Sharyn McCrumb - The Ballad of Frankie Silver

Spencer began, “How did you know-”

Stanton smiled. “How to find you? Or that you were ill? A helpful young lady in your office answered both of those questions. I told her that we were old friends.”

“It’s been a long time,” said Spencer, making a mental note to give the new dispatcher, Jennaleigh, further instructions regarding the privacy of peace officers. He eased himself down in the overstuffed chair next to the sofa and motioned for the colonel to sit down.

“How are you, Sheriff?”

“On the mend. I’ll be back on duty by next week, I think.”

“A gunshot wound is a sobering experience, isn’t it? I took a hit once overseas, and I’ll never forget that feeling of stupefaction, followed by the absolute conviction that I was already dead. You never forget it.”

“I don’t guess I will.” Spencer didn’t want to swap war stories.

“I hear, though, that the person who shot you was killed in the capture.” The colonel smiled. “Your deputies are to be commended. They saved the state a lot of time and trouble.”

Spencer reminded himself that a man who had lost his only child was hardly the most objective observer of criminal proceedings. Besides, since Stanton knew nothing of the case or its participants, he could not realize how deeply the sheriff regretted the death of that particular fugitive. Spencer decided to let it pass. “What brings you to Tennessee?” he said.

Charles Stanton smiled. “The same unfinished business that brought me the first time we met, Mr. Arrowood. Lafayette Harkryder. I’m driving to Nashville to watch him die.”

“You’re going to be a witness?”

“Oh, yes. I promised Emily that at her funeral twenty years ago. No matter how long it takes, I told her, I will be there when his time comes, and I will watch him die.”

Spencer couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t dispute the man’s right to justice, but his evident satisfaction made the sheriff uneasy.

“You’ll be there, too, won’t you?”

Spencer nodded. “Sheriff of the home county.”

“I thought so. I’ve been studying execution procedures for the last couple of months. There can be only sixteen witnesses at an execution.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “The warden or someone designated to represent him, the surgeon of the penitentiary, the prisoner’s attorney, relatives, and any clergyman he wishes to be present. And six respectable citizens. ”

Spencer nodded. “The sheriff, or his representative and one other witness chosen by him. I knew that. I waived my other choice. And the other four are chosen by other law enforcement agencies, aren’t they?”

“Right.”

“But you’re going to witness the execution?” Spencer didn’t think the TBI would have appointed Colonel Stanton as one of their official witnesses. The eagerness in his voice would have put them off.

Stanton smiled. “Media witness. Don’t forget our friends in the press. The state press association, the Associated Press, and the radio and television newspeople get a total of five witnesses, and five alternates, in case one of the others can’t make it. I got one of the AP slots, in exchange for a promise to write about it.”

Spencer repressed a shudder. “Will you write the article?”

“I will. I’m a man of my word. I said I would watch that man die, and if writing an article is the cost of keeping that promise, then so be it.”

“I wish this execution would bring your daughter back, sir,” said Spencer, choosing his words carefully. “But since it won’t, I can’t say that I see much point in it.”

Charles Stanton narrowed his eyes. “People ought to pay their debts, Mr. Arrowood. Legally and morally. Debts have to be paid. So even if this execution isn’t a deterrent to others, even if this man would never kill again, and, yes, even though it will not bring my daughter back from the grave, at least a debt will be paid, and that’s something. I worked long and hard for this day. Maybe it even cost me my marriage. So when Fate Harkryder sits down in that electric chair, it will mean that twenty years of my life have not been wasted.”

Spencer nodded. He was thinking that there are many ways to serve a life sentence, and he wondered if Fate Harkryder’s death would set Charles Stanton free.

“I came to see if you’d like to ride to Nashville,” said Stanton. “I’ll be going up a day or so early, to pay my respects to the governor and to thank him for having the courage to let this happen on his watch. When I heard that you were injured, I thought I’d offer to take you with me. An invalid shouldn’t make a six-hour trip alone.”

“That’s very kind of you, Colonel,” said Spencer, “but I have some things to take care of here before I can leave. I’ll go up the actual day of the execution. If it’s still scheduled by then.”

Stanton smiled. “I can promise you it will still be scheduled. Three network news shows are interviewing me from Nashville between now and the time Fate Harkryder dies. They’re calling the segments things like ‘Justice at Last.’ The authorities won’t dare call it off. I’ve seen to that.”

Spencer wanted to say, But what if he isn’t guilty? But he kept silent, because guilt or innocence didn’t matter anymore to this man with a handsome face and dead eyes. Charles Stanton had hated Lafayette Harkryder for too long to change his mind now; no evidence would ever convince him that the condemned man was not guilty. Someone was going to die for Emily Stanton’s sake, and to that end Charles Stanton was a much more cunning killer than any Harkryder had ever been.

Charles Stanton stood up, smiling. “Well, I mustn’t keep you,” he said. “I know you’re not well, and I have a press conference this afternoon in Johnson City. I plan to use the new Trail Murders to draw attention to our cause. I wish Harkryder’s execution had come in time to deter this new killer.”

Spencer managed to nod. He was able to stay expressionless only because police work had given him twenty years of practice at concealing his emotions, but he felt his muscles tighten and his stomach churn.

“Are you close to an arrest yet, Sheriff?” asked Stanton, making his way to the door.

“I can’t say.” What murders? In my county?

“Too bad. I’ve actually heard people saying that the two cases might be related. I want to put a stop to that nonsense right away. I wouldn’t want the governor to have any excuse for a stay of execution.”

Spencer leaned against the door, taking deep breaths until he heard Stanton’s tires crunch the gravel in the driveway. He glanced at the telephone. No. He would go in. Holding his side, as if pressure could block the pain, he limped toward the kitchen counter, where his car keys lay in a bowl with his spare change. Alton Banner had not yet given the sheriff permission to drive, but Spencer told himself that it had been a couple of days since he’d asked, and he was confident that he was no risk to anyone but himself behind the wheel. He would get down the mountain, one way or another. And he wanted some answers.

He backed his car out of the garage, around the gravel circle beneath the oak and hickory trees, and headed up the driveway. He was about six minutes from town, but the road led through field and forest, so that it might have been any century at all, but for the black ribbon of road that separated the meadows. Actually, that wasn’t true. Frankie Silver would have been bewildered by the missing chestnut trees, the strange kudzu vines, and other changes in the modern landscape, but Spencer was willing to settle for a lack of billboards and power lines. He tried to calm himself by blurring his thoughts into a distant hum, drowned out by the beauty of the surrounding mountains, and for a few miles he almost succeeded, but the sign marking the town limits of Hamelin brought him back to the business at hand. The sheriff’s department was two blocks away.