“Lance, I’m—” she said, but his hand flew at her. He grabbed at her hair, pulling it to him to make his point, and his wedding ring snagged her right above the left eyebrow.
“I don’t want my wife sulking around here all the time. It’s not attractive,” he said, before he headed downstairs.
Kristy spent the morning practicing half a dozen excuses while she applied her makeup. She waited for Pops and Ryan to ask what happened, but they barely acknowledged her, too busy caught up in Lance’s stories. Some days Kristy worried that she might just disappear, vanish into thin air, and no one would ever notice.
Once Kristy arrived at Polunsky, she held her breath, wondering if Bruce or the warden might comment, but no one said a word. How was it possible that Clifton had figured it out?
“It’s nothing. Had a bit of an accident getting out of the shower this morning,” Kristy covered, her voice high-pitched and shaky. Even she didn’t believe the lie coming out of her mouth.
“It was jewelry of some kind, wasn’t it? A ring, I’m guessing. It just came to me today when you were touching your forehead. I saw you wincing too. Your ribs are bruised, aren’t they? That’s why you lost your sparkle. Someone’s been beating on you. Probably for a while now.”
Kristy looked around to make sure no one was listening. Some of the cubicles had recording capabilities, but the one in this booth hadn’t worked in years.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said again. Clifton’s gaze seemed to bore right into her.
“Listen, I’m no one in this place. Less than no one, some might say. But I know what it’s like to get beat on by someone you love. I watched my daddy whale on my mama for years. When I got older, I took the brunt of it, Daddy’s fists pummeling me for looking at him funny or chewing too loudly or sometimes for existing. You were there for me when I was at my lowest, and I swear to you, Ms. Tucker, I’m here for you. Whatever is going on, you’re not alone.”
She’d said those same words to Clifton all those months ago. Kristy thought about ignoring Clifton, hanging up the phone and walking away. But she was drowning under the weight of this secret, the silence slowly killing her. It’s the only reason, Kristy rationalized, why she would tell this convicted killer her deepest, darkest secret.
“It’s … It’s my husband, Lance. He hurts me. The things he does … most of them no one can see. But the bruises and bumps are all there. It’s not just the pain; it’s that I don’t know when he’s going to do it again. I don’t know why he’s doing it in the first place. I never know …”
Kristy’s expression remained passive. She’d mastered that art, but she could hear the desperation, the pleading in her own voice. She continued on, never speaking above a strained whisper.
“My son … he’s my entire world. And my father … he’s sick. And they can’t see who Lance is. They don’t know. He’s convinced them, he’s convinced everyone, that he’s kind and decent and good but he’s not … I’m not sure what he is. I’m trying to keep it together, I’m trying to tell myself that it’s all going to be okay, but I’m … God, I’m so …”
“You’re afraid.”
Kristy nodded. “I just … I’ve always had all the answers. I’ve always been smart and done things right. And I loved … I mean I love him, but now … I just … I don’t know what to do.”
Clifton shifted in his seat, weighing his words carefully.
“I don’t either,” he said. “But if you run out of options, there are people in here who might.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It took a moment for Clifton’s words to register. She stared back at him in disbelief, trying to rationalize what he had just said. He saw her stricken expression, his entire demeanor shifting, eyes widening. He leaned forward, shaking his head emphatically.
“Ms. Tucker, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do anything like that. I swear to God, I don’t, but there are guys in here who could. Or they know people.”
“You mean hiring someone? Is that what you’re saying?” Kristy whispered, even though the voice inside her head was shouting, Stop it, Kristy. Stop asking questions you don’t want the answers to! She thought about that knife when she was cutting Ryan’s birthday cake, remembered the weight of it in her hand. But that was just a flicker in her brain, one of those terrible thoughts you have, like laughing at a funeral or wondering what might happen if you took your foot off the brake at a stoplight when a passerby was crossing. A glitch in the brain, the devil on your shoulder telling you to do something terrible.
“I’m just saying that if I could go back in time, I’d do anything to protect my family. No matter what the consequences,” Clifton explained.
