Tom Lowe - The 24th Letter

“I’m very, very sorry for what’s happened to you. I’m going to do everything I can to right a terrible wrong. If you can think of anything that might-”

“I can’t even think, O’Brien! Can’t sleep. I’m scared, man. And I’m innocent!” Tears streamed from William’s eyes.

O’Brien said, “I’ll find who did it.”

“Bull shit, man! You got sixty-seven hours ‘till they poison me. How are you going to find the killer in sixty-seven hours? Huh? Tell me? Took you eleven years to find out I didn’t do it. What the hell can you do in sixty-seven hours?”

O’Brien said nothing.

“Tell me, O’Brien!” Williams screamed. “Are you gonna work as hard to get me out as you did to get me in?” He dropped the receiver, blinking tears out of his eyes, lower lip trembling, saliva in the corner on his mouth. Two guards ran over and lifted him, kicking, out of the metal chair. As they dragged Williams back to death row, O’Brien could hear him screaming, “I loved her! I loved Alex! What’re you gonna do now O’Brien! Tell me!”

In his rearview mirror, O’Brien could see the white buildings, guard towers, and razor fence of Florida State Prison as he drove away. O’Brien lifted his cell phone and called information. “Connect me, please, to the office of Florida’s Attorney General.”

“Hold for that number.”

He was transferred three times before O’Brien reached the Attorney General’s executive assistant. “May I help you?”

O’Brien explained why he was calling.

“Hold, please.”

After listening to a more than one minute of a tape-recorded message from of the governor, the assistant came back on the line. “Attorney General Billingsley is in a meeting. Then he has a cabinet meeting. May I take a number?”

“Time is running out for Charlie Williams. If the attorney general is busy, please get me the deputy attorney general.”

“Hold, please,” her voice now agitated.

“O’Brien listened to recorded message of the governor discussing his accomplishments in education and job creation. Then a man’s voice came on the line, “Carl Rivera, can I help you?”

“Are you the deputy attorney general?”

“No, but I am an assistant attorney is this office.”

O’Brien fought the urge to throw the cell phone out the Jeep window. “I’ll be quick and to the point.”

The assistant attorney listened without interruption. He said, “Mr. O’Brien, as tragic as the murders are, it’s not within the capacity or jurisdiction of this office to intercede. The original case was tried in Miami. I’d suggest you begin there.”

“The Attorney General’s office is the first to hear a capital case appeal.”

“Indeed, but this isn’t an appeal. It’s a stay of execution. Only the governor can issue that order.”

“I’ve been listening to his tape recorded message every time someone in your office puts me on hold. Stay on the line and put me through to the governor’s office.”

“I can do that, but I can also tell you that Governor Owens is out of the country. He’s in Saudi Arabia on a fact-finding trip.”

“The facts in this case spell death for an innocent man. The governor needs to know it. Media could have a field day while he’s away. I’m leaving you with my cell number. I need to speak to the attorney general. He can at least examine the new revelations in the case and make a call to the governor. We have satellites and phones; all it takes is someone to make the call.”

“What’s your number, Mr. O’Brien?”

O’Brien gave it to him, disconnected and immediately called the Miami FBI headquarters. As his call was being put through, he thought about what the attorney general’s assistant had said. And he wondered how the cabinet could be meeting without the governor in attendance. “Special Agent Miles,” said the voice on the line.

“Lauren, this is Sean O’Brien, how are how?”

“I’ll be damned…if it’s not Sean O’Brien…maybe Miami-Dade PD’s best dropout. What do I owe the privilege? Last time you resurfaced was the Miguel Santana case. After you two met, we never even found a trace of his body.”

“And I spent seven days in a hospital, too. Lauren, I didn’t ask to investigate Santana, but I had no choice. I have no choice in another very urgent matter, either. I could use your help this time around.”

O’Brien heard her inhale quickly. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

“I’m bringing something to you. Don’t have time to explain on the phone. I’m catching a flight to Miami today. I’ll come by your office this-”

“Wait a minute, Sean-”

“Lauren, please. It is truly a matter of life and death. I’m emailing a picture I took of a message left in blood.”

She sighed and said, “I’ll be here.”

“Thanks, Lauren.” O’Brien hung up and called Miami PD for Ron Hamilton.

“Detective Hamilton, homicide.”

“Ron, this is Sean.”

“Hey, ol’ buddy. You’re supposed to be moving on with your life. Aren’t you teaching at UCF, or running a charter fishing boat by now?”

“I wish. Remember the murdered supermodel Alexandria Cole?”

“Sure, how do you forget a loss and a face like that?”

“The kid I arrested and convicted didn’t do it.”

“What?”

O’Brien gave Hamilton a quick rundown of the events and then said, “I’ll explain more when I get there. I’m catching a plane for Miami today. I need a big favor.”

“Name it.”

“Pull the old case file for me.”

“Sean-”’

“Two people have died in the last twenty-four hours. Both knew the ID of the real killer. Charlie Williams is being readied for the needle. A prison guard who may have known the killer’s ID is missing. Is Don Guilder still the DA?”

“Guilder retired. Stanley Rosen took over.”

“Rosen, I remember the name. Guilder was the original prosecutor. Can you get me in to see Rosen immediately?”

“See what I can do. But this better be something we can sink our teeth in, because if it’s not, I’m the one that’s going to get snake bit.”

“Okay. Ron, one other thing. I’m sending a package overnight to your home.”

“What’s in it?”

“My gun.”

The District Attorney for Dade County, Florida, said he could give Sean O’Brien fifteen minutes. O’Brien thought about that as he parked his rental Jeep in the county’s parking garage and caught the elevator to the eleventh floor.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ron Hamilton had said. “That’s all I could get you on short notice, Sean.” Hamilton had to testify in court and couldn’t meet O’Brien until after five. O’Brien looked at his watch as he rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor. Sixty-two hours left.

The DA’s office was furnished in earth tones, lots of plants in the lobby, framed pictures of the Dade County Courthouse and the Florida Supreme Court Justices. It had a subdued feel. Young attorneys in dark suits walked from one hall to the next. Some stopped at the receptionist desk to pick up messages and take a mint from a silver bowl that sat next to small stacks of business cards.

“Mr. Rosen will see you now, Mr. O’Brien,” said the petite receptionist between the soft buzzing of incoming calls. She pointed to her right, “It’s at the end of the hall to the left…the double doors.”

O’Brien followed her directions and met Rosen’s secretary, a woman with a warm smile. She said, “Right this way, Mr. O’Brien.”

District Attorney Stanley Rosen didn’t bother to stand up behind his massive desk when O’Brien entered his office. O’Brien recognized Rosen. He was in his mid fifties.