The Walls

  He didn’t say, I’m sorry, which she appreciated. She hadn’t come here to discuss Lance. She came to say good-bye.

  “I’m actually taking some time off, so Carmen, my assistant, will be helping you from here on out. She’s great and will answer any questions you might have. She’ll be there for you through … through it all.”

  Stunned, Clifton leaned back.

  “You sure there’s no way … I mean, there’s no chance that you might come back to work before … before I get my walking papers?” he asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid not,” she said.

  “That’s a real shame.”

  “You’ve fought long and hard. And you’ve got people out there who will keep fighting,” Kristy said. She wished she was one of them, but Kristy wasn’t optimistic about her chances.

  “That’s true. Bev says she won’t quit. Told me she’ll be on her deathbed still filing motions if she has to. And you’ve met Fiona. She’ll fight until the bitter end. And if I look on the bright side, at least now I know what to expect. Which is good because I don’t think I’m getting a reprieve. Not this time.”

  Clifton was right. Unless someone came forward and confessed to killing Clifton’s children or had the killer’s confession on tape, he was out of options.

  “I’m afraid I have to go,” Kristy said.

  “I’ll be praying for you, Ms. Tucker. And I hope you’ll keep on fighting. Don’t you ever give up your fight,” Clifton said emphatically.

  Kristy gave him a quick smile, blinking away her own tears, and she hung up the phone. She hurried out of the visitation area and made it back to her car before she burst into tears. She sped out of Polunsky, crying all the way home. Lance was dead. Clifton would be too, and Kristy was falling apart.

  She spent the following day scrubbing the house from top to bottom, doing everything she could to tire herself out. Pops wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early, so Ryan and Kristy opted to eat dinner in the living room, drowning their sorrows in some inane reality show.

  It was close to ten when they heard a knock at the front door. Ryan and Kristy jumped.

  “I’ll get it,” Kristy said.

  She hurried toward the front door, her stomach dropping when she saw Ranger Santiago through the peephole. She opened up the door.

  “Can I help you, Ranger?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Dobson, we need to talk,” he said.

  There were no burgers and fries this time. No gentle inquiry about how she was feeling.

  She nodded and motioned for the ranger to enter. He made his way into the house. Ryan leapt to his feet when he saw the officer.

  “Mom, is everything okay?” Ryan asked nervously.

  “Why don’t you go to your room and let me speak with the ranger?”

  Ryan studied Kristy but didn’t argue. He switched off the TV and headed to his room. Kristy gestured for Ranger Santiago to join her at the kitchen table.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

  “No, I’m good.”

  He sat down and pulled out a photo of a woman, white, late thirties, lovely with bright emerald-green eyes.

  “Do you know who this is?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Kristy said.

  “Her name is April Emerson. She was married to Lance Dobson fourteen years ago when she was a graduate student in New Orleans. We came across her in our investigation and interviewed her today. She told us that Mr. Dobson verbally and physically abused her for the duration of their three-year marriage. She said he threatened her mother and her sister if she ever left him.”

  “That’s terrible,” Kristy said, her stomach churning. At this rate, Lance could have started a goddamn club.

  His eyes zeroed in on her reaction, scrutinizing her.

  Kristy, play it cool. Just play it cool.

  “Mrs. Dobson, if there were issues in your marriage, if you and Lance were having troubles, we will find out. We always do. If you’re up front about everything now, we can help you. But if you’re impeding our investigation, and we find out later, well, I’m afraid it won’t end well.”

  He was fishing, Kristy thought. That’s all this was. A fishing expedition. Even if April Emerson had the same sad tale as Kristy and Hannah Mendoza, there was no evidence that Kristy had killed Lance or she would be in cuffs already.

  “Detective, I’m not concealing anything. I’ve done everything in my power to be as accommodating as possible, but it’s late and I’d like to go to bed.”

  He slowly stood. “I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Dobson. And this is your official notice that you shouldn’t leave town. Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”

  Kristy sat in the kitchen, listening to the hum of the lights, the bulb over the sink flickering off and on. She waited until she was certain the ranger was gone and then she grabbed Pops’s bottle of Chivas. She poured a shot and drank it in one gulp.

