A Breath After Drowning

by Alice Blanchard

  He leaned forward. “Listen, Dr. Wolfe, what I did to Penny was wrong, and I’ve been punished for it. But they locked me up for a murder I didn’t commit, and now they’re going to execute me for it. Four hours from now, I’ll be dead.” He wiped the sweat off his face and swallowed hard. “My attorneys have presented the governor with some new evidence, including Penny’s testimony, and I was hoping… well, it’d be extremely helpful to my cause if you’d ask the governor for a new trial. I’d sincerely appreciate it, ma’am. I swear to you,” he said in a cotton-dry voice, “I didn’t do those awful things to your sister.”

  To Kate’s ears, these words sounded rehearsed. She stared at him. Her mind was full of nothing but the desire to escape.

  “If I die tonight… in case the governor doesn’t stay the execution… would you do me a favor? Will you tell Penny I love her? And Maddie, too?”

  “Maddie?” Kate repeated dully.

  He nodded. “I sure hope you can fix her.”

  “You know that I’m treating her?”

  “The detective filled me in. I care about her an awful lot.” It was the first time he’d seemed human to her. “She’s a great kid. Smart, like her mama.”

  Kate didn’t know what to say.

  He leaned forward again. “That night, Penny and me were watching TV when it happened… swear to God. I was with Penny all evening long. I was helping her with her homework. We ordered a pizza. We were together the whole time. The police made her lie on the witness stand. But she’s telling the truth now.”

  Kate almost believed him.

  “I remember when you used to walk past my house on your way to school, and your sister would be talking a blue streak behind you. She sounded like a bird. She’d pick flowers from my yard. Why would I hurt somebody like that?”

  Kate readjusted her grip on the phone. “I’ll convey your message to Nelly. But I’ll leave it up to her whether she wants to share it with Maddie or not.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” He took a drag of his cigarette, and she envied him his pack of smokes. “Anyway. Listen. I’m pretty much resigned to my fate. Unless my attorneys can throw a Hail Mary pass or something… it’s over for me.”

  Kate nodded. She was about to hang up when she hesitated. “Okay, look,” she said thickly. “I’ll call the governor and tell him I’m not convinced of your guilt. At least there should be a new trial.”

  He lowered his cigarette. “Thank you.”

  “Please don’t thank me.”

  “No, no,” he said emphatically. “Bless you, Dr. Wolfe. I appreciate this. It means so much to me.”

  She hung up and rose unsteadily to her feet, wondering if she was going to collapse. Her head was hammering as if she was underwater. Drowning.

  31

  KATE SPENT THE NEXT hour in a quiet corner of the death row visitors’ room trying to reach the governor on her cell phone. Finally, one of his aides agreed to speak to her and took down her statement. He promised to let the governor know right away and reassured her of the importance of her call.

  “Well, we’ve done everything we can,” Palmer said.

  The medical examiner Quade Pickler came over and introduced himself to Kate, and he and Palmer made small talk. When Quade turned his gaze on her, Kate felt the same chill she’d experienced sixteen years ago in the morgue. “I hear you called the governor’s office?” he said with a wry smile.

  She nodded slowly.

  “Blackwood talks a good game but I’ve seen him lose appeal after appeal, trying to manipulate people into believing him. Sorry you were taken in, but I sincerely doubt the governor’s going to change his mind.” He turned to Palmer and said, “By the way, I saw your anti-death-penalty buddies out in force on the capitol steps today. An assorted crowd of mixed nuts and zealots.”

  “They aren’t my buddies,” Palmer said.

  “Funny. Because it looks like you’re working for the same side.”

  “Why? Because I don’t like seeing an innocent man railroaded?”

  “Oh come on. Don’t you think it’s time to hang it up, Palmer? Take up golf or something?”

  “I’m just following my conscience.”

