by James Raven
I was taken to the visitation area, a bleak, unfriendly place. She was already there, sitting in a small cubicle on the other side of a Plexiglass window.
‘How are you doing?’ I asked.
She gave a small, tentative smile. ‘I’ve been better.’
She looked defeated, emaciated, a shell of the woman she once was. Her face was drawn and sallow and there were dark circles under her eyes.
She was three years younger than me. Thirty-five. But the last ten years had taken a brutal toll. As I sat there looking at her I felt an overwhelming wave of guilt barrel through me.
‘Zimmerman called me on the way here,’ she said, her voice sounding dry and cracked. ‘He wants you to know that he’s going to ask the governor to grant a stay of execution. And he’s filing an emergency appeal with the Supreme Court.’
I nodded, felt my eyes begin to sting.
‘To be honest I’m not sure it’s what I want,’ I said.
‘I told him that,’ she said. ‘But unless you ask him not to he’ll go ahead and do it.’
I felt a knot rise in my stomach. I loved my sister and I knew that as long as I was alive she couldn’t move on. I’d be a never-ending burden to her. A constant reminder of how and why her own life had been so cruelly trashed.
I wanted desperately to reach out and touch her. To stroke her hair and hold her against me like I used to when we were kids and she was upset. We were always close, partly because our father was a drunk and a bully and our mother was too weak to stand up to him. So I looked out for her. Made sure nobody messed with her.
Right now there was a lot I wanted to say to Emily, but suddenly I couldn’t find the words. Maybe that was just as well. She didn’t want to hear yet again how sorry I was about everything. How much I regretted going to the Crane house that night. And how stupid I was to follow Sean’s lead.
Thankfully she was the one who broke what turned into a long, drawn-out silence.
‘This is so unfair,’ she said. ‘You don’t deserve to die.’
Emily had never asked if I killed Kimberley Crane. She didn’t have to. She just knew that I didn’t. I was a bad boy back then and I did some bad things. But shooting that woman wasn’t one of them. I didn’t even know she was dead until I heard it on the news.
Emily leaned forward and put the tips of her fingers against the glass. I reached out, touched the window, tried to imagine that our fingers were interlocking. I could see the tears gathering in her eyes now. She was struggling to hold it together. She was also finding it hard to know what to say.
I knew she’d been dreading this last, long goodbye, but there was really no way I could make it easier for her. I tried, though. I mentioned some of the good times. Like when I used to take her fishing. And when she was a bridesmaid at my wedding. I also told her I was looking forward to seeing Marissa and our dead mother.
‘Is there a message you want me to pass on to Monty?’ I said.
This made her smile for the first time. Monty had been Emily’s pet Labrador. She was fourteen when he died and she was heartbroken. Cried for weeks.
‘Tell him I hope he’s behaving himself,’ she said. ‘Though I don’t imagine for one minute that he is. That animal was beyond bad.’
That’s when the floodgates opened and she broke down. Her shoulders heaved and the tears gushed out. I started crying too then and it felt like my chest would explode. It all came out of me in one great wave of despair. The guilt. The shame. The anger. The sadness.
It took several minutes for the both of us to calm down. After we’d dried our eyes, I said, ‘I’ve come to a decision, sis. I’m going to tell Zimmerman that I don’t want him to do anything more. It’s time to bring this nightmare to an end.’
She said nothing, just nodded. I think she knew it was the best thing for both of us.
‘I want you to go home now,’ I said. ‘Get on with your life, and think about the good times. I’m not the only guy to have been dealt a shit hand and I won’t be the last. So don’t waste your time grieving. It’ll piss me off.’
Before she left she blew me a kiss and told me that she would pray for me.
And I told her that I loved her and that I was so very sorry for what had happened.
4
THE FLIGHT TO Houston in the campaign’s chartered jet took just over an hour. Congressman Crane travelled with his six-strong personal entourage which included his three assistants, his key strategist, a security officer, an official photographer and his press secretary, Beth Abbot.
Running for the Republican Presidential nomination was an expensive business. He’d had to raise millions of dollars. Much of it would be spent on TV ads ahead of the usual series of primary elections and caucuses after Christmas.
He was convinced that his dream of being President was close to becoming a reality. But he knew it was not going to be easy. The negative campaigning would soon begin. The gloves would come off and the candidates would try to destroy each other by exploiting any weaknesses. That was why he could not afford to be exposed as an adulterer. His opponents would seize on it with relish and it would not play well with his Bible-thumping conservative supporters.
So far he and Beth had managed to keep their affair under wraps. He was sure that no one knew or suspected. Not even the rest of the team.
They wouldn’t be alone now until after Thanksgiving. He’d promised Pauline he’d be home for the holiday weekend. She wanted to make it special this year as it fell only a few days after Lee Jordan’s execution.
At the time of Kimberley’s death Pauline was Crane’s mistress. They’d been seeing each other for seven months. To her credit Pauline had remained patient and understanding after Kimberley was put in the ground. She couldn’t help but feel guilt-stricken.
