Page 24 of Into These Eyes
Jamie
A fter I hang up, I take a quick look around the busy restaurant. Still no sign of Pete, so I go straight back to staring at the name on my phone. Gavin Lake.
His surprise that I’d really meant it when I insisted he tell me how he was feeling, had my heart constricting.
My head’s still a bit of a jumble when it comes to him.
I need to vanquish the opinion I’ve held for half my life and create something new.
Already it’s becoming all too clear that I’m dealing with a man of depth and compassion.
A man that the rest of the society sees as a useless ex-con.
And will continue to unless I fix what my father has done to him.
Checking my watch, I discover my long-time mentor is now fifteen minutes late, no doubt held up by the investigation he’s working on.
Tonight, I need to pick his brain on next steps for Gavin. Then, when I return to work after the weekend, I’ll be armed with the knowledge I need to approach my boss.
As I wait, I think of the bereavement leave I’ve just taken.
As lovely as it is to know that society views the loss of a close relative worthy of two whole days off work, I can’t actually pinpoint what I’ve been doing during that time.
I just don’t know how I’m supposed to grieve for a man I apparently never knew.
However I spent those past few days, I don’t want to push it when it comes to work. The firm has always frowned upon any sort of leave. Criminals don’t take days off, so neither should we, no matter what’s going on in our personal lives.
Pulling up a brief on my phone, I soon discover I can’t concentrate. Not when I feel empty about going back to work. Cringing at the thought, I push it aside as a gentle hand squeezes my shoulder.
Pete stands beside me, that sympathetic expression he gave me when I told him of my father’s cancer diagnosis plastered on his usually happy features.
He indicates for me to get up, so I slide out of the booth and into his embrace.
I suppose the occasion calls for it, because he’s never hugged me before.
Unlike the other day when Gavin Lake held me, I don't feel any overwhelming surge of emotion.
I suppose I might be numb, but I have no interest in mulling that over.
There are more important things to worry about.
Pete pats me on the back, releases me and looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry, Jamie. It’s a big loss.”
“Thanks,” I mumble as I slip back into the booth. Pete plonks down across from me, rubs his belly and lets a ghost of a grin touch his mouth.
Although he never met my father, I’d often talked about him when Pete and I got together. I’d always meant to introduce them. Now, I’m glad they never met. That’ll make this much easier.
“Hope you’ve already ordered. I’m starving,” he says.
“You’re always starving,” I point out.
He shrugs. “You got me there.”
“Well, never fear. Your favourite’s on the way.”
He sighs heavily, taking me in. “You’re a good person, Jamie. I think your only fault is that you work too hard.”
I scoff and take a sip of water. “You work way more hours than I do.”
“That’s because I’m an old fart with nothing else to do with my time.”
“So, the only difference between us is that I’m a young fart. What’s the problem with that?”
He takes a sip of the diet coke I ordered for him earlier. “Ugh, still trying to poison me with that artificial sweetener, I see.”
“Of course,” I grin. Ever since my father’s decline, I’ve been a thorn in Pete’s side every time we see each other and food is involved. That belly of his hasn’t shrunk one bit, so my efforts to keep him healthy are clearly futile, but that won’t stop me trying.
“Anyway, the problem with you working too much, is you’re not leaving any time for the important things in life. Things I’m sure your father would want you to have.”
“What’s more important than putting away criminals?”
“Family … Love,” he says so matter-of-factly, I take another sip of water and pointlessly move the cutlery back and forth. When I don’t respond, he continues, “Don’t you now wish you’d taken some leave to spend more time with your father before he passed?”
“Nope,” I say, meeting his gaze.
“Nope?” He leans back and folds his arms across his chest, resting them on his protruding belly. “Why the hell would you say that?”
“That’s why I asked you here. So you’ll understand why. And because, as usual, I need your advice.”
As he opens his mouth, the waitress places salads in front of us. Pete stares down at it, then across to mine, assessing.
“Let’s trade,” he says, reaching for my bowl.
I hold on tight. “Nice try.” We have the same thing, only his is sans bacon, croutons and only half the usual amount of dressing.
“Well, I guess I could just leave, go to KFC and not worry about what it is you need from me.”
Bastard. That’s the problem with people who get to know you too well. “Fine,” I relent, and swap bowls with him. “I think they call that blackmail.”
“Not when you’re trying to deprive me of the simple pleasures in life.” He stabs his fork into the salad and comes up with a chunky piece of bacon. “Would you like some? Maybe to go with that rabbit food you tried to pass off as a meal?”
Since he hasn’t realised this is just the entrée, I ignore his sarcasm and jump right in. “The reason I don’t feel bad about not spending more time with my father is because he’s a lying, deceitful fucking prick.”
