The governor sat a little straighter. “We aren’t passing judgment here on these offenses. Or the fact that he was on parole at the time he committed the murder. I have to decide this solely on the grounds of the crime for which he was sentenced — to die.”
The clemency secretary fingered a folder that he held, but which he had not opened. “I certainly agree with that,” he said. “I beg your pardon — I should not have brought up the matter of his record. Please ignore it if you can.”
The governor relaxed visibly, reached for a cigarette, and then pushed the pack away. “How about life imprisonment, without possibility of parole? Then he would have to look forward to the rest of his natural life behind bars. Taking away all hope is pretty severe punishment.”
The clemency secretary allowed a moment to pass before he responded to that. When he did, he was quite factual. “I considered that alternative very carefully, Governor, before I made my recommendation. We may say ‘without possibility of parole’ now, but ten or fifteen years hence, under a different administration, he might very well be let go. It has happened, you know.”
For almost a full minute it was stone quiet in the big office. Then the governor asked one more question. “Is there anything else that you haven’t told me — anything you think I should know?”
Again the clemency secretary fingered the folder. “Yes,” he answered. “I have some photographs here. They’re pretty awful. They show something that has been kept completely under cover. One reporter knows it, but he has given his word to keep it to himself. Frankly, they are largely responsible for my recommendation.”
The governor was not one to duck a responsibility, even an extremely unpleasant one. “Let me see the pictures.”
Reluctantly, the clemency secretary handed them over.
The governor looked at them carefully. It was a grisly job, one that brought home for the first time the magnitude of the crime.
“Was the victim tortured?” the governor asked.
“Yes.”
“Badly?”
“Very badly.”
“And she had done nothing to this man to incite him to this kind of horror?”
“Nothing whatever. She was completely innocent. She hadn’t even been taught the basics of human sexuality, only to guard and protect herself.”
“So there’s nothing there.”
“I’m afraid not.”
The governor looked again at the pictures, because the decision to be made was so important. The clemency secretary waited. He had spoken his piece, and he knew enough to remain silent.
“Part of one leg is missing,” the governor noted.
“That’s — the vital point.”
His tone, cautious and careful, was nevertheless decisive. The governor looked up. “Can that mean what I’m thinking?”
The clemency secretary nodded. “Yes, it does. He confessed to that too.”
“Did he say anything — anything at all — to indicate remorse?”
He hated to do it, but the clemency secretary delivered the knockout blow. It was his duty and he would not shun it. “He said she was delicious.”
Ten seconds ticked away. “Clemency refused,” the governor said. “Now show his mother in. I’ll tell her myself.”
The girl sitting in Maggie’s chair could not help it; she had to go to the bathroom. She rose silently from her place and went out quickly with the air of someone who would be back momentarily. When the door had closed behind her the two women who had been waiting were left alone, looking at each other. It was Mrs. Roberts who spoke first. “Are you here about… the Roberts case?” she asked.
Mrs. Burke nodded, quietly and firmly. “Yes, I am. I’m waiting to see the governor.” This was self-evident, but it gave her something to say and she was in need of it.
“Are you a social worker?”
“No, I’m not.” Realizing that that was a trifle brusque, she added, “I work in a computer plant.”
“But you are here about clemency.”
Mrs. Burke’s eyes were suddenly wet. “Yes. I didn’t want to come, but now I know that I must.”
“That’s so good of you.” Mrs. Roberts spoke from her heart; she had had no hope of an ally.
Mrs. Burke was the first to realize. “May I ask… she began.
The other woman nodded. “I’m Mrs. Roberts,” she said very simply. “It’s my son who…”
Mrs. Burke’s first thought was to wonder why they had ever been brought together. She was revolted by the very name “Roberts.” Now to meet like this…
Then she swallowed and remembered the sermon she had heard the day before in church. At the time she had had no idea that it had been prepared with her in mind, to offer some comfort at the most terrible time of her life. The words of the minister came back to her — that the greatest comfort lay in forgiveness. She could never forgive, she doubted if Christ himself could totally forgive if He were placed in her position. But the woman sitting across from her had a heavy cross to bear too. She had spawned a fiend, but the crime itself had not been hers.
She looked at the other woman again and saw comprehension in her eyes. The question came quite simply. “Are you Mrs. Burke?”
“Yes. I am.”
The silence was suddenly intensely thick and heavy; it was broken when Mrs. Roberts reached for a handkerchief. Her tears were open then, and she could do nothing to stop them.
In a way it was a good thing, because Mrs. Burke saw them and through them had some insight into the agonies that the innocent woman opposite her was going through. When the secretary came back to her desk, neither of the women noticed it.
It was Mrs. Roberts who spoke. “I’m… terribly sorry about your little girl. I would give anything… everything I have…”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Burke said. Then she added, “I know what you must be going through. I’m sorry… for you.”
Again it was quiet, and the secretary fervently hoped that the conversation was over. But it wasn’t.
Mrs. Roberts spoke, choosing her words like stepping-stones. “I came to ask the governor to commute the sentence. I know what my son did, and that he can never be allowed to walk the streets again.” She shook her head. “I don’t want him to. I almost killed myself when I found out…”
Mrs. Burke was touched despite herself. She shook her head. “Don’t do anything desperate,” she said. “It won’t help a thing, and it won’t bring my daughter back.” Again she realized how her words sounded. She remembered the sermon and did what her Savior expected of her. “It wasn’t possibly your fault.”
Mrs. Roberts put her thoughts into words to steady herself. “I came here to ask for mercy. You came here to ask that the law… take its course.”
Mrs. Burke would not deny that. “Yes, I came to ask the governor to… not to interfere. I’ve always been opposed…”
Mrs. Roberts understood. “I don’t think that the governor will see one of us and not the other,” she offered.
Mrs. Burke understood what an effort those words had cost. That sermon kept pounding back into her head. Normally she did not listen much to sermons, but on that day of all days, she had hung on every word. And the message had been unmistakable. “Perhaps the governor,” she began. She could not bring herself to withdraw, but she had a firm division by then in her mind between the monster on death row and the desperately unhappy woman who, like her, was waiting to see the governor.
Before she knew what she was doing, Mrs. Burke stood up and crossed the room. “I want you to know,” she said, ”that I understand, a little at least, how you feel.” She sat down.