She helped him through the shock and the grief. Back then he was a successful hedge fund manager on the verge of entering politics and Pauline was his PA. So people expected her to be by his side. And it surprised no one when they married a year later – eighteen months before he was elected to Congress.
Crane wasn’t proud of the fact that he was on the same illicit merry-go-round with Beth. But then he had always found it hard to remain faithful. Only now was he determined to change his ways and be a good, loyal husband – but not until he was married to Beth.
The team went their separate ways at the airport. Crane had a car waiting to take him home. Beth went with the others to get taxis. She had an apartment in the city centre and as Crane watched her walk away he felt his heart sink.
His wife was waiting for him when he got home, watching from the living room window as the car pulled onto the gravel driveway. Their house was only a few miles from the one he had shared with Kimberley. It was next to a lake in a posh, gated community. Five bedrooms, a games room and a pool.
Pauline opened the front door looking smart and refined in white pressed shorts and a thin cashmere sweater. Crane kissed her on both cheeks and she responded by putting her arms around him and giving him a gentle squeeze.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said.
‘I’ve missed you too.’
He dropped his briefcase in the hall and Pauline led him by the hand into the kitchen where she handed him a glass filled with his favourite cocktail – a Margarita.
At least she’s trying, he thought. Since she’d started seeing the new shrink she’d seemed less depressed. At times she even reminded him of the vivacious woman he’d married; the one who’d been so full of life before she learned she could never have children.
She stepped back and smiled at him and her brilliant white teeth positively glowed. He had to admit that she was still in good shape. She had radiant eyes the colour of parched stone and cosmetic surgery had smoothed out the wrinkles around them. Her honey brown hair had a glassy sheen, like the kernel of a nut, and was cut short and manageable. She still had a great figure, and hours spent working out ensured her ample breasts continued to defy gravity.
‘I�
��ve prepared a nice lunch,’ she said. ‘I thought we might have it by the pool. And you can tell me all about New Orleans. I watched the debate and you were sensational.’
He looked at his watch.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We’ve got plenty of time. The car is picking us up at four. It’ll take just over an hour to reach Huntsville so we’ll be there well before the execution is due to begin.’
He furrowed his brow at her. ‘Are you sure you want to come? You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.’
‘I want to be there,’ she said firmly. ‘I need closure just as much as you do.’
It was a beautiful day and typical of November. The sun was high and bright and its reflection sparkled on the surface of the lake. Back in the summer it would have been too hot and humid to eat outside, but now it was pleasantly warm.
Crane had taken off his jacket and was sitting at the patio table in his shirtsleeves. Pauline had served up a lunch of cold chicken with a crisp, tasty salad and lots of hot crusty bread. Now she was sitting back in her chair puffing on a cigarette, a nimbus of smoke swirling around her head.
‘That was wonderful, honey,’ he said. ‘I skipped breakfast in the hotel so I was famished.’
‘Would you like some coffee?’ she asked him.
‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll make it.’
He was about to get up when his cellphone rang. He picked it up from the table. It was his long-time friend Josh Napier, who also happened to be the governor of Texas.
‘Hi there, Gideon,’ the governor said. ‘Are you back in Houston?’
‘I am. Arrived a couple of hours ago. I wondered when I would hear from you.’
‘I told you I’d call as soon as I had some news and I’ve only just got it,’ the governor said.
Crane and Napier had met and got to know each other whilst working on Wall Street years earlier. They had a lot in common, from their right-wing stance on most political issues to their inability to maintain a monogamous relationship. Napier had screwed up three marriages to date.
‘Well, come on,’ Crane said. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense.’
The governor gave a little cough and said, ‘I just heard from Jordan’s lawyer.’
‘You mean that prick, Zimmerman?’
‘The very same.’
‘Well you knew he’d apply for a stay of execution at some point today. You told me you’d refuse to grant it.’
‘That’s just the point,’ the governor said. ‘I won’t have to refuse it. Zimmerman wanted me to know that Jordan had called him from the Polunsky Unit to tell him not to pursue a stay. He’s finally accepting his fate. He wants to die.’
Crane felt his breath become shallow in his chest. He was aware that Pauline was staring at him, a worried expression on her face. He gave her the thumbs-up sign to let her know that everything was OK. She nodded, relieved, and signalled that she would go and make the coffee.
‘There’s something I need to ask you, Gideon,’ the governor said.
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve just been leaned on by the FBI about this case. That’s never happened before. I want to know if they’re pushing their weight around on your behalf.’
Crane frowned. ‘Absolutely not. I’ve had no contact with them.’
‘Then have you ever heard of an agent named Aaron Vance?’
‘No I haven’t. Why?’
‘Well this is strictly between us,’ the governor said. ‘And I’m only telling you because we go back a long way.’
‘So what is it?’
The governor hesitated, then said, ‘This agent Vance came to see me early this morning. He made it clear that the FBI did not want to see Jordan live beyond today. He wanted a guarantee that I would reject any last-minute appeal to delay the execution.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He said he couldn’t reveal the reason.’
