“Bailiff!” Judge Kearns gestured toward the witness stand. “Mr. Bullock, take control of your witness!” He slammed his gavel. “The jury will disregard the last remarks from the witness. And we will take a fifteen-minute break. At the end of that time, I expect the witness to be prepared to follow the instructions of the court.”
Kearns was doing his best to sound harsh, but Ben knew his heart wasn’t in it. How could anyone help but empathize with a girl who had lost every member of her family? As he looked at the jurors, as he stared into their eyes, he knew that they had been as moved-and influenced-by her testimony as he had been. As everyone had been.
Beside him, Ray sat silently, not saying anything, not asking the obvious question. And Ben was grateful for that. Because he still didn’t like to make predictions. But whether he did or he didn’t, he knew with absolute certainty that the trial had just taken a dramatic-and irrevocable-turn. And not for the better.
Part One. The Death Watch
Present Day
Chapter 1
The scene confronting Erin outside the penitentiary both startled and disturbed her. Who were all these people? There must be hundreds of them, she guessed, people from all walks of life. Some just children. What were they doing here?
A large group of teenagers passed her, carrying candles. Some were chanting softly. A high-powered searchlight burned down from the top of the penitentiary. This would be the perfect time for a jailbreak, Erin mused. The guards are all watching the teenagers.
She moved slowly toward the building. It was still hard walking, even after all these years, especially on unpaved surfaces. The cane helped some, but not that much. The letter jackets some of the kids were wearing told her they were from Bishop Kelly High School. It was a Tulsa private school, a Catholic school. She wasn’t surprised. The Catholic bishop had vociferously protested the death penalty, as had the Episcopal bishop and even some fundamentalists. An offense to humanity, they said. Legalized murder. Contrary to everything Jesus ever taught. DNA evidence has proved wrongful convictions occur, they argued. With every execution, the death penalty seemed to become more controversial, and this was the fifth execution in this state this year. Oklahoma was one of the top states in the union for executions. It was a political hot potato.
Erin didn’t care about politics. She didn’t care about religion, or morality, or What Jesus Would Do. She just wanted it to be over.
But did she want it to be over this way? She pressed her hand against her temples, trying to ease the pounding that had almost incapacitated her these past few days. That was the difficult question, the one that was tearing her apart.
Where was Sheila, anyway? Somehow, in this mass confusion, she had lost Sheila. Moving toward the north entrance, she saw another group of demonstrators, smaller and quieter than the anti-death-penalty crowd. A placard informed Erin that they were a homicide survivors group. Presumably that meant they were gung ho for the death penalty. So why were they here? Just to make a show of support? And what did they call themselves? she wondered. Friends of the Big Needle?
One of the demonstrators noticed her, looked once, then looked again, this time not turning away. Damn. Erin moved rapidly toward the door. She hoped she hadn’t been recognized. The last thing on earth she wanted was to be proselytized by some victims-rights group. What a coup she would be for them-a young woman who had lost eight family members. What airplay they could get out of that.
As she approached the visitors entrance, she sensed another person moving behind her in the darkness.
“Kind of revolting, isn’t it?”
Something about the voice gave her an eerie feeling. Which camp was this one with-the pro-deaths, or the anti-deaths?
“That all these people would turn out to be near an execution. To be a part of it.”
“I didn’t want to be here,” Erin said quietly.
“Really? Pardon my intrusion, but-I recognized you. And I would’ve thought you’d be the first in line.”
“I didn’t want to come at all. But my friend Sheila kept saying I should. That it would make me feel better. Give me a sense of closure.”
“And has it?”
“No. It’s made me feel-like I can’t live with myself any longer. Like I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“But how?”
“I’ve… done something horrible. Something-unforgivable.”
“You can’t blame yourself because a killer will be punished. You are only-”
But Erin never heard the rest of the sentence. She turned and headed across the front lawn, back toward her car. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t bear it.
Closure? That was a laugh. She would feel nothing but anguish and anger and… and guilt. Horrible, physically gut-wrenching guilt. After tonight, she didn’t know if she could live with herself any longer.
And worst of all-she didn’t know that she wanted to.
He saw the gurney.
On the other side of the bars, in the corridor. With its leather straps stretching from one side to the other, its metal frame and thick padded wheels. Waiting for him.
Five guards and the warden flanked it, trying to look professional and relaxed. It was some small comfort to Ray to see that they weren’t bringing it off. As often as they had done this of late, it still wasn’t coming easy. They weren’t jaded. Executions hadn’t quite become mundane.
That was something, anyway.
“Ray,” the warden said, stepping marginally closer to his cell, “we have some clothes we’d like you to put on. It’s required, actually. That includes some… special underwear.”
Ray glanced at the bundle of clothing in the warden’s arms. The underwear looked like some kind of rubber diaper. Wasn’t hard to figure what that was about. Simplified the cleanup afterward, no doubt. Made it more hygienic. Well, thank goodness for that, anyway. Wouldn’t want to have a messy murder.
“Is this going to be a problem, Ray?” the warden asked. “Because if it is…” He glanced ever so slightly toward the guards. Because if it is, he didn’t say, I’ve got five guards here who will put the clothes on you whether you like it or not.
“It’s not a problem,” Ray said. “Where’s my rabbi?”
“He’s waiting for you. Get the clothes on and… we’ll take you there. I would also recommend that you go to the toilet now, Ray. Thoroughly. You’ll be glad you did. You probably won’t have a chance… later.”
The cell door opened, and for a fleeting moment Ray fantasized about breaking out, knocking over the guards, grabbing the keys, and racing down the corridor. A few well-placed martial-arts kicks to the attendants and he’d be free. He’d hot-wire the prison van and race down the highway, so fast and furious no one could possibly catch him. He’d tear off into the night and soon, in no time at all, he’d be back in Carrie’s arms, and she’d be holding him, and they’d tear off their clothes with animal urgency, caressing and pleasuring each other, letting the rest of the world fall away because there was nothing left but the two of them, just the two of them, together and close, forever and ever and…