and the public information officer have turned this job over to me, because I’m the first one to see Katherine and Kim today. I don’t actually need that excuse for getting involved, however, because this all counts as research for my book. Plus, I can’t bear the thought of releasing these innocents into the wilds of south Florida without a native to guide them. Since this was all my idea, the least I can do is to drive them around to their appointments.

  “You didn’t arrive in time for any of the noon news shows, but he’s got you live on one of the six o’clock shows, and you’ll be taped for the other ones.”

  Ordinarily, the public information officer of the Bahia Police Department would never get involved in this, but since the police are hoping these women can lure Ray back into custody, he wanted to help. This is a lot to ask of these rather shy women, but it’s one of the reasons they came, and by now I think so highly of them, I’m pretty sure they can pull it off.

  “A couple of the stations wanted to interview you someplace else, and I thought you might be more comfortable doing that at my house, so they’ll come over in time for the late news tonight. It might seem as if a single press conference would be more efficient, but there’s a reason for this madness.”

  They look eager to grasp any hope I give them.

  “This way, every interview will be unique. If you were to be seen on every station saying the same thing over and over people might get bored, and switch channels.”

  “Bored,” Kim says, as if that’s unbelievable.

  “Marie’s right,” her mother says. “I should try to say a little something different each time, don’t you think? And can Kim do some of these interviews, too?”

  Her daughter looks immediately terrified.

  I assure Kim, “It’s easy, I swear, and it’ll be over so fast you won’t even know you’ve been on camera. They’ll be very kind to you, I promise, and they’ll help you get through it. Yes, you can both do them, I think that’s fine, although it will probably have the most impact when you do, Katherine. As for what you ought to say—”

  I study the attractive, tense women across the table from me.

  “Say what happened to him. Say it will break your heart if you don’t ever get to see him alive again. Plead with people to capture him, but not to hurt him. And plead with Ray to turn himself in. Just tell the truth.”

  “How long before our first interview?” Kim asks, nervously.

  “They start at five o’clock,” I tell her. “Four hours.”

  “Oh, gosh,” she says.

  Her mother grasps her wrist. “We can do it for your brother.”

  “I can,” Kim says, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can, I can, I can.”

  I decide it is better not to mention this will be good experience for the Today show, Good Morning America, and the CBS Morning News, in case they come calling, too.

  “The state’s attorney wants to meet you,” I tell them next, as our entrées arrive. They have ordered fried shrimp, which I doubt they will eat, either. I can carry it all home in case they get hungry for it later. I give them another choice: “Do you want to meet him?”

  “Why?” Kim asks, and I see that she understands I am talking about the man who got her brother convicted. “Why does he want to meet us?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, honestly.

  He wouldn’t tell me when he requested it, after I told him they were coming to visit me.

  “Do you want to, Mom?” she asks Katherine.

  “If it will help,” her mother says.

  How can it? I wonder.

  The interview with Franklin in his office goes surprisingly well.

  He drops everything when I arrive with them unannounced. He is at his compassionate, considerate best, and they are completely charmed by this man who wants to kill their son and brother. Watching them all together, I am not convinced the women quite understand the direct connection between the prosecutor and the electric chair.

  “If you can get him to come in, we’ll let you see him.”

  That’s Franklin’s pronouncement, on the spot.

  “What do you mean?” Kim asks him, speaking for both of them.

  The women and I are seated in chairs in front of Franklin’s big wooden desk, and he is leaning on it directly in front of us. There’s a piece of white lint on the left arm of his black suit coat, and it’s all I can do not to reach over and pluck it off.

  He says, “I mean that we will make it possible for you to see him, under guard, as soon as possible. I’m sure this is extremely difficult for you, and I don’t want to make it any harder than it has to be. I don’t want to make you wait to go through normal channels before you can see him again.”

  It strikes me there is no real reason for this meeting.

  He doesn’t meet my eyes, and that, combined with the fact that he wouldn’t tell me what he was up to, suggests a political motive to me. The state’s attorney doesn’t want to look like a bad guy in this story as it unfolds; he wants to be seen as tough on Ray, but sympathetic to his family. It’s cynical, but if it enables Katherine to see her son any faster than might otherwise happen, I’m all for it.

  When we leave, Katherine remarks, “What a lovely man.”

  “I don’t know why he insisted on seeing us,” I say.

  “You don’t?” There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, the first hint of real lightness I’ve seen since I met her. “I think I know why, and it wasn’t for me, or Kim.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  She twinkles at me until I catch on, and blush.

  “Me?” I am completely caught out by her. Busted.

  “Of course, you, it was plain as day that he likes you.”

  “Me?” I say, completely caught out by her.

  Kim sighs, good-naturedly. “I wish he liked me.”

