“Now we’d like to clarify one point,” Ananberg said. “We do not advocate cruel and unusual punishment. The executions are to be swift and painless.”
“I don’t go in for torture,” Tim said.
Ananberg’s lipsticked mouth pulled to one side in a smirk, the first break in her icy facade. Everyone seemed comfortable with letting silence fill the study for a few moments.
Tim asked, “What’s the status of your personal cases?”
“Franklin’s wife’s killer disappeared after being acquitted,” Rayner said. “The last reports of him were from Argentina. The man who killed the Stork’s mother is currently incarcerated for a later offense. Robert and Mitchell’s sister’s murderer was later shot and killed in an unrelated incident, and Jenna’s mother’s killer was beaten to death in a gang killing over a decade ago. That’s the status of our-how did you put it?-personal cases.”
“And the man who killed your son?”
Bitterness passed through Rayner’s eyes, then vanished. “He’s still out there, my son’s killer. Walking the streets. Somewhere in New York-Buffalo when last I heard.”
“I bet you just can’t wait to vote him guilty.”
“I wouldn’t touch my own case, actually.” Rayner looked offended at Tim’s expression of disbelief. “This is not a vengeance service.” His face firmed with a stalwart pride common to maudlin World War II movies. “I could never be objective. However…”
“What?”
“We’re going to call upon you to be. I’ve selected Kindell’s case for the Commission. It’ll be the seventh and final one we examine in our first phase.”
Tim felt himself flush at the thought of another crack at Kindell. He hoped his longing wasn’t too clear on his face. He gestured at the others. “How about theirs?”
Rayner shook his head. “Yours is the only personal case we’re going to examine.”
“Why’d I get so lucky?”
“It’s the only case that precisely fits our profile. An L.A. crime, a lot of media heat, the trial botched due to a procedural violation.”
“L.A. is key from an operational perspective,” Dumone said. “We’re only comfortable dealing with cases in this area. Our strongest contacts are here.”
“We’ve spent a lot of time here, me and Mitch,” Robert said, “smelling the street, figuring out how to operate-operate invisibly. You know the drill. Well-placed contacts. Phone lines. Car rentals. Back routes around town.”
“You must have well-placed contacts in Detroit,” Tim said.
“We’re known there. In Hell-A nobody’s anybody until they’re somebody.”
“Once we start traveling, dealing with other court systems and police bureaus, it really opens us up,” Dumone said. “Not to mention the trail it leaves. Airline tickets, hotels.” His eyes twinkled. “We dislike trails.”
“Something tells me there’s another angle,” Tim said. “Like Ginny’s case being a carrot you can dangle in front of me. That’s why it’s the ‘seventh and final’ one.”
Rayner seemed pleased-Tim was talking his language. “Yes, of course. No need to pretend. We do need an insurance policy of sorts, to make sure you’re not doing this just for revenge. We want to ensure that you stick around, that you’re committed to our cause. We’re not here merely to serve your agenda-there’s a greater social good at stake.”
“What if I don’t think the other executions are justified?”
“Then vote against all six of them, and we move to Kindell.”
“How do you know I won’t do precisely that?”
Dumone’s head was tilted back at such an angle to suggest authority and mild amusement. “We know you’ll be fair.”
“And if you’re not equally fair, just, and competent when we’re deliberating the Kindell case,” Ananberg said, “we’ll ask you to recuse yourself or I’ll personally vote against execution. You won’t muscle a guilty past us.”
Dumone settled back in his chair. “It serves you, too. To delay Kindell’s case until last.”
“How do you figure?”
Rayner said, “If we ruled to execute Kindell first, you’d be the most obvious suspect.”
“But if we rule to kill him after two or three other high-profile executions, the suspicion will be shifted off you,” Dumone said.
Tim reflected for a moment, silently. Rayner watched him with shiny eyes, seeming to enjoy this all a bit too much.
“We know about your accomplice theory,” Rayner said. “And rest assured-I can obtain information that you can’t get access to-from all sides of the case. The public defender’s notes from his interview with Kindell, media investigator reports, maybe even police logs. We’ll get to the bottom of your daughter’s murder. You’ll get her the fair trial she never received.”
Tim studied Rayner for a moment, his stomach knotting with anxiety and excitement. Despite his aversion to Rayner, he couldn’t deny that some connection existed-to another father who had lost a child. To someone who actually took Tim’s accomplice theory seriously because he understood what it meant to be plagued.
Tim finally crossed to one of the armchairs and sat. On the low table before him was an American Psychological Association journal titled Psychology, Public Policy, and Law. On the light brown cover, Rayner was listed as the principal author of two articles.
Keeping his eyes on the journal, Tim said quietly, “I just need to know who killed my daughter. Why she was killed.” Hearing himself express this deep-rooted imperative so starkly-as a plea directed out at the unfair universe-gave it a sudden reality and pitifulness. His eyes moistened. Quickly following came a stab of self-disdain for revealing emotion here, in front of these hardened strangers. The childhood lesson his father had drummed into his head: Never give up the personal-it will return as a weapon wielded against you.
He waited until his face felt less heavy before raising it. He was surprised to see how uneasy his grief made Robert and Mitchell. They’d grown fidgety, uncomfortable, suddenly real-their own remembered pain cutting through the barriers, washing the aggression right out of them.
“We understand,” Dumone said.
Robert said, “You get to serve your personal cause-pursuing your daughter’s killer or killers-and the bigger legal issues…”
“-illuminated-” Mitchell said.
“-by the hell you went through. The rest of us don’t get that.”
“Why did you choose L.A.?” Tim asked.
“Because this city has no notion of accountability, of responsibility,” Rayner said. “As you’re aware, L.A.’s court rulings, especially for media-intensive cases, seem to go to the highest bidder. Justice isn’t administered by the courts here, it’s administered by box-office grosses and a well-oiled press.”
“O.J. Simpson just bought a one-point-five-million-dollar house in Florida,” Mitchell said. “Kevin Mitnick hacked in to the Pentagon, now he’s got a talk radio show out of Hollywood. LAPD’s got a scandal a week. Cop killers and drug dealers land record deals. Hookers marry studio moguls. It’s got no memory, Los Angeles. There’s no logic here. No rhyme. No reason. No justice.”
“The cops here,” Robert said, with surprising vehemence, “they don’t give a shit. There’s so many murders, so much indifference. This town just chews people up.”
“It’s seductive, and, like most things seductive, it burns you with indifference. Kills you with apathy.”
“That’s why this city.” Robert crossed his thick arms again. “L.A. deserves it.”
“We want the executions to serve as crime deterrents,” Rayner added, “so they’ll have to be high-profile.”
“So that’s what this is?” Tim glanced around the room. “A grand experiment. Sociology in action. You’re gonna bring justice to the big city?”
“Nothing quite so grandiose,” Ananberg said. “The death penalty has never been a proven deterrent.”
“But it’s never been deployed in this fashion.” Mitchell was standing now, gesturing concisely with flattened hands. “Courts are clean and safe, and-due to the appeals process-their rulings lack a sense of threatening immediacy. Courts don’t scare criminals. The thought of someone coming unexpectedly in the night will. I know there are certainly methodological complications with our plan, but there’s no denying that murderers and rapists will be aware there’s another level of the law they may have to answer to-it’s not just the court game. They might hop through a loophole, but we’ll be out there, waiting.”