She arrived at Polunsky, her stomach churning at the thought of walking into the visitation room, staring ahead at the death chamber and seeing Clifton’s restrained body. How would she ever survive Gus and the reporters’ callous jokes about Clifton’s final hours? Would she be able to sit silently listening to the gallows humor all the reporters relied on?
No matter how difficult Kristy’s job became, she’d forced herself not to get emotionally invested. This time she had failed. Kristy had no choice but to do her job, standing front and center at Clifton’s execution, assisting the press in their efforts to monetize Clifton’s suffering. Sell enough ads, get enough clicks, and move on to the next story. Kristy hated to see her friend turned into some kind of celebrity monster, like Ted Bundy or Charles Manson. She’d already reached out to a few journalists on Clifton’s behalf, hoping they might be interested in telling a fair and balanced story, and had at least come with some good news.
“How are you holding up?” she asked Clifton the following week. She’d asked this question on hundreds of visits, but her words had never sounded more hollow. There was an energy shift from the knowledge that after next week one of them would no longer be part of this world, but Clifton appeared unfazed. He’d offered Kristy his trademark grin and a friendly nod before she picked up the phone. It almost made it worse, to watch him willingly accept his death orders. Kristy wanted to shatter the glass that separated them, take his hands in hers, and say, “I believe you.” Instead, she sat there, tightly clutching the phone, hoping Clifton could read everything in her gaze.
“Honestly, Ms. Tucker,” he whispered. “I’m ready.”
“Don’t give up the fight just yet,” Kristy whispered back. “I’ve got one more interview next week. It’s CNN and I can vouch for the reporter. She’ll listen to both sides. It’s a good way to be heard.”
“Sure thing. I got one more interview left in me. And listen, there are so many folks fighting out there for me. No way Fiona and Bev are ever gonna quit ’til they clear my name. I may not be here for it, but I’ll be up in heaven holding my baby girl and baby boy and shouting into the clouds, ‘I told y’all I’m innocent. I told you I didn’t do it!’”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Tucker. You did plenty. I just want to make sure you’re okay. And I know I said I’d try to help you out but, Ms. Tucker, I started talking to some of the guys in here and the things they were saying … I don’t trust them and I don’t think you should either.”
“I’m going to figure it out, Clifton. I’ll be just fine.”
“I hope so, ma’am. And I hope you know that you deserve nothing but the best life has to offer.”
She assigned Carmen to oversee some of the details for Clifton’s execution, asking her to take the lead and manage the onslaught of reporters, all calling in to ask for exclusives and quotes. Kristy hoped that once Carmen took over, she could focus on Lance, but she couldn’t seem to move forward. Sometimes she’d sit in her office, trying to understand how someone like Lance would go on living his life, punishing Kristy, and Clifton would be dead and buried. Paralyzed by indecision, Kristy didn’t even know where to begin. How did one set out to plan a murder? She tried to think about it from a reporting standpoint. Reporters were trained to ask the four W’s. Kristy already knew the why—Lance was a violent sociopath, but the what, when, and where parts of killing her husband remained elusive. Whatever she was going to do, she couldn’t stay in limbo forever, or she’d end up just like Hannah.
To Kristy’s surprise, it wasn’t Clifton or Lance that forced Kristy’s hand and set everything into motion. It was Pops.
After months of trying, Kristy managed to land Pops an appointment at MD Anderson in Houston. She was hoping Pops might qualify for a clinical trial in their pulmonology clinic, a trial that was testing out new inhalers. If this medical Hail Mary worked, it could alleviate Pops’s breathing issues and improve his quality of life. She told Lance about their day trip, convinced that he would insist on coming along. For once, luck was on Kristy’s side and he had an open house scheduled, so Kristy and Pops headed off to Houston together.
Pops’s doctors’ appointments always tested her patience. Every time she asked Pops how he was feeling, he’d answer, “Right as rain.” Then the doctor would arrive and ask him the same question and Pops would shake his head mournfully and launch into a litany of his growing ailments. Today was no different.
“Doc, my back hurts, my neck is killing me, my sides ache, and I’ve been coughing up gunk. Green gunk.”
