The Mammoth Book of Best British Crime 9

by Maxim Jakubowski

  Just sipping coffee and watching the girl across the top of the mug. Staring through the steam at the chain around her ankle and the hand she laid on one of the old women’s arms. At the back of her neck, where the fine blonde hairs ran down beneath the collar of her blouse.

  I’d been thinking about trying to catch a movie or something, but in the end I just drove around for a while, trying to find a station that wasn’t playing cowboy music. I took the car on to I-45, south-west into Walker County, and after a while I picked up signs to Huntsville State Park. I parked in the picnic area next to a gathering of RVs and camper vans and got talking to a guy who was cooking sausages and pork chops on one of those cheap barbecue sets you can pick up at gas stations. He seemed decent and we chatted about nothing in particular for ten minutes or so, then I walked down to the lake. The moon was like a dinner plate. You could see clear across the water to where the pines were thick and black on the other side, but after a while it started to get cold and I only had a thin jacket on, so I walked back through the trees to the car and drove back to the hotel.

  I swear I was thinking about nothing but television, but when I walked towards the stairs, I caught sight of her sitting at the small bar in a room just off the reception area. She had her back to me, but I knew it was her. She was on her own, dipping nachos into a bowl of salsa and talking to the woman who ran the place, and I decided there probably wouldn’t be anything much worth watching on TV anyway.

  I sat a couple of seats away and ordered a Coke and, when I’d got it, I asked if she wouldn’t mind sliding the nachos along. I know it sounds like a line, but the truth was, those chops and sausages had made me hungry again. She passed the bowl and moved into the chair next to mine, said she was glad someone was taking the damn nachos away, because otherwise she might have eaten every single one.

  “I love these things,” I said, grabbing a handful and thinking that she hadn’t got any need to worry about a few extra pounds.

  “I’d ask if you wanted to have a drink with me.” She nodded towards my glass. “But that’s not the sort of drink I had in mind.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  She had that great accent, you know? All those long, flat vowels, but not syrupy and stupid like some. Musical more than anything, and definitely sounding good on her.

  “Can’t you just pretend it’s got rum in it?” I asked.

  “I like rum and Coke,” she said. “I might have one myself when this is finished.” She raised her beer bottle and I leaned over and touched my glass to it.

  “Happy to keep you company though,” I said.

  She was probably a couple of years older than me, but the light wasn’t too good in the place and I wasn’t bothered either way. Her hair was dirty-blonde, a bob growing out, and though her eyes were already starting to glaze over just a little, they were big and green enough. She wore a dark blouse and skirt and when she leaned towards the bar I could just see a thin, white bra-strap and the gap between flesh and material a little lower down.

  “How long are you in town for?” she asked.

  “I’m heading home tomorrow.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “It keeps changing,” I said.

  “Originally, then.”

  “Wisconsin.”

  She smiled and emptied her bottle. “Bit warmer down here,” she said.

  I said, “Right,” and laughed and took her hand when she offered it to me.

  “I’m Ellen,” she said.

  “Chris …”

  “So why are you in Huntsville, Chris?”

  “I’m supervising some construction out at the mall,” I said.

  “You like it?”

  “It’s all right.”

  She ordered more drinks. Another beer for her and an “invisible rum” and Coke for me. When she’d served us, the owner wandered down to the end of the bar and began cleaning glasses. She was a lousy eavesdropper.

  “I don’t normally drink very much,” she said. She put a third of her bottle away in one, and wiped her mouth. “And I know you’re thinking that lots of people who drink like fish say that, right?”

  “It’s not my business,” I said.

  She laughed, dry and empty. “It’s kind of a special occasion.”

  “That why you’re here with your family?”

  She nodded, took another drink. “You might not think ‘special’ is the right word,” she said. “Not … appropriate or whatever. If I tell you why it is we’re here.”

  “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

  “You want to go outside for a cigarette?” She reached down for the handbag at her feet. “God, I need a cigarette.”

  “I don’t smoke,” I said. “But I’ll come with you if you like.”

  She waved the idea away, then turned on her chair and stared at me. She said that she might just as well talk to a complete stranger about what was happening because she and her family weren’t talking about it a whole lot. She cleared her throat and finished her beer. Put down the bottle, then turned back to me.

  “I’m here, because tomorrow at six o’clock they’re executing the man who killed my sister.”

  I could not think of a single thing to say.

  “Heavy, I know.” She reached across me for the nachos. “I bet you’re wishing you’d drunk your soda and walked away, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’ve still got time.”

  I shrugged. “Sounds like you could do with someone to talk to.”

  She nodded, pleased, and put a hand on my leg for just a second or two. “My head’s buzzing with it, you know? My mom and her sister and my psycho brother have just gone to bed like it’s no big deal, or that’s what they’re telling themselves at any rate, but Jesus, I can’t just sit up there in that shitty room and take my makeup off and say goodnight like we’re all on some shopping trip or something.” She shook her head. “I mean, we’ve known it’s been coming for a while, but still, I can’t just pretend this is … normal, you know?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “It’s not normal.”