  No you don’t, I think as we hurry away. They’re going to end up hating Franklin, and I only hope that I don’t, too.

  I have totally forgotten to pass on Leanne English’s phone number to them, as I promised her I would do. To make up for that, I tell them who she is, and ask them if they want to meet her, too.

  “I think we should, don’t you?” Katherine asks me.

  If we weren’t on such grim errands, I’d feel a sense of power, because even Leanne English drops everything to meet with us.

  The Kepler women seem to bring out the best in everybody, and even crisp little Leanne is gracious to them, especially considering the fact that it was Katherine’s son who broke her jaw and dislocated her shoulder. Leanne is so nice, in fact, that I am just about to decide she mu
st be on tranquilizing pain pills, when I find out the real reason for her finesse.

  “Will you be taking over Ray’s legal bills?” she inquires sweetly.

  It isn’t easy to understand her, and now and then she has to scribble notes to us. This message comes through loud and clear, however.

  “His bills?” Kim asks. “Who’s been paying them?”

  I hold my breath, thinking, please, please, please tell us.

  Leanne narrows her eyes, and I can practically see her debating whether to tell us. Please don’t make me leave the room, I beg silently, like a small child in a roomful of adults who are about to discuss something forbidden. But luckily, avarice appears to overcome scruples, for she slides a manila folder in front of her, and opens it.

  I see her pick up what appears to be a check.

  “This has been the strangest thing,” she says as we struggle to understand her through her wired jaw. “Ordinarily, I would never tell you this, but circumstances leave me no alternative.” She gets up with the check in her hand, and comes around to our side of her desk, and props herself against it so that she is standing between Katherine and Kim in two chairs to her left, and me in a chair to her right. It’s a mirror image of the scene in the prosecutor’s office.

  “I need to tell you a story . . .”

  Lord, the woman knows how to build up suspense. I could use some of her talent. Did they teach her this in law school? I’m annoyed that she’s stringing it out like this, making these poor women wait for her punchline, whatever it is.

  “About three weeks after your son was arrested, Mrs. Kepler, I received a phone call from a man who asked me if I would represent Ray Raintree.”

  “Who was it?” Kim asks.

  “I’ll get to that,” the attorney says. “At the time, I said that I did have an opening, and I could take the case. I asked him what his connection was to Ray Raintree, and if he wished to come in to talk to me about my representation. He didn’t answer the first question, and his answer to my second question was to say that he didn’t want to come in, but he would send me a retainer.”

  She waves the check in her hand.

  “This is it. The reason I have it, is that it bounced. I didn’t know it bounced until I had already started preparing my case, and when I called this man to complain, he wasn’t there. In fact, I haven’t been able to locate him since then.”

  “Leanne,” I say, “why did you continue with the case?”

  She levels me with a hard stare, as if defying me in some way.

  “Let me tell you the rest of the story.” She’s going to tell it her way, with no interruption from us. “When this man called that single time, he set certain conditions on my representation of Ray Raintree. I was never to tell anyone who was paying. I was never to mention his name to Ray, or to anyone else. I was to avoid publicity, if I could, and if it wouldn’t get in the way of my defense. I didn’t think it would, because the more publicity Ray got, the more people hated him, and I certainly didn’t have this kind of story to tell them then.”

  She gazes at Katherine for a moment.

  “I asked the man why he didn’t want me to get Ray any pre-trial publicity, and he said that he didn’t want Ray’s mother to find out about her son.”

  Katherine gasps and looks as if she’s been stabbed in the heart.

  But Leanne holds up a hand, as if to halt that reaction.

  “I don’t think he meant to be cruel, Mrs. Kepler. What he said was, that it would break Ray’s mother’s heart if she ever found out that her son had killed a little girl. I gather he was wrong to withhold this information. But I think he meant well.”

  “How dare he!” Katherine exclaims, in a fury. “Who is this man?”

  Leanne continues inexorably, as if Katherine hasn’t asked.

  “I was to bill him at the address on this check, as expenses mounted, and he would continue to pay me. He did not want to meet the man for whose defense he was paying, although he said he might ask me to take him to the prison sometime to get a look at Ray. I agreed to do that, if that’s what he wanted. But I was never, under any circumstances, to reveal who was paying Ray’s bills.”

  With a dramatic little flourish, she hands the check to Kim, who says, “Oh, my god!” and puts her hand to her heart, before passing it to her mother. Katherine’s mouth drops open, and she looks as if she wants to say something, but can’t get any words out.

  She passes the check over to me.

  I actually gasp when I see the signature, which must be gratifying to Leanne English.

  It is very clearly signed, Frederick Kepler.

  “I didn’t know he was Ray’s father,” she tells us, “until Marie, here, called me to tell me about you people. Even then, I didn’t know that was their relationship, only that this man had your surname. Now that you’ve told me your story, I realize who he is. The only thing is, I don’t know where he is now.”

