front door open, then stopped at the tinkling sound of is father filling his empty scotch glass with ice cubes. “Drink up, Governor!” his voice echoed in the hallway. “Do us all a favor, and drink yourself to death.”
He slammed the door and left.
Chapter 2
Death was just minutes away for Raul Fernandez. He sat on the edge of the bunk in his cell, shoulders slumped, bald head bowed, and hands folded between his knees. Father Jose Ramirez, a Roman Catholic priest, was at the prisoner’s side, dressed all in black save for his white hair and Roman collar. Rosary beads were draped over one knee, an open Bible rested on the other. He was looking at Fernandez with concern, almost desperation, as he tried once more to cleanse the man’s soul.
“Murder is a mortal sin, Raul,” he said. “Heaven holds no place for those who die without confessing their mortal sins. In John, chapter twenty, Jesus tells his disciples: ‘Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you hold bound are held bound.’ Let me hear your sins, Raul. So that you may be forgiven them.”
Fernandez looked him directly in the eye. “Father,” he said with all the sincerity he could muster, “right now, I have nothing to lose by telling you the truth. And I’m telling you this: I have nothing to confess.”
Father Ramirez showed no expression, though a chill went down his spine. He flinched only at the sound of the key jiggling in the iron door.
“It’s time,” announced the guard. A team of two stepped inside the cell to escort Fernandez. Father Ramirez rose from his chair, blessed the prisoner with the sign of the cross, and then stepped aside. Fernandez did not budge from his bunk.
“Let’s go,” ordered the guard.
“Give him a minute,” said the priest.
The guard stepped briskly toward the prisoner. “We don’t have a minute.”
Fernandez suddenly sprung from his chair, burrowing his shoulder into the lead guard’s belly. They tumble to the floor. “I’m innocent!” he cried, his arms flailing. A barrage of blows from the other guard’s blackjack battered his back and shoulders, stunning the prisoner into near paralysis.
“You crazy son of a bitch!” cried the fallen guard, forcing Fernandez onto his belly. “Cuff him!” he shouted to his partner. Together they pinned his arms behind his back, then cuffed the wrists and ankles.
“I’m innocent,” Fernandez whimpered, his face pressing on the cement floor. “I’m
“The hell with this,” said the guard who’d just wrestled with the condemned man. He snatched a leather strap from his pocket and gagged the prisoner, fastening it tightly around the back of his head.
Father Ramirez looked on in horror as the guards lifted Fernandez to his feet. He was still groggy from the blows, so they shook him to revive him. The law required that a condemned man be fully conscious and alert to his impending death. Each guard grabbed an arm, and together they led him out of the cell.
The priest was pensive and disturbed as he followed the procession down the brightly lit hallway. He’d seen many death-row inmates, but none was the fighter this one was. Certainly, none had so strongly proclaimed his innocence.
They stopped at the end of the hall and waited as the execution chamber’s iron door slid open automatically. The guards then handed the prisoner over to two attendants inside who specialized in executions. They moved quickly and efficiently as precious seconds ticked away on the wall clock. Fernandez was strapped into the heavy oak chair. Electrodes were fastened to his shaved head and ankles. The gag was removed from his mouth and replaced with a steel bit.
All was quiet, save for the hum of the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Fernandez sat stiffly in his chair. The guards brought the black hood down over his face, then took their places along the gray-green walls. The venetian blinds opened, exposing the prisoner to three dozen witnesses on the dark side of the glass wall. A few reporters stirred. An assistant state attorney looked on impassively. The victim’s uncle-the only relative of the young girl in attendance-took a deep breath. All eyes except the prisoner’s turned toward the clock. His were hidden behind the hood and a tight leather band that would keep his eyeballs from bursting when the current flowed.
Father Ramirez stepped into the dark seating area and joined the audience. The guard at the door raised his eyebrows. “You really gonna watch this one, padre?” he asked quietly.
“You know I never watch,” said the priest.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Yes,” said Ramirez. “There is, indeed. And if my instincts are correct, let’s hope this is the
The guard looked away. The priest’s words had been pointed, but the guard shook them off, taking the proverbial common man’s comfort in the fact that
At that moment, the second hand swept by its highest point, the warden gave the signal, and lights dimmed throughout the prison as twenty-five hundred volts surged into the prisoner’s body. Fernandez lunged forward with the force of a head-on collision, his back and arching and his skin smoking and sizzling. His jaws clenched the steel bit so tightly his teeth shattered. His fingers pried into the oak armrests with such effort that his bones snapped.
A second quick jolt went right to his heart.
A third made sure the job was done.
It had taken a little more than a minute-the last and longest sixty-seven seconds of this thirty-five-year-old’s life. An exhaust fan came on, sucking out the stench. A physician stepped forward, placed a stethoscope on the prisoner’s chest, and listened.
“He’s dead,” pronounced the doctor.
Father Ramirez sighed with sorrow as he opened his eyes, then lowered his head and blessed himself with the sign of the cross. “May God forgive us,” he said under his breath, “as He receives the innocent.”
PART TWO
Chapter 3
Eddy Goss was on trial for an act of violence so unusual that it amazed even him. He’d first noticed the girl when she was walking home from school one night in her drill-team uniform. At the time, he thought she must be sixteen. She had the kind of looks he liked-long blond hair that cascaded over her shoulders, a nice, curvy shape, and most important of all, no makeup. He liked that fresh look. It told him he would be the first.
By the time he’d caught up to her, she’d known something was wrong. He was sure of that. She’d started looking over her shoulder and walking faster. He guessed she must have been really scared-too scared to react- because it took him only a few seconds to force her into his Ford Pinto. About five miles out of town, in a thick stand of pines far from the main highway, he held a knife to her throat and warned her to do everything he asked. Naturally, she agreed. What choice did she have? She hiked up her skirt, pulled off her panty hose-all the drill-team members at Senior High had to wear nude hose, he knew-and sat perfectly still as Eddy probed her vagina with his fingers. But then she started crying-great wracking sobs that made him furious. He hated it when they cried. So he wrapped the nylon around her neck-and pulled. And pulled. He pulled so hard that he finally did it: He actually
