William Bernhardt - Death Row

“And that’s as good as it gets?”

Christina paused. Honesty or advocacy? “I will admit we have nothing that directly supports my theory-”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But it isn’t reasonable to expect that someone is going to sashay through our office doors admitting to being an accomplice to one of the worst crimes in the history of the state.”

“The bottom line here is that you have nothing.”

“I strongly disagree. We may not have anything conclusive, but we have uncovered many intriguing facts. That the police department missed.”

Derek clicked his tongue. “And based on that, you expect me to release a convicted man from death row?”

“Not yet, your honor,” she said. “All we’re asking at this point is that you postpone the execution date. Give us more time.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You must!” Christina implored. “An innocent man is about to be murdered!”

“Don’t tell me what I must do,” Derek said, rising out of his chair. “I will not tolerate that type of behavior in my courtroom. Maybe your cocounsel thinks that sort of thing is acceptable, but I can assure you it is not.”

“Your honor-”

“If you were better informed, you’d realize your advocacy is inadequate and your behavior is appalling.”

Christina couldn’t hold back any longer. “And if you could get past your decade-old petty grudge against my partner, you’d see that you’re about to allow the execution of an innocent man.”

Derek’s eyes blazed. “Now you listen to me, young lady-”

“And I am sick and tired of this sexist, young lady crap. You will address me as you would any other attorney!”

“How dare you-!” He extended a tremulous arm. “You, Ms. McCall, may deposit another five hundred dollars with the clerk of the court on your way out of here. And if I hear another word from you, you’ll be spending the night in jail!”

Christina so wanted to speak she could taste it. But she had to think of Ray first, and she knew that wouldn’t be in his best interest. She held her tongue.

“Because of the gravity of the sentence passed, I have given you and your petition an enormous amount of leeway-and you see what my reward for that is. Open the door a crack to lawyers of this caliber, and they kick it wide open. It has always been my policy to go the extra mile with habeas petitions. No one wants to see an innocent executed. But the fact is, we do have the death penalty in this state, and your client was convicted of the first-degree murder of no less than eight human beings, and you have not presented the slightest evidence in support of any of your theories of innocence.”

He settled back into his chair. “I am not a jury, and I will not circumvent the decisions of the duly appointed jurors of this state. Not absent extraordinary circumstances.” He paused, drawing in his breath. “Accordingly, I rule against the petitioner.”

Ben’s eyes closed. That was it. The last chance. Gone.

“At least leave the door open,” Christina said quietly. “Give us an opening to return if we discover something new.”

“I will not,” Derek said firmly. “A death-row defendant always has the option to file a new petition based upon newly discovered evidence-”

“We’ve exhausted our statutory remedies.”

“-but I will not continue this hearing. Not a second further. This charade has gone on too long already.” He slammed his gavel. “Petition denied. This court is in recess.”

Fifteen crime-scene techs spent the rest of the day combing the wooded area behind Sheila Knight’s cabin. The area was not that wide or that deep, but micro-scrutinizing every square inch of thick brush was time-consuming. Fortunately, the weather cooperated. A light drizzle fell for half an hour or so, but it was not enough to slow them down. By the time the sun was setting, they had found four different torn scraps of clothing, most of them from Sheila’s blouse, but at least one definitely not. They’d found two more partial footprints, both matching the first. Mike and Baxter continued to hunt for something more helpful.

“Mike!”

She slapped her hand across her mouth. She’d called him by his first name! That was a first. Well, she supposed she couldn’t be suspended for that. She’d just gotten so excited-

“What is it?” he asked, running beside her.

“Proof positive, that’s what.” She was holding a small twig-a backwoods substitute for evidence tweezers-and on the end dangled a metal ring with a silver pendent. The pendent bore some sort of stylized engraving.

“Any idea what it is?” Mike asked.

“Looks like part of a key chain to me. Must’ve broken off. Perhaps during a chase. Or a struggle. Or while hauling a body up the slope back to the cabin.”

“Could it be Sheila’s?”

Baxter shook her head. “Her keys are in the cabin. With one of those keyless car-lock chains.”

“Of course, this could’ve been here before Sheila took her fall. The rain wouldn’t have washed it away.”

“But still-”

Mike nodded. “But still. It’s our first real clue. Something we can trace.” He pushed himself up. “Let’s get back to Tulsa. I expect Blackwell is pretty desperate to talk to us. And for that matter-I want to talk to him.”

Baxter tried to restrain her excitement and maintain her oh-so-stoic professional exterior. “Does this mean… you’re not going to try to close the case? That you think I’m right?”

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Sergeant. Let’s just collect the evidence and see what we find.”

Her face fell. “Right.”

“But Baxter?”

“Yeah?”

He looked at her directly. “Good work.”

Gabriel Aravena threw the paper down to the floor. Sheila Knight was dead!

He held his hands before him, staring at them as though they were not connected, as though they belonged to someone else. How had all this happened? He never meant to become a monster. But somehow, somewhere along the way, everything got turned around, messed up. Nothing came out the way it was supposed to.

He’d been off the medication for barely a week now. He could feel the changes. And they were beginning to scare him. Sure, his breasts were finally shrinking. His voice had regained its normal pitch. His beard was coming back. But at the same time-the feelings were returning. The… bad feelings. The ones he couldn’t control. He had thought he would like that.

He had been wrong.

He remembered all those times when he was on the medication, when he had thought evil things, when he had fantasized about sex. Cruel sex. Dreamed about taking women by force and pounding and pounding at them until they couldn’t stand it anymore, until they cried out for mercy but didn’t get it, just pain and pain and more pain…

He closed his eyes, ashamed of himself. It had been different when he was on the medication. He had needed to fight against the drug. It was trying to make him into something he wasn’t. But now-now the drug was gone and it was just him and those dreams that he couldn’t control and couldn’t block out of his mind. He could act on them now. He could do anything. If he wanted to.

Did he? Did he want to?

He was not a monster! He did not want to be a monster!

Because he knew where that would lead. To the same disgusting life he’d had before. The sick thoughts that led to the evil deeds. And… that person. The one who had made him a true monster, for once and always. The one who had taken his life and thrown it into the sewers, ruined it for all time. He couldn’t stand that. He just couldn’t stand it.

Aravena pushed himself out of his armchair. He had to do something, had to… distract himself. Even in this seedy little apartment, there had to be something he could do to take his mind off-