The Mayor of Lexington Avenue (33 page)

Pat saw Jim Shea off in the shadows leaning against a tree. She went over and put her arm around him and tried to offer what comfort she could. Two weeks earlier, Jim and Nancy had invited them over for dinner. They’d had such a nice evening, and Pat couldn’t help but notice how close father and daughter were. There had only been the two of them since Nancy’s mother died.

He raised his head and looked at Pat, a vacant stare in his eyes. “I put the gas can in the back of the car,” he said hollowly. “I put the gas can in the back of the car,” he repeated, looking back down at the ground. Pat understood what he was saying. There was nothing she could do to stop him from blaming himself, so she just kept her arm around his shoulders.

Jack went looking for the officer in charge. He was directed to a tall, lean state trooper named Anthony Burrows. He introduced himself and asked Trooper Burrows what happened.

“We’re not really sure, Mr. Tobin. But Blaine Redford, an accident reconstruction specialist from the sheriff’s department, is already here and there’s a homicide investigator as well. They may be able to help you more than I can.”

Jack took off to find Blaine Redford. He was happy about one thing: Since they were outside the town limits, he didn’t have to contend with the Bass Creek police department and Wesley Brume.

Redford was down the dirt road away from the crowd, a notebook in one hand and a flashlight in the other, which he was methodically sweeping back and forth across the road.

“Trying to find what caused her to lose control?” Jack asked.

“Partially,” Deputy Redford said, not breaking his concentrated gaze at the flashlight’s beam. “I’m also looking for—”

“Skid marks,” Jack interrupted. Blaine Redford looked up, wanting to see who this person was who was so knowledgeable.

“Jack Tobin,” Jack said, reaching out to shake hands before he realized Deputy Redford didn’t have a free hand. “I’m an insurance defense lawyer. The victim, Nancy Shea, was my secretary. I don’t want to bother you but I’m interested in finding out what happened to her. I’m sure you understand.”

Deputy Redford stopped walking and looked at Jack. “I understand. I saw her father earlier. I have a daughter myself. I know you want some answers but I don’t know what to tell you. This is my third time walking this road. I can’t find any obstacles. I can’t find any skid marks.”

“That’s pretty unusual—no skid marks?”

“Not necessarily. Not if she lost control of the car. I just can’t find any reason why she would lose control—no slippery ground, no sharp turns. It might be mechanical, but I’m not likely to find out much from what’s left of that car. Besides, according to her dad, she kept it really well maintained.”

Jack had worked with enough accident reconstruction specialists over the years to be able to tell instinctively that Officer Redford was well suited to his job. He was ticking off the possibilities one by one. Jack could work with this guy.

“What about another car?”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about that,” Redford said. “Another car could have bumped her off the road. I saw some tracks in the dirt a little farther back that were a little deeper than others. Two cars, side by side—if she went off the road there, at the speed she was going, she would have headed straight for the telephone pole. The thing is, I can’t tell if they were made at the same time. Other cars have been over this road since then, so I don’t think I can get a clear print of the other car’s tire.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you think she was run off the road?”

“That’s my best guess, but you’ll never be able to prove it. Not unless there was an eyewitness. I’ve given this scenario to Detective Applegate from homicide. He’s canvassing the neighborhood as we speak, but the only houses around here are pretty far away.”

“I see,” Jack said. “You
will
try and get a print of that second car, won’t you?”

“We certainly will. Forensics is on their way. But like I said, I don’t hold out much hope.”

“What about the fire? Isn’t it unusual for a car to burst into flames like that?”

“Absolutely. But I talked to the father and he says he put his boat’s gas can full of gas in the car earlier in the day because he was going to go fishing in the morning. I still wouldn’t expect the car to burst into flames like that, but it did—and the gas can explains why it did. It’s unusual but explainable.”

Jack liked the thoroughness of Redford’s thought process—no detail left out. “If the person who drove her off the road saw the gas can, he could have easily dropped a match in the car and watched it light up,” Jack offered.

“That’s a level of speculation I can’t get to, Mr. Tobin.”

“I hear ya. Listen, are you in the office tomorrow?”

“Yup. No rest for the weary.”