“It’ll get better. He’ll get better,” Kristy said, trying to convince herself as well as Clifton.
“In my experience, that’s not true. My daddy whaled on my mama for years, beat on all us kids. And I know it’s gonna sound like a load of shit, but if you looked at her situation, she wasn’t any better off than I am in here. Always looking over her shoulder, anticipating every move, anticipating every word, never knowing what he was gonna say or do. It eats away at you. It destroys you. When a man does that to a woman, he steals her freedom. She can never be free.”
Every day Kristy heard people discussing freedom. Inmates boasting about getting their release dates and how they were gonna make it count. Reporters quizzing her about an inmate’s parole date, and whether they were still a potential threat. Day in and day out, people behind these walls were fighting for freedom, fighting for their dignity, fighting to be heard. Kristy, though, had stopped fighting. She had to take control, but not the way Clifton was suggesting. Kristy couldn’t do that.
“I appreciate your concern, but I can handle this,” she said.
“Sure thing, Ms. Tucker. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You just seemed so lost …” Clifton trailed off. “If you have to report me, I understand.”
That wasn’t going to happen. What would she possibly tell the warden? “So … I was discussing my personal life with Clifton Harris and we were talking about my abusive husband and he suggested that I have him killed”? No. Kristy wouldn’t be mentioning this to anyone.
“It’s okay, Clifton. I won’t say anything, but I have to go now.”
“Wait, Ms. Tucker, please!”
Kristy hung up the phone and didn’t look back. She kept it together and said her good-byes to the guards and the warden, all the while trying to silence the ticker tape in her brain, the one that kept repeating Clifton’s question, or telling her the recording device in that room had been fixed and someone would soon find out her deepest, darkest secret. Kristy got into her truck and drove down the highway, speeding past the prison and the guards, trying to erase the low drumbeat of Clifton’s idea. Tears began to fall. Her hands were trembling so badly she had to pull over. She grabbed a pack of matches from the console and carefully lit the Marlboro Light she’d bummed off the gate guard. Since she’d learned about Lance’s strict views on smoking, Kristy had thrown away her spare pack of cigarettes. God forbid Lance found them and confronted her. She would have to stop at 7-Eleven on the way home to buy gum and douse herself with perfume to cover the scent, but the nicotine hit eased her frayed nerves. She replayed her conversation with Clifton over and over. Her mind went back to that night in the parking lot, the word “murderer” scrawled across her pickup as if it was some kind of future warning. She didn’t know what to think now. Someone had called Kristy a murderer, and now Clifton was putting all these things into her head. All this time she’d convinced herself he might actually be innocent, and then he had to go and say something like that. What if he had killed his children and this was some kind of twisted manipulation? Kristy heard plenty of stories about inmates and guards starting relationships. Just last year a guard in the Lockhart Facility impregnated a female inmate and orchestrated an elaborate plan to bust her out of prison. Unfortunately for them, the woman’s bun
kmate ratted them out. The guard got five years, lost his home, his wife, his kids. Kristy had already fallen for one con artist. No way was she falling for another. She took one final drag of her cigarette and stubbed it out, knowing she had to return home and face Lance. She couldn’t comprehend hurting anyone, but Clifton’s words gnawed at her, the idea that she would have to continue living as Lance’s prisoner. You can never be free. You can never be free. You can never be free.
Dear Ms. Tucker,
There’s a good chance you’re not even reading this letter. Or maybe you are reading it and thinking the DA was right. Clifton Harris is a blight on humanity, a man beyond redemption. But you’re wrong. They are wrong. I keep running over our conversation, and thinking how awful I must have sounded. I’m not a perfect man but I am not a murderer. Looking back, it’s easy to see why they were able to paint me as one. Everything came so easily: school, sports, girls. I had plenty of charm to go around and I relied on that. It made me lazy, entitled. I wanted to be a football player but I didn’t train hard enough. Wound up working in an office selling insurance. God, I hated that job. It was soul sucking on its best day. I phoned it in, barely tolerant of my coworkers. I scammed when I could and took credit for my coworkers’ success. My failures as a husband are well-known. I lied to Janice. I cheated on her. I broke all our vows. Anyone who’s followed my case already knows all of that. I was a shitty employee and a shitty husband, but I loved my children. Jesus, how anyone could think I’d do something so terrible is, well, it’s just not possible. But then I go and say something stupid, and now I’ve got you thinking everyone is right about me. But they’re not. I swear to you, Ms. Tucker. Now all I can do is ask for your forgiveness. I can’t begin to tell you how much I look forward to your visits. Some weeks they’re all I have to look forward to.
