“Mrs.
Bell?”
Lenora kept the receiver against her ear.
Across the office, her son stood motionless beside the quitclaim deed.
Chet Doolin had stopped two steps from the wall phone.
Neither man looked surprised that somebody knew Lenora was there.
They looked afraid.
“Yes,” Lenora said.
“This is Lenora Bell.”
“My name is Mara Vance.
I’m an attorney.
Do not sign anything in front of you.”
Lenora’s eyes settled on the folder beneath her hand.
Chet’s face changed.
It was small, almost nothing, but after fourteen years spent studying guards, prosecutors, counselors, inmates, and parole boards, Lenora knew what fear looked like when somebody was trying to keep it behind their teeth.
“How did you get this number?” Lenora asked.
“I’ll explain.
First, I need to know whether Chet Doolin is with you.”
Lenora did not answer immediately.
Chet reached toward the receiver.
She turned away from him.
“He is.”
The lawyer went quiet for half a second.
“Then please put me on speaker if that phone has one.”
Lenora glanced at the rotary phone.
“It was installed when Eisenhower was still somebody Earl complained about.
It doesn’t have a speaker.”
For the first time that morning, she heard something almost like laughter on the other end.
“All right.
Then listen carefully.
The property has not been lawfully transferred, and I filed an emergency notice with the county clerk this morning contesting any conveyance involving Bell’s Service & Gas.”
Her son stared at Lenora.
“What is she saying?”
Lenora raised one finger.
He stopped.
Mara continued.
“Your release file was referred to our office during a records review.
We found two things your trial lawyer apparently never received.
One concerns the fire.
The other concerns this property.”
Lenora’s hand tightened around the receiver.
Fourteen years of prison noise seemed to rush back at once: steel doors closing, keys hitting belts, women shouting down concrete corridors, the scrape of plastic trays across cafeteria tables.
“What about the fire?”
“I don’t want to explain it over an unsecured line while Mr.
Doolin is standing beside you.
But the original fire investigation contains a laboratory attachment that was not included in the prosecution copy your defense received.”
Chet spoke loudly enough for the caller to hear through the receiver.
“That case was tried fourteen years ago.”
Mara’s voice sharpened.
“Then you remember it well, Deputy Doolin.”
Chet’s jaw flexed.
Lenora’s son whispered, “Mom, hang up.”
She looked at him.
He had said those same words with his eyes in court.
Stop fighting.
Stop asking.