“You may get a call from the governor. Tell him what you told me, will you?”

“Sure thing,” he said, looking a little quizzical. As Jack walked away, Redford wondered what the hell the governor would be doing calling him about a traffic homicide in Cobb County.

Jack and Pat drove Jim Shea home. The man was inconsolable, convinced that he had caused his daughter’s death. Pat kept telling him it was an accident. Jack didn’t say anything. He was sure that telling him he thought his daughter was murdered was not going to make the man feel any better. Pat made sure he took a sleeping pill when they arrived at his house, and they hung around until he started to nod off.

They left for Starke the next morning at six o’clock. Both of them were now in a stupor, and it wasn’t just from lack of sleep. Events were propelling them along and they couldn’t stop to think about anything for fear that the reality would immobilize them. They barely spoke on the trip. As they got closer to their destination, Jack told Pat he wanted her to come with him into the prison to meet Rudy.

“You worked so hard on his case with me and he is Mikey’s son. Besides, Rudy is so special.” She started to shake her head, but Jack kept going, making every argument he could think of. The truth was that he was overwhelmed, as was Pat. They had been leaning on each other for the last twenty-four hours. Jack was afraid that without Pat next to him he might fall flat on his face. It was a disconcerting feeling to a man who had spent his whole life in the center of a courtroom.

Pat kept looking straight ahead through the windshield. “I can’t, Jack,” she said a long silent minute after he stopped talking. “It’s not about me or you, it’s about Rudy. He’s going to need you today to talk about the options you have left and to help him deal with what may be coming. But he doesn’t need to be meeting people for the first time and making small talk.”

Jack knew she was right. And he knew he’d been thinking about his own needs more than Rudy’s. He didn’t say another word about it.

“Let’s find a hotel and I’ll register us,” she said. “You go stay with Rudy.”

Jack met Rudy in their usual spot. Rudy still gave him that smile, but his hands were shaking somewhat and Jack could see a glimmer of fear in his usual jovial eyes.
He is human, after all,
Jack thought.

“They told me about the appeal,” he said when he was finally seated. This time all but one of his army of bodyguards left. “I know you feel bad but you did the best job you could, Jack.”

“It’s not over, Rudy.” Jack didn’t want to give him false hope, but he wanted him to know there
was
still some hope, however tenuous. “There’s still the United States Supreme Court. One justice will read my brief, and if he or she thinks there is something there, they will issue a stay of the execution until the full court can review the case. I’m also going to call the governor again this morning. There’s some new information I need to give him. He can order a stay.”

Jack had already made the decision that he was not going to tell Rudy about Nancy. Rudy had enough on his plate already. If he asked what the new information for the governor was, Jack would make something up. But Rudy didn’t ask.

“I now know how Jesus felt,” he said after they’d sat silently for a moment or two. “He knew he was going to see his father but he didn’t want to have to go through death to get there. That’s kind of the way I feel right now. I want to get to the other side, to be with my mom and dad, but I don’t want to have to die in the electric chair to get there.”

Jack just nodded. This was a conversation he’d never had before, and he never wanted to have it again. He had no answers, no comforting words, but if Rudy wanted to talk, he was there to listen.

He stayed with him most of the morning and would have come back for the afternoon—he only had one call to make, to Governor Richards—but Rudy sent him on his way.

“Jack, I want you to go. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I appreciate your friendship, but I kinda just want to be alone now. It would make it too tough for me to see you out there when they’re strapping me in. I just want to close my eyes and think about where I’m going.”

Jack wanted to argue but he knew Rudy was right—about everything. Both he and Rudy stood up and Jack came around the table and hugged him. The guard let them alone. There were tears in Jack’s eyes as he looked at Rudy for what might be the last time.

“If I had a son,” he whispered in Rudy’s ear, “I’d want him to be just like you.”

“I’m lucky enough to have had a dad who was just like you, Jack.”

“I love you, Rudy.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

Jack started for the door but Rudy stopped him one last time. “Jack,” he said, awkwardly reaching for his pocket with his manacled hands and pulling out an envelope. “Take this.”

