It was an accident. Manslaughter, not murder.'
'Correct me if I'm wrong,' Christian interrupted. 'But you can't be sentenced to death for manslaughter, can you?'
I sighed. 'Do we have any new evidence?'
Father Michael thought for a minute. 'He told me so.'
'Do we have any evidence' I repeated.
His face lit up. 'We have the security camera outside the observation cell,' Michael said. 'That's got to be recorded somewhere, right?'
'It's still just a tape of him telling you a story,' I explained. 'It's different if you tell me, oh, that there's semen we can link to Kurt Nealon...'
'You're an ACLU lawyer. You must be able to do something...'
'Legally, there's nothing we can do. We can't reopen his case unless there's some fantastic forensic proof.'
'What about calling the governor?' Christian suggested.
Our heads both swiveled toward him.
'Well, isn't that what always happens on TV? And in John Grisham novels?'
'Why do you know so much about the American legal system?' I asked.
He shrugged. 'I used to have a torrid crush on the Partridge girl from
LA. Law.'
I sighed and walked to the dining room table. My purse was slogged across it like an amoeba. I dug inside for my cell phone, punched a number.
'This better be good,' my boss growled on the other end of the line.
'Sorry, Rufus. I know it's late-'
'Cut to the chase.'
'I need to call Flynn, on behalf of Shay Bourne,' I said.
'Flynn? As in Mark Flynn the governor? Why would you want to waste your last appeal before you even get a verdict back from Haig?'
'Shay Bourne's spiritual advisor is under the impression that he was falsely convicted.' I looked up to find Christian and Michael both watching me intently.
'Do we have any new evidence?'
I closed my eyes. 'Well. No. But this is really important, Rufus.'
A moment later, I hung up the phone and pressed the number I'd scrawled on a paper napkin into Michael's hand. 'It's the governor's cell number. Go call him.'
'Why me?'
'Because,' I said. 'He's Catholic.'
'I have to leave,' I had told Christian. 'The governor wants us to come to his office right now.'
'If I had a quid for every time a girl's used that one on me,' he said.
And then, just as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he kissed me.
Okay, it had been a quick kiss. And one that could have ended a
G-rated movie. And it had been performed in front of a priest. But still, it looked completely natural, as if Christian and I had been kissing at the ends of sentences for ages, while the rest of the world was still hung up on punctuation.
Here's where it all went wrong. 'So,' I had said. 'Maybe we could get together tomorrow?'
'I'm on call for the next forty-eight hours,' he'd said. 'Monday?'
But Monday I was in court again.
'Well,' Christian said. 'I'll call.'
I was meeting Father Michael at the statehouse, because I wanted him to go home and get clothing that was as priestly as possible-the jeans and button-down shirt in which he'd come to my door weren't going to win us any favors. Now, as I waited for him in the parking lot, I replayed every last syllable of my conversation with Christian... and began to panic. Everyone knew that when a guy said he'd call, it really meant that he wouldn't-he just wanted a swift escape. Maybe it had been the kiss, which was the precursor to that whole line of conversation.
Maybe I had garlic breath. Maybe he'd just spent enough time in my company to know I wasn't what he wanted.
By the time Father Michael rode into the parking lot, I'd decided that if Shay Bourne had cost me my first shot at a relationship since the Jews went to wander the desert, I would execute him myself.
I was surprised that Rufus had wanted me to go to meet Governor
Flynn alone; I was even more surprised that he thought Father Michael should be the one to finesse the interview in the first place. But Flynn wasn't a born New Englander; he was a transplanted southern boy, and he apparently preferred informality to pomp and circumstance. He'll be expecting you to come to him for a stay of execution after the trial, Rufus had mused. So maybe catching him off guard is the smartest thing you can do. He suggested that instead of a lawyer putting through the call, maybe a man of the cloth should do it instead. And, within two minutes of conversation,
Father Michael had discovered that Governor Flynn had heard him preach at last year's Christmas Mass at St. Catherine's.
We were let into the statehouse by a security guard, who put us through the metal detectors and then escorted us to the governor's office. It was an odd, eerie place after hours; our footsteps rang like gunshots as we hustled up the steps. At the top of the landing, I turned to Michael. 'Do not do anything inflammatory,' I whispered. 'We get one shot at this.'
The governor was sitting at his desk. 'Come in,' he said, getting to his feet. 'Pleasure to see you again, Father Michael.'
'Thanks,' the priest said. 'I'm flattered you remembered me.'
'Hey, you gave a sermon that didn't put me to sleep-that puts you into a very small category of clergymen. You run the youth group at St.
Catherine's, too, right? My college roommate's kid was getting into some trouble a year ago, and then he started working with you. Joe Cacciatone?'
'Joey,' Father Michael said. 'He's a good kid.'
The governor turned to me. 'And you must be...?'
'Maggie Bloom,' I said, holding out my hand. 'Shay Bourne's attorney'
I had never been this close to the governor before. I thought, irrationally, that he looked taller on television.
'Ah, yes,' the governor said. 'The infamous Shay Bourne.'
'If you're a practicing Catholic,' Michael said to the governor, 'how can you condone an execution?'
I blinked at the priest. Hadn't I just told him not to say anything provocative?
'I'm doing my job,' Flynn said. 'There's a great deal that I don't agree with, personally, that I have to carry out professionally.'
'Even if the man who's about to be killed is innocent?'
Flynn's gaze sharpened. 'That's not what a court decided, Father.'
'Come talk to him,' Michael said. 'The penitentiary-it's a five minute drive. Come listen to him, and then tell me if he deserves to die.'
'Governor Flynn,' I interrupted, finally finding my voice. 'During a... confession, Shay Bourne made some revelations that indicate there are details of his case that weren't revealed at the time-that the deaths occurred accidentally while Mr. Bourne was in fact trying to protect
Elizabeth Nealon from her father's sexual abuse. We feel that with a stay of execution, we'll have time to gather evidence of Bourne's innocence.'
The governor's face paled. 'I thought priests couldn't reveal confessions.'
'We're obligated to, if there's a law about to be broken, or if a life is in danger. This qualifies on both counts.'
The governor folded his hands, suddenly distant. 'I appreciate your concerns-both religious and political. I'll