  “Mom? What did he say? Did he have news about Lance?”

  She nearly dropped her glass. She didn’t even hear Ryan enter.

  “No, sweetheart. There are no leads, but they’re working hard on the case.”

  For the first time Kristy saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Or was it something else? She stepped forward to comfort Ryan, but he turned his back on her.

  “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Night, Ry. I love you,” Kristy called out, but he didn’t answer. She wanted to rush after him and hold him and say it again. I love you, Ryan. I need you to know I love you more than anything. But she waited until she heard his bedroom door close and poured herself another drink. She took her drink outside and sat on the porch, wondering how long before Ranger Santiago returned with an arrest warrant.

  She waited.

  And waited.

  But to Kristy’s surprise no one came. The days ticked by with a numbing sameness. She continued puttering around the house, cooking breakfast for Ryan and Pops, eggs and bacon, breakfast tacos, homemade banana muffins, cleaning, vacuuming, and answering e-mails whenever Carmen had a question, which seemed less and less frequent as the days passed by. Kristy wanted to return to work, but every time she called Gus, he’d say, “Let’s give it another week.”

  A new week dawned. A week Kristy had been dreading. Today Clifton was going to die. There were no more letters. It was better that way, safer for both of them, but she missed hearing from him, her own life now consisting of just Pops and Ryan, her heartbroken ragtag family.

  In the weeks leading up to Clifton’s execution, Janice was on every broadcast station, from the Today show to the local morning news. She was determined and emphatic. “Clifton Harris is a master manipulator,” she told Matt Lauer tearfully. “There is no other punishment for someone like that.”

  As the day wore on, Kristy tried to limit her intake of these programs, hating how helpless they made her feel, hating that she wouldn’t be there for Clifton. She focused on her routine—sweeping, making the beds, doing laundry, prepping dinner—but she couldn’t stop checking the clock.

  Six.

  Six thirty.

  Seven.

  Kristy was convinced that Clifton’s death would be breaking news, but the TV stations continued with their regularly scheduled programming. Instead, Twitter broke the news, an Associated Press reporter tweeting out: Clifton Harris died of lethal injection at 7:27 p.m.

  Kristy promised Pops and Ryan she’d cook dinner, but instead she found herself glued to the TV, now dominated with stories about Clifton’s life and subsequent death. She flipped through the channels until she stopped on an episode of Dateline, an exclusive special featuring Clifton. He sat upright, composed and in control. The reporter noted his unusual demeanor—for a man a few weeks from death he seemed a little restrained.

  “How do you not lose it? Just go crazy knowing what’s about to happen to you?” he asked compassionately.

  “That would be easy, wouldn’t it? Some people want to see a man afraid to die. They
’re bloodthirsty. I get that. It’s why people love bullfights or why the Romans loved gladiator battles. We, as a society, enjoy seeing people get punished. It’s why football, a brutal, punishing game, is one of the most popular sports in this country. So I understand people wanting justice for something as horrible as the murder of a little boy and girl. But they were my children and I love them and I did not kill them. I carry that with me. That’s what keeps me sane.”

  Kristy sat glued to the TV until Ryan came home. Despite her crushing sadness, she pulled herself away from the news and reheated yesterday’s leftovers. Family dinners had become Kristy’s obsession; she spent hours preparing their meals. If the cops came calling, she wanted Ryan and Pops to remember these last days. She wanted something good to remain.

  Ryan was quiet these days, almost sullen, and tonight was no different. Kristy had nothing new to discuss. She’d mentioned that to Pops recently and he snorted, “Now you know what my life is like.” Kristy reminded herself to think before speaking. They were all struggling.

  As dinner came to an end, Kristy’s mourning for Clifton continued. He was gone. Clifton was dead. She finished cleaning the kitchen and told Pops and Ryan she had a headache and was going to bed early. But Kristy couldn’t sleep. Instead, she switched on the late news. A power outage that hit South Texas led the newscast, followed by the arrest of a crooked politician, busted for soliciting a prostitute. Just another day in the Lone Star State.

