The Chamber by John Grisham Read Free Book Online

Cayhall case, and I think this firm has handled it pro bono for, what, eight years now?”
    “Seven, but it seems like twenty. Mr. Cayhall is not the most pleasant man to deal with.”
    “Understandable, isn’t it? I mean, he’s been in solitary for almost ten years.”
    “Don’t lecture me about prison life, Mr. Hall. Have you ever seen the inside of a prison?”
    “No.”
    “Well I have. I’ve been to death row in six states. I’ve been cursed by Sam Cayhall when he was chained to his chair. He’s not a nice man. He’s an incorrigible racist who hates just about everybody, and he’d hate you if you met him.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “You’re a lawyer, Mr. Hall. He hates lawyers worse than he hates blacks and Jews. He’s been facing death for almost ten years, and he’s convinced he’s the victim of a lawyer conspiracy. Hell, he tried to fire us for two years. This firm spent in excess of two million dollars in billable time trying to keep him alive, and he was more concerned with firing us. I lost count of the number of times he refused to meet with us after we traveled all the way to Parchman. He’s crazy, Mr. Hall.Find yourself another project. How about abused kids or something?”
    “No thanks. My interest is in death penalty cases, and I’m somewhat obsessed with the story of Sam Cayhall.”
    Goodman carefully returned the spectacles to the tip of his nose, then slowly swung his feet onto the corner of the desk. He folded his hands across the starched shirt. “Why, may I ask, are you so obsessed with Sam Cayhall?”
    “Well, it’s a fascinating case, don’t you think? The Klan, the civil rights movement, the bombings, the tortured locale. The backdrop is such a rich period in American history. Seems ancient, but it was only twenty-five years ago. It’s a riveting story.”
    A ceiling fan spun slowly above him. A minute passed.
    Goodman lowered his feet to the floor and rested on his elbows. “Mr. Hall, I appreciate your interest in pro bono, and I assure you there’s much to do. But you need to find another project. This is not a mock trial competition.”
    “And I’m not a law student.”
    “Sam Cayhall has effectively terminated our services, Mr. Hall. You don’t seem to realize this.”
    “I want the chance to meet with him.”
    “For what?”
    “I think I can convince him to allow me to represent him.”
    “Oh really.”
    Adam took a deep breath, then stood and walked deftly around the stacks of files to the window. Another deep breath. Goodman watched, and waited.
    “I have a secret for you, Mr. Goodman. No one else knows but Emmitt Wycoff, and I was sort of forced to tell him. You must keep it confidential, okay?”
    “I’m listening.”
    “Do I have your word?”
    “Yes, you have my word,” Goodman said slowly, biting a stem.
    Adam peeked through a slit in the blinds and watched a sailboat on Lake Michigan. He spoke quietly. “I’m related to Sam Cayhall.”
    Goodman did not flinch. “I see. Related how?”
    “He had a son, Eddie Cayhall. And Eddie Cayhall left Mississippi in disgrace after his father was arrested for the bombing. He fled to California, changed his name, and tried to forget his past. But he was tormented by his family’s legacy. He committed suicide shortly after his father was convicted in 1981.”
    Goodman now sat with his rear on the edge of his chair.
    “Eddie Cayhall was my father.”
    Goodman hesitated slightly. “Sam Cayhall is your grandfather?”
    “Yes. I didn’t know it until I was almost seventeen. My aunt told me after we buried my father.”
    “Wow.”
    “You promised not to tell.”
    “Of course.” Goodman moved his butt to the edge of his desk, and placed his feet in the chair. He stared at the blinds. “Does Sam know—”
    “No. I was born in Ford County, Mississippi, a town called Clanton, not Memphis. I was always told I was born in Memphis. My name then was Alan Cayhall, but I didn’t know this until much later.