Kristy sat openmouthed, forcing herself not to interject, trying not to remind Pops that five minutes ago in the car, he said he was good. Despite Kristy’s annoyance, the doctor was optimistic and deemed Pops an excellent candidate for the trial.
“You’ll need to come back once a month for treatments. We’ll cover the cost of all your medications and parking and offer a small stipend.” This news, the prospect of feeling better, transformed Pops’s mood. Kristy thought about reminding him that this wasn’t a cure, but she restrained herself. Let the man have his moment.
For the first time in ages, they left the hospital upbeat. It was still early and they were both starving so they headed to Red Oak Steakhouse, one of Pops’s favorite restaurants, and the two of them wolfed down giant steaks and baked potatoes topped with warm butter. Pops was in high spirits. He ordered a beer and shamelessly flirted with the cute red-haired waitress. They finished their entrées and then dug into their desserts, apple pie for Pops and a brownie à la mode for Kristy. Pops was sopping up the last of the ice cream when he brushed aside his mop of gray hair and stared at Kristy with concern.
“You doing okay, Kristy girl? You seem a bit outta sorts these days.”
Just when she thought Pops had lost all awareness of what was going on around him, he surprised her.
“Why do you ask?” Kristy said.
“Just a feeling. I know marriage isn’t easy. Much as I loved your mama, our lives weren’t perfect.”
“Lance and I are good, Pops,” Kristy lied, wanting to move on to other topics of conversation before she gave herself away.
“Is it work? Is that prick Gus giving you problems? I can still whip that man’s ass today and twice on Sunday.”
Kristy burst out laughing, downing the last sip of her chardonnay.
“C’mon, Pops, even I could whip Gus’s ass.”
He snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. Now I’m serious, Kristy—what is it? I know something’s troubling you.”
She couldn’t talk about Lance, but there was something else on her mind.
“You ever think anyone you met on death row was innocent?”
Pops hesitated, which surprised Kristy.
“Odds are one or two. I mean, those are just the odds, right? There was one guy, real nice fella. He’d been accused of raping and killing this college girl, and I just couldn’t believe he did it. The ones that do things like that, you see it in their eyes. You feel it deep in your bones. They’ve got the devil’s mark. This guy was so friendly and ‘aw shucks,’ insisting the witnesses were wrong and the medical experts were wrong. Some days I kind of felt sorry for the guy. But I believe in our system. This guy had a trial with a jury of his peers and he was convicted. I mean, that’s the law. What were we supposed to do?”
Kristy wanted to say, Don’t kill them. If the evidence isn’t totally irrefutable, just don’t do it.
“So you think this guy was innocent?”
Pops shook his head. “I did. Years later DNA tests revealed that he raped a whole bunch of other women. Guy was guilty as sin. The law is the law, Kristy Ann, and I did my part to uphold it.”
She thought about that. If Pops, tough as nails, as savvy as they came, could be fooled by this man, was it possible that she’d been duped, not just by Lance, but also by Clifton?
“You’re not getting soft on me, are you?” Pops teased, sensin
g her distraction.
Kristy smiled brightly.
“No. Not at all.”
But Kristy had gotten soft. That’s how she’d ended up in this goddamn mess in the first place, letting down her guard, allowing Lance to worm his way in. Kristy checked the time on her cell phone. If they didn’t get a move on it, they’d be stuck in the hellish snarl that was Houston’s rush hour and she’d have to hear Lance bitch.
“You all set?” she asked Pops.
“Let’s rock and roll.”
He pulled his portable oxygen tank onto his lap and Kristy wheeled him outside, toward the parking lot.
“Think we could stop by Walmart on the way home?” he asked.
“Sure, Pops. What do you need?”
“Lance asked me to print out some forms and sign ’em, and my damn ink cartridge is out.”
Kristy didn’t know anything about the forms. What could Lance possibly need from Pops? The sense of impending doom hit so suddenly and furiously, she almost lost her balance, nearly tipping Pops out of his wheelchair. He grabbed the armrests, frantically trying to steady himself.
“Jeez, Kristy girl, watch what you’re doing.”
“Sorry, Pops. Sorry,” she said, trying to breathe in and out.
She opened the truck door, trying to keep her composure, grabbing Pops’s oxygen tank and lifting him into the SUV.
