Until the Final Verdict (12 page)

“Y
OU HAD NO BUSINESS
giving Keefe a polygraph last night before clearing it with me.”

“I didn't need your permission. Besides, your investigation was stalled. I figured it could use a jump start.”

“You figured wrong.”

“Your investigation turned up zilch in almost three weeks.”

“You run the DA's office, McCaskill. I'll run my investigation.”

“Starting when? Some looney whacks out a Superior Court Judge, then you and Mackay waste three weeks hassling Sanchez and Keefe, not to mention trotting off to Spain, diddling each other at taxpayers' expense.”

Granz leaned forward in his chair and pointed his finger. “Watch your mouth. I won't take any shit off you.”

“You're the one who'd better watch himself. Point your finger at me again, I'll bust you for threatening a prosecutor.”

“You talk big.”

“If you can't handle the Tucker investigation, say so and I'll call the Attorney General in to handle it for you.”

“Stay out of my business, McCaskill.”

McCaskill slid his chair closer to his desk, leaned forward with his elbows on the desktop, interlaced his fingers, and rested his chin on his hands. “Like you stayed out of mine?”

“What're you talking about?”

“You stuck your nose in my business when you let Mackay out of jail last night.”

“She bailed.”

“You posted bail for her.”

“Same thing, she's my—” He caught himself in time. “Just stay outta my face.”

“Look, Granz, she's your girlfriend, everyone knows that. But don't get carried away, I'm telling you how it looks to outsiders.”

“I don't give a shit how it looks.”

Granz walked to the door, then turned with his hand on the knob. “You must've stuck your nose halfway up Keefe's ass to get him to sign a warrant for her arrest on that flimsy evidence.”

“Flimsy my foot. Think with your brain instead of your dick for a change. Did the tooth fairy board
that plane at thirty-five thousand feet, slip Simmons a dose of digitalis, then fly off without anybody noticing?”

Granz shrugged but didn't answer.

“Don't let Mackay take you down with her. That bitch murdered Simmons and I'm going to prove it, even if she did wiggle her cute ass at you and swear she's innocent.”

“I can take care of myself. And don't ever talk about her like that again, or I'll personally see that you're the one who goes down. Permanently.”

“That's twice you threatened me. I won't let it slide a third time.”

“Fuck off.”

“Keep your nose out of the Mackay prosecution, or I'll let the press know you posted her bail. If the reporters don't run you out of office, I'll do it myself.”

“W
HAT
'
S THAT
?”
She was naked.

He peered through narrow slits in the hood of his black robe, strapped Kathryn Mackay to the table, tapped the syringe, and shot a stream of liquid at the light dangling from a frayed wire. It vaporized when it hit the hot bulb.

“Sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No worse than a blood test.” His hands were rough and had dirt under the fingernails. “You've had that done?”

“Sure, but the doctors washed their hands.”

“It doesn't matter if murderers get infections.”

“I'm innocent.”

“They all say that.”

The needle slid in and the executioner injected venom into her vein. He pulled the needle out and tossed it into the trash can.

“How long does it take?” Kathryn asked.

“When you hear the bell, you'll be dead.”

When the bell rang, Kathryn jumped up, knocking her half-empty coffee cup off the nightstand. The doorbell rang again.

After Emma left for school, Kathryn had brewed coffee, climbed back into bed, and fallen asleep. At noon, she made more coffee and thought about calling a lawyer to get started on her defense against the murder charge, but decided to turn on the afternoon soaps instead. She fell asleep again as Rosie O'Donnell was introducing that afternoon's guests.

The doorbell rang a third time. Emma's yellow Lab, Sam, trotted to the front door, sniffed, ran back to the bedroom, laid his head on the edge of Kathryn's bed, and whined. She rolled over and Sam licked her.

She wiped her face with the sheet. “Go away, you've got bad breath.”

The dog tucked his tail between his legs and sat. She tossed the blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, then inspected herself in her dresser mirror. “Jesus, I look like a bag lady.”

When the doorbell rang a fourth time, she tightened the belt on her terry robe. “All right, all right, I'm coming.”

Sam dashed to the door and wagged his tail. Kathryn patted him. He drooled on the tile floor.

“Some watchdog you are. You'd be glad to see Jack the Ripper if he came to visit.”

When she opened the door, Sam stuck his wet nose on Jim Fields' hand.

He stroked the dog's muzzle. “Hi ya, pal, I'm glad to see you, too.” Then he made eye contact with his ex-boss. “May I come in?”

“Sure.”

She led him to the living room, sat on the sofa and tucked her legs up under her.

Fields dropped onto the edge of a matching chair, unconsciously smoothed the empty sleeve of his suit coat, and stared at her across the coffee table. “ 'Scuse my French, but you look like shit.”

“Try being charged with murder—see how
you
look.” She combed her thick hair with her fingers. “It could be worse. I suppose I could be in jail.”

He handed her a folded legal document. “I'm really sorry, Kathryn, but that's why I'm here. That's a bench warrant.”

She examined it and dropped it onto the sofa. “Murder with special circumstances?”

“McCaskill was waiting at Keefe's chambers at eight o'clock this morning to file an amended indictment.”

“On what grounds?”

“Murder by poisoning.”

“Digitalis isn't a poison.”

“McCaskill's position is that when it's intentionally administered in a lethal dose, it's a poison.”

“This elevates it to a death-penalty case, and automatically revokes my bail.”

“I know.”

She grabbed the phone. “If that bastard sent you here to take me to jail again, I need to call Emma's school.”

“He ordered me to not let you use the phone before we get to jail, but I guess I'll take my chances when it comes to Emma. Go ahead.”

She dropped the handset back into the cradle. “No, I'll get dressed.”

“He ordered me to not take my eyes off you until you're booked, to make sure you don't stash a weapon or try to kill yourself.”

Kathryn didn't answer, but got up and walked to her bedroom. She stopped beside the bed, untied her robe and dropped it to the floor, then turned around, naked.

Fields flushed. “I'll turn my back.”

“Not necessary. I don't want you to lie when he asks if you followed orders. But, there's one thing you could do for me.”

“Name it.”

“After you book me into jail, call Ruth. Ask her to come downstairs and take Sam home with her. She has a key.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“What about Emma?”

“McCaskill made it clear he'd fire me if I interfered this time. He's arranging to have CPS meet her after school.”

“The son of a bitch really hates me, doesn't he?”

“Yes.”

“Does Dave know about this?”

“No. McCaskill scheduled a meet with Granz in the DA's office this morning, to prevent anyone contacting him.”

“Why? It's a no-bail warrant. Even Dave can't help me this time.”

N
EWS OF THE
D
ISTRICT
A
TTORNEY
'
S ARREST
spread through the jail grapevine like a wildfire. When Mackay walked into the recreation room and grabbed a book, a dozen female inmates in maroon jumpsuits fell silent.

She ignored them, walked across the room, sat in a chair at the far corner, and pretended to read.

A fat Hispanic woman with holes in her nose where silver studs used to be slid a chair over. She sat down in front of Mackay and punched the book with her fist.

“Remember me, abogada puta?”

“Sylvia Gomez.”

Gomez pointed to the webbing between her left thumb and forefinger, where a cross with the initials
VSC
was crudely tattooed. “You know Villa San Carlos?”

“I've heard of your gang. So what?”

“We badasses.”

“Sure you are.”

Gomez wiggled her finger at a second woman. She was slim but buffed, pretty in a hard sort of way, with muscular arms that hung from the rolledup sleeves of her jumpsuit. She gave Gomez a thumbs-up, then pulled a stool over and sat beside Gomez, penning Mackay in.

“You know mi amiga?” Gomez asked.

“No.”

“Se llama Letitia Rios.”

“That's nice.”

“She do what I tell her,” Gomez said.

Mackay looked at Rios. “Congratulations.”

Gomez snapped her fingers. “She kill you that fast, I tell her to.”

“Go away.”

“Don't think so. How you like bein' in jail?”

Mackay returned her gaze to the book. It was Steinbeck's
East of Eden
in an old green hardcover.

Gomez ripped the book from Mackay's hands. ”They say you kill that gringo doctor.”

“I didn't kill anybody.”

Gomez laughed. “Nobody in jail did nothin'. Me neither, but you busted me anyways.”

“My office was doing its job, Gomez.”

“I dint do nothin' illegal.”

“You're a gangbanger and a drug dealer.”

“¡Vete a tomar por culo!” Gomez slapped Mackay's face.

Mackay's eyes watered, and she tried to stand up, but Gomez shoved her back.

“¡Idiota de los cojones! You hear me, bitch?” Gomez demanded. “I tol' you I dint do nothin'.”

“Sure you didn't.”

“Leas' I ain' no murderer.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Mackay said in a show of bravado she didn't feel. “Now that you've shown everybody how tough you are, get lost.”

“No way.”

Mackay glanced around the room, but none of the other inmates looked at her.

“Patado tu culo,” Gomez told her.

“You won't kick my ass in front of a dozen witnesses.”

Gomez turned and flicked her head. Everyone except Rios filed out of the room, then she turned back to Mackay.

“What witnesses?”

Mackay leaned forward. “I'm leaving.”

Before she could get to her feet, Gomez's fist slammed into her face, shattering bone and tearing cartilage. Her brain told her to get up, but her body refused.

Gomez slammed her fist into Mackay's left eye, and a third blow smashed into the side of her head.

“You wan' some more, bitch?” Gomez asked.

“Go to hell.”

Gomez' fist crashed into Mackay's mouth. Atooth dropped into the pool of blood in her lap, hot pain
shot through her head, and the ringing in her ears shouted,
get the hell out of here before she kills you.
She couldn't see out of her swollen-shut left eye, and her lips were shredded.

“Kiss my ass.”

“You think you some tough cunt? We see 'bout that.”

Rios pulled out a shank, a spoon that had been flattened and ground to a razor edge, its handle wrapped with medical tape. She slashed the front of Mackay's jumpsuit and yanked it open. “Pretty small tits, I think I cut 'em both off.”

Rios sliced a crude cross deep into the skin between Mackay's breasts, then carved
VSC
into the skin of her abdomen. “Give you a souvenir.”

Gomez leaned forward, her face inches from Mackay's. “You wan' her to cut your heart out? You wanna die?”

Mackay willed herself not to cry. “No.”

“Beg.”

“No.”

“Then we kill you right now.”

Mackay screwed up her courage for one last bluff. “Stop now, and no one'll know who did this, otherwise you'll be arrested within a hour, and my prosecutors'll see you get the death penalty. You'll die slower than me.”

“You talk brave.”

“What's it going to be, Gomez?”

“I thinkin'.”

“If you're going to kill me, do it.”

Gomez looked at Rios, shook her head, then stood.
“I let you off this time, gringa. Next time I kill you myself.”

“I know the jailhouse drill, now get out of here.”

After they left, Mackay tried to push herself out of the chair, but collapsed to the floor.

The last thing she remembered was lying on her back looking at the ceiling, wondering if Emma had aced her math exam that morning.