  “And the check bounced,” I say. “Why did you continue, Leanne?”

  She looks angrily at me, as if daring me to debate her reasons. “I continued because I’m a defense lawyer! That’s who I am, that’s what I do. I defend people that other people hate, and everybody hated Ray Raintree. Nobody wanted to stay with his case, he couldn’t even keep the damned public defenders on his side. He needed a lawyer. I’d already done so much preparation, and I knew nobody could save him from a guilty verdict. I figured, it wouldn’t take very long to try it . . .”

  It’s almost as if she’s trying to make herself look bad by saying that, but the truth underlying her explanation is that hard-bitten little Leanne English is a woman of ideals and principles, and she was willing to work for Ray for free, if she had to, to provide a defense for an indefensible man.

  Katherine stands up, goes to Leanne, and gently embraces her. While the attorney shrinks from the touch, and then stoically endures it, Katherine begins to cry, and to murmur, again and again, “Thank you.” When she finally releases Leanne, the lawyer’s face is as red as her hair, and she glares at me as if defying me ever to write this in my book.

  Tough, Leanne.

  You’re just going to have to put up with looking like a hero.

  Now I understand the antipathy the rest of her legal team expressed toward their client: He wasn’t paying any bills! No wonder Manny Meade spoke of him dismissively, and Jaime Suarez was so open in his contempt. Law firms are money-making enterprises, after all. The whole firm must have fought Leanne on this one; if she weren’t a full partner and a tough cookie, to boot, she’d surely have dropped the case to please them.

  Then she does another courageous thing, by offering an opinion that none of us wants to hear.

  “Look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Mrs. Kepler, but I don’t think Ray will come in just to meet you. He may not remember you. Even if he does, he’s one strange young man, Mrs. Kepler. I’m sorry, but he is. And if he comes in at all, it means he’s going to prison, and then we’ve got a damned hard fight to keep him out of the electric chair.”

  Katherine meets that courage, like a bet, and raises it.

  “What should we do?” she asks, firmly.

  “I don’t know what to do about bringing him in. But if they get him alive, I’ll try to get the prosecutor to give us a break,” Leanne says. “He’s got to take the circumstances of Ray’s life into account, and agree not to press for a death penalty.”

  Franklin won’t do it, I’m thinking, and even if he did, Ray won’t allow himself to be locked up for life. He has already proved that he would rather die first. I recall his “survival instructions,” which he probably got from his captor, Donor Miller: Do whatever you have to do to keep from getting caught. Ray has already wounded people, and probably killed someone, to stay free.

  But Katherine and Kim look hopeful now.

  “We’ll pay your bills,” Kim tells the lawyer. “All of them, won’t we Mom?”

  Her mother is nodding vigorously, while I am trying to catch Leanne
’s eye to get across the message: They can’t. This will ruin them financially, just as Katherine’s other son has predicted it will. They’re not rich people, they—

  “Forget that,” Leanne says, harshly. “I’ll find Fred.”

  I feel honored to shake her hand when we leave her office.

  Next, with only a little more time to kill, we stop by the Bahia P.D.

  Robyn Anschutz and Paul Flanck look completely nonplused to be meeting Ray Raintree’s mother and sister. They say “ma’am,” a lot to Katherine, and keep glancing at me, as if I have produced rabbits out of my magic hat.

  “You’re sure it’s Mr. Miller who’s dead?” Katherine wants to know.

  “Pretty sure,” they tell her, and go on to explain about the scorpion necklace and the wallet with the driver’s license and credit cards. “The only thing left of the body is the torso, ma’am, so there’s no fingerprints.” They apologize for being gruesome, but they say that there wasn’t a head, so they can’t identify him that way.

  “I remember that necklace,” she tells them.

  I feel a little shocked to hear her say it. It reaches so far back into a painful history for her. Can she really remember it, or is this just the power of suggestion at work?

  “It’s not something you’re likely to forget,” Robyn agrees, with a shudder. It reassures me that Katherine really might be able to recall a detail like that. “I couldn’t imagine wearing that against my skin all the time.”

  “Where was the necklace?” I ask Paul.

  “It came up with some other junk in a fisherman’s net.”

  “Along with the wallet,” Robyn adds.

  “Look, Mrs. Kepler,” Paul says, bluntly, “we all feel really bad for you, but we’ve still got a killer loose out there, even if he is your son. You see what I’m saying? I’ve got to tell you that Ray is dangerous, and we can’t be taking any chances that he’s going to harm you, or police, or innocent people. We can hope he comes in alive, on his own, but I’m not going to guarantee that I think that’s the way it’s going to happen. I think you need to be prepared for bad news, ma’am.”