Jack took the envelope and read the words written on the outside: “To be opened on my death.” He looked at Rudy and nodded. Then he was gone.

He called the governor as soon as he reached the hotel. As usual, Bob Richards was busy. Jack left the number of the hotel and made his secretary promise to have him call as soon as possible. “This is literally life and death,” he told her. He lay down on the bed next to Pat to wait for the governor’s call and instantly fell asleep. Three hours later, Pat nudged him. “The governor’s on the line.” He was immediately awake and took the phone.

“Bob, thanks for calling back.” He wanted to shoot the son-of-a-bitch, but not yet. While there was still an ounce of hope, he was going to play nice.

“What’s up?” Bob asked curtly.

“Last night about ten minutes after I talked to you, my secretary called me and said she had something big. I told her to come to the house. Two hours later there’s a knock on the door and a sheriff’s deputy is telling us she’s dead.”

“Geez, I’m sorry, Jack. You don’t need this on top of everything else.”

“I’m not finished, Bob. The accident reconstruction specialist from the Cobb County sheriff’s department, a fellow named Blaine Redford—you need to write that name down—told me he thought it was murder.”

“What do you want me to do, Jack?”

“I want you to call Blaine Redford and talk to him. And if he tells you that he thinks Nancy was murdered, I want you to call off this execution. Nancy was killed because she knew something, which means we’re getting close.”

“Close to what, Jack? Do you think somebody was waiting in the woods for your secretary and killed her?”

“Yes. Just like they killed Tracey James.”

“Who? Look, Jack, I consider you a friend. That’s why I call you back every time you call. But I’ve got a state to run. I can’t run down every lead you come up with. Frankly, I think you’re out there on this one. You need some rest.”

“Just call him, will you? Maybe I appear to be way out there, but a man’s life is at stake and you’re the only chance I—we—have.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll call him. But if he doesn’t have any proof, I’m not going to stop this execution. And I’m not calling you back.” Bob Richards hung up the phone.

At 4:30 that afternoon, the office temp Jack had hired to babysit the office while he and Pat were away called. She told him that he had just received a fax from the United States Supreme Court. The Petition for Stay of Execution had been denied.

That evening, Jack and Pat joined the all-night vigil at the gates of Raiford, singing and praying with anti–death penalty advocates, none of whom had ever met Rudy.

Thirty–Six

“Old Sparky” was the affectionate name given to the electric chair at Raiford. The three-legged oak chair was constructed by inmates in 1923 when the State of Florida decided that hanging was too brutal a procedure for executions.

At 6:00 on the morning of October 22, 1996, while Jack and Pat were singing “Amazing Grace” outside the prison gates, the prison barber started shaving Rudy’s head, his right calf and a small patch on his chest where a stethoscope would eventually be placed to determine if he was dead. When the barber’s work was done, Rudy showered and returned to an empty holding cell, where he was met by the warden, the chaplain and several of the guards. The warden read the death warrant to Rudy. One of the prison guards then applied an electrolytic gel to his bald head and right calf.

Outside, the protesters were singing “Come By Here, Lord.”

Rudy was led into the death chamber. The curtain was pulled open and two reporters and two government officials, one from the legislative and one from the executive branch, watched the proceedings from the small viewing room. The rules allowed for the victim’s family members to attend, as well as representatives for the inmate, but nobody showed up for either Lucy or Rudy.

Rudy looked out at those behind the glass and smiled shyly, as if he was embarrassed at what was about to happen.

Rudy’s chin, chest, arms, wrists, waist and legs were strapped to the chair. A black hood was placed over his head and pulled down over his face. A metal cap attached to an electric cable was then placed on his head and an electrode was attached to his right calf.

Outside, the protesters were reciting the Lord’s Prayer and had come to the line “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us . . .”

At 6:59, the executioner was fixated on the phone outside the death chamber where the warden stood. That phone was going to have to ring if a reprieve was going to come. It never made a sound. At 7:00, the executioner pulled the lever and 2,000 volts of electricity surged into Rudy. His entire body lurched, straining against Old Sparky’s numerous straps. Then he was still. Two minutes later the prison physician entered the death chamber, stethoscope in hand.