two people and didn’t care, and his own brooding face would be a ticket straight to the execution chamber. They’d have to work on that.
After a long pause, Hudson began to speak slowly.
“When I was born, right? I was real dark.” He looked down at the tabletop, tracing a long gouge in the wood with the tip of his finger. A private smile, perhaps unintentional, flickered over his mouth and sank quickly back into his impassive face.
“I was so black,” Hudson said, looking up at Redpath, “that when my uncle Thad saw me, I guess he started laughing. Said I was like a new moon. Nobody can see me in the dark, right? Like a new moon.”
Redpath pursed his lips and nodded. He knew it was not the time to smile, even if Hudson had. The story, true or untrue, might be a test to see if the lawyer would laugh at his new client. Hudson paused for two beats, then leaned back and continued.
“When I started school, in kindergarten, I wanted the other kids to call me Clarence, like the teacher did. But they wouldn’t. A lot of stuff goes with moon, right? Like prune and goon. Then, they’d be talking about ‘mooning’ people, you know, just being kids. So, pretty soon …” Hudson paused and shook his head at this accidental rhyme. “Pretty soon, I’m getting into a mess of fights.”
“What would you like me to call you?” Redpath asked. “You can call me Bill. Should I call you Moon, or Clarence, or Mr. Hudson, or what?”
“I don’t care.”
The two big men looked at each other for a few seconds, until finally Redpath reached down and pulled his briefcase onto the table. The guards had removed almost everything from it except a copy of the indictment, a scribbled-over yellow pad, and a couple of pencils, which bounced around inside.
“Okay.” There was no time to waste. Redpath had only a few minutes before the urge for a cigarette would begin to sap his patience. They needed to get started.
“I’m going to call you Moon, then, okay? I spoke to your wife on the phone, and that’s what she called you, so I hope it’s all right.”
“Fine.”
“I’ve got some questions for you, Moon, but before I get to them, I want to know if you have any questions for me. Do you?”
Hudson tilted his head back and looked at Redpath through half-closed eyes, took his time, then spoke deliberately.
“You ever kill anybody, Mr. Redpath?”
“What the hell difference does that make?”
Hudson shrugged, said nothing, and waited.
Now it was the lawyer’s turn to decide whether to give an answer to the question, and if so whether to answer truthfully. The ironic thing was, of course, that this was pretty much the question Redpath himself was planning, in due course, to put to Hudson.
“Probably,” Redpath said. “I’m not sure.” Reading Hudson’s face, he corrected himself and decided to plunge in. Maybe this would help. “Okay, I am sure. Yes, Moon, as a matter of fact I have killed people.”
“How many?”
“I didn’t count.”
Something may have changed in Hudson’s face, a slight alteration in the focus of his dark eyes, sifting an answer he hadn’t expected and trying to decide whether he could trust it.
“Just one for me,” Hudson said after a pause. “But not Peach, and not that nurse.”
Redpath busied himself flipping the pages of his yellow pad, searching for a blank one and purposely not looking at his new client.
Hudson was probably lying. At this point, that didn’t matter to Redpath; most of the people he represented were guilty. His job was, if possible, to keep his client alive, and to keep the prosecution honest. If, God forbid, Moon were actually innocent, it would only make his job much harder, since there would be little or no chance of a plea bargain.
Redpath positioned the pad in front of him and jotted the date in the upper right-hand corner. After he and Moon got to know each other better, he’d get to the big questions.
“Uh-huh. Did you know Delgado?” He
After a long pause, Hudson began to speak slowly.
“When I was born, right? I was real dark.” He looked down at the tabletop, tracing a long gouge in the wood with the tip of his finger. A private smile, perhaps unintentional, flickered over his mouth and sank quickly back into his impassive face.
“I was so black,” Hudson said, looking up at Redpath, “that when my uncle Thad saw me, I guess he started laughing. Said I was like a new moon. Nobody can see me in the dark, right? Like a new moon.”
Redpath pursed his lips and nodded. He knew it was not the time to smile, even if Hudson had. The story, true or untrue, might be a test to see if the lawyer would laugh at his new client. Hudson paused for two beats, then leaned back and continued.
“When I started school, in kindergarten, I wanted the other kids to call me Clarence, like the teacher did. But they wouldn’t. A lot of stuff goes with moon, right? Like prune and goon. Then, they’d be talking about ‘mooning’ people, you know, just being kids. So, pretty soon …” Hudson paused and shook his head at this accidental rhyme. “Pretty soon, I’m getting into a mess of fights.”
“What would you like me to call you?” Redpath asked. “You can call me Bill. Should I call you Moon, or Clarence, or Mr. Hudson, or what?”
“I don’t care.”
The two big men looked at each other for a few seconds, until finally Redpath reached down and pulled his briefcase onto the table. The guards had removed almost everything from it except a copy of the indictment, a scribbled-over yellow pad, and a couple of pencils, which bounced around inside.
“Okay.” There was no time to waste. Redpath had only a few minutes before the urge for a cigarette would begin to sap his patience. They needed to get started.
“I’m going to call you Moon, then, okay? I spoke to your wife on the phone, and that’s what she called you, so I hope it’s all right.”
“Fine.”
“I’ve got some questions for you, Moon, but before I get to them, I want to know if you have any questions for me. Do you?”
Hudson tilted his head back and looked at Redpath through half-closed eyes, took his time, then spoke deliberately.
“You ever kill anybody, Mr. Redpath?”
“What the hell difference does that make?”
Hudson shrugged, said nothing, and waited.
Now it was the lawyer’s turn to decide whether to give an answer to the question, and if so whether to answer truthfully. The ironic thing was, of course, that this was pretty much the question Redpath himself was planning, in due course, to put to Hudson.
“Probably,” Redpath said. “I’m not sure.” Reading Hudson’s face, he corrected himself and decided to plunge in. Maybe this would help. “Okay, I am sure. Yes, Moon, as a matter of fact I have killed people.”
“How many?”
“I didn’t count.”
Something may have changed in Hudson’s face, a slight alteration in the focus of his dark eyes, sifting an answer he hadn’t expected and trying to decide whether he could trust it.
“Just one for me,” Hudson said after a pause. “But not Peach, and not that nurse.”
Redpath busied himself flipping the pages of his yellow pad, searching for a blank one and purposely not looking at his new client.
Hudson was probably lying. At this point, that didn’t matter to Redpath; most of the people he represented were guilty. His job was, if possible, to keep his client alive, and to keep the prosecution honest. If, God forbid, Moon were actually innocent, it would only make his job much harder, since there would be little or no chance of a plea bargain.
Redpath positioned the pad in front of him and jotted the date in the upper right-hand corner. After he and Moon got to know each other better, he’d get to the big questions.
“Uh-huh. Did you know Delgado?” He
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