"Can you hear him?"
"No. Thank God."
"Poor kid. I've done some motions for him, just in case I leave this place. I want to leave them with you."
"I don't know what to do with them."
"I'll leave instructions. They're to be sent to his lawyer."
Gullitt whistled softly. "Man oh man, Sam. What am I gonna do if you leave? I ain't talked to my lawyer in a year."
"Your lawyer is a moron."
"Then help me fire him, Sam. Please. You just fired yours. Help me fire mine. I don't know how to do it."
"Then who'll represent you?"
"Your grandson. Tell him he can have my case."
Sam smiled, then he chuckled. And then he laughed at the idea of rounding up his buddies on the Row and delivering their hopeless cases to Adam.
"What's-so damned funny?" Gullitt demanded.
"You. What makes you think he'll want your case?"
"Come on, Sam. Talk to the kid for me. He must be smart if he's your grandson."
"What if they gas me? Do you want a lawyer who's just lost his first death row client?"
"Hell, I can't be particular right now."
"Relax, J.B. You have years to go."
"How many years?"
"At least five, maybe more."
"You swear?"
"You have my word. I'll put it in writing. If I'm wrong, you can sue me."
"Real funny, Sam. Real funny."
A door clicked open at the end of the hall, and heavy footsteps came their way. It was Packer, and he stopped in front of number six. "Mornin', Sam," he said.
"Mornin', Packer."
"Put your reds on. You have a visitor."
"Who is it?"
"Somebody who wants to talk to you."
"Who is it?" Sam repeated as he quickly slipped into his red jumpsuit. He grabbed his cigarettes. He didn't care who the visitor was or what he wanted. A visit by anyone was a welcome relief from his cell.
"Hurry up, Sam," Packer said.
"Is it my lawyer?" Sam asked as he slid his feet into the rubber shower shoes.
"No." Packer handcuffed him through the bars, and the door to his cell opened. They left Tier A and headed for the same little room where the lawyers always waited.
Packer removed the handcuffs and slammed the door behind Sam, who focused on the heavy-set woman seated on the other side of the screen. He rubbed his wrists for her benefit and took a few steps to the seat opposite her. He did not recognize the woman. He sat down, lit a cigarette, and glared at her.
She scooted forward in her chair, and nervously said, "Mr. Cayhall, my name is Dr. Stegall." She slipped a business card through the opening. "I'm the psychiatrist for the State Department of Corrections."
Sam studied the card on the counter in front of him. He picked it up and examined it suspiciously. "Says here your name is N. Stegall. Dr. N. Stegall."
"That's correct."
"That's a strange name, N. I've never met a woman named N. before."
The small, anxious grin disappeared from her face, and her spine stiffened. "It's just an initial, okay. There are reasons for it."
"What's it stand for?"
"That's really none of your business."
"Nancy? Nelda? Nona?"
"If I wanted you to know, I would've put it on the card, now wouldn't I?"
"I don't know. Must be something horrible, whatever it is. Nick? Ned? I can't imagine hiding behind an initial."
"I'm not hiding, Mr. Cayhall."
"Just call me S., okay?"
Her jaws clenched and she scowled through the screen. "I'm here to help you."
"You're too late, N."
"Please call me Dr. Stegall."
"Oh, well, in that case you can call me Lawyer Cayhall."
"Lawyer Cayhall?"