His Lawyer’s Betrayal

Larry Edwards had arrived, eventually, at the truth. After his visit to Penny Avans, he knew who Clarance was. He had said so, in words that carried the weight of revelation: “You were telling me the fucking truth.” He had worked harder after that. He had become, for a time, the kind of advocate someone facing death deserves.

But at the moment that counted most, he was ready to be done. He sat across from his client, the man whose life was at stake, in the middle of an ice storm that could have provided justification for a continuance, and said he was ready to get it over with. The witnesses hadn’t been subpoenaed. The timeline hadn’t been finished. The case hadn’t been built to the standard a capital defense requires.

He still said he was ready.

After the conviction, he visited Clarance one last time and promised to make things right. Clarance was transferred to death row. That was the last conversation they had. In subsequent years, Clarance was told, Edwards said to those who contacted him about the case that he had done a great job.

The prosecution had not even offered a clear motive until trial was nearly underway. When they at last produced one, it was this: Clarance had orchestrated three murders in order to obtain Xanax pills. Three murders, including the murder of a ten-year-old girl, for Xanax. That was the story. That was what they asked the jury to believe.

No physical evidence. No DNA. No fingerprints. No weapons. The word of a woman who was never charged, though witnesses testified she had threatened her brother’s life. The word of a man who had been blacking out on a drug cocktail, who changed his story so many times that even his own prosecutors found it incoherent.

That is what sent Clarance Goode, Jr. to death row.

“If I take that plea, I can’t keep fighting. I can’t keep telling the truth.”