  The commercial breaks seemed endless. One selling butter and another hawking ladies’ lingerie. She almost wondered if the newscast wasn’t going to mention his execution. But there it was; at the end of the program, Clifton’s picture appeared on-screen. She held her breath. It was silly. What was she expecting? A sudden resurrection?

  “Two lives cut short received justice today. Convicted child killer Clifton Harris was executed. Harris was convicted by a Bastrop County jury of a double homicide, setting the fire that killed his two young children, Rosalind Harris and Michael Harris. His ex-wife, Janice, spoke exclusively to Channel 12 after the execution.”

  Janice appeared on-screen, her flawless face streaked with tears, her expertly blown-out highlighted brunette locks fluttering in the early-evening breeze. She looked victorious, almost luminous, glowing with satisfaction.

  “For twelve years we’ve waited for this moment. My ex-husband went to his grave never admitting what he did, but God knows the truth and so does the state of Texas. I’d like to thank everyone who stood by us during this long and difficult journey. It seems almost unbelievable to think that we can move on.”

  The reporter appeared on the screen again, a plastic smile on her face, standing in front of the Walls.

  “Harris’s attorney was unwavering in her belief that her client was innocent.”

  Clifton’s lawyer, Beverly, appeared, heavy bags under her eyes, her skin worn from lack of sleep and failure.

  “Today is a sad day for our legal system. The state of Texas has executed an innocent man. We must be diligent in our fight to eradicate the death penalty. And I swear that I will do everything in my power to ensure that Clifton Harris gets the justice in death that he did not receive in life.”

  Kristy had enough. She switched off the TV and slipped under the covers. She slept restlessly, tossing and turning, dreaming of Clifton and Lance, the two of them grappling on mats while Kristy watched, her hands and legs shackled, unable to come to Clifton’s aid. She woke up the following morning thinking about Clifton’s memorial service. One of his last wishes was for a quick burial.

  “None of this moping about. Bury me and get on with it.”

  He hated that he couldn’t be buried near his children, but Janice would never allow that. Instead, Fiona had chosen a burial plot in Conroe, where she lived. She’d purchased a house near there to be close to Clifton. It’s where she planned to be buried.

  “There’s space for all of us, baby brother. We’ll be united one day. Rest assured.”

  After half an hour of hemming, hawing, and making excuses, Kristy left Pops a note on the kitchen table, saying she’d gone to do errands and would be back later.

  She stopped at the 7-Eleven and bought a pack of cigarettes, lighting one cigarette after another as she drove, the smoke curling its way through the windows and out of the car. As Kristy drove, she took in the countryside, wondering why she sold this life short. She had everything—a son who worshiped her, a father who gave up his whole life to make sure she was cared for—and she’d squandered all of that on the promise of “true love” with Lance Dobson.

  Kristy arrived at Conroe Cemetery, slowing to a crawl, not sure where the family plot was located. She spotted Fiona first, clad in a somber black pantsuit and fancy red hat. Kristy parked a safe distance away and walked toward the gathering. It wasn’t against the rules to attend an inmate’s funeral, but it might look strange, especially considering Kristy was grieving her husband. Why would she be attending a convicted murderer’s funeral?

  Clifton’s sister and Beverly were joined by dozens of people; many of them Kristy recognized as members of Clifton’s legal team. The lawyers gathered with the Harris family, a loud and boisterous group, all of them offering hugs, their tears flowing freely. If anyone in Clifton’s immediate family doubted his innocence, they were not present today. After a few minutes of greeting one another, the graveside service began. The minute the pastor began to speak, Fiona began to weep, holding on to Nina, waving tissues in the air and saying Clifton’s name over and over again. The pastor’s booming voice rang out as he finished his rousing sermon.

  “Our brother Clifton will be welcomed with open arms by his savior. And after a valiant fight, his soul will finally be at peace.”

  Fiona spoke next, her tears subsiding as she addressed the crowd.

