If Junior Mace had not been a “strange one” before arriving fifteen years earlier, he could certainly be excused for being a bit odd now. Total isolation leads to sensory deprivation and all sorts of mental problems. Corrections experts were beginning to realize this, and a movement to reform the practice of solitary confinement was struggling to gain momentum. Said movement had not made it to Florida.
A door on the other side opened and a guard walked through it. He was followed by Junior Mace, handcuffed and wearing the standard blue prison pants and orange T-shirt reserved for death row inmates. Another guard followed him. They removed the handcuffs and left the room.
Junior Mace took two steps and sat down at the table on his side. The Plexiglas separated them. Hugo and Lacy took their seats and for a few seconds things were awkward.
He was fifty-two years old. His hair was long, thick, and gray, swept back into a ponytail. His skin was dark and had not been bleached by the isolation. His eyes were dark too, large and brown and sad. He was tall and lean with well-formed biceps. Probably does a lot of push-ups, Hugo thought. According to the file, his wife, Eileen, was thirty-two when she died. They had three children, all raised by relatives after Junior was arrested and sent away.
Lacy took one of two phones on her side of the partition and said, “Thanks for meeting with us.”
He was holding his phone. He shrugged, said nothing.
“I’m not sure you got our letter, but we work for the State Board on Judicial Conduct and we’re investigating Judge Claudia McDover.”
“I got it,” he said. “I’m here. I agreed to the meeting.” He spoke slowly, as if every word had to be considered first.
Hugo said, “So, uh, we’re not here to talk about your case. We can’t help you there, and besides you have some good lawyers in Washington.”
“I’m still alive. I guess they’re doing their job. What do you want from me?”
Lacy said, “Information. We need the names of people we can talk to. Tappacola, the ones on the good side, your side. That is another world for us, and we can’t just show up one day and start asking questions.”
His eyes narrowed and his mouth turned down, like an inverted smile. He nodded as he glared at them, and finally said, “Look, my wife and Son Razko were murdered in 1995. I was convicted in 1996 and taken away, shackled in the back of a van. That was before the casino was built, so I’m not sure I can really help you. They had to get me out of the way, me and Son, before they could build it. They murdered Son, along with my wife, and they got me convicted for it.”
“Do you know who did it?” Hugo asked.
He actually smiled, though the humor did not make it to his eyes. Slowly, he said, “Mr. Hatch, for sixteen years I have said over and over that I do not know who killed my wife and Son Razko. There were some people in the background, some outsiders who eased their way into the picture. Our Chief at the time was a good man who got corrupted. These outside folks got to him, I’m not sure how but I’m sure it involved money, and he became convinced the casino was the answer. Son and I fought back and we won the first vote in 1993. They thought they were going to win and they were laying the groundwork to make a lot of money with the casino and the land around it. When our people turned it down the first time, these folks decided to get rid of Son. And me too, I guess. They figured out a way to do it. Son’s gone. I’m here. The casino has been printing cash for a decade now.”
Lacy asked, “Ever heard the name of Vonn Dubose?”
He paused and seemed to flinch slightly. It was obvious his answer would be yes, so when he said no, they both made a note. That would be an interesting conversation on the ride home. “Remember,” he said, “I’ve been gone for a long time. Fifteen years here in solitary eats away at your soul, your spirit, and your brain. I’ve lost a lot, and I can’t always remember what I should.”
“But you wouldn’t forget Vonn Dubose if you knew him,” Lacy said, pushing.
Junior clenched his jaws and shook his head. No. “Don’t know him.”
Hugo said, “I’m assuming you have a low opinion of Judge McDover.”
“That’s an understatement. She presided over a joke of a trial and made sure an innocent man was convicted. She’s covering up, too. I’ve always suspected she knew more than she should have. It was all a nightmare, Mr. Hatch. From the moment they told me my wife was dead, along with Son, and then the shock of being accused, and getting arrested and slammed into jail. By then the system was clicking right along and everybody I looked at was a bad guy. From the cops, the prosecutors, the judge, the witnesses, the jurors—I got chewed up by a system that was hitting on all cylinders. In no time flat I got framed, convicted, sentenced, and here I am.”
“What’s the judge covering up?” Lacy asked.
“The truth. I suspect she knows I didn’t kill Son and Eileen.”