  Quade shook his head. “Well, I follow the evidence. Thousands of kids go missing in this country every damn year, and in a state like New Hampshire, over the span of twenty years, you’d expect to find quite a number of missing-persons cases. That’s just the way it is. Especially when it involves teenagers and runaways, troubled kids on drugs or with psychological problems.”

  “Nelly’s recantation is a pretty good argument for a new trial, don’t you think?”

  “Let me tell you something,” Quade said. “My mother used to be afraid of public restrooms—she’d rather pee her pants than use a public toilet. Then one day, we were at the department store, and she had to pee real bad, so she caved and used the restroom. Two seconds later, she ran out screaming that there was a man in there, masturbating. The store called the cops, and guess what? There was nobody in there. My mother saw something that wasn’t real; her phobia overcame reason. People lie all the time. That’s just life.

  “I hate to break the news to you, pal, but you’re retired. You should probably call it a day. Chief tells me he still occasionally gets three AM calls from you.” He laughed and turned to Kate. “I think they’ve got a restraining order out on him by now. Well, I’m not sticking around for the main event. I just dropped by to make sure justice was done.” He nodded and left.

  “Wow. Real nice guy,” Kate said sarcastically.

  “Yeah,” Palmer muttered. “He gives me sepsis.”

  The crowd was thinning out. Some of the visitors had already left. Should she go? She broke into a cold sweat. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “Palmer? Is it too late to be a witness?”

  He studied her carefully. “You’ve done your part, Kate. You can go now.”

  “But what if the governor has questions? I should be here, just in case.”

  “There’s less than a fifty-fifty chance he’ll stay the execution.”

  “I don’t care,” she said recklessly. “I want to stay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay. Let’s go talk to the warden.”

  * * *

  Things happened quickly. Kate got special permission to be a witness—she was, after all, the victim’s only representative. At 8:15 PM, the prisoner was escorted back to death row where, according to Palmer, he’d be allowed to walk the range and say goodbye to his fellow inmates. Then the warden and chaplain would begin preparations for the execution.

  At 8:45 PM, everybody in the visitors’ holding area was frisked and shuttled over to the death house, a small brick building located a hundred yards away from the main prison. The group of twenty-four witnesses included relatives of the prisoner, state-selected representatives, members of the media, Blackwood’s attorneys, law enforcement officials and the prosecuting attorney.

  They entered a squat cement building, where they passed through a series of checkpoints and metal detectors before walking down a corridor toward the viewing room. Half the group was funneled into the main viewing room, while the other half was escorted into an overflow room.

  Kate and Palmer ended up sitting next to each other inside the main viewing room. There were two rows of upholstered chairs, like a small multiplex theater, but instead of a movie screen, there was a large window into the death chamber. They had front row seats. The digital clock said 9:15 PM.

  “The overflow room is for the media and prison officials,” Palmer explained. “They’ll watch the execution on closed-circuit TV, but we get to see it up close and personal.”

  The death chamber itself was a well-lit cement cell full of medical equipment and a gurney. There were two points of entry inside the chamber—a blue door to the left, and a red door to the right. The red door was closed, but the blue door was constantly in use as medical personnel kept shuffling in and out, testi
ng the equipment and ticking off items on their clipboards.

  “What’s behind the red door?” Kate asked.

  “A guard with a phone,” Palmer said. “If the governor calls, then he’ll inform the warden, and the whole thing will shut down.”

  At 9:30 PM, a man in scrubs came into the death chamber and drew the curtains closed so they couldn’t see inside anymore.

  “This is where they bring the prisoner into the chamber and get him settled in,” Palmer explained. “Once he’s secured, they’ll open the curtains again.”

  At 9:45, the curtains were drawn back, and the tension in the viewing room became palpable. Blackwood lay on the gurney, secured at the wrists, shoulders, abdomen, and ankles with leather restraints. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, and there were two separate IV lines going into his arms.

