“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, testing 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.