Sincerely,
Clifton
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The battle in Kristy’s head continued for an entire week.
He’s playing you.
He’s just trying to help.
You’re falling for another con artist. Don’t buy into it.
She considered assigning Carmen to oversee media day until Clifton’s execution came up in a few months, even drafted the e-mail asking Carmen if that was a responsibility she wanted to assume. In the end she couldn’t do it. Clifton wasn’t the only one who relied on those visits. As sad as it was, Clifton was her only friend, the one person she could talk to about Lance and the trouble she was in. When she returned to Polunsky the following Wednesday, she picked up the phone. Clifton’s tired eyes stared back at her, his body rigid, waiting to see what she might say.
“We’re good, Clifton. I need you to know that we’re good.”
His shoulders sagged with relief; his eyes brightened.
“I’m glad to hear that, ma’am. I spent a lot of sleepless nights worrying about you.”
“I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” Kristy said softly, knowing that she had already violated half a dozen rules by keeping Clifton’s offer a secret.
“Hell, I didn’t care about that. I mean, what else could they do to me? They can’t kill me twice. I just didn’t want you getting yourself into any trouble.”
Kristy let out a bitter laugh.
“I’m not sure things can get any worse,” Kristy said.
Clifton sighed, shifted the phone in his hand.
“Can I be real with you, Ms. Tucker?” he asked.
“Please,” she said.
“Things could get a whole lot worse. You think I thought I’d end up behind these bars when I met Janice? Hell no. When I saw her on the quad freshman year, I nearly lost it. Damn, she was the prettiest girl at Texas Tech. Even better, she had a wicked sense of humor and didn’t give a shit about that racial garbage people were spewing. She’d hold my hand, walk into any bar and restaurant, didn’t care about the staring and the gossip. Falling in love with her was the easiest thing I ever did.”
Kristy thought about those first few months with Lance. Clifton continued on.
“Truth is, we didn’t ever fit together, not the way we should. We were always fighting and fussing over something. I ignored all of that because I wanted to be part of her world and the life she represented. She was so different from me. The way she carried herself, always in these cute colorful sundresses, her hair styled just right, not a hair out of place.
“I’d grown up poor as shit, but Janice had everything. Parents who still liked each other after twenty-five years of marriage. Two-story house with a pool. She got a Mustang for her sixteenth birthday, a trip to Rome for her eighteenth. She was the lead in every high school play, won awards in the state play competition. Janice used to joke about going to Hollywood. I’d say, ‘Tell me when we leave. I’d look hella good on the big screen.’ We’d laugh, the two of us reciting lines from Titanic or Dirty Dancing. ‘Don’t let go,’ or ‘Nobody puts Baby in a corner.’ It was just talk. She was a small-town girl at heart and I was a country boy. We started hooking up our freshman year, seriously dating sophomore, and by senior year, I’d proposed. She wanted a simple life and I was prepared to give that to her.”
Clifton paused. “I don’t want to bore you,” Clifton said. “But you need to understand something.”
“Go on,” Kristy replied, hanging on Clifton’s every word.
“We tried to get pregnant, and let me tell you that shit is hard work. Took us six years. We lost the first baby after ten weeks. They called it a silent abortion. Pretty awful, isn’t it? Like it’s something you wanted instead of something that happened. I went to bed thinking I was gonna be a dad and I woke up to a crashing sound. Found Janice passed out on the bathroom floor, hemorrhaging so bad I thought I was gonna lose her. It scared the living shit out of me. I called an ambulance and they rushed her into surgery. Less than twenty-four hours later and our baby was gone. It wasn’t actually a baby yet, the doctor said. Died too early to be real. Janice didn’t agree. All those changes in her body were so damn real. She became obsessed with having a kid. There were four more miscarriages. No one talked about those at my trial. Those were my kids too, and I mourned every one of them. Janice pretended like they hadn’t happened.
