The Devil's Interval Read Online Free Page A

funding what you do?”
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œBecause,” Isabella added, “if you’re sentenced to death, you’ve got an automatic right to an appeal.”
    â€œBecause sometimes people are innocent?”
    â€œWell, first it’s the law. And second, you’re right, sometimes people are innocent,” Eleanor said. “So it’s because of that, and also it’s because of the lousy counsel defendants sometimes get—there are a couple guys on Death Row in Texas whose attorneys slept through much of their trials. So there’s a small but persistent movement to reexamine the cases of people currently on Death Row.”
    â€œLike those Northwestern journalism students who tracked down evidence that a guy on Illinois’s Death Row was innocent?” I asked.
    â€œExactly. That’s where the Center for Wrongful Convictionswas founded. In fact, there are Innocence Projects all over the country now, but none are willing to take on this case. Joe Kotter, the guy who defended my client, is a more-than-competent attorney, which makes it even tougher to pursue the appeal. And that’s why Eleanor thought we should talk to you. We’ve got an innocent guy on our hands, really innocent, it’s not just that flimflam stuff you think we lawyers do.”
    â€œ Small Town is a city magazine,” I protested. “We’re not exactly home base for hard-hitting investigative reporters. The only things we’re tough on are bad movies and unsafe sushi.”
    â€œWe know that,” said Eleanor. “We just want to start by asking some advice. If we go to a—forgive me, Maggie—a real reporter, somebody on the crime beat, they’ve got to run with the story. This is a delicate situation.”
    â€œOkay, what do we know so far? It’s delicate and I’m not a real reporter. As you guys would say, ‘I’ll stipulate to that.’ But I still don’t know exactly what it is you want my advice about.”
    Eleanor looked at Isabella. “It’s your story to tell,” she said.
    Isabella nodded. “My client’s name is Travis Gifford. He’s forty-one years old, retired from the military. Ran a couple of motor pools on big Army posts, made sure the brass got driven around. So when he got out of the service, he tried driving a taxi part-time, but he didn’t like it. His mom’s got a jazz club in the city, and he used to play there sometimes, but the club didn’t generate enough income to support both of them. Anyway, he’s a very smart, personable, presentable-looking guy, so he went to work for one of those upscale car companies. He’d do airport runs and longer-term assignments for executives. He had a license to carry a gun, so sometimes he’d do security-related driving.”
    â€œWait a second,” I said. “Travis Gifford. I remember this story. Your client’s the Limousine Lothario?”
    Isabella nodded. “That’s what they called him. He’s a handsome man, and before he went to prison, he did enjoy the company of women.”
    â€œIn the limousine? Isn’t that right? He used it for assignations?”
    â€œSometimes.”
    â€œAnd then he murdered a woman in the company’s limousine?”
    â€œThat’s what the jury concluded.”
    â€œBut that’s not what happened?”
    Isabella pulled the pencil out of her topknot, opened her perfectly made-up lips, and began chewing on the end of the pencil.
    â€œIsabella,” prodded Eleanor, softly.
    She took the pencil out of her mouth and said, “Absolutely not.”

CHAPTER 3
    I left Eleanor’s house with two souvenirs: the leftover pastries and a thick file on Travis Gifford, the Limousine Lothario. The file included a number of society-page clips featuring Grace Plummer—a tall, ashy blond with a high cheekboned, sculpted face that either signaled great genes or