“What forms does Lance need you to sign?”
“Something about the health insurance. He said you’d talked it over.”
Pops was studying her, brow wrinkling with concern. Kristy quickly covered. “Yeah, I remember now. I just totally blanked.”
“Wait ’til you get my age. Then you won’t be able to remember a thing.”
Kristy chuckled, her mind racing, but she had to cover. She had to keep it together until she knew what Lance was planning now.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” she said with a faux cheerfulness that Pops missed.
They stopped at the Super Walmart on the way out of town. Kristy purchased printer ink and paper towels, along with a cheap bottle of chardonnay. Tonight she was having another drink.
The beer at lunch had made Pops chatty, and he recounted the plot of the latest Stephen King novel, chapter by chapter. All Kristy could think about was getting home and looking at those papers. When they arrived at the house, Lance was outside manning the grill. Ryan sat at the picnic table, hunched over his calculus book. Lance handed Pops a beer. Grinning, Pops cracked it open, drinking with childlike abandon.
“Pops, the doctor said too much alcohol could interfere with your meds,” Kristy reminded him.
“Jesus, Kristy Ann. I’m just letting loose for one night. Two beers ain’t gonna kill me.”
“You heard the man, Kristy. Just relax.” Lance chuckled and pulled Kristy onto his lap again, his favorite position of dominance. Lance hated how she talked to Pops. Stop emasculating him, Lance would say. The man is suffering. Let him have a little fun. Tonight was no different.
“Lighten up, babe.”
She smiled and gave Lance a kiss.
“You’re right. I’m so sorry, Papa,” Kristy teased, putting on her most affected British accent. “Sirs, do I have a moment to freshen up?” she asked Lance, smiling sweetly at him.
“Go do your thing. The boys and I are gonna finish tonight’s feast,” Lance said agreeably. Kristy slipped into the house, her smile fading instantly. She hurried into Pops’s room, which was bursting at the seams with books: crime thrillers, nonfiction, romance. She once teased Pops about his fascination with “bodice rippers.” Pops wasn’t at all embarrassed, joking that he was getting in touch with his feminine side.
Kristy rushed over to Pops’s desk, the one place that was organized, years and years of files neatly stored in plastic containers, ordered by date and event. She sank into his desk chair and opened Pops’s old laptop, searching the desktop files. She scanned the letterhead and saw Gulf Coast Insurance saved on the desktop. Kristy’s heart pounded faster and faster.
Calm down, Kristy. Calm down. She scanned the pages, a pit forming in her stomach. They weren’t health insurance forms. This was a life insurance policy. One made out in Pops’s name. The other in Ryan’s. Three hundred thousand dollars each, a total of six hundred thousand together.
Kristy remembered Lance’s not-so-thinly veiled threats about Ryan. But those threats were meant to stop her from leaving. Is that why he had these policies taken out? Did he know about Kristy’s visit to Lisette? Was this his way of punishing her for being disloyal? Or maybe as time passed, Lance realized he wanted Kristy all to himself? So many goddamn maybes.
Kristy could withstand a lifetime of beatings and insults if she had to, but she couldn’t survive losing the two people she loved most in this world. Ryan’s laughter filtered through Pops’s bedroom and Kristy heard Lance shouting out her name. She quickly shut off the computer and hurried back downstairs. She plastered on a smile and joined them all for dinner.
Afterward, she cleaned up while Lance stayed downstairs to watch TV. He still hadn’t come to bed when Kristy got out of the shower. She slipped on her favorite peach silk nightgown and sat in front of the mirror at her makeup table. She brushed her hair a hundred times, something her mama always did, but a ritual Kristy never made time for. Gently brushing, each stroke long and steady, she surveyed her reflection. She usually hated looking at herself, hated seeing the woman that had allowed herself to become Lance’s hostage. But not tonight. Tonight she felt stronger than she had before. No more hesitating or waiting for things to get better. That wasn’t going to happen.
“What’s up, darlin’?” Lance asked.
Kristy wondered how long he’d been watching her. She wanted to ask him about what she’d seen on Pops’s computer. That inner voice said that it wouldn’t go well, but she couldn’t stop herself. Not after what she’d learned from Lisette.