  “Clifton was the most adorable little brother in the world. Always trying to charm my friends, which he did. He was a real rascal, giggling, complimenting, making us all laugh. And he was so brave. Y’all, my baby brother was the bravest person I ever met. He’d take the beatings Daddy tried to give Mama and never once backed down. Y’all don’t need to hear me say how much I loved Cliff. You know. So let’s give Cliff the good-bye he deserves. Let us praise Jesus and ask the Lord to look after Cliff.”

  The entire group shouted, “Amen.” Fiona pointed to Nina, who took a deep breath and began to sing. Her voice rang out among the cries and wails from Cliff’s family, the pureness and pain in her voice heartbreaking. Kristy didn’t recognize the lyrics of the gospel hymn, but the words brought tears to her eyes, the song growing more and more emotional as the mourners joined in.

  Even before Lance, Kristy doubted heaven’s existence. But if she was wrong, she hoped Clifton was sitting up on the back porch, Rosie and Mikey on his lap, listening to this spectacular send-off. The song ended, the pastor offering one final prayer. The crowd said, “Amen,” and Fiona stepped forward.

  “I hope y’all will join us at the house for some food and fellowship. I promised Cliff we’d give him a good ole time, and that’s what we’re gonna do.”

  Fiona turned away, just in time to lock eyes with Kristy. The heartbroken woman paused, surprised to see her there, but then she touched her heart and mouthed a silent thank-you. Kristy’s own pain and sorrow were reflected in Fiona’s expression. She nodded in acknowledgment and Kristy hurried to her car. Her heart was still racing, uneasy at the idea that she’d been seen. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, she told herself, but if the police were watching her … This was how people got caught. Doing things out of the ordinary, not weighing the consequences. Grief was clouding her mind, making her careless.

  Ten miles from home, Kristy spotted the dark blue sedan in her rearview mirror.

  You’re being paranoid. Cops don’t drive Toyotas, she told herself. But as she got closer to the turn-off, she became convinced she was being followed. Kristy sped up and the car followed suit. Her heart was racing. She sped up again and the car gunned it
s engine and swerved into the other lane, until both cars were parallel with one another.

  The driver’s face came into focus and Kristy gasped—it was Lisette. She gestured frantically for Kristy to pull over. Damn it. Kristy could floor it, try to lose her down these back roads she knew so well. But she had to see what Lisette wanted.

  In the distance, Kristy spotted the abandoned Plummer farm. She made a left and pulled into the driveway, stopping when she could no longer see the road. Kristy put the car into park and got out. In an instant, Lisette was out of her car and racing toward Kristy.

  “You did it, didn’t you?” Lisette said. Kristy flinched; Lisette’s normally flat inflection was shrill. Her pupils were dilated, and her skin was waxy, sweat caking her forehead. High, hopped-up on meth, was Kristy’s guess.

  “Lisette, what are you doing here?” Kristy asked.

  “You did it, didn’t you? I know you did,” Lisette said again. She laughed, not bothering to wait for Kristy’s response.

  “I saw the news that Wayne was missing, I thought good riddance. When I heard he was dead, I was like, it’s about damn time. I just … I don’t know why but I knew you did it. I was so impressed. You’re so brave. You know that, don’t you? So many times I imagined killing the bastard myself, but I just couldn’t do it. I told myself I wasn’t going to get messed up, but sometimes when I get high, I see my mom and I had to see her and tell her that he’d gotten what he deserved. And then I thought, I have to, like, thank you. ’Cause you did what I couldn’t. And it’s all because of you that I can really focus. Now that Wayne’s gone, it’s like I can stop messing up and focus on my family. It’s like God heard my prayers and sent you to me.”

  She reached out to hug Kristy.

  “You’re an angel—you know that?” Lisette said, pulling Kristy in for a hug. Her breath was hot and stale. This was it. This was how it all unraveled.

  “Lisette, you should go home. Please. You can’t be here.”

  Lisette pulled away, a joyous smile lighting up her face.

  “How did it happen? What did Wayne say? I want all the details. Did he suffer? God, I hope he suffered.”