  She smiled and let out a long sigh, like she was relieved that I hadn’t freaked out or something. She could see that I had barely touched my drink but she said she was going to have another one anyway and waved the woman across from the end of the bar. She ordered another beer and a rum and Coke, and watched me while the drinks were being prepared. After a minute or so she said, “Aren’t you going to ask me what he did?”

  “Sure.”

  “What that animal did to her?”

  “Look, it’s up to you—”

  “He beat her so bad they needed dental records to identify her.” She leaned close, but made no effort to lower her voice. “He beat her and raped her then he cut her throat like she was no better than a pig and when he’d finished, he sat down and made himself something to eat. He sat there with a sandwich while my nineteen-year-old sister bled out in her bedroom.”

  “Jesus …”

  “So, you know, tomorrow doesn’t make it anywhere near even. Not for what he did, right? Not for that.”

  I grunted something and glanced up at the woman who was laying the drinks down in front of us. She caught my eye and raised a painted eyebrow before walking back to the other end of the bar.

  “So, what do you think?”

  It was not the easiest question I’d ever been asked. “I think I can understand why you’re angry.”

  “I doubt it,” she said.

  “Fair point,” I said. “She wasn’t my sister.”

  “No, she wasn’t.”

  “It can’t be easy holding on to that though. Not for so long.” I reached for my drink, moved the ice around in the glass. “I mean, these guys are on death row for years, right?”

  “Anthony Solomon Johnson has been on death row for a little over four years and seven months,” she said. There was no emotion in her voice. “That’s how long we’ve been waiting
for this.”

  I nodded slow, like I was impressed or something. “For revenge.”

  “I don’t care what you call it,” she said. “I’ve met folks who say that a killer should be put to death the same way he did his killing, but I don’t hold with that eye for an eye stuff.” She stared down, straightened her skirt. “I don’t really give a damn if it hurts, mind you. It should hurt.” She took a drink. “You agree with me, right, Chris?”

  I thought about it. She asked me again.

  “They don’t know if the needle hurts or not, though, do they?” I pulled the nachos across the bar but the bowl was empty. “I mean, it’s not like anyone’s around long enough to tell anybody.”

  She shrugged. Said, “I hope I can see it in his eyes …”

  The rum was going down every bit as easy as the beer and she was starting to slur her words a little. She said something after that, but I didn’t catch it and when I leaned closer all I could smell was the booze.

  “We’re going to have to call it a night, folks.”

  I looked up and the woman behind the bar was pulling the empties towards her. I opened my mouth to speak, but she shook her head and even now I’m not quite sure what she meant by it. I glanced at the bill and put thirty dollars on the bar and when the woman had taken the cash away, Ellen began talking again. It was not much above a whisper, but this time I caught it easily enough.

  “I can’t be alone,” she said.

  “You’ve got your family,” I said. “Your mother’s upstairs.”

  “You know I don’t mean that.” Her eyes were wide suddenly, and wet. “You want me to beg?”

  “No, I don’t want that,” I said.

  She and her mother were sharing a room, so we went to mine. There was not a great deal of choice in the mini-bar, but she didn’t seem too picky, so I told her to help herself. She took a beer and a bag of chips and we sat together on the bed with our feet on the quilt and our backs against the headboard.

  The window was open a few inches and the traffic from I-45 was just a hum, like an insect coming close to the glass every so often and retreating again.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to feel,” she said.

  “Afterwards?”

  She nodded.

  I remembered her face when she’d been talking in the bar. The way she’d talked about wanting it to hurt. “Pretty good, by the sound of it,” I said.

  “Yeah, I’ll feel good … and relieved. I mean how I’m going to feel when I’m watching it happen, though. It’s not something everyone gets to see, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Probably something you never forget, right?”

  She made it sound like she was going whale-watching. She slid down the bed a little and she kept on closing her eyes for a few seconds at a time.

  “You think you might feel guilty after?” I asked.

  Her eyes stayed closed as she shook her head. “Not a chance.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Why the hell should I feel guilty when he never did?”

  “You know that for sure?”

  She opened her eyes. “Well, it wasn’t like I was visiting him every week or nothing, but I don’t think a man like that has any normal human feelings.” She took a swig of beer, ignored the dribble that ran down her neck. “He wrote us a letter a month or so back and he said he was sorry, all that shit, but it’s easy to come out with that stuff when you know the needle’s just around the corner, right? Probably told to do it by his lawyer. So they’ve got something to show when they’re pushing for a stay, you know?” She tried to brush away the remains of the chips from her shirt. “Said he’d found God as well.”

  “I think that happens a lot.”

