Capital Offense

Tears filled her eyes. “Please. Let’s start over. We could get counseling. We can try harder. I’ll try harder.” She moved toward him and kissed his cheek.

Thrown off balance, he moved away. He’d expected screaming and rage, not pain and remorse.

“Please.” she said, then kissed him again and nuzzled his neck. “It’s been so long since we’ve been together.”

As when she’d tried months ago, he felt no physical response.

“Let me love you.” she pleaded. “Let me fix us.” Tears streamed down her face.

“Don’t do this.” he said. He knew his body wouldn’t respond. The abortion had killed his attraction to her both mentally and physically. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t understand it himself. With any other woman he functioned normally, but his wife was dead to him.

Boldly she reached for him, not comprehending his meaning, refusing to be pushed aside.

“Stop,” he choked out.

Desperately she kissed his lips, his neck, and moved lower.

Warner grasped her shoulders and held her from him. “Back off!”

Eyes wide, she met his gaze.

His own tears overflowed. “I can’t.” he whispered.

Carolyn sat back, narrow lines marred her forehead. Her gaze searched his face. “I don’t understand. Do you love her? Is that why?”

A hot flush puddled in his cheeks. “No.” This was torture. How do you tell your wife that you can’t get it up with her? “Do I have to spell it out?” He shook his head. “I can’t – ” his voice broke, “with you.”

Carolyn stared at him. Confusion dulled the sparkle of her brown eyes. Then her eyebrows arched as comprehension replaced incredulity. “Or you just don’t want to try?”

He looked away.

“But you can with her?”

He nodded.

She wiped at the tears on her cheeks, then left the car.

The Jefferson City Democrat

September 29,1990

Government Protester Found Dead

JEFFERSON CITY – Patrick Dunfey, known for his vocal disapproval of the current state administration and what he termed as “the immoral behavior of Governor Lane,” was found dead of a gunshot wound to the head, at 11:06 P.M., an apparent suicide.

This comes on the heels of the drug-overdose death of his fiancee, whose body was discovered one week ago. The investigation into the cause of her death has not been concluded, but she was not a known drug user. The families are stunned by these tragic deaths.

EIGHT

October, 1990 – Jefferson City, Missouri

Sunshine streamed through the windows, belying the crispness of the October morning. Carolyn stood in her office at the Cole County Courthouse, gazing out at the frost-glazed trees that lined the sheets of downtown Jefferson City. A burst of cold air had pushed south from Canada early in the year.

She couldn’t believe how the last eleven months had sped by. The election was less than four weeks away. With a flick of her fingertips, she twirled her black leather desk chair, then she sat down and rested her elbows on the immense cherry wood desk. She massaged her forehead. A dull ache collected behind her brow.

“Good morning,” Edmund Lane said as he entered her office and closed the door behind him.

Carolyn jumped at the sound of his voice. “You surprised me.”

He cocked an eyebrow and studied her. “There’s no time for daydreaming, girl. Warner’s falling in the polls, and I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”

“Your son-” she began.

“I don’t want to hear about my son.” He walked around her desk, taking her chin in his hand. “I want to talk about Warner and you. What are you going to do?”

She peered up at him warily, struggling to conceal her loathing of the man. “What would you like me to do?”

“I think you know. Or have you forgotten everything I’ve taught you? Drastic times call for drastic measures.” He dropped his hand from her chin, but his cold blue eyes bore into her. “I expect Warner to win. It’s your job to make sure of that. From what I’ve seen lately, you aren’t holding up your end of our agreement.”

Carolyn had known Edmund longer than she’d known Warner – in ways she’d rather not recall. After twelve years of marriage to his son, she knew there were few boundaries to Edmund’s ruthlessness. But arguing with him was pointless. He was too powerful and had been in Missouri politics too long. He could ostracize her from the state and political life forever.

She reminded herself that she might have lost her husband’s love, but she couldn’t afford to lose anything else. Especially not as a result of Edmund’s cruel machinations. She took a deep breath and waited for him to continue.

“Meet me tomorrow for lunch at the Hilton. Noon. Don’t be late.” Edmund’s voice lowered to a hiss. “Let me down on this, and I may forget our deal.”

“You wouldn’t hurt your son like that,” she said. The pain in her head intensified.

“Try me.” He turned his back on her and left the office.

She knew better than to ignore Edmund. How much worse could this situation get?

She’d always believed that the two Lane men were different. Cold and calculating, Edmund’s self-interest and lust for power guided him. Warner, however, had been loving and kind. At least, until he’d learned of her abortion. Maybe that’s what she wanted to believe, she thought.

Now he wielded hate like the practiced sword of a samurai. And Warner’s affair certainly wasn’t showing any signs of abating.

She found herself caught between two men who both tolerated her with unconcealed disdain. She felt like Humpty Dumpty, the shell of her personal life shattered at her feet. All of it within her reach, yet she seemed unable to puzzle the pieces back together again.

The familiar pang of loneliness and isolation overwhelmed her. She wiped at her tears as they overflowed, and with a practiced shove, buried the hurt. Self-pity was not her style. Somehow she’d figure this out. Somehow she’d fix it.

Well, Edmund was right on one account, Carolyn conceded. Warner was falling in the polls. His opponent, Jackson Green, was hammering him on the new airport project, cuts in education, and raising taxes. She needed to do something to retrieve Warner’s career. Regardless of the state of their personal life, she believed Warner to be capable of a great political future. A future she desperately wanted to be a part of. In reality, she knew that politics was all she really had left. That harsh fact chilled her heart.

She enjoyed being a prosecutor, but it was the natural precursor to a life in politics – to effecting change at a higher level and in a more sweeping and long-lasting manner. Her entire life was dedicated to getting beyond prosecuting one case at a time and arriving at a place where she’d be making the laws, instituting real change, real justice. This was the one dream she and Warner shared.

A knock on her door disturbed her thoughts. “Enter at your own risk.” Carolyn called out. She forced a smile when newly hired assistant district attorney, Randy McCabe, walked in.

Fresh out of law school, McCabe’s enthusiasm glowed through the freckles that covered his face.

“Mark has a domestic case for you.” He brushed his reddish bangs back from his forehead.