William Bernhardt - Death Row

“And sent her on her way?”

He smiled a little. “And took her to the coffee shop next door. I didn’t think she’d go, even as I asked her. But to my surprise, she agreed.”

“And you went out a few more times?”

“Right. After I left the clinic. But we never really connected. There was always something between us. Between her and everyone, actually. Something intangible… but nonetheless real.”

“But you don’t know what that was.”

“I’m afraid not. I never got to know her well enough. I wanted to.” He bowed his head. “It seems as though tragedy strikes everyone I try to get close to.”

That triggered a memory. “I understand you were also dating Sheila Knight. Before her… untimely death.”

“You mean, before her suicide? That’s what they say it was, right? Once again, someone I wanted to know, wanted to get close to, finds it preferable to take their own life. You can imagine how that makes me feel.”

“I’m sorry,” Christina said quietly.

“Oh, don’t be. I’m very lucky, really.” A smile crossed his face, but Christina found it far from convincing. “After all, I’ve still got my spiders.”

Every time Ben had spoken to Ray during the last seven years, he had done so through an acrylic wall. But the glass had never seemed so thick as it did today. The distance between them had never been so great.

“So that’s it, then,” Ray said, with a pronounced note of finality. “It’s over.”

He was doing an amazing job of controlling his face, Ben thought, of masking what must be his true feelings. He barely twitched. But as Ben gazed into his eyes, he could see all the hurt, all the anguish, all the sunken hopes. The dim light was fading to a dull and ashen gray.

“It isn’t over,” Ben said firmly. “I won’t stop trying.”

“Sounds like there’s nothing left to try.”

“I won’t accept that. And I won’t give up.”

Ray pressed his lips together. “Well… four days from now… you won’t have any choice.”

Ben felt a churning in his gut. “Four days is a long time, Ray. We’re doing everything imaginable. Talking to everyone. Filing every kind of motion. We won’t stop-”

Ray interrupted. “Did you talk to Carrie?”

Ben’s heart skipped a beat. “Well… yes.” Would he want to talk about… the incident?

“How does she look?”

“She looks pretty much as she always did.”

Ray’s eyes softened. “Beautiful, huh?”

“Very.”

“I haven’t seen her for years, you know. But I’ve never stopped thinking about her. Not for a single day.”

Ben felt an aching in his heart so intense he wasn’t sure he could finish the conversation. “Ray… if there’s any message you’d like me to take to her…”

“There is, actually. The same one I sent before. I’d like her to be here.”

“You mean, at… at…”

“I know it sounds crazy. Gruesome. And I know she won’t want to do it. But it would make me feel so much better, just knowing there was someone here, someone who likes me. Or once did, anyway.”

“I-I can ask her, Ray, but-”

“Tell her she can close her eyes when the needle starts to drop. I just want to know she’s in the same room. I want to see her. One more time. Before I go. And I’d like you to be there, too.”

Ben felt his mouth go dry.

“See, they give me three seats. All the others are reserved for officials and politicians and victims’ relatives. Of which there are precious few. But I still get three seats. So I was hoping you’d take one.”

“Ray-”

“I know it’s a lot to ask. But I feel as if you’re my friend, Ben. I mean, it’s been a working relationship. You’re doing your job.” He paused, pursing his lips. “At the same time, I also know you’ve gone way beyond the norm for me. You’ve gone the extra mile and then some. I know it’s been a good long time since you got paid, but you haven’t slacked off a bit.”

Ben shrugged. “I just did what any-”

“And I probably shouldn’t personalize this, because I know that a lot of it is just that you’re a good, generous person. That all-too-rare breed. But I also like to think that-on some level-we’re friends.” He paused. “And that’s why I want you to be there. When it happens. Will you do that for me?”

Never in his life did Ben recall it being so difficult to speak. “If that’s what you want, Ray.”

“It is. And here’s the really horrible part-would you ask Christina if she’ll take the third chair? I know it’s dreadful, asking another woman to go through that. But I don’t know who else to ask.”

“What about your parents?”

“Long gone. My conviction killed them. It really did. I used to fantasize about the celebration we’d have when I was released. When my innocence was proven. But they didn’t live to see it.” His eyes fell. “And now it looks as though I won’t, either.”

“Friends?”

“After seven years in the pen? I don’t know from friends. Long gone. Unless you include my fellow inmates. A cockroach I’m particularly fond of. But they wouldn’t be allowed in.”

“Ray… I can ask Christina, but I can’t guarantee-”

“Sure. I just know that she’s worked on this case, too, long and hard, and I appreciate it. I’d like to show my appreciation. And the pathetic truth is-this is the only means left to me. So it’s important.”

Ben drew up his shoulders. “Then we’ll be there,” he said, even though he thought it was the most horrible potentiality he had ever contemplated. “Certainly I will be. And I think Christina will be, too.”

“And Carrie?”

“I’ll ask her.”

Ray nodded his head. “If she does refuse, Ben, at least-tell her I love her, okay? Tell her I never stopped loving her. I don’t want her to feel guilty. I just want her to know. Okay?”

“I’ll tell her,” Ben said. His voice was hoarse, and it had a noticeable catch.

“I’m so tired.” As his eyes turned downward, Ben sensed that Ray would end it all right then and there if the power were given to him. “So tired.”

Ben felt a sharp stinging sensation in his eyes, and he knew if their conversation continued much longer, they would both be crying. “I’d better go now. I’ve got a lot to do.”

Ray nodded, and when his head rose again, he said the three words Ben most dreaded to hear. “See you Monday.”

Ben drove all the way back to Tulsa steering with one arm, hugging himself with the other. But he couldn’t seem to get warm.

Mike was about ready to scream. He hated paperwork, hated research most of all. And he was buried in it. Was buried and had been buried for more hours than he cared to count. It was a beautiful day out, best in weeks, perfect tennis weather. But instead of being out on the courts or perched on the patio at Crow Creek sipping a tall cool one, he was stuck at a desk piled so high with books that Baxter didn’t even see him when she first walked in.

“Can I safely assume these are all poetry books?” Baxter asked, after she finally located him.

Mike gave her a wry look. “Reference books. Of every kind imaginable.” It occurred to him that she was looking particularly attractive this morning-not that she had ever not looked attractive. Had she done something to her hair?

Baxter scanned the desktop. “You’re trying to trace that key chain, aren’t you?”

“You win the Daily Double.” Mike lifted a small baggie that held the elusive bit of evidence. “My gut tells me that whoever killed Sheila Knight left this behind. But I can’t figure out what it is.”

Baxter stared at it, as she had done more or less constantly since they discovered it. “The frustrating thing is, I know I’ve seen it before.”