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  A question he almost immediately regretted verbalizing. It hung in the air like a crystalline balloon, fragile, but refusing to go away.

  “Thank you for talking to Ellen.”

  He shrugged. “No big.”

  “I’ll bet.” She paused a moment. “She has another son, right? Her own child.”

  “David. Thirteen.”

  “That’ll be a comfort. