John Lutz - Ride the lightning

Nudger thought Siberling would question Candy Ann extensively, but he didn't. He merely asked some questions that cleared up any possible language problems in her statement, then questioned her in a way that emphasized pertinent details.

Siberling thanked Candy Ann, who sat back and looked pale and mentally drained. "You did fine," he told her. "You just relax now. Can I get you anything to drink?"

She shook her head no, staring down wearily at her hands folded on the table.

Nudger's turn. He told his story simply and to the point, including his visit with Curtis Colt on Death Row.

When he was finished his throat was dry, but he got no offer of something to drink.

Siberling nodded to Mrs. Kraft and Jason. Jason smiled nervously, looked long and hard at Candy Ann as if that was what he'd wanted to do since he walked in there, then left the conference room.

"Mrs. Kraft has an appointment to keep," Siberling said, "but Doreen can transcribe the statements while we wait. Then the signatures can be notarized. Ordinarily we could take care of most of that tomorrow, but we don't have time to spare. We have to think of Curtis."

Candy Ann made big eyes at him and smiled. Thinking of Curtis was all she'd been doing lately. It was nice to find someone who shared her obsession.

When Doreen got up to leave with Mrs. Kraft, to begin her word processing and copying, she surprised Nudger. She smiled genuinely and brushed her fingertips lightly across Candy Ann's shoulders in sympathy. Nudger and Siberling exchanged glances; Candy Ann should have testified, all right.

Siberling excused himself for a few minutes and left the room.

Candy Ann stared across the table at Nudger. The blue draperies and carpet made her eyes seem younger and a deeper blue, almost violet. For an instant she was twelve years old. She looked like a little girl at a kitchen table way too large for her, waiting for vegetables she didn't like but would dutifully eat.

When she spoke, the words caught in her throat. "It keeps going around in my mind, Mr. Nudger, how if they do go ahead and… do what they're planning to Curtis, I'll have nobody then."

Nudger didn't know what to say. He mumbled, "Don't you have family?"

She shook her head. "An uncle in Tennessee, but I ain't seen him in over twenty years. I heard he took too much to drink. That's what killed my daddy, drink."

"It's like that in some families," Nudger said.

A faintly puzzled expression pulled at her features. She frowned. "It all didn't seem real until lately. I mean, it didn't seem Curtis was really going to be gone."

Nudger managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It felt stiff; if he listened closely, he might hear his face bend. "Maybe he won't be executed. Maybe what we're doing will help."

She let out a long, slow breath. "Lord, I hope so." Nudger didn't think it was merely an expression; it sounded like a prayer from the heart.

Siberling returned with three cups of coffee on a tray with cream and sugar. "It'll be a while," he said, setting the tray on the table near Candy Ann. Steam rose from the cups, visible against the blue draperies.

The three last friends of Curtis Colt sat in the quiet conference room and sipped coffee and waited for Doreen to finish preparing the depositions.

After a little more than an hour had passed, Doreen stuck her head into the conference room and asked to see Candy Ann so she could read and sign the transcript of her statement.

When she'd gone, Siberling poured his fourth cup of coffee and grimaced at the stuff's cumulative bitterness. He glanced at the door Candy Ann had just closed behind her. "Country," he said, "but very nice. Sexy. Nothing like that where Colt's going."

"You really don't have much hope for Colt, do you?" Nudger said.

Siberling had removed his coat. Now he unbuttoned his vest and loosened his tie. "I never told you I did hold out much hope. But the law's unpredictable. It can be twisted like soft putty. So we use the machinery that might just twist it in the right direction, until there's no more fuel to keep the gears turning. We see what happens."

"And when the machinery stops?"

"Someone says, 'Won't you please have a seat, Mr. Colt.' " Siberling smiled humorlessly. "We're among the last civilized nations in the Western world to execute people, but we do it with style: the last meal, the priest, the media's graphic descriptions of the death throes."

"When will we stop it?" Nudger asked.

Siberling looked curiously at him. "I'm not sure if we should."

Nudger stood up and stretched, keeping his silence. He didn't feel like getting into a philosophical discussion on capital punishment. Not with a lawyer. Especially one like Siberling.

Siberling kicked softly at the thick briefcase by his chair. "The last-minute appeal to the governor," he said, sounding as bitter as the coffee tasted. "The fox appealing to the hound."

"And not a hound known for the quality of mercy," Nudger said.

The door opened and Candy Ann came back into the room. She seemed relieved, as if now that she'd signed her name to something, she'd taken a positive step that might lead to Curtis Colt's survival.

"That Miss Doreen wants you to sign your statement," she said to Nudger.

She stepped back out into the hall, as if she didn't want to be alone with Siberling. Maybe she was more observant than she seemed. Siberling followed her.

While she and Siberling watched, Nudger read over his statement and signed it. The witnesses' signatures were already affixed. Doreen was the notary public. She used a bulky silver seal to notarize the signatures, then signed her own name. There. All proper and official.

"I'd suggest we have a drink and talk," Siberling said, tapping the edges of the papers in line, "but I'm going to be working late on this tonight." He touched Candy Ann's slender shoulder with a confident lightness and familiarity, as if she were rare and delicate and only he knew how to handle her. "You just try not to worry, you hear?" Why, he was a little bit country himself, with his libido stirred by Candy Ann.

She nodded, absorbing the sympathy like a sponge with sex appeal. Doreen and Nudger looked silently at each other. Doreen wasn't the airhead Siberling thought, if he really did think that.

"Time for us to head for the barn," Nudger said amiably, with just a trace of a drawl, and guided Candy Ann from the office.

As the door swung closed behind them, he heard Siber- ling say softly to Doreen, "Barn?"

Nudger thought of going back and telling the little lawyer "heading for the barn" was just an expression, country slang for going home. Then he decided to let Siberling live with his imagination.

It wasn't quite dark outside, and it was still hot. A sunset raged like low fire between the buildings to the west. To the east, dusk was settling over the city like lowering, heavy soot from thousands of chimneys. Traffic was thin on Central now, and about every other car had its lights on. The late workers were on their way home from their offices. When the stores closed in a few hours, Clayton would be almost deserted.

"Do you want that drink?" Nudger offered, when he and Candy Ann had gotten in the Volkswagen. "Don't be ashamed if you need it. What you just did wasn't easy."

She hesitated, then aimed those doll's blue eyes at him and nodded.

"I need it," she said.

They'd stopped at the bar of a Hunan restaurant on Brentwood and each had two drinks. Nudger drank beer. Candy Ann sipped at tall Tom Collinses and finished them off with deceptive ease.

At first she'd been silent, pensive. But by the second drink she became talkative. She talked about Curtis Colt and nothing else. Nudger got tired of her trying to wheedle some sort of affirmation out of him that there really was a way to save Curtis from Saturday's appointment with high-voltage death. It hurt him to look into the blue agony of her wide eyes; he wished he could help her, help Curtis Colt, but he couldn't.