Death Penalty Read Online Free Page B

to stay here? In my apartment?”
    â€œI arranged that you could travel to other states, but you can’t go overseas. That’s the only restriction. If you do leave the state, you must notify the court of where you can be reached. Why?”
    â€œI have an invitation to spend a week up north.”
    â€œIt might do you some good to get away for a while. Do a little fishing, something like that.”
    â€œFishing is for idiots,” he replied. “This is just social. Mrs. Cynthia Wilcox has invited me. She has a place up on Lake Huron. Rustic, but quite elegant inside, I’m told. She will send a car for me.”
    â€œWilcox, as in the widow of Poindexter Wilcox?”
    He paused, then spoke. “A family friend.”
    â€œA rich friend,” I said. “A very rich friend.”
    â€œYes, she is that, isn’t she?”
    I thought of why he was called Doctor Death.
    â€œHave you ever been up there before?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIs Mrs. Wilcox sick, by any chance?”
    I was answered by a soft chuckle. “Not that I know of.”
    â€œLook, I’m going to be frank. If she happens to have a terminal condition and passes away in her sleep while you’re up there, no appeal on earth is going to help you. You will have effectively proven everything the prosecutor alleged. Understand?”
    That chuckle was becoming like fingernails on a blackboard. “You told the jury I was innocent.”
    â€œI told the jury the prosecutor hadn’t proved his case. There’s a big difference. If there is a repeat of the other times, Doctor, no one is going to be able to help you.”
    The chuckle faded and his voice became more businesslike. “This appeals process, what again are we talking about, in terms of time?”
    â€œDepends on a lot of variables. Weeks, sometimes. Mostly several months.”
    â€œSo, we’re talking what? A year? Two years?”
    â€œDoctor, there are no guarantees, but right now I’d estimate that from start to finish we’re talking about something less than a year. Maybe even six months.”
    At first I thought he hadn’t heard me, then he spoke. “Lawyers wouldn’t last five minutes in an operating room. Six months? You people lack precision. What a way to run a business.”
    I didn’t want to argue with him. He liked it too much. “If you decide to spend more than a week with Mrs. Wilcox, let me know. It’s understood that you will let the court know where you are.”
    I suddenly realized I was talking to myself.
    Doctor Death had hung up.

2
    Marylou lay on the pillow, her blond hair spread about her like fine netting. She smoked her cigarette as if it were a required part of some religious ceremony. Her eyes were fixed upon the ceiling of my bedroom.
    She had modestly pulled the sheet up to just below her chin.
    The bedside lamp bathed her in soft light. She was beautiful, the kind of beauty seen on the screen or television. Full lips, high cheekbones, firm chin, and eyes so darkly blue they seemed unreal. And with body to match, a thirty-year-old body, but one that a teenager would envy.
    She had been the queen of morning television in Dallas, and then Cleveland, and then a number of places, but never quite queen again. All the jobs had been on adescending scale. Now she was doing radio work on a small jazz station in Detroit. A fondness for vodka had greased the downward slide.
    We were typical, a standard relationship called the AA romance. Recovering alcoholics tend to feel comfortable with their own. All human needs remain with us, they are there, but they’re tinted by the never-ending fight against the inner demon. It saves a lot of explaining if your companion has the same set of problems. It promotes a kind of romance that is, at best, only temporary.
    â€œDo you love me, Charley?”
    â€œOf course.”
    She smiled, still staring at the ceiling. “A hard