After the Execution (12 page)

M
Y SISTER HAD
taken a bullet that was meant for me. I didn’t want to believe she was dead. It wasn’t possible. Surely life couldn’t be that cruel.

I rushed over to where she lay and knelt beside her. I placed two fingers against her carotid artery, praying for a pulse. Nothing. I lowered my ear to her chest, listening for the sound of her heart. There was no sound.

I stared at her lifeless body, mesmerized, transfixed, in shock. Her dead, empty eyes stared up at me and I felt myself go cold despite the warmth in the room.

Oh God, no. Not this. Not Emily.

I went numb. Everything receded around me, until I was left with a pain that was so intense it felt like my insides were awash with scalding water.

What had I done? Why had I come here? Why the fuck did this have to happen?
I closed my eyes and abandoned myself to the sudden onslaught of grief. I felt my throat constrict until I couldn’t swallow. A choking sadness surrounded my heart.

After the pandemonium, an eerie silence descended on the room, but in the distance I could hear the unmistakable sound of police sirens. The neighbours, alarmed by the shooting, must have called 911. But I didn’t budge. I continued to kneel beside my sister, my hand on her cold forehead. An image of her as a child flashed in my mind; her infectious smile and bright blue eyes. She was a great kid who grew into a warm and considerate woman who should have gone on to have a bountiful life with a loving family.

But I had ruined things for her. Ten years ago I’d plunged headlong into an abyss and taken those I loved with me. First my wife and now
my sister. Because of me, Emily’s marriage was wrecked and she’d been forced to move away from the city where she grew up. And because of me she was now dead at the age of thirty-five.

The tears welled up and I buried my face in my hands and wept. I wept for my sister and for my wife and for all the years I’d lost. But I didn’t weep for long because I knew that if the cops caught me here I would either be killed or put back in jail. Then I would never be able to find out why this had happened. And it was something I suddenly knew I had to do.

It was too late to atone for my own sins. But not too late to ensure that others paid the price for theirs.

I stopped sobbing and leaned over to kiss Emily on the forehead.

‘Bye, bye, sis,’ I whispered.

And the cruel irony of the moment was not lost on me. Just the day before yesterday she had come to the prison to say goodbye to me. I was the one who should be dead. Not her.

I filled my lungs with air that tasted of death and stepped over to the guy I’d battered. I was hoping he was still alive because I wanted to hurt him even more for what he’d done to my sister. Sure, he must have been acting on someone else’s orders, but he’d pulled the trigger. He was the one who’d killed her and it was only right that he should suffer.

But he was dead already, his face a bloody mess, his legs crumpled beneath him at an unnatural angle. I thought it would please me but it didn’t. It just made my stomach churn.

I turned and hurried out of the room. On the porch I had to step over the body of the other man. He was younger than his pal and wearing a similar dark suit that was soaked in blood. I didn’t need a medical degree to know that he too was dead. From the state of him there wasn’t any doubt. His eyes were open but glazed over. His mouth was agape and his tongue lolled out.

As I stepped onto the path, I realized that the police sirens were a lot louder and closer. And they were converging. I didn’t have long. Still holding the gun, I ran to the road. I was aware of faces at windows in neighbouring homes, but sensibly none of the residents had ventured out to see what was happening.

I turned right and broke into a sprint. I was frantic. Desperate. And I feared I wouldn’t get far before I was spotted by the cops. I didn’t want to get into a shoot-out with someone who had nothing to do with my plight. But as I ran hell for leather along the street, I suddenly heard the
roar of an engine behind me.

I spun around and was blinded by the glare of fast-approaching headlights. I twisted my body so that I was facing the vehicle, half expecting it to mow me down.

I raised the gun in a defiant gesture and got ready to fire. But instead of mounting the curb the vehicle screeched to a standstill in the road and my breath caught in my throat when I saw the familiar contours of the Explorer.

The driver’s window was lowered and Kate’s face appeared.

‘Get in,’ she said.

After I got into the passenger seat, Kate floored the gas pedal and we accelerated away from there. Fifty yards on she took a left, just in time to avoid two screaming squad cars heading for Emily’s house.

I looked at Kate as I tried to regain my breath and my mental footing. She was gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles were bleached white.

I peered in the back and saw her baby asleep in her seat, without a care in the world. It was surreal.

