Chapter 25
Nodding,
Morgan walked beside her past the security station as they headed toward the
park. “I didn’t have time to go home first. I had a meeting with a client that
lasted later than I anticipated so I came straight from work.” She stopped to
pull at the tongue of her shoe, wriggling her foot within it. “I haven’t worn
these shoes enough for them to be broken in. I should trade them out with my
others for a while.”
“I do
that now and then,”
“No, I
didn’t take the time this morning. Why?”
“Your
client made the front page,”
“Which
client? I have two or three that particularly like to see their names in
print.”
“It was
Eric Fisher this time.”
Morgan
stopped walking and looked at her curiously. “There was something about Eric in
today’s paper? What was it about?”
“It had
to do with the continuing debate over the moratorium Illinois has placed on the
death penalty. The article was an interview of some death penalty opposers here
in New York, the ones that stand out in front of the court building with signs.
It gave the statistics for those who have been executed in this state and those
waiting on death row right now. Your client is next in line so there was a
short blurb about him. Nothing big.”
Continuing toward the nearby trees, Morgan replied, “I guess I better
get used to that sort of thing. I’m sure there will be more publicity the
closer we get to the actual date. As if the parent of one of the victims
calling to give me a piece of his mind wasn’t enough to deal with.”
“One of
the parents called you? What did he say?”
“The
usual. Death is too good for my client, lawyers are all liars and scum, etc.,
etc. He just wanted to vent. He’s called back several times since but Melissa
has been telling him I’m unavailable. Even though I can’t really blame him for
feeling the way he does, I don’t need to hear that more than once.”
“Have any
of the other parents contacted you?” Carmichael questioned, coming to a stop
under one of the trees.
“No, but
the ACRC has sent me a couple of letters, first offering to help with an
appeal, then on how to word a letter to the governor requesting that the
sentence be commuted. I had to explain that it was out of my hands.”
“In six
more weeks, it’ll be out of everyone’s hands,” Carmichael noted, stashing her
water on a tree branch. “Have you decided yet about going?”
Shaking
her head Morgan retorted, “You and Jack. Why is everyone so interested in what
I’m going to do?”
Turning
to face her, Carmichael insisted, “It’s important, Calea. Witnessing an
execution isn’t something you ever forget and it isn’t a decision you should
make lightly. I’m with Jack on this. I think you should tell your client you
can’t do it. He’s got a lot of nerve even asking after everything he’s put you
through. You don’t owe him anything more than what you’ve already given him.”
Placing her water beside Carmichael’s, she
noted with annoyance, “Now you sound exactly like Jack, so much so that I’m
beginning to wonder if you aren’t in cahoots with each other to try to talk me
out of going.”
“Maybe
it’s just that we’ve both been there and know what you’re in for,” Carmichael
explained as they walked toward their respective paths. “Neither of us wants to
see you go through it.”
“I
appreciate the thought but I’m telling you what I’ve told Jack: It’s my
decision to make and I don’t care to discuss it.”
“Which
probably means you have no intention of listening to either of us,” Carmichael
grumbled, bending down to stretch. “Speaking of Jack, how did everything go the
other day? Did you make it to the concert?”
“Yes, we did.
It was great. I had my doubts beforehand but I’m glad Jack talked me into it.
He said I would enjoy it and he was right.”
“So
what’s on the agenda for this weekend besides working on the new duplex? Have
you and Jack made any plans?”
“We
haven’t really talked about that yet. We’ve both been pretty busy. He’s in the
middle of a messy trial and I have a client who’s being sued.”
“Your
weekends together are becoming quite a habit,” Carmichael observed casually,
watching while Morgan did toe touches. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to
fall for the guy despite yourself.”
Morgan
popped straight up. Giving Carmichael a warning look, she insisted, “We’re just
friends, Abbie. Don’t try to read any more into it than there is. Jack and I
have an agreement and we’re sticking with it. We enjoy each other’s company but
our relationship is, and will continue to be, strictly plutonic.”
Carmichael let out a sharp laugh. “Right!” Nodding knowingly, she added,
“We’ll see.”
Morgan
huffed out a breath and shook her head. “Come on. Let’s get started before we
run out of daylight.”