“Were you gonna tell me about the life insurance policies for Pops and Ryan?” Kristy asked. “Was there a reason you didn’t? I’m starting to think you’re keeping things from me. Things that I should know.” She saw a flicker of anger from Lance. Then he shrugged, offering her one of his trademark grins.
“It’s just smart business, darlin’. You’ve got to be prepared for every situation that might arise,” he said, and then he went to the bathroom and urinated loudly. He didn’t return to the bedroom, his nightly beauty ritual a time-consuming process. She’d once teased him about it but it was just another part of his life he had to control. Kristy drifted off to sleep, determined not to lose her courage when a new day dawned.
She felt the cold metal first, the pressure against her forehead. Kristy opened her eyes and saw Lance straddling her, his legs pinning her in place. She recognized the gun. It was Pops’s. Jesus Christ, Pops! Ryan! She tried to sit up, but Lance pressed the tip of the gun into her skull.
“There’s some confusion happening that we need to address. I love you, Kristy. I don’t know how many times I have to say it or what else I have to do to show you. I take care of you. I shower you with love and affection. And I know that you struggle to do right by me and I’m okay with that. I forgive you time and again for your failures. I also tolerate Ryan and Pops. I’m good to them. But you’re what matters most to me. When I saw you that first day in the YMCA, I had to have you. And as long as you and I are good, so are they. Do you understand?”
She didn’t cry. Not this time. She was too furious at herself for waiting, for underestimating Lance again.
“Are they … you didn’t … do anything to Pops? Or Ryan?”
Lance laid the gun down on the nightstand.
“God, no. That would ruin everything. No, they’re fine. For now.”
Kristy thought about reaching for the gun, a fight to the death, but she’d never won a physical battle with Lance.
“We’ll do things your way, Lance. I won’t question you again. Whatever you want, I’ll do it,” Kristy pleaded, hoping her defeated
tone sounded convincing.
Kristy had already lost too much, suffered too much. She was done waiting around, done waiting for someone to save her or her family. As he wrapped his arms around her and drifted off to sleep, Kristy shook away any remaining doubts.
I’m coming for you, Lance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kristy understood the definition of murder better than anyone: unlawful killing that is both willful and premeditated, meaning that it was committed after planning or lying in wait for the victim. Over the years, she’d sat across from dozens of killers who admitted their guilt, all of them with excuses, justifications for their actions. “It was him or me.”
She understood them better now, the tattooed men from the barrio, forced to protect themselves from a rival gang. The mild-mannered accountant who murdered his daughter’s rapist, the checkout clerk who could no longer stand her boss’s torment. The women like Pamela whom the system failed. They weren’t any different from Kristy. They had no other choice. But that didn’t make her decision any easier.
Dread owned Kristy, clawed at her insides. She was going to take a life. Not just any life. Her husband’s life, a man she loved more than anything. Kristy was actually going to commit murder. Sometimes she tried to spin it in her mind, find some way to make it sound less terrible.
Take care of business.
Handle matters.
Get rid of the problem.
But it didn’t matter what she called it. Murder was murder. The ultimate sin. Lance had left her with no other choice. Now the tasks that lay before her were practical matters: not just how she was going to kill Lance, but how to get away with it. Kristy had eleven years of experience hearing inmates’ stories, reading their case files, and learning what they’d done wrong. What better way to plan a murder than to study these inmates and the mistakes they made? There were always patterns, the same foolish errors made over and over again that led to a criminal’s arrest and prosecution. Kristy had unlimited access to the minute details of hundreds of crimes. She had media accounts and the evidence that ultimately led to these convictions. She was always a quick study, and this test would be life or death. Pamela’s words rang in her ears: “If I’d actually planned it, you think I’d have been so sloppy?” But that’s what happened to most criminals. Nerves got the best of them, made them careless. They got caught up in the heat of the moment and didn’t plan accordingly. Kristy had to be exceptionally careful. She knew her scattered nature could be her undoing. That’s why she was going to plan everything down to the second. She had heard all the stories and gleaned the essentials from them. In each of the cases she researched, Kristy could pinpoint the moment when the killer went wrong, where they turned left instead of right, the fatal flaw that landed them on death row.
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