“We didn’t have Rosie until we were thirty. Michael came along three years later. Things weren’t good, but you know that from the trial. The other women didn’t matter. They didn’t. Sometimes I just wanted to escape all the pressure, the thermometers and ovulation kits and ‘Should we do it standing up or on our back or on our side or in the shower?’ I just wanted to have sex for fun once in a while.
“And you know, you’ve got a kid, those first few years are tough. Babies take as much as they give. We’d fall into bed, two exhausted strangers, but even when Janice and I were struggling to get along, we never stopped marveling at our babies. And then they were gone.” Clifton coughed, tried to stifle his emotions. “And so was Janice. I don’t know who that woman is now, the one glaring at me in the courtroom, the one on TV with all of her stories about my temper. Sometimes at night I wonder about our life together. Was any of it real? Did I imagine the good times? I don’t know. But you know what I realize now?” Clifton asked, coming up for air.
“No. What is it?”
“If I’d known what she was capable of doing to Rosie and Mikey, to me, if I had known the truth, I would’ve killed the bitch myself.”
Kristy’s stomach churned. She leaned back in her seat, rocked by what he was saying.
“Janice did it? Your wife? She wouldn’t. It’s not possible. No mother would ever—” Clifton interrupted her, his voice rising.
“Would they? I don’t know. I ignored all the signs, Janice’s threats, her resentment over how much I doted on them. Did you know she was hospitalized in high school for threatening to slit a classmate’s throat? Her parents had those records sealed, but I got them. One of her docs even wrote that she had an unhealthy obsession with fire.”
“But she had an alibi, right? Wasn’t she out of to
wn when it happened?” Kristy asked.
“She was at a teachers’ conference in Austin. Less than thirty minutes each way. No one checked video cameras or confirmed that she didn’t leave her room. They didn’t even check,” Clifton said. “And why would they? They already had their killer.”
“She killed her own kids,” Kristy said softly. Before she met Lance, this would have been unspeakable. Kristy thought differently now. Evil was lurking everywhere. Kristy held her hand up over her mouth, willing herself not to get sick. The thought of anyone intentionally killing Ryan, of tossing gasoline and a match and letting him burn, was simply unspeakable.
“I’ve had over ten years to do research and go through the files. Numerous attorneys have tried to disprove the forensic science, to discredit the experts, all of them trying to prove that I was not the person who set that fire and burned my children alive. And yet no one ever looked into Janice. Why would they? But I’m telling you now there are certain kinds of people out there that will do whatever they want, people that don’t give a shit about the consequences. Maybe your husband isn’t like that. My ex-wife is and she’s out there, living the life, in her million-dollar home, with her new baby girls. So when you say to yourself that it can’t get worse, that everything is gonna be okay, I want you to think about me. I’m not saying you have to do nothing crazy, Ms. Tucker. I’m just saying be careful.”
By the time Kristy finished talking with Clifton, three reporters were waiting to speak to him and two other inmates on her list. She finished overseeing everything and returned to the Walls and spent the day reworking press releases for an upcoming execution.
As soon as Kristy had a free moment, she fell down the Google rabbit hole. Dozens and dozens of articles about the fire, Clifton’s subsequent arrest. In a USA Today piece, she stumbled upon Clifton’s wedding photo, Janice in her tulle princess-cut wedding dress, eyes twinkling, a pure moment of joy. She remembered that same look on her face in those damn photos. How did love wind up so perverted? She wanted to understand. It wasn’t difficult to obtain Janice’s information. Victim services had her address and phone number. Kristy couldn’t stop looking at articles about Janice. She seemed to love the camera, granting interviews to anyone who asked, taking photos, sharing her painful story “to show others there is life after loss,” she always said.
The Walls Page 12
