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
32
RIBBONS OF SNOW BLEW across the highway as Kate drove home that night—no music, no radio, just dead silence. Back at the condo, she took a hot shower and had a light supper. The she poured herself a glass of wine, curled up on the sofa, and opened the box of police files. She spent the next couple of hours rifling through first-officer’s reports, evidence submission slips, suspect interviews, and witness statements.
Kate poured herself another glass of wine and looked through Hannah Lloyd’s file. There were dozens of photographs, but two of them stood out. One was a snapshot of the petite fourteen-year-old posing for her high school yearbook. She had a wide innocent face, long auburn hair, and a self-conscious smile. The second photograph showed irregular shapes jutting out of the forest floor. The top layer of dirt had been whisked away, exposing the partly mummified remains—part of a ribcage and two skeletal fingers clutching a bit of decayed fabric. Hannah Lloyd’s shaved skull peeped out of the dirt. Was the killer taking souvenirs? Was this an act of aggression or a form of worship?
Kate leaned back and closed her eyes. She went back to the balmy summer night she’d left her sister alone in the cabin, while she and the cute boy had wandered off. They settled on a patch of grass in a grove of evergreens and made out beneath the August moon. Overwhelmed by a surge of hormones, Kate didn’t see or hear anything unusual that night—no vehicles coming up the logging road, no screams or shouts. All she heard was the boy’s heavy breathing in her ear and the muffled beat of her own lustful heart.
But there had been a strange noise in the woods that night, deep and territorial. Five ominous hoots. Hoo-hoo, hooooo, hoo-hoo.