CHAPTER 37
FOUR DAYS AFTER THE SUMMIT IN ST. LUCIA, SIDNEY SAT IN FRONT OF her computer and edited the clips Leslie had strung together for episode seven.
The previous Friday, episode six showed again, in dramatic fashion, how Julian Crist’s skull may have been fractured from something other than a boat oar.
Several theories about alternative murder weapons were produced, and they all contrasted sharply with the paddleboard oar that was used to convict Grace Sebold.
The theories offered all hinged on the fact that microscopic amounts of organza fibers, a type of nylon, had been discovered in the skull fracture.
The suggestion was that a household object might have been wrapped in a nylon bag or sock and used to strike Julian while he was high on the Soufriere Bluff.
Some part of Sidney felt bad for Julian Crist’s family, which believed for years that his murderer was behind bars.
The documentary could provide no satisfying conclusion for the Crist family: Either Grace was innocent, and the tragedy of their son’s death had ruined yet another life, or she was as guilty now as she was ten years ago, and a commercial documentary was bringing doubt into what they believed was an open-and-shut case.
Either way, Sidney knew it was an ugly time for the Crist family.
The media was on a constant push to interview Julian’s parents and get their opinions.
The success of the documentary had elevated Sidney’s modest celebrity to movie star ranks.
Everyone in America knew her name, and every family member or friend with a loved one in jail seemed to be sending her letters and packages begging for her help.
Her desk was cluttered with manila envelopes stuffed with court documents and affidavits and witness lists.
Proof, each letter claimed, of innocence.
Graham walked into her cluttered office. “The execs want to meet next week.”
Sidney continued to stare at her computer. “Why? Numbers are good. What could they possibly want to complain about?”
“Your numbers are exactly what they want to discuss. They want another documentary for next summer. Same format. They’re putting together an offer and want to discuss it with you next week.”
Sidney laughed and looked at Graham. “I’m not even done with this one. Nor am I sure how exactly it will end. I’ve got four episodes left to produce.”
“It shows their confidence in you.”
“Can’t they just enjoy all the money Girl is putting in their pockets before they start worrying about how to make more?”
“There’s going to be money on the table for you, too, Sid. It’s a nice offer, trust me. And I haven’t even seen all the details.”
Sidney didn’t respond. She’d spent her career on paper-thin budgets, making films that sometimes were never picked up.
Only in the last few years had she found some success.
And though she never imagined television would be the place she’d find steady work, the success of the documentary and the doors that were opening for her were something she would eventually have to address.
As soon, that was, as she had a free moment to consider her future beyond each Friday-night episode.
“Next week, okay?” Graham said.
“Graham,” Sidney said, swiveling her seat around to face him, “I’m barely making my weekly deadlines.
You understand this, right? You all sit in your corner offices up there and the draft episodes just magically appear each Wednesday.
But in order to get those finished, my staff and I are working around the clock.
This format is great for the viewers, but a death wish for me.
Let’s see what happens when we wrap this up.
Let’s see what I can put together and how I end the Grace Sebold story before we start talking about next summer. ”
Graham smiled. “Oh, they’re anxious to see that as well. We’ll discuss it next week, okay?”
Sidney shook her head. “Fine. But I swear to God, if I’m behind schedule, I’m canceling. I’ve got to get this footage cut for the final edits and do the voice-overs so you all can approve the draft before it goes to production.”
“You’re doing a hell of a job,” Graham said before he left her office.
Sidney went back to her computer. Her phone buzzed a minute later.
She saw the strange set of numbers and knew it was Grace Sebold calling collect from Bordelais.
She clicked on the recording device so the conversation could be captured to use potentially, as many of their previous discussions had been, in the documentary.
“Yes?” Sidney started, knowing she would not be speaking with a live person. The recording took over.
You have a collect call from . . .
“Grace. Sebold.” Grace’s voice was short and direct as she pronounced her first and last name in a stoic monotone.
... an inmate at the Bordelais Correctional Facility in Dennery, St. Lucia.
Sidney pressed 1 to accept the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” Grace said in an urgent tone foreign to her usual detached demeanor. “Did you know about this?”
“About what?” Sidney asked.
“My correctional officer, who I meet with once a month, just told me the prime minister is looking into my case. He said they’re considering a pardon or a retrial or an acquittal based on new evidence that was presented to him.”
Sidney pressed her phone harder to her ear. “When was this?”
“Yesterday. This was the first time I could get to the phone. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know anything about it, but I’ll make some calls. I met with a U.S. Attorney here in New York. She ambushed me at breakfast last week and asked a bunch of questions about the documentary. Did your corrections officer tell you what’s next?”
“No. I got the impression he is not happy about it.”
“Oh, I’m sure none of the people who were involved in your conviction are pleased right about now. It makes them look bad.”
Two minutes, a recorded voice said through the line.
“I’ve gotta go,” Grace said. “Will you call my parents? Tell them what’s happening.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll try to call tomorrow if they let me.”
“I’ll make some phone calls and see what I can find out. But, Grace, no matter what happens from here, this is good news.”
There was a long pause. Sidney heard muted crying. Finally Grace’s voice came back over the line.
“Thank you.”