The Price of Justice Read Online Free PDF Page A

man has confessed to the crime, but your office is not following up on it.”
    “That’s right. The death warrant’s already been signed.”
    “But surely, the State doesn’t want to put to death an innocent man?”
    “Of course not. But last-minute confessions are mighty convenient, don’t you think? What we’re not interested in doing is starting legal wrangling all over again when the time for that has passed. If you came to me and said, ‘Hey, this guy has confessed, and his DNA matches that found on the girl,’ maybe it’d be another story. Then there’d be some proof. The only DNA on the body, or nearby, matched Melton’s. So, a confession alone? It’s worth squat, as far as I’m concerned.”
    It was clear to Dani that she wouldn’t change his mind on this phone call. She thanked him, hung up, and turned to her colleagues. “We’ve got to talk to the man who confessed.”

    The team from HIPP landed at Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport and made their way to the rental counter. Once in their car, they headed southeast to Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison, known throughout the state as GDCP. It housed Georgia prisoners on death row. In three weeks, it was where Earl Sanders would be executed. They’d arranged to meet Patrick Dowling, who’d insisted on being present for their interview with his client.
    They pulled up shortly before two p.m. and headed inside. Once their credentials were checked, a guard led them to a small interview room. Dowling was already seated, and they made introductions. Ten minutes later, Sanders was led into the room. The prison garb hugged his husky frame, and his face had the ghostly pallor of someone who’d seen daylight only a few hours each week for the past six years. His dark-brown eyes were almost slits in his pockmarked face. He nodded at Dowling, then said to Tommy, “You here about Melton?”
    “We are,” Dani answered.
    Sanders settled his gaze on her. His thin lips turned up in a snarl. “You a lawyer?”
    She nodded.
    “Don’t seem to be a job for a lady.”
    “Times have changed. Long ago, actually.” Dani wondered how he’d acquired such provincial views. He looked to be in his early thirties, young enough to have grown up with women working in every profession.
    He turned toward Melanie. “You a lawyer, too?”
    “I am.”
    He smiled at her with a leering grin. “You seem too pretty to be a lawyer.” He turned toward Tommy. “And how about you?”
    “I’m an investigator.”
    “You let a woman run the show? You a pansy or something?”
    Dani watched Sanders throughout this exchange. His shackled hands were clutched tightly, and his shackled legs bounced up and down, like a wind-up toy whose battery showed no sign of wearing out. Every now and then, his eye twitched. Each time it did, he’d bite his lip, as though that would make it stop.
    “Mr. Sanders,” Dani said, “my office represents Winston Melton.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “We’re here to talk about your confession to the murder of Carly Sobol, a crime Mr. Melton was convicted for.”
    “Yeah, I know.”
    “The state attorney is not convinced your confession is genuine, so I’d like to ask you some questions about that crime.”
    “Sure, sure, go ahead.”
    Dani looked down at her notes, then asked, “Where were you living before your arrest?”
    “All around. Here and there. I didn’t like to stay in one place too long.”
    “When Carly was raped and murdered, where were you living?”
    “Some fleabag motel, I forget the name. They all seem the same.”
    “It would really help if you knew the name of it, and where it was, so we could prove you were living nearby.”
    Sanders scratched his head and narrowed his eyes, as though trying to dredge up a name. “I think it was called the Tip-Top Inn, off of 95, just south of Palm Beach.” He laughed. “Sure as hell wasn’t in tip-top shape. I remember thinking that at the time.”
    “How long