After the Execution

by James Raven

  I couldn’t resist the urge to take a bath. I’d forgotten what it was like. The thought of a long soak in hot scented water made my heart beat faster. Steam rose as I started to fill the tub. It was a beautiful sight, almost sensual. On death row the water never rose above lukewarm.

  I went back into the bedroom to get another beer and sandwich. The TV beckoned. I turned it on with the remote and clicked through the channels. It was intensely thrilling. A simple, everyday task that had been denied me for so long.

  I was mesmerized by the images and colours and sounds. There were half-dressed women, men with guns, wild animals, baseball games, commercials, talking heads, riots, speeding cars….

  And suddenly there was me. Staring out of the screen.

  My photograph was being shown as part of a news report. I cranked up the volume and heard the newscaster tell his audience that Lee Jordan had been executed at the Walls prison in Huntsville, Texas.

  ‘Jordan always claimed he was innocent, but all his appeals were rejected,’ the newscaster said. ‘After the execution we spoke to congressman Gideon Crane, whose wife Kimberley was Jordan’s victim.’

  Crane gave his reaction outside the prison. As he spoke I could see veins throbbing across his forehead. He said he was relieved that it was over and he wanted to look to the future and concentrate on trying to become President. He ended by saying that I would now have to answer to God for murdering his wife.

  And that’s when it really hit me. I was alive. Drinking beer and watching TV. And Gideon Crane and the rest of the world thought I was dead. It was ridiculous. Insane. Beyond comprehension. No wonder I could feel a strong sense of unease building up inside me.

  Just how high was the price I would have to pay for this second chance at life?

  10

  ON THE TUESDAY before Thanksgiving, Gideon Crane woke up at seven and could not get back to sleep. There was just too much racing around in his head.

  He left Pauline in bed and got up to shave and shower. Then he made himself a coffee and carried it into his study. Outside, the sun had just broken through the patchy clouds. There was the promise of another fine day.

  He planned to spend it with his wife because he’d told her that he would. She’d made a lunch reservation at a local restaurant. This afternoon she wanted to do some light shopping. He was OK with that. But then tonight her asshole brother Travis and his girlfriend were coming over for dinner and he most definitely wasn’t looking forward to that.

  Travis was a seedy, arrogant loser and Crane had never liked him. He tolerated him for his wife’s sake and was grateful that they did not have to socialize on a regular basis.

  Crane booted up his computer and checked his various email accounts. Lots of congratulatory messages following the New Orleans debate. A few alluded to the execution of Lee Jordan. One fellow congressman wrote that when he was next in Washington they should go out and celebrate.

  The execution was prominent in most of the online news pages. Crane scanned through them. There were photographs of him and Kimberley and Jordan, plus shots of their old home when it was a crime scene. There were syndicated quotes from an Associated Press reporter who described in detail what had happened in the execution chamber.

  Crane sat back and compressed his lips. The words and pictures had stirred up his emotions to the point where he felt his eyes dampen. He drew a sharp breath and pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. He was about to go outside to clear his head when he had a thought.

  He clicked on Google and typed two words in the search box: Aaron Vance. He’d been curious about the FBI agent since the governor mentioned him. He wanted to know why the Bureau had been so keen for the execution to go ahead.

  There were a few hits of guys with the same name. But the one he was looking for came up on the news search. Aaron Vance, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s San Antonio field office. He was featured in a couple of dozen news stories going back four years. Usually it was because he had given evidence in a trial.

  Crane then went on to the San Antonio field office home page which had a picture of Vance. He looked to be in his forties. He had neat brown hair and high cheekbones. Clicking on his name brought up a short bio that had been produced by the FBI National Press Office. It said that Vance had been appointed to his job four years ago and had previously worked in the Criminal Investigation Division in New York.

  His first assignment had been to the Miami Division, where he worked general criminal and organized crime matters. After that he was transferred to Los Angeles and was made team leader of a violent street gang task force.

  His experience with gangs had helped him secure his promotion to his current position as SAC in San Antonio. The city was one of several in the state where criminal gangs – in particular the Texas Syndicate – were causing major problems for law enforcement agencies. Only eight weeks ago four men had been shot dead and dumped in an alley close to the iconic Alamo. The killings had prompted calls for more to be done to curb the power and influence of the gangs who thrived on drugs, extortion and prostitution. Vance would no doubt have been in the firing line along with the San Antonio police department.

  But none of what Crane read gave a clue as to why Vance had told the governor not to grant Jordan a stay of execution. As far as Crane knew, Lee Jordan had nothing to do with the Texas Syndicate or any other gang. And he was pretty sure he had no connection with San Antonio.

  Crane made a note of the field office phone number and jotted down a few details from Vance’s bio. He would make a few inquiries and perhaps give the guy a call just to satisfy his curiosity.

  Just then his cell pinged with a text message from Beth. He expected it to be about the execution, but instead she’d written: Call me asap – we might have a problem. He didn’t like the sound of that because Beth wasn’t one to get anxious over anything trivial. So he rang her straight back.

  ‘Gideon?’

  ‘I got your message,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’

  He heard her draw breath. ‘Someone broke into my apartment while I was out jogging this morning.’

  ‘What? Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly. I realized as soon as I got back. Stuff had been moved and I think I might have disturbed whoever it was because the balcony door was left open.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well there was a car parked out front when I left the apartment. A guy sitting behind the wheel. He was watching me, I think. But when I looked at him he turned away. I didn’t think anything of it. I couldn’t even describe him – or the car.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m a little shaken.’

  Beth’s apartment was on the ground floor of a block set back from the road and close to Bendwood Park. The balcony overlooked a small landscaped garden.

  ‘I was only out for about an hour,’ she said. ‘I stopped at a juice bar on the way back.’

  ‘Then that left plenty of time for someone to break in. Was the door forced?’

  ‘No, and before you ask, it was definitely locked when I went out. It always is.’

  ‘So have you informed the police?’

  ‘Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.’

  ‘Well I think you should call them right away. What’s been stolen?’

  ‘That’s what’s so strange about it. The burglar left all my jewellery and even a wad of cash that was in a purse on the kitchen table.’

  ‘So what the hell did he take?’

  Beth left it a beat, said, ‘My diary. I was writing in it in bed this morning and I left it on the pillow. But it’s gone. I’ve searched everywhere and it’s not in the apartment.’

  ‘I didn’t know you kept a diary.’

  ‘I’ve always kept one. And that’s the problem. I take it very seriously and fill the pages with details of what I get up to every day.’

&nb
sp; An alarm sounded in his head. He felt a shiver of apprehension.

  ‘Please tell me that’s an exaggeration, Beth. Surely you’ve not been stupid enough to write about us.’

  Another long pause, then, ‘I’m sorry, Gideon, but that’s what diaries are for.’

  He felt an angry fire flare up inside him.

  ‘Are you insane? Do you realize how serious this could be if that diary ends up in the wrong hands?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘Why’d you think I called you and not the police?’

  ‘If it’s a dirty trick by one of the other candidates then they’ll use it against me for sure.’

  ‘I know that.’

  He shook his head. ‘Before we go into panic mode I want you to have another look for it. Turn that fucking apartment upside down. Then call me back in an hour. If you don’t find it I’ll make an excuse and come over.’

  ‘OK, but what about the police? Should I call them now?’

  ‘Not on your life,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything until you hear from me.’

  11

  I WAS LEFT alone for six hours. And it was wonderful. I spent the first hour in the tub, soaking away ten years of prison grime from my body. The water was scorching hot and scented. I could feel my flesh soften.

  I drank another two beers and ate three more sandwiches. I slipped on a towelling robe I found in the closet and lolled around watching TV and reading the magazines and newspapers that had been left in the room.

  It was surreal. But I wasn’t complaining. Death row had made me appreciate the little things. Like not feeling too hot or too cold. Being able to take a dump without someone peering at me through the door. Having enough space to take more than four paces in any direction.

  I tried to play down the sense of unease in my gut. I told myself that whatever was going to happen to me next would have to be better than being dead.

  I dropped off to sleep for a couple of hours. The bed was so big and soft that it was hard not to. I had the dream again, the one where Marissa retreats into the house that starts burning down.

  I woke up with a jolt, sweat on my face. But the stark images in my head instantly evaporated when I saw the sunlight splashing through the window.

  I got up to have a look. The view was of a well-tended garden. The short grass was moist with dew. There was a fence at the bottom of the garden and beyond it a forest of high trees. Above the forest the sky was blue glass.

  I gazed out at all the colours of the day. Browns, greens, yellows – and I couldn’t help thinking how lucky I was.

  Things started to happen just after ten o’clock. Daniels brought me a breakfast tray that had me salivating. Eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes, hot coffee and orange juice. I stuffed my face until I was so bloated I could barely move. But it felt good. An hour later Vance came back with Daniels in tow. They were both casually dressed in short-sleeved shirts and jeans. Daniels was carrying a small black leather holdall.

  I was lying on the bed drinking coffee and watching a movie on TV.

  ‘It’s time to get this show on the road,’ Vance said. ‘I hope you’re feeling refreshed.’

  He pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down. Daniels stood awkwardly with his back to the door and ran his tongue back and forth across his teeth.

  ‘So how do you feel?’ Vance asked.

  ‘Confused,’ I said. ‘But I can live with that.’

  ‘Have you made the most of the facilities here?’

  ‘If you mean the beer and the bath and the TV – then you bet I have.’

  He grinned. ‘That’s good. It’ll take time to adjust. The shock to your system is immense. We understand that.’

  He stroked his jaw and straightened in his chair, as much as the curvature of his spine would allow.

  ‘Your head must be filled with questions,’ he said. ‘And they will all be answered in time. I promise.’

  There was a beat of silence, save for the hum of the air-conditioner – a constant white noise.

  ‘I want to make one thing clear at the outset,’ he said. ‘We don’t care that you murdered Kimberley Crane.’

  ‘I didn’t murder her,’ I said flatly.

  Vance shrugged. ‘For argument’s sake let’s accept that the jury got it right. But I want you to know that it doesn’t matter. As far as we’re concerned you’ve done your time. Killing you would serve no useful purpose now. Especially given the fact that you’re in a unique position to help the FBI and therefore your country.’

  ‘What’s so special about me?’ I asked.

  ‘That will be explained to you later today. We’re taking you to see a man who will spell it out and lay the deal on the table. He’ll tell you everything you need to know. Such as which country you will move to and how much money will be put into a bank account in your name. He’ll give you reassurance in respect of how we intend to keep our secret. For instance, the Bureau will wipe your prints and DNA from the database. So in future if you’re arrested anywhere in the world a guy who should be dead won’t show up on any computer.’

  ‘What if I’m not happy with the deal you’re offering?’ I said. ‘Or I don’t want to move abroad?’

  His grin widened. ‘We’re confident that that scenario won’t arise. We’re offering you a chance to live a full and comfortable life. Probably in South America. The only condition we’ll impose is that you must never contact people from your past life – and that includes your sister.’

  ‘And if I do?’

  His face became serious. ‘Then you’d create a situation that would have to be dealt with. We would take whatever action is necessary to stop that person or persons from passing on that information to someone else.’

  He didn’t have to spell it out. If the world suddenly discovered that I was still alive it would cause a media firestorm that would rage across the country. Heads would roll and there would be a series of high-profile arrests. The FBI would be seriously damaged and the fall-out would probably even engulf the President. Not to mention my own fate. I would almost certainly find myself back on death row.

  All this told me one thing – whatever they wanted me to do for them had to be important enough to justify the incredible risks they were taking.

  ‘We leave here at 6.30 this evening,’ Vance said. ‘You’ll be meeting the guy I’ve mentioned at a restaurant in the city centre. He insisted on it being informal, which means that you’ve got most of the day to wind down. And it gives us time to prepare you.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You need a makeover,’ Vance said. ‘We can’t have you leaving here looking like Lee Jordan, the guy who just got executed in Huntsville.’

  ‘So what have you got in mind?’

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing drastic. We’re going to cut and dye your hair and provide you with some smart clothes. We want you to wear tinted glasses and fake tan so you don’t look like a guy who’s spent years without going out in the sun.’

  He had a point. I’d studied myself in the mirror earlier. My face looked like the blood had been sucked out of it.

  ‘We’ll start right away,’ he said. ‘Daniels has got everything we need in his bag. After it’s done you can chill out and you can have a taste of freedom in the garden.’

  Vance was an impressive guy, I decided. He possessed a shrewd, calculating intelligence that showed in his eyes. But I didn’t know him well enough to be able to read his face beyond that. So I had no idea if he was telling me the truth. For that reason a simmering unease continued to erode my optimism.

  Daniels turned out to be pretty nifty with the comb and scissors. I’d let my hair grow long on death row so he cut quite a bit off. Then he applied the dye, which turned my dark brown hair to black. It made me look considerably younger. The fake tan I applied myself, which was fairly easy and made an instant difference. In the mirror I looked like a new man.

  True to his word, Vance then let me go out into t
he garden. He and Daniels stayed close to me and we didn’t encounter anyone else. From the garden I saw that I was being kept in a large detached house surrounded by Texas woodland. It was a beautiful red-brick building with a slanted grey roof.

  But I barely paid attention to it because my senses were seized by our surroundings. The trees and the grass and the buzz of the insects. The smell of wild flowers and the gentle breeze on my face. I felt a shiver of excitement and my heart started thumping against my ribcage. As I stood there taking it in I thought to myself that it was surely all too good to be true.

  12

  BETH LOOKED PALE and anxious when Crane got to her apartment at lunchtime. She was still wearing her jogging suit and had not applied any make-up. He noticed immediately that she smelled of stale sweat.

  ‘I didn’t think you would come,’ she said.

  ‘Pauline wasn’t happy,’ he told her. ‘She’d made arrangements for us to have lunch out and then go shopping.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Gideon.’

  Pauline had been furious, in fact. She’d reminded him that he had promised to take a few days off. And she’d been more than a little sceptical when he’d said that an emergency had come up at the office. But he’d felt compelled to come to Beth’s apartment. He needed to assess the situation for himself and decide what, if anything, could be done about it. He was worried because her diary had not turned up and she swore that she had searched every inch of the apartment.

  ‘You’re sure that nothing else was taken?’ he asked as he perched himself on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘I’m absolutely positive,’ she said. ‘Things had been moved around. A drawer was left open. But it seems that whoever broke in wasn’t interested in anything but my diary.’