of Savannah.”
Now Otis is even more suspicious. He opens the door, tosses in his lunch pail, closes the door and says, “Okay.”
Frankie raises both hands in mock surrender and says, “I come in peace. I’m just looking for information about an old case.”
At this point a white man would have been rebuffed, but Frankie appears harmless. “I’m listening,” Otis says.
“I’m sure your wife has talked about her first husband, Quincy Miller.”
The name causes a slight sag of the shoulders, but Otis is curious enough to continue for a moment. “Not much,” he says. “A long time ago. Why are you involved with Quincy?”
“The lawyer I work for represents him. We’re convinced Quincy got framed for that murder and we’re trying to prove it.”
“Good luck with that one. Quincy got what he deserved.”
“Not really, Mr. Walker. Quincy is an innocent man who’s served twenty-two years for somebody else’s crime.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do. So does the lawyer I work for.”
Otis considers this for a moment. He has no record, has never been to prison, but his cousin is doing hard time for assaulting a police officer. In white America, prisons are good places where bad men pay for their crimes. In black America, they are too often used as warehouses to keep minorities off the streets.
Otis asks, “So who killed that lawyer?”
“We don’t know, and may never know. But we’re just trying to find the truth and get Quincy out.”
“I’m not sure I can help you.”
“But your wife can. She testified against him. I’m sure she’s told you all about it.”
Otis shrugs and glances around. “Maybe, but it was a long time ago. She hasn’t mentioned Quincy’s name in years.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Talk about what?”
“Her testimony. She didn’t tell the truth, Mr. Walker. She told the jury that Quincy owned a 12-gauge shotgun. That was the murder weapon, and it was owned by somebody else.”
“Look, I met June years after the murder. In fact, she had another husband before she met me. I’m number three, you understand? I know she had a rough time when she was younger but our life is pretty good right now. The last thing she wants is any trouble related to Quincy Miller.”
“I’m asking for help, Otis. That’s all. We got a brother wasting away in prison not two hours from here. The white cops and white prosecutor and white jury said he killed a white lawyer. Didn’t happen that way.”
Otis spits, leans on his door, and crosses his arms over his chest.
Frankie gently presses on. “Look, I served fourteen years in Georgia for somebody else’s murder. I know what it’s like, okay? I got lucky and got out, but I left some innocent guys behind. Guys like me and you. There’s a lot of us in prison. The system’s rigged against us, Otis. We’re only trying to help Quincy.”
“So what’s June got to do with this?”
“Has she ever told you about the flashlight?”
Otis thinks for a second and shakes his head. Frankie doesn’t want a gap in the conversation. “There was a flashlight with some blood on it. Cops said it came from the crime scene. Quincy never saw it, never touched it. June told the jury he had one very similar to it. Not true, Otis. Not true. She also told the jury that Quincy was somewhere around Seabrook the night of the killing. Not true. He was with a girlfriend an hour away.”
Otis has been married to June for seventeen years. Frankie is assuming he is quite aware of her struggles with the truth, so why beat around the bush?
“You’re calling her a liar?” Otis said.
“No, not now. But you said yourself she was a different woman back then. She and Quincy were at war. He owed her a bunch of money that he couldn’t pay. The cops leaned on her to take the stand and point the finger.”
“A long time ago, man.”
“Damned right. Ask Quincy about it. He’s spent twenty-two years in prison.”
“Well, let’s say she didn’t tell the truth back then. You expect her to admit it now? Come on.”
“I just want to talk to her. I know where she works. I could’ve gone there, but we don’t operate that way. This is not an ambush, Otis. I respect your privacy and I’m asking you to run it by June. That’s all.”
“Feels like an ambush.”
“What else could I do? Send an e-mail? Look, I’m leaving town. You talk to her and see what she says.”
“I know what