  The prisoner lay very still, gazing up at the ceiling. Kate wondered what he was thinking about. Escape? A last-minute reprieve? Heaven? Hell? He’d been a bad man who’d sexually assaulted his niece for years. He was scum. A bully and a pedophile. And yet, Kate couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, just as she’d feel sorry for any human being who was about to be snuffed out before her very eyes. She didn’t want to watch him die. She hoped the phone would ring. There should be a new trial, at the least. Maybe Palmer was right. Maybe she was about to witness a gross injustice.

  A medical team entered the chamber and worked efficiently and swiftly, performing their assigned tasks. They glided back and forth in a choreographed fashion, and Blackwood seemed amused by all the fuss. One of the technicians draped a sheet over his lower body, while another technician listened to his heart through a stethoscope, and a third checked his pupils. The EKG machine began to blip. Then they left the chamber.

  The whole thing felt hallucinatory. Kate could hear every cough and restless whisper from the other witnesses. Palmer kept glancing at his watch, the big hand sweeping around in a relentless countdown. Eight minutes to go. Eight minutes before the state took this man’s life.

  Unless the phone rang behind the red door.

  An odd excitement filled the air as the warden and chaplain entered the death chamber. The chaplain spoke softly into the prisoner’s ear, while the warden opened the red door and talked briefly to the guard.

  Kate stiffened.

  Last chance.

  The warden closed the door and shook his head. No phone calls.

  Palmer leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Notice those two IV lines? See how the tubes go from his arms all the way into that opening in the wall? That’s because there’s an anteroom behind the death chamber where the execution team is assembled. They’ll be working the IV fluids and releasing the drugs. They’re the ones who will actually kill him, which is why they’ll remain anonymous.”

  Kate wondered if the execution team wore lab coats or business suits or guard uniforms? How many executioners were there? Were they doctors? Were they getting paid? How much? How many people had applied for the job?

  She envisioned the lone guard sitting behind the red door, waiting for the phone to ring. Did he periodically lift the receiver and listen to the dial tone to make sure it was working? Was he bored? Anxious? Had he let his wife know he’d be working late tonight? Had he told her why?

  “What happens if the governor doesn’t call?” she asked Palmer.

  “Then they’ll proceed as planned. At the warden’s signal, the execution team will release the drugs. First comes the anesthetic—that should take effect in about thirty seconds. He may struggle a bit, but soon he’ll close his eyes and relax into a deep sleep. Next, the saline solution will flush out the IV lines. Then a muscle relaxant will stop Blackwood’s breathing. It works by paralyzing the diaphragm and lungs. That should take about three minutes. You won’t see any reaction from him. Finally, they’ll induce cardiac arrest. The whole thing should be over pretty quick. Five to eight minutes from start to finish.”

  Five to eight minutes.

  It sounded like an eternity.

  Henry Blackwood lifted his head and looked up at the assembled group in the viewing room. He nodded at his cousins, who waved. “We’re praying for you, bro! Bless you, cuz!” He smiled at his attorneys, two well-dressed middle-aged men who nodded solemnly. He mouthed something to his spiritual adviser, the blue-haired lady who held up a hopeful fingers-crossed. Last, he smiled at Palmer and Kate. Palmer nodded. Kate didn’t move. She could barely breathe.

  At 9:56 PM, the warden announced that the execution would proceed as planned.

  “Is there still time for the governor to call?” Kate asked Palmer.

  “Right up until the paralyzing agent,” Palmer explained. “But once that happens, it’s too late.”

  Four minutes left.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  No phone call from the governor. No last-minute reprieve.

  10 PM.

  Blackwood’s luck had run out.

  The warden asked the prisoner if he had a final statement.

  Blackwood nodded and addressed the crowd. “I’ve hurt a lot of people in my life, and I’m sorry for that. I apologize for the pain and sorrow I caused my mother when she was alive, bless her, and also my niece, Penny. The rest of my family, too, and all my friends who’ve stuck by me. Thanks, guys. I hope that someday you’ll find it in your hearts to forgive me.” He swallowed hard. “But I didn’t kill Savannah Wolfe. That was not my doing. And I hope and pray that God will forgive my sins, and I pray He’ll embrace me tonight and welcome me into His bosom.” Blackwood let his head drop back onto the pillow. He turned to the warden and said, “I guess that’s it.”