***As Southerlyn entered his office, McCoy turned
from his computer and said, “I received a letter from the Department of
Corrections. In response to a petition from several of the parents, they’re
going to move Eric Fisher to Sing Sing for the execution. It’s much closer for
the Bradens and more convenient for those flying in from other states.”
Watching her carefully he asked, “Are you planning to attend?”
“No. What
about you?”
He shook
his head. “Not if I can help it.”
“Did you
read the article in today’s paper?”
“You mean
the interview of the parents?” At Southerlyn’s nod he answered, “It was hard
to miss.”
“They
were pretty vocal. I guess I can understand their position. So many people are
opposing the death penalty now on principal alone, I think they sometimes
forget about the victims and their families. After the article a couple of
weeks ago suggesting that New York should follow suit with Illinois and declare
a moratorium on the death penalty, I’m surprised we haven’t seen more
dissenting views.”
“Their
position would’ve had a greater impact if they hadn’t come off sounding like
raving lunatics,” McCoy observed. “I think they can all thank Mr. Larsen for
that. I’d lay odds he’s the loose cannon in their midst. I only hope he behaves
himself at the execution next month.”
“Why
wouldn’t he? He’ll finally be getting what he wants – to watch Fisher pay for
his crimes with his life.”
“Let’s
hope that’s enough,” he nodded.
***“Law offices. May I help you?”
“You’re
answering your own phone?” McCoy queried. “I expected to hear Melissa’s voice.”
He could
hear Morgan’s voice relax somewhat as she replied, “I already sent her home.
She wanted to pick up Jace a little early today.”
“And what
about you? When are you leaving?” he asked.
“I’m
finishing up some research now. I’ll be locking up in another twenty minutes or
so.”
“I was
wondering if you wanted to have dinner tonight.”
“It’s the
middle of a very busy week for both of us,” she pointed out. “Why tonight?”
“There’s
a new Italian place I want to try that just opened not far from my apartment.”
“I
appreciate the offer but I don’t feel like going anywhere tonight, Jack. I’m
supposed to meet Abbie in an hour to go running, after which I plan to soak in
the tub for a while. I’ve had a headache all day.”
“Then why
don’t I pick something up for both of us and bring it over to your place? After
dinner we can watch the movie I recorded that you wanted to see. You won’t have
to do a thing. I’ll have everything ready so that when you get out of the tub,
you can just relax,” he suggested.
“Can we
do it another time? I’m really not in the mood for company, either.”
“Come on,
I’m offering to wait on you hand and foot. How can you turn that down?” he
coaxed.
After a
few moments of silence, Morgan sighed in resignation. “You’re in one of those
moods where you won’t take no for an answer, aren’t you?”
With a broad
grin, he responded, “Yes, I am. What time should I be at your place?”
***“How’s your capellini?”
Morgan
nodded. “It’s very good. What about your linguini?”
“It’s
great. The clams are really fresh. Would you like to try it?”
“No,
thanks. I’m not fond of clams unless they’re fried,” she admitted, eyeing his
plate suspiciously.
“I’ll
have to take you to the restaurant sometime. The building used to be home to a
rather seedy bar. They did a good job of remodeling. It has sort of an old
world charm to it now.”
“Sounds
interesting. If the food consistently remains this good, they won’t have any
trouble staying in business,” she noted.
“I
agree.” He reached for a piece of bread and then held the basket out to Morgan.
“How did your meeting go yesterday? Did you get everything resolved?”
“Thanks,”
Morgan said, accepting a slice. “It looks like we’ve worked it out. Everyone
seemed to leave reasonably happy. I think all that was really needed was for
the involved parties to sit down and talk like adults rather than pass messages
back and forth through the lawyers. I’m all for representing my clients
diligently but sometimes a good old-fashioned sit down can clear up a world of
misunderstandings.”
“I’ve
found that to be true with my work as well,” he agreed.
They ate
in silence for several minutes while McCoy tried to think of a way to bring up
the subject that had been on his mind for days. Already knowing what her
reaction was going be, he finally decided to use the indirect approach. “What are
your plans for tomorrow?”
Morgan
shrugged as she concentrated on twisting pasta around her fork. “I have a
couple of meetings in the morning. Tomorrow afternoon I have to meet a client
at an office building he’s thinking of leasing. He wants me to add some
additional clauses to the standard lease form. It seems there are some repairs
left unfinished that he doesn’t want to be responsible for.”
“And
afterwards?”