‘So what did you tell him?’
‘I should have told him to go get fucked.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the Bureau knows things about me that I wouldn’t want to become public knowledge. Things that happened a long time ago.’
‘And this guy Vance used that as a threat against you?’
‘He was too shrewd to say it outright, but I got his drift.’
Crane wasn’t really sure how to react. On the one hand he felt like tracking down this agent Vance so that he could shake his hand. On the other his curiosity was aroused and he wanted to know why the Feds were so desperate to see Lee Jordan put to death.
‘There’s no need to worry about it, Josh,’ he said after a beat. ‘It seems to me the issue has resolved itself.’
‘That’s not the point. What the Bureau has done isn’t right. Those guys have stepped over the line.’
‘Come on, Josh. The FBI and the CIA have been stepping over the line like forever.’
‘So have you got any idea why they’re so desperate to ensure that the execution goes ahead as planned?’
Crane thought about it for a few moments and said, ‘I don’t know and I don’t really give a damn. I’m just glad they’re not trying to save the bastard.’
5
MY DAYS ON death row came to an end at twelve thirty in the afternoon. That’s when the guards came to get me. They attached a belly chain and leg irons. I was then marched out of my cell for the last time. Never to return.
It was a strange feeling. The emotions in my chest started to build. I had to force myself to remain calm. I’d seen other guys lose it at this point. They’d had to be dragged out kicking and screaming. But I was determined to hold it together. I didn’t want to give the guards the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
They put me into a white van that was part of a three-vehicle convoy. I was placed in a dog cage with a guard on either side. One was armed with a rifle, the other with a pistol. I was warned that if someone tried to stop the vehicle to set me free I’d be killed first. As we drove away from the Polunsky Unit I began to feel woozy and light-headed.
My date with death was only five and a half hours away. This was the last journey I’d ever make. It would take only about forty five minutes. Barely enough time to appreciate what a beautiful day it was. The sun was shining and the fields and woods of East Texas looked magnificent. But my thoughts were scattered and I found it hard to concentrate. The blood was pounding in my ears and my mind was cartwheeling. A crushing trepidation pressed in on me with cold insistence.
Our destination was Huntsville. Of the 35,000 or so residents one in three is an inmate.
We arrived just before 1.30 p.m. at the Walls. It’s the oldest prison in Texas, a large imposing building that takes up almost two blocks in the centre of town.
There was a small group of protesters outside the entrance, members of the Texas Coalition Against the Death Penalty. Some carried banners. One banner read: ‘Stop the Killing.’ Another read: ‘This is legalized murder.’
A couple of cops were on hand to stop the protesters blocking the van and as we drove into the prison compound I felt a corkscrew turn in my gut.
This is it, I thought. My final destination.
Five minutes later I was being escorted into the building through a rear door. Once inside I was strip-searched, fingerprinted, given a change of clothes and told that I would not be granted a last meal of choice. That time-honoured tradition had been stopped because in the past some inmates had abused the privilege.
Then I was led through the prison to the death house, a low, nondescript brick building that had been built in 1952 with inmate labour. The tiny holding cell they put me in was only about thirty feet from the death chamber. I couldn’t see inside the chamber because the door was closed, but the sight of it flooded me with apprehension.
When the cell door was slammed shut behind me I sat on the bed, clutching the only things I’d been allowed to bring with me – a photo of Marissa
and the Bible she gave me.
I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t empty my mind or stop my heart from thumping out of control. I was scared. A cold sensation settled in my belly and I felt the cloying grip of nausea in my throat.
I didn’t move for almost an hour. I felt like a zombie on ketamine. My thoughts moved like thick muddy waters. My stomach started tying itself in a thousand painful knots.
Oh God how do I get through the next few hours?
Eventually the warden came to see me. A slightly cadaverous man of about fifty with graveyard looks. His fish-grey eyes were small and deep-set. He stood outside the cell and spoke to me through the bars. His voice was rough and clipped.
‘I want to explain what’s going to happen later,’ he said. ‘There’s a strict procedure that we have to follow here in the death house.’
He explained that there would be people in the victim’s witness room, people who had been close to Kimberley Crane, including her husband, the congressman.
‘Other witnesses will include a county judge and a member of the Board of Directors of the Department of Corrections,’ he said. ‘Plus, members of the media.’
He then went on to tell me what I already knew – that I would be put to death using a cocktail of three drugs injected through an IV line into my arm in a precise sequence. The first was sodium thiopental – a fast-acting anaesthetic that would put me to sleep in seconds. The second was pancuronium bromide – a powerful muscle relaxant that would cause complete paralysis. The third – potassium chloride – was the drug that would stop my heart and thus lead to death through cardiac arrest.
‘The order of the drugs is to rapidly cause unconsciousness so that you won’t suffer,’ the warden said. ‘You will feel no pain. I can assure you of that. And the whole process will take about seven minutes.’