‘I don’t get it,’ I said. ‘Where the hell did you come from?’

She took a deep breath, expelled it.

‘I had to turn around,’ she said. ‘The road was taking me away from the interstate. Coming back this way I passed your sister’s house and heard shots. Then I saw a man kicking the door down. I stopped to see what was going on. There were more shots and the man fell onto the porch. Then you came out and started running. It looked like you needed help.’

I gazed at her profile and felt a sharp pang of guilt. She’d taken an almighty risk for someone she didn’t know. Someone who had put her through hell earlier in the evening. And even now she and her baby were very much in the danger zone.

My admiration for her soared into the stratosphere.

‘I appreciate it,’ I said. ‘You saved my ass.’

She shrugged as though it was no big deal. ‘We’re not safe yet.’

‘Then put your foot down,’ I said. ‘Let’s get as far away as we can.’

‘Do you want to drive?’

‘No way,’ I said. ‘I’m still a bundle of nerves and my hands won’t stop shaking.’

She threw me a glance. ‘So what happened back there?’

A fresh wave of sadness washed over me. I stared ahead through the
windshield, my jaw clenched.

‘My sister was shot,’ I said. ‘Emily’s dead.’

Tears exploded in the corners of my eyes and once again I was overwhelmed by emotion. An empty space opened up in my stomach and I began to cry.

My sister was dead. And it was my fault. How the fuck was I going to live with myself?

The film spooled in my mind, showing Emily on the floor with the bullet hole in her chest, her dressing gown a crimson mess. The image cut into me like a saw blade.

Kate said nothing as the tears flowed. She just continued to drive away from the scene of carnage and pretty soon I could no longer hear the sirens.

G
IDEON
C
RANE WAS
at last able to escape to his panelled study. His desk was bathed in the sapphire glow of an art deco lamp. It was ten o’clock and his head was pulsing.

Travis and his girlfriend Cindy had only just left after what had been an excruciating evening. Somehow Crane had managed to get through it without losing his temper. And that was no mean achievement following the conversation he’d had with Travis out by the pool.

His own brother-in-law had announced that he was going to
blackmail
him. Travis had used his skills as a private investigator to uncover the relationship with Beth. Now he wanted $100,000 transferred to his account.

Crane was livid. The rage burned inside him, hot as a blast furnace. His entire presidential campaign was in jeopardy. And he was at the mercy of an unprincipled sleazebag. Travis was bound to come back for more. A hundred grand would not be enough. He’d pay off what he owed and then quickly run up more debts. It was as certain as the sun rising.

Crane went to his drinks cabinet and poured himself a triple whisky. It went down his throat like liquid fire and he poured another. He sat behind his large mahogany desk and massaged his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

What a fucking nightmare, he thought. He should have been on a high. The New Orleans debate had gone so well and then he’d had the privilege of witnessing Lee Jordan’s execution. But instead it felt like his world was suddenly falling apart.

He reached for his humidor and took out a cigar, his second of the evening. His study was the only room in the house he smoked in. It was
where he usually came to relax and let the day dissolve – or to worry about a problem he couldn’t solve.

He lit the cigar and drew the heavy smoke into his lungs. Then closed his eyes and exhaled twin plumes from his nostrils.

Anger and frustration continued to blaze away inside him. And the anger wasn’t just directed at Travis. He was furious with himself for the parlous situation he was now in. He’d been careless and complacent. He had made it easy for Travis to dig up the dirt. His brother-in-law was a skunk, a heel, a rat and a low-life piece of shit. But he was also very good at his job. He would have had no trouble gathering evidence of an illicit affair between Crane and his press secretary.

Crane was jolted out of his thoughts when the study door suddenly opened and Pauline walked in. She had already changed into her pink towelling robe and removed her make-up. Her features were white and brittle and he saw stress vibrating beneath her composure.

‘I’m going to bed, Gideon,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’

If it had been Beth standing there he would have followed her straight up. She would have helped him to forget his troubles by fucking him hard and telling him that she loved him. But Pauline would just turn her back on him and go to sleep and he’d be lying there in the dark unable to drop off.

He needed a few more whiskies and maybe a couple of sleeping pills before he turned in.

‘I’ll be up in a bit,’ he said. ‘I’m feeling a little restless.’