Picking
up her tea, she regarded him warily. “Is it just my imagination or are your questions
leading somewhere?”
“I
suppose they are,” he nodded slowly. Regarding her intently he asked, “Are you
going?”
She gave
him a look of exasperation. “Why do you insist on bringing up something that’s
only going to cause an argument? How many times have I told you I don’t want to
discuss that subject?”
“What you
said is that you didn’t want to discuss it until you had made your decision,”
he reminded her pointedly. “You’re out of time. The execution is tomorrow
night. If we don’t discuss it now, there won’t be another chance.”
“Good.
That sounds perfect to me,” she agreed enthusiastically.
McCoy sat
back, studying her carefully. After a moment he said flatly, “You’ve decided
to go, haven’t you? Nothing I’ve said has gotten through to you.”
She
leaned toward him. “This is the real reason you wanted to have dinner tonight,
isn’t it? Just to try to talk me out of going.”
“I was
hoping I wouldn’t have to,” he acknowledged in annoyance. “I hoped that you had
come to your senses by now.”
“You
mean, you hoped I would’ve agreed to do what you want me to by now,” Morgan
corrected him.
He took a
deep breath, then let it out slowly. Although he spoke quietly, his eyes burned
with intensity. “You think it won’t affect you. You think you can handle it.
But it isn’t anything like you imagine. This person is lying in front of you,
someone with whom you’ve had something of a relationship in one capacity or
another. One minute he’s looking at you – breathing, alive. And the next, he’s
gone. You can see the life drain out of him…”
Morgan
stood up abruptly, grabbing her plate and heading for the kitchen.
Scrambling to his feet, McCoy followed closely behind. “If you can’t
stand to hear about it, how do you think you’re going to be able to watch it
happen?”
Setting
the plate in the sink with a thud, Morgan maintained, “I’ll manage.”
Moving to
stand in front of her as she turned around, he demanded, “Why? Why are you
putting yourself through this?”
“Because
I gave my word!” Ducking past him, she
made her way back to the coffee table and began collecting the remaining
dishes.
“You
don’t have to keep that promise,” he contended, moving to help. “It was made to
someone who molested and killed six young girls!”
Placing
the dishes in the sink, she suggested, “So the kind of person my client is
should change the kind of person I am? Since he’s less than trustworthy, I
should become the same when dealing with him? If we allow the sort of people we
deal with in our jobs to affect our personal values, how different does that
make us from them?”
“This
isn’t about you changing your values,” McCoy argued, standing beside her as he
sealed a plastic bag containing the left-over bread. “This is about you making
a decision that’s going to haunt you for the rest of your life. Fisher is
manipulating you for his own personal reasons and you’re willingly going along
with it.”
Morgan
whirled around from rinsing the dishes to face him. “He’s going to die, Jack.
He knows the day and the hour that he’s going to die. He also knows exactly
what he did to deserve death. And he’s terrified. He’s clutching at the only
relationship he has left. I’m not going to turn my back on him. I’m going to do
this one last thing he’s asked of me, the last thing he’ll ever ask of anyone.”
“Even if
it’s a mistake? Even if it’s something you’re going to end up regretting?”
“It isn’t
for you to make that determination. I weighed the pros and cons carefully and
made an informed decision. You don’t have the right to say the decision I made
for myself is wrong.”
“It's because I know
you can’t handle it!” he persisted, taking a step closer.
Morgan’s
jaw tightened and her eyes flashed with anger. But before she could respond,
McCoy shook his head and added more gently, “Don’t set your heels, Calea. That
wasn’t a put-down. But I know you well enough to realize how watching a person
die is going to affect you. You said once that humans aren’t meant to accept
death. They’re certainly not meant to stand idly by and watch while it happens.
Most people feel compelled to do everything within their power to try to
prevent it. To do otherwise goes against every fiber of our beings. Witnessing
an execution was a difficult thing for me to do. I had a hard time putting it
behind me, and I sat across the aisle from the person I saw executed. You’ve
spent time with Fisher, gotten to know him personally. How are you going to
watch him die? How will you ever be able to live with that image?”
She
turned away and began placing dishes in the dishwasher. “This discussion is
over. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
He placed
his hand on her arm, insisting intently, “Refusing to discuss it isn’t going to
make it go away. It’s going to be there when you close your eyes tonight and
when you open them in the morning. And if you watch as they pull the switch on
Fisher, it’s going to be there every day for the rest of your life.”
Slamming
the dishwasher door closed, she turned to face him. “You’re not going to change
my mind, so can we drop the subject and try to have a nice, quiet evening
together instead of arguing about it?” With a weary sigh she added, “Look, I’d
really like to sit down and relax for a while. Can’t we watch the movie you
brought over and forget about the rest for now?”
“Calea…”
“Please,
Jack? Can we just not talk about it anymore?”
He stood
contemplating, trying to decide if further discussion would yield results or
only get him thrown out. Although he wasn’t ready to give in, looking down into
her pleading eyes, he finally begrudgingly nodded his agreement.
***As they sat watching the movie from opposite
ends of the sofa, McCoy found it impossible to follow the plot. Frustration and
anger seethed through him, diverting his attention. He couldn’t believe Morgan
could be so stubborn. How could she not see what was ahead? How could she allow
Fisher to play her? Why did she care so much about what he wanted? And, more
importantly, how could she completely disregard his own advice? Why didn’t she
care about what he wanted?
After
almost thirty minutes of silent fuming, he glanced to his left to find Morgan
biting her nails distractedly, no more attentive to the movie than he was. He
watched her for several seconds, then got up and walked to the elevator. Slipping
on his loafers, he picked up the running shoes Morgan had left by the door and
returned to stand in front of the sofa.
As she
looked up at him curiously, he held them out. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Morgan
shook her head tiredly. “I don’t want to argue anymore, Jack.”
“We won’t
argue. I promise.” Seeing the skepticism in her eyes he added, “Come on. We
could both use some air.”
After
regarding him doubtfully for a moment, she turned the television off and took
her shoes from him, then put them on. McCoy held out his hand and pulled her to
her feet, then led the way across the room, stopping long enough to grab
jackets before entering the elevator.
When they
exited the lobby of the building, they turned left and started down the
sidewalk. After only a few steps, McCoy glanced sideways and reached to entwine
his fingers with hers again, then slipped both their hands into the pocket of
his jacket.
They
walked in silence for almost a full block while he tried to figure out how to
begin what he wanted to say. Finally, taking a deep breath, he said, “I want to
tell you what happened as a result of the execution I attended.” When he felt
Morgan begin to pull away from him, he held her hand firmly. “Just hear me out,
Calea. It’s important for you to understand why I’m so against you going
tomorrow,” he explained. When she offered no further resistance, he focused his
gaze on the sidewalk and asked, “Do you remember me telling you how a drunk
driver killed someone I was close to?”
Morgan
stopped walking and turned to face him. “Jack, I know about Claire,” she
admitted hesitantly, dropping her eyes to avoid his. “I know she was killed
after the two of you witnessed the execution of a man you helped convict, and I
know you partly blame yourself for her death.”
He stood
looking at her, unsure of what to do or say. Part of him felt relieved at not
having to relive what had happened by explaining it to her. And part of him
felt somewhat betrayed.
“How long
have you known?”
“I found
out about it right after we first met,” she confessed quietly.
“You
never said anything.”
“I didn’t
feel it was my place,” she replied, finally meeting his eyes again. “It’s one
thing to learn about someone’s work habits or what will help you when you face
them in a courtroom. But their personal life is a different story, and that was
too personal. Even though I had
heard, I figured you’d tell me if and when you wanted me to know. Until you
were ready to share it, I thought I should keep that knowledge to myself.”
He turned
and began walking again, mulling over her explanation. After a few moments he
noted, “Since you know what happened, then maybe you can understand why I don’t
want you to go tomorrow.”
“I don’t think
I do,” Morgan admitted flatly. “What does one situation have to do with the
other?”
“It
wasn’t just the drunk driver or being in the wrong place at the wrong time that
killed Claire,” he explained desolately. “It was the whole set of circumstances.
If she hadn’t attended the execution, none of it would have happened. And I
didn’t do enough to stop her from going. I was put out with her for being angry
at me. From the time the death penalty was reinstated here in New York, we
argued over its legitimacy. Before the execution we argued for days, and I was
so caught up in the debate that I didn’t think ahead to how witnessing it would
affect her.” He paused and amended forlornly, “How it would affect us.”
“You
couldn’t have foreseen what would happen,” Morgan assured him gently.
