protection now, and the face mask was drawn tight over his mouth. The two appeared to be speaking as the doctor rolled the electrocardiogram closer and checked the wires attached to Andrews’s chest.
Teddy’s eyes flicked down to Andrews’s arms. A single IV was attached to each just above his wrists. Curiously, the plastic tubes connected to the needles snaked around the chair into a small opening on the far wall. Above the opening was another window, but the curtains remained drawn.
The lights dimmed in the witness room. Teddy’s focus shifted to the reflections on the glass. He could see the people sitting behind him, their faces taught and still. Some were wiping their eyes with handkerchiefs. Others looked defiant. A woman in the back row, perhaps the reporter, started coughing and couldn’t seem to stop.
He checked his watch. 6:58 p.m. A man in a uniform whom Teddy guessed was the warden entered the dead room and stood by the telephone. It seemed like a formality because everyone knew that the governor had presidential aspirations. Executions were an image consultant’s dream and an important step if you were going to make a run as president of the free world. Odds were that the governor wouldn’t be making any calls from his mansion in Harrisburg tonight.
Teddy’s eyes drifted to the left and he noticed another window. Another witness room. He saw Detectives Vega and Ellwood behind the glass, along with District Attorney Carolyn Powell. She seemed edgy and vulnerable, but most of all, she looked tired. Teddy hadn’t seen her for a couple of years. Their relationship hadn’t survived his decision to practice criminal law as a defense attorney, or her promotion and election to the new job. For Carolyn, the prosecution of Andrews seemed to draw her into a cocoon and tighten her up. For Teddy, the trial had been a release. They still checked in with each other every couple of months or so, but never mentioned getting together for another round of martinis. It had become his drink of choice now. And he hadn’t ordered one in six years without thinking of her or remembering that night they’d spent together.
A light mounted on the far wall started blinking, and the speakers on the wall were switched on.
The warden glanced at the doctor, then asked Andrews if he would like to make a statement. Andrews declined with a simple shake of the head. As the two men left the room and the door closed, Andrews settled in beneath his restraints and took a deep breath. He was alone. Ready for the deepest of sleeps to begin.
Then the curtain opened in the window on the far wall, revealing three men wearing black hoods. As Teddy noticed them, he tried to remind himself that he was living in a civilized world. Still, the image of their eyes peering out from beneath their hoods in the anteroom behind Andrews was horrifying. He knew what they were doing. He was well aware of the process. The execution team was comprised of three prison employees. Two would be feeding Andrews a drug cocktail that would lead to an overdose and wash away the spark of life. The third would be feeding a dummy bag with the lethal brew. In the end, no one would be certain exactly who wiped out Andrews’s life.
Teddy thought he knew when the sodium Pentothal hit the man’s arm and made the big push. Andrews was fighting the anesthetic, but at fifty times the dosage in a normal operation, his eyes finally wavered and became lazy. Drifting across the ceiling, they floated down the wall until they passed over the window and penetrated the glass. He was searching out the faces in the audience, moving from one to the next in the dim light. He was lingering on some and passing over others until his eyes found Teddy in the front row and slid to a sleepy stop.
Teddy flinched. A wave of fear buzz-touched his spine, rattling across the back of his neck. The seconds ticked by in shivers. Almost a full minute. Andrews was staring at him. Giving him a last look before he let go and said good-bye to the witness who did him in. The expression on his face wasn’t hard, but unexpectedly gentle and relaxed. It seemed to last forever, and in a sense, it was.
When his eyes finally smoked out like a candle, Teddy thought he was dead and checked the monitor. To his surprise, Andrews’s heart continued beating. It took ten minutes for the pancuronium bromide to paralyze his diaphragm and collapse his lungs. A few minutes more before the potassium chloride reached his heart and pulled the last switch. Then the glint in his eyes shifted and faded and rolled off to the side, becoming lost in the distance of forever.
The chaos was over. The battle lost. The decision final.
After a moment, the doctor entered the room and walked over to the chair without glancing at Andrews’s corpse or the faces staring at him through the window. Teddy watched his hand drop to the console. When he pressed the button, the curtain closed.
SEVENTY-SIX
In spite of its length, most of the trip back to Philadelphia was spent in silence. As they drove from the airport into the city in Nash’s new Jaguar, Teddy noticed the crowds on the sidewalks and wondered what was going on at midnight. Then Nash pointed at a man on the corner waving a sign. ALAN ANDREWS IS DEAD. They were partying. Celebrating. Dancing in the streets.
Teddy looked away, trying to keep his mind busy until they reached Nash’s office. There was the promise of a glass of wine. Teddy expected it would take more than one glass to settle his nerves.
Nash pulled into his space in the lot behind the building. As they climbed the stairs and entered the office, Nash switched on the lights and headed straight for the cabinet beside his desk. His limp was less noticeable, but still there.
“I don’t think champagne’s necessarily appropriate tonight. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Nash searched through the bottles until he found one to his liking. Then he pulled two glasses out of the cabinet and fished through a drawer for the corkscrew. Teddy moved to the jury table, lit a cigarette and sat down. He’d quit smoking a few years ago, but bought a pack for the night.
“I’ve got something I think might cheer you up,” Nash said.
“If it’s the wine, I’m ready.”
Nash laughed. “It’s old. Let’s hope it hasn’t turned. But I wasn’t thinking about the wine.”
He pulled the cork and carried the glasses over, filling each glass to the brim as he often did if they were drinking alone. Teddy tapped Nash’s glass with his own and took a first sip. The wine tasted clean and rich, and he glanced at the label as he swallowed another large mouthful. It was a Chateau La Mission Haut Brion that had been bottled nineteen years ago.
His eyes moved to the window behind Nash’s desk. He could see the E.T. House lit up in the distance. The house had been given the name and title by the curious, who still drove by for a look at the place on weekends. Nash followed his gaze and smiled at the irony of Trisco living within view of the office, his own desk, and the window that often served as a looking-glass.
“I have something I want to show you,” he said.
Nash opened the doors to the library, and Teddy followed him inside. At the other end of the main aisle a new set of double doors had been installed. Nash sipped his wine and opened them. What had always been a storage room was now a second office as large as Nash’s and completely refinished. Teddy glanced at the desk and table, the view of the E.T. House outside this window as well.
“We have another case, Teddy. Something fascinating. It involves traveling to Dallas, Washington, maybe even L.A. It will require a great deal of investigation. I think it’s something we can both sink our teeth into.”
Teddy finished off his glass, overwhelmed by the prospect of sharing offices with Nash. He realized that his mentor had been guiding him to this point in his life. That his friend thought he was ready to make an important leap. The next big step. When he noticed that Nash’s glass was empty as well, he smiled and told him he’d get the bottle and his cigarettes so that they could celebrate.
Teddy bolted through the library into Nash’s office. His new partner’s office. Rushing over to the jury table, his foot knocked over a walking stick leaning against one of the chairs and he watched it skid across the hardwood floor. He set his glass on the table and reached for the cane, hoping he hadn’t broken the thing and worried about his friend’s limp. When the metal tip dropped away from the shaft, he picked it up feeling guilty and gave it a quick glance.
His chest tightened. Everything stopped.
Teddy stared at the tip of the cane in the palm of his hand for a long time. It was made of Sterling silver. He noted the etchings and recognized the tall ships and whales. The last time he’d set his eyes on it, he’d thought he