  The warden nodded. “Thank you, Henry.”

  For the first time since they’d brought him into the death chamber, the prisoner relaxed. He seemed to be relieved that it was over.

  The chaplain whispered a few final words of comfort and made the sign of the cross. The medical personnel took over, checking the lines, adjusting the equipment, and then the warden gave a signal to the executioners in the anteroom, and the injection of lethal dosages began.

  Kate stared at the IV lines, hoping against hope that the governor would call—at least there should be a new trial to take account of Nelly’s recantation. The seconds lumbered past.

  Blackwood began to blink as the drugs flowed into his bloodstream and he struggled against the inevitable. He strained against his bonds, prison-hard muscles bulging in agony. Then, he collapsed against the gurney and grew perfectly still.

  Five to eight minutes felt like an hour to Kate’s racing heart. The silence was oppressive, like the vacuum of space pushing against her eardrums. It was bizarre—it reminded her of bad performance art, where everybody met their mark and recited their well-rehearsed lines, but the show itself was lifeless. There were no cries of protest, no shrieks or sobs. Just silence as they all sat watching a man die beyond a sheet of glass.

  Finally, the EKG monitor flatlined, and the medical team pronounced Blackwood dead at 10:05 PM.

  Five minutes was all it had taken.

  A medical assistant snapped the curtains shut. The show was over.

  Kate sat in dry-eyed shock. Palmer tapped her hand, and they all stood up and shuffled out of the room. She mindlessly followed the crowd into a conference room, where they signed a document attesting to the fact that they’d witnessed the execution. Then the prison guards whisked them outside, where they waited to board a prison shuttle van.

  “Now what?” Kate asked Palmer, her shock like pins and needles prickling her consciousness.

  “The prison officials are holding a press conference, if you’re interested.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Me neither. That’s enough government bureaucracy for one night. I’m heading home.” He gave her a concerned look. “Are you okay? How’re you doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I’m proud of you. You handled it like a pro.”

  They filed
into the shuttle van, which drove them through the prison gates, past a rowdy crowd of anti-death-penalty protestors, and dropped them off in the middle of the vast parking lot. Palmer escorted her over to her car, where they stood beneath the starry sky for a moment, lost for words. The wintry air had a bite to it. “Call me tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll talk about it then.”

  “Okay.” Kate’s keys were in her hand, her car was right there, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was lost.

  “Drive carefully.” He tipped his hat and strode away.

  Kate got in her car and started the engine. She blasted the heat and watched Palmer locate his pickup truck among the rows of vehicles and drive away. Everybody else left as quickly as he did.

  She switched on her phone and checked her messages. Two were from James. She took a couple of deep breaths and called him.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “James, it’s me.”

  “Hi, babe.” He sounded happy to hear from her. “How did it go tonight?”

  “First, how’s Vanessa? How’s she doing?”

  “We’re a little groggy, but the surgery went well.”

  “Good. That’s a relief. Give her my love, okay?”

  James muffled the phone, conveying her message, and then asked, “So what happened, Kate? Did you talk to him? What did he say?”

  “He swears he didn’t do it. He tried to convince me of his innocence. And I have to admit… James, I watched the execution.”

  “What? Why?” He sounded alarmed.

  “I called the governor’s office and asked them to stay the execution. I wanted them to at least consider Nelly’s recantation.”

  “Jesus, where are you?”

  “I’m at the prison. I’m about to head home.”

  “I can’t believe you did that. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Call me when you get back to Boston. And call me later on tonight if you can’t sleep. Call me anytime, babe. I’m right here. You know that, don’t you?”

  PART II