Page 87 of The Devil's Advocate

He picked up his messenger bag, got out of the car and slung the strap over his shoulder as he approached the house. The doorbell sent a chime ringing inside the house, and he saw the drapes in the lounge twitch. The front door opened, just a few inches, and Esther peered out. She wore a pink toweling night robe and rose-colored carpet slippers.

‘He’s not here,’ she said.

‘Oh, I thought I was picking him up,’ said the Pastor.

‘No, your friend already did that.’

The Pastor smacked the heel of his palm off his forehead, smiled, said, ‘It’s been such a busy day. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Tell me, how are you?’

‘My daughter’s murderer goes on trial in the morning. How do you think I’m feeling?’

The Pastor dropped the warm smile, reset his features into a somber expression, and said, ‘Yes, I know. I can’t imagine what you are going through right now. I talked to the DA this afternoon about the trial.’

That last statement caused Esther to take a step back as she looked the Pastor up and down again. She knew he would probably have a close relationship with the DA, given his job. It was obvious. And yet it was something that seemingly had not occurred to her.

‘I can give you an update now, if you like? Sometimes trials aren’t as intimidating if you know the process and what’s going to happen from day to day. I can catch up with Francis in a little while. I don’t mind,’ he said.

The door opened wider, but Esther said nothing. She was still thinking. The trial was the most important thing in her life at that moment. It was the last thing that could be done for her daughter, and she wanted the man who killed her to pay. She wanted to know everything about it. Esther’s thoughts were the same as any grieving mother’s would be, and the Pastor knew this.

‘Okay, if you tell me what the DA said, that would be a kindness. Do you want to come in for a minute?’

‘Sure,’ said the Pastor.

Esther led him inside, through to the little kitchen. She stood with her back to the counter, folded her arms across her chest and avoided the Pastor’s gaze.

‘Well, what’s gonna happen tomorrow? Is he gonna change his plea? I read about that in some news articles on similar cases. To avoid the death penalty, they take a plea and there’s no need for a trial. I would like that. I just don’t know how much more we can take.’

‘That can happen. I’ve had no word that this is what Dubois plans to do, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Mr. Korn wants the death penalty. And he tends to get it. How would that make you feel? If Dubois was put to death, I mean.’

She shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, said, ‘I don’t know. At first, I wanted him to die. I know that. But I don’t know what his death would achieve. I don’t know how I feel about it. Maybe he deserves to die, but I don’t know if I want to go through all of that.’

‘I know it’s tough. The trial will move quite quickly. Mr. Korn is one of those lawyers who likes to get things over and done with. For the families, you understand. Some lawyers stretch these trials out for weeks. He’ll be working much faster ; this isn’t a complex case.’

‘I’m glad of that.’

Taking hold of the back of a chair at the dining table, the Pastor asked, ‘Do you mind?’

She shook her head, he pulled out the seat and sat down.

‘I’ve been wanting to talk with you, Esther. I know you don’t agree with some of my views, but I can assure you I meant no offense. I’ve seen too much suffering in this county. It’s folks like Francis that need to stand up. Make a statement that this kind of violence won’t be tolerated.’

Her expression changed. She shook her head and looked around the kitchen until she found a pack of Camel’s behind a sugar bowl. Taking a match from the pack by the stove, she lit a cigarette, blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling but said nothing.

‘Francis is a good man. Hell, you’re good people. I’ve seen this so many times. White folks who won’t protect themselves from those who would do them harm.’

A derisory laugh turned into a cough, and Esther covered her mouth while she cleared her throat. Then said, ‘You mean black folks are a threat? I don’t buy your racist bullshit. Francis is hurting, real bad. He’s not thinking straight, and I don’t want you or your pals filling up his head with hate. Hasn’t he been through enough?’

‘You both have—’

‘Wait, wait a minute. Is that what this is? Did you come here to talk to me? Use my daughter’s murder trial as an excuse to try and talk me round to your way of thinking?’

‘This isn’t about you. We need Francis. That’s the truth. Men like him are important for us. But now that you mention it, yes. I did come here to see you. We need you to help Francis see that he has to stand with us and be part of this cause.’

‘You shouldn’t have brought your sorry ass here. You will never persuade me that your bullshit is any good for my family.’

The Pastor stood up.

Esther took another drag on her cigarette, lifted her head, extended her neck, and blew smoke out of the side of her mouth.