Pete’s fork stops an inch from his mouth, frozen for a moment before he lowers it. Staring at me with surprise, he waits for an explanation.
I tell him everything, then eat my salad while he takes it all in.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. But I do need your help. If you’re okay with that, of course.”
“I’m always okay with that. But … is your sister around? How the hell’re you coping?”
“I’m dealing with it.”
He stares across at me, his food forgotten. The sympathy in his eyes sends my gaze to my half-finished salad.
“Gavin Lake,” I say, “I want to get his conviction quashed. How do I go about that?”
When he lets out a deep sigh, I meet his eyes again, sending him a silent plea not to try and tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Only I can decide that, and I’ve made my decision. With or without his help.
“You want to help the man you’ve hated all these years?”
I nod. “One hundred percent, yes. He’s a victim of my father’s lies, Pete. The only thing Gavin Lake’s guilty of is telling the truth. Always. And no one believed him.”
Pete drums his fingers on the table, then stops. “But he has lied, hasn’t he?”
“What?” I frown. “When? He’s always maintained his inno—” And it hits me.
My meeting with him six months ago. He told me he was sorry for what he’d done.
He’d told the parole board the same thing.
That’s why he’s out. Because he showed remorse for a crime he didn’t commit.
I’d been so distracted about Dad’s confession, I’d forgotten all about Gavin’s.
Only one thing makes sense. “I guess he figured out the law’s an ass.”
Pete gives me a reluctant nod. “He never would’ve been granted parole without admitting what he … never did.”
“It’s a sick fucking world, Pete.”
“You don’t have to tell me. But, Jamie, it’s not your responsibility to help him. There are plenty of lawyers who specialise in overturning convictions. You don’t have to concern yourself with his side of things. You’ve got enough to deal with.”
I take a long drink of water. “My father stole the life he should have had. Nothing’s ever going to make up for that. But I can make sure the life he has going forward is one of a completely free man. That won’t happen if he’s still seen as a convicted murderer now, will it?”
“Let someone else deal with it. Doesn’t have to be you. In fact, you should be distancing yourself from this. Can’t you see how triggering it’ll be?”
“I’m the one who heard my father’s confession, Pete. The only one. I’m involved whether I like it or not.”
He leans forward. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through. It’s not just about your father’s confession. The detectives who investigated your mother’s murder will come under scrutiny. They’re not going to like that.”
I stare at him, utterly confused by his resistance. “So, you’re telling me, an innocent man has to remain guilty to prevent ruffling a few feathers?”
He sighs heavily. “No. I just want you to understand that this isn’t going to be all rainbows and sunshine.”
I slam my fork against the salad bowl, causing a few heads to turn. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I’m all too aware of that. But I’m also aware that you’re going through a major emotional life event.
Whether you want to admit it or not. I don’t want you ending up broken from this, Jamie.
I really think you should take some time off so you can come to terms with everything before you make any promises or decisions. ”
I swallow, suddenly doubting myself. Pete’s the most upstanding person I know. Ethics and integrity through the roof. He taught me , for fuck’s sake. “I’ve already promised.”
“I doubt the guy’s going to hold you to it.”
“I’m holding myself to it. Live with it. Now, what’s the first step?”
He digs into his salad and chews before he finally answers. “First step is submitting an application to the Court of Criminal Appeals.”
“And a Dying Declaration will be enough?”
He shakes his head emphatically. “No. You can draw up an affidavit swearing to your father’s confession, but as you said, you’re the only witness.
When Gavin Lake’s confession to the parole board comes into play, that’ll be the end of it.
I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I’d say it’s game over before you even start playing. ”
I stare at him, unable to hide my disappointment. How the hell am I going to tell Gavin I’ve made a promise I can’t keep, no matter how much I want to?
“Maybe,” Pete says with sympathy, “just knowing you believe him, and were willing to fight for him, will be enough. Without any solid evidence, you’re wasting your time, and getting the guy’s hopes up for nothing.
” He takes another bite of salad and chews thoughtfully.
“If something new comes up, something solid, bring it to me. We’ll go over it together and make sure it’ll be enough to get you over the line.
Until then, I wouldn’t go mentioning this to anyone else. Okay?”
“Fine.” I don’t bother confessing that I’ve already told Jarrod. What does it matter? If I can’t gather more evidence, the point is moot. As far as I know, my father’s confession is the only evidence at my disposal.
When we’re served our main course, I can’t stop trying to figure out if there’s something else the police missed during their investigation.
Jarrod Reid clearly had tunnel vision. Things get missed when the police believe they have the offender wrapped up in a pretty bow.
The more I think about it, the more convinced I become. There has to be something.
Because, apart from me, it seems no one else is interested in helping an innocent man.