  “Yeah, well, tomorrow he’ll get a lot closer to Him, right?”

  “You religious?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “So this isn’t a problem for you?”

  “Why should it be?”

  “What happened to ‘thou shalt not kill’?”

  “Shame he never thought about that.”

  “He obviously didn’t believe in anything back then,” I said.

  She shook her head again and screwed her face up like she was getting irritated. “Look, it isn’t me that’s going to be doing the killing, is it?” She raised the bottle, then thought of something. “OK, smart-ass, what about ‘as you reap, you shall sow’? It’s something like that, right?”

  I nodded. “Something like that, yeah.”

  “Right.” She turned on to her side suddenly and leaned up on one elbow. She slid a leg across the bed and lifted it over mine. “Anyway, what the hell are we talking about this stuff for?”

  “You were the one started talking about God,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, there’s other things I’d rather be talking about.” She blinked slowly, which she probably thought was sexy, but which made her seem even drunker, you know? “Other things I’d rather be doing.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Come on,” she said. “I know that’s what you want. I saw you looking in the restaurant.”

  “Yeah, I was looking.”

  “So?”

  “You’ve had too much to drink.”

  “I’ve had just enough.”

  I smiled. “You won’t feel good about yourself tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got more important things to worry about tomorrow,” she said. She put a hand between my legs. “Now are you going to get about your business, or what?”

  I did what she was asking. It didn’t take long and it was pretty clear that she needed it a damn sight more than I did. She cried a little afterwards, but I just let her and I’m not sure which of us got to sleep first.

  I left early without making any noise, and when I turned at the door to look at her wrapped up in the thin hotel sheet, I was thinking that, aside from the fact that I am crazy about nachos and salsa, almost everything I’d told her about myself had been a lie.

  God only knows why they call it “The Walls”. They’re thick enough and tall enough for sure, but the men behind them have got a damn sight more to worry about than what’s keeping them inside.

  The Huntsville Unit in particular.

  One of the deputy wardens led me across the compound from the Visitors’ Waiting Area and in through a grey metal door. They try to keep the families separate until the last possible moment, which is understandable, I suppose, and even though there was only me and some crazy woman who’d been writing to Anthony for the last few years, we had our own escort. The prison chaplain would be a “witness” too, of course, but I guessed he had no choice but to be kind of neutral about what was happening, so he didn’t really count.

  The deputy warden’s highly polished shoes squeaked on the linoleum floor as we walked towards the room next to the execution chamber. Then he opened the door and politely stood aside as I walked in.

  The place was pretty crowded.

  I knew there would be a few State officials as well as representatives from the media, but I hadn’t figured on there being that many people and it took me a few seconds before I spotted her. She was sitting on the front row of plastic chairs, her mother on one side of her, the other older woman and her psycho brother on the other side. Like everyone else, she’d turned to look when the door opened and I saw the colour drain from her face when I nodded to her. Her mother leaned close to whisper something, but she just shook her head and turned round again.

  I walked towards the front of the room and took a seat on the end of the second row. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, save for some coughing and the scrape of metal as chairs got shifted, then one of the officers ran through the procedure and raised the blind at the window.

  Tony was already strapped to the gurney.

  There were three men inside the chamber with him and one of them, who I figured was the Warden, asked Tony if he wanted to say anything. Tony nodded and one of the other
men lowered a microphone in front of his face.

  Tony turned his head as far as he was able and said how sorry he was. For what he’d done, and for all the shit he’d laid at his own family’s door down the years. He finished up by saying that he wasn’t afraid and that everyone on the other side of the glass should take a good look at his life and try to learn something. I’m not quite sure what he meant by that and, things being how they were, it wasn’t like I had the chance to ask him.

  He closed his eyes, then the Warden gave the signal and everything went quiet.

  Three drugs, one after the other: the sedative, the paralytic and the poison.

  It took five minutes or so and Tony didn’t really react a great deal. I saw his lips start to go blue and from then until it was finished, I paid as much attention to her face as his. She knew I was watching her, I could tell that. That I was thinking about all the things she’d said, and the things she’d asked me to do to her the night before at the Huntsville Palms Hotel.

  Wanting to see just how good she felt about herself the next day.

  I left the room before she did, but I waited around just long enough to get one last look at her. Her face was the colour of oatmeal and I couldn’t tell if her mother was holding on to her or if it was the other way around. I guessed she was right about one thing; that it would not be something she would forget.

  I had to shield my eyes against the glare when I stepped back out into the courtyard and walked towards my car. I drove out through the gates and past a small group of protesters with placards and candles. A few of them were singing some hymn I couldn’t place and others were holding up Tony’s picture. Later on, I would be coming back to collect my brother’s body and make the arrangements, but until I did, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Right then, all I wanted was to get away from “The Walls” and drive south-west on I-45.

  To get another look at that big beautiful lake in the daylight.

  MOON LANDING