“I
should’ve been able to see that allowing her to attend was a mistake,” he
contended quietly.
Shaking
her head Morgan said, “I’m really sorry for what you went through, Jack, but I
still don’t understand what all of that has to do with me.”
“It
affected all of us, Calea, everyone who was there. It made us do things we
might not have otherwise even considered. Lennie fell off the wagon after
having been on it for years. His partner at the time, Rey Curtis, attacked a prisoner
and narrowly escaped an excessive force citation. I ended up spending the
better part of the day in a bar. And Claire wound up driving down a street in
the early morning hours where a drunk driver ended her life,” he added softly.
“It’s going to affect you, too, whether you realize it or not.”
“I’m not
saying I won’t be affected, but it certainly won’t be in the same way that the
rest of you were affected by what you witnessed. I’m not on the same team.”
McCoy
shook his head and insisted, “You’re attending this execution for precisely the
same reasons that Claire attended Mickey Scott’s.”
“My
reasons for going are completely different,” Morgan argued.
McCoy
pulled her to a stop and faced her. “Are they? Tell me something: Would you
still be going if you hadn’t had a small hand in putting Fisher where he is
right now? If you had fought tooth and nail but lost anyway, would you still
attend? Or would you instead tell your client that it would be too difficult to
watch him die?”
Concentrating on the sidewalk, Morgan remained silent.
“You feel
the same misplaced sense of personal justice that Claire did. That’s what’s
driving you to do this. You feel that since you’re in some way responsible,
you’re obligated to face the music, too, so to speak. It’s as if you feel the
need to punish yourself in some way.”
“Maybe I
wouldn’t feel obligated if I hadn’t had a hand in nudging him onto death row,
but I’m not going in order to punish myself. I’m going because he asked me.”
“You’re
going because you feel guilty,” he asserted pointedly.
She
studied him quietly, contemplating his words. After a moment, she finally
shrugged. “You might be right. But whatever the reason, I’m keeping my promise
to him.”
“It will
change you. It’s going to make you look at everything differently.” He paused,
searching her eyes, then added quietly, “Maybe even me.”
Frowning
slightly she asked, “What do you mean?”
“I am the
one who pushed to see that your client received the death penalty.”
She gave
him a puzzled look. “You think I’m going to come away blaming you in some way?”
“I don’t
know,” he admitted slowly. “But it could happen.”
“It
won’t,” she quickly assured him. “Eric made his own choices and he has to face
the consequences of those choices. I would’ve preferred that there be different
consequences to face, but the sentence he received isn’t your doing. It’s the
law. His death won’t be your doing, either.”
“I hope
you still feel that way after tomorrow,” he pointed out. He stood silently,
wanting to ask her to not attend for his sake, just because he had asked. But
he didn’t have enough confidence in their relationship, such that it was, to
risk her response.
Shaking
his head he noted, “There’s still time to change your mind, you know.”
“But I’m
not going to,” Morgan quietly maintained.
After
regarding her for several seconds more, McCoy turned and they began walking
again. Silence had hung between them for half a block when he sighed deeply,
drawing the cool night air into his lungs. “I’ll come by and pick you up. We’ll
go together.”
Shaking
her head Morgan said, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I
don’t have to, but I want to. I don’t want you to go alone.”
“You
wouldn’t go if the decision was yours. I can’t ask you to do so because of the
decision I made.”
“You’re
not asking. I’m offering.” Giving her hand a quick squeeze within his pocket,
he added, “In fact, I’m insisting. Things may get tense out there tomorrow.
Between the inevitable death penalty protestors who show up to picket every
execution, and the parents of Fisher’s victims, it’s going to be an emotional
and volatile situation. I don’t want you caught in the middle all alone. If
nothing else, I can practice for that bodyguard back-up career we discussed
once before.”
Looking
up at him, she said gently, “I don’t want to be responsible for dredging up a
lot of unpleasant memories for you, Jack. I know it hasn’t been easy for you to
even talk about all of this. I’ll understand perfectly if you want to withdraw the
offer. It won’t bother me in the least to go by myself.”
Stopping
again, he looked down into her eyes and reached to brush her hair from her
face. “If you insist on doing this, I’m going to be there with you. I won’t
have it any other way.”
Morgan
studied him carefully, then nodded solemnly. “Okay. We’ll go together.”