The Choiring of the Trees - Donald Harington [99]
Cobb cleared his throat. Of course he didn’t want to admit that he had read the letter. “I skimmed most of it,” he said. “There isn’t much news that I couldn’t tell you myself. There’s a very long account of her trip to your hometown and her meetings with the various figures involved in the case, such as Judge Sewell Jerram and the sheriff, et cetera. There’s a long account of her attempts to see the governor. An unfortunate business. A truly lamentable state of affairs. She and the child, Dorinda Whitter, tried for a week to get an audience with Governor Hays. They sat in his waiting-room for three whole days. Yes, three days, and I was there with them part of the third day, when I finally demanded of the governor’s assistant that we get admitted to his private office. Most regrettably, Viridis Monday was very angry by that time and her mood kept her from presenting her case effectively to the governor, toward whom she was openly hostile. In this letter…” (again Cobb patted his breast, where Nail could see a bulge beneath his suit coat) “…she gives reasons for her anger at the governor which are unjustified, I think. She even went so far as to tell the governor that he was responsible for Dorinda Whitter, that he would have to make the child his own ward, a preposterous suggestion, if I may say so, and I did say so.”
“Go on,” Nail said. “So you’re tellin me the governor didn’t buy none of it? No pardon, huh?”
“Not necessarily on account of Miss Monday’s rudeness. The governor feels strongly that the whole business would have to go through strictly legal channels, the case would have to be referred back to a lower court, you would need to be retried if that could even be considered acceptable by the court, you would have to follow established procedures, you couldn’t just impose upon the governor’s charity.”
“Didn’t that governor believe what Rindy told him?”
“I’m afraid the child didn’t get a chance to tell him her story. The governor insisted that she would have to tell it to a court, not to him.”
“But didn’t he even take a gander at that petition with all those names that Viridis had got signed for him?”
“He said he was most curious to know if the petition contained the names of Prosecuting Attorney Thurl B. Bean and Circuit Judge Lincoln Villines. It does not, of course. The governor is of the opinion that Judge Villines must recommend leniency to him, or at least recommend a retrial, and Judge Villines will not. I might add that Judge Villines is, it would appear, an old friend of the governor’s.”
“It would appear,” Nail echoed. He asked, rhetorically and futilely, “What kind of governor is that man anyhow?”
“For now, the only one we have, alas,” Farrell Cobb said, the closest he ever came to expressing any sentiment against the governor.
“So what’s the next step?” Nail asked.
“Next step?”
“Yeah, how long does it take to get another trial, or whatever?”
Farrell Cobb shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said. “The governor was our last resort.”
“But didn’t ye jist say something about the governor hisself says that the case has to go back to a lower court and git retried?”
“Only if Judge Villines recommends it, and he does not.”
“Well, fuck Link Villines! If a judge does something wrong, he aint likely to ask somebody else to come along and tell him how bad he done. Of course he don’t want a retrial!”
“That’s the way the law works,” Farrell Cobb said.
Nail stared at him in disbelief. “If that’s the way the law works, you ought to be ashamed to call yourself a lawyer.”
Farrell Cobb reddened. Testily he said, “Insults won’t work with me.”
“Then what in hell will work with you? Tell me that! What have I got to do or say to get some help from you?”
“Mr. Chism, I’ve given you quite a lot of help,” the lawyer said coldly. “I’ve gone to some extraordinary lengths to appeal your case. In fact, I think it’s safe to say I’ve worked harder on this case than any in my career.”
“But I’m still going to the