She stepped further into the room and stopped when the cigar smoke caused her nostrils to flare.

‘Was the evening really that bad?’ she asked.

His face slid into a half smile. ‘Not at all. Just been a tough day. I need to wind down.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I’m no fool, Gideon. Your mood changed after you went outside with Travis. I’m guessing he said something to upset you. Like he usually does.’

A part of him wanted to tell her the truth. Make a full confession and get it over with. But the sensible part of him held sway and he said, ‘He wants to borrow some more money and I said I’d think about it.’

Her face rippled with anxiety. ‘I thought he’d got his finances sorted. He said he’d stopped gambling.’

‘Well he hasn’t.’

‘I’m sorry, Gideon. I’ll talk to him. He’s my brother.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t. He doesn’t want you to know. So leave it to me. It’s not a problem.’

She took a breath, let it out in a long sigh.

‘If you’re sure.’

He nodded. ‘I am. Now go and get a good night’s sleep. You look tired.’

He got up, walked around the desk, and delivered a weightless kiss to her cheek. There was a time he would have ripped off her robe and ravaged her there and then.

A memory flashed through his head of him taking her over the desk. It was two years into their marriage when she was trying to get pregnant. And three months before cancerous cells in her womb led to the hysterectomy.

‘Don’t stay up too late,’ she said.

When she was gone he poured another whisky and re-lit his cigar. Then he sat back down and tried to think. But his brain felt slow and full of mush. He couldn’t focus. After a few minutes he gave up trying and switched on the wall-mounted TV using the remote. He flicked through to a news channel and wished he hadn’t because he caught the tail-end of a background report on Lee Jordan.

There was an exterior shot of the prison in Huntsville and then some library footage of the execution chamber.

‘And this is where the man who murdered Kimberley Crane was executed last evening by lethal injection,’
the reporter said in voice-over.
‘And where he finally paid the price for his callous crime.’

The events of that night ten years ago flashed unbidden into Crane’s mind. The clarity of the images shocked him and he felt his blood chill. He saw himself shoot Sean Bates. Then crying out as Jordan lunged at him. In the struggle he pulled off Jordan’s ski-mask and stared briefly into those cold, desperate eyes before he was knocked unconscious.

And then he saw himself waking up to find his wife lying in the hall with blood on her face and her clothes.

The memory shook him out of his stupor and a moan of despair issued from his mouth. It was all too much. He turned away from the screen and cupped his face in his hands.

Soon he felt the tears as they began to ooze through his fingers.

He was too distraught to hear the TV anchor refer to a breaking news story. There had been an incident at a house in Mountain City
near Austin. Shots had been fired and there were believed to be multiple casualties.

A
PHALANX OF
local blue and whites had blocked off the street by the time Vance got there. He flashed his credentials and passed through the cordon, parking outside Emily Jordan’s house.

Lieutenant Chris Mendoza, the detective in charge of the crime scene, had been expecting him. They knew each other so there was no strained introduction. Just a handshake.

‘It’s a bad one, Aaron,’ Mendoza said. ‘Two of the victims are
carrying
Bureau ID.’

Vance bunched his lips and nodded. ‘What about the perp?’

Mendoza shook his head. ‘Clean away. Neighbours saw a guy in a tan suit run from the house after the shootings. He took off down the street and at least one of them saw him hop into a car that stopped at the curb. Must have been an accomplice.’

Vance knotted his brow. ‘Is the witness sure about that?’

‘He seemed confident when I spoke to him. Said the car appeared out of nowhere.’

‘Did he give you a description?’

‘He was pretty sure it was an Explorer.’

‘What about the driver?’

‘He said it looked to him like there was a woman behind the wheel.’

Vance was confused. It could only have been Kate Pena. But it made no sense. She was Jordan’s hostage. Not his fucking driver.

Vance’s face took on a fiery intensity. He locked his jaw and spoke through clenched teeth.

‘Look, I don’t want anything released to the media until I’ve OK’d it. What’s happened here relates to a highly classified operation. We’re gonna have to restrict the information we put out.’

Mendoza bristled. ‘Fuck you, Aaron. We’ve got a bloodbath here and it’s my case. I won’t….’

‘You’ll do as I tell you,’ Vance cut in. ‘If you’ve got a problem with that then get your boss on the phone and I’ll tell him to get you in line or take you off the case. Understand?’

Mendoza was about to react but thought better of it when he saw the look in Vance’s eyes.

‘I’m going inside,’ Vance said. ‘More agents will be here soon. I suggest you put your guys in the picture.’

The first body he came across was on the porch. Agent Craig Flynn. Vance had known him for two years. He had a wife and daughter. And he’d been in line for promotion.

Vance felt his heart plummet to his feet. A rush of heat burned his chest and when he swallowed he tasted bile. It was clear that the
situation
had gone from bad to catastrophic. The Washington chiefs were already in a panic so they would freak out over this. When he spoke earlier to his section chief he’d received a volley of abuse.

How the fuck did you let this happen?

You told us it was a fool-proof plan.

Why didn’t you have more agents in the area?

Why didn’t you use a shooter who could fucking shoot?

Do whatever it takes to keep a lid on this mess.

They were sending someone to San Antonio to help sort it. He didn’t doubt they would also be working out a way to save their own skins.

Among the few people who’d known about the operation were the director and his deputy. They were the ones who had sanctioned it. But they would now try to distance themselves. Deny all knowledge and claim it had been carried out without authorization by a group of
maverick
agents in San Antonio. There’d be no physical evidence to suggest otherwise. Plausible deniability would be the name of the game.

And he’d probably be hung out to dry along with the prison warden, the physician who pronounced Jordan dead, and the other agents who had been directly involved. Anything that had been put in writing would be destroyed, and that would include confidential files on previous faked executions where the inmates were later subjected to medical experiments before being put down.

It was turning into a total fucking nightmare and he was right in the middle of it. As he ventured into the house the sense of impending doom intensified.

There were two more bodies in the living room. He recognized both. Agent Douglas Simms – a single guy who had recently been transferred from Baltimore – and Emily Jordan, sister of the man whose very
existence
now threatened to rock the country. They were in a terrible state. There was blood everywhere. It was a shocking scene of carnage.

It was obvious to Vance what had happened. The agents had forced their way into the house and Jordan had let loose with the gun he’d picked up from outside the restaurant. He’d killed both of them, but not before Simms shot the sister. However you looked at it, this was a tragedy.

The two agents hadn’t known the true identity of the guy they were looking out for. They’d been given a description and told that he was armed and should be approached with caution if he showed up. But they had also been ordered to move in quickly so he wouldn’t have a chance to get away. And to bring him down if he resisted. So there was always going to be a big element of risk.

An empty ache touched the pit of his stomach and he was suddenly desperate for some fresh air and a smoke. Back outside he fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes. He was lighting one when his cellphone rang. He took it out and flipped it open.

‘That you, Vance?’ asked a familiar voice.

‘Yeah, it’s me.’

‘I just heard that your boys fucked up and Jordan is still alive,’ the Lawyer said. ‘Please tell me it’s not true.’

Vance’s throat tightened. ‘The shooter missed and Jordan ran off. We’re tracking him down.’

‘And in the meantime what am I supposed to do? I’m already getting calls.’

‘Just sit tight. Act normal. We’ll catch him. And then we’ll work something out. Trust me, all is not lost.’

‘You don’t sound very confident.’

‘Well I am. We’re on his tail and closing in. He’s only been missing for a couple of hours. So keep calm.’

‘And what happens if the cops get him or he turns himself in?’

‘He won’t. He knows that if he does he’ll go straight back to death row.’

‘So has he any idea why he was sprung from the execution chamber and why you tried to kill him?’

‘He hasn’t a clue,’ Vance said. ‘So there’s still a chance he’ll assume
we had nothing to do with the attempt on his life and get in touch.’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ the Lawyer said. ‘If he’s got any sense he won’t trust anyone. He’ll just count himself lucky he’s still alive and high tail it to Mexico.’

‘We’ll get him before that can happen. I guarantee it.’

There was a long span of silence on the line. Vance paced up and down the pavement in front of the house, only half aware of all the activity around him.

‘Keep me posted then,’ the Lawyer said. ‘And remember this, Vance. If you guys can’t deliver on your end of the deal then I won’t deliver on mine.’

The Lawyer hung up and Vance pocketed his phone.