Mercy

‘Goddamn right, I think so!’

‘And have you got anything by way of…evidence?’

Burrow looked at the lawyer like he wanted to hit him.

‘If I had evidence d’you think I’d be in this shit hole?’

Alex was breathing heavily, trying to restore calm.

‘Okay, I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. But just tell me one thing…why would she frame you?’

‘What?’

‘Motive? What’s her fucking motive?’

Burrow’s face showed how hard he felt the full force of his lawyer’s skepticism.

‘You think I’m bullshitting, don’t you?’

Alex sighed.

‘I think you’re clutching at straws.’

But he knew that this didn’t make sense either. Why would Burrow be clutching at the straw of a crackpot theory, when the governor had just thrown him a rope?

‘I think she did it because I…’

He trailed off. But Alex could see in his eyes that he wanted to say more. He tried an encouraging tone.

‘You…what?’

But Burrow’s mood had changed.

‘Look, forget it, okay? Let’s just forget it. You’ve done your best for me. I can’t say you haven’t gone the extra mile. Now let me just prepare for the inevitable.’

Alex was looking at Burrow with an uneasy thought going through his mind: this was not the response of a guilty man.

10:52 PDT (#ulink_0bc14ab7-ef12-50e0-b884-a7b58647f0d0)

Martine Yin was checking her makeup in the trailer outside San Quentin prison preparing for her next report. It was a hot day, and she decided to swap her blue jacket for a man’s waistcoat—the one that she wore as a semiprofessional snooker player.

Her mind was focussed on the matter in hand. She had spotted Burrow’s lawyer going into San Quentin and had been hoping to get an interview with him when he came out, but she found herself caught in a media scrimmage and was unable to get anywhere near his car before it broke through the line and receded into the distance. She knew that the lawyer had been scheduled to meet the governor that morning, but that was just a formality. Besides, if anything had come out of that meeting, it would have been announced by the governor’s office.

Nevertheless, she did want to talk to Sedaka, if only to get the low-down on how his client took the inevitable bad news. But she had missed the opportunity. Aside from that, she assumed that Alex didn’t want to talk about it. In fact he probably couldn’t talk about it. But still, it would be nice to get an exclusive.

The problem was how to contact him. All she had was the number of Sedaka’s office. The secretary had been polite, but consistently refused to give out Sedaka’s cell phone number.

So now Martine just had to sit tight outside the penitentiary awaiting further developments. The report this morning had gone well. Of course as the execution time approached, things would hot up. The closer to midnight they got, the bigger this story would become. There was no chance of the governor granting clemency—notwithstanding his own unpopular views on capital punishment. Indeed the only thing that could upstage the execution itself would be if Dorothy Olsen walked in off the street and said: ‘Surprise, surprise! I’m alive!’

Martine smiled at the thought. It reminded her of all the urban legends and conspiracy theories about the Lindbergh baby, complete with several people claiming to be the dead tyke—including one who was black and female!

There were a few doubts about the case against Hauptmann, who had been executed for the murder of the baby. Some said his trial was unfair—not least the atmosphere of vengeance amid which it had taken place. But it was a strong case nevertheless. Likewise the case against Clayton Burrow.

The cell phone cut into her thoughts.

‘Martine Yin.’

‘Hi, Marti, it’s Paul.’ Paul was an eager kid who worked at the station. ‘We’ve just had a tip-off about what’s going down in the Burrow case. You’re not gonna believe this.’

In response to what he said next, her jaw dropped.

11:04 PDT (#ulink_7ba71c6f-39be-5f30-8983-04563a11dd96)

‘And he didn’t say why?’

‘No. He just claimed she framed him and then pretty much clammed up.’

Back in the car, Alex hadn’t even bothered to tell Nat about Burrow’s response at first, and Nat hadn’t asked. Alex realized that the look on his face must have said it all. Only when they hit the road and found themselves back on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, did Nat ask.

‘So what are we going to do?’

‘Not got a fucking clue.’

‘Why would she frame him?’

‘That’s what we’ve got to find out.’

‘And how are we going to do that? With our client refusing to play ball?’

‘We’ve spent the last few weeks arguing the law. Maybe it’s time for us to take another look at the facts.’

‘You believe him?’

‘Not really. The most likely explanation is that he can’t remember where he hid the body. It was nine years ago, don’t forget. He probably just buried it somewhere in the hills. He wouldn’t necessarily have any reason to remember the exact location. Now it’s probably just a faded memory.’

‘He could tell you that. He could admit the killing and say he doesn’t remember where the body is after all this time.’

‘He could have done that ages ago. But maybe he doesn’t want to come clean in case I lose motivation.’

Nat shook his head.

‘He obviously doesn’t understand lawyers.’

‘He understands jackshit!’

‘So how is looking at the facts going to help us now? We need to come up with a point of law.’

‘We need both. A new fact to convince them there’s a strong chance he’s innocent and a point of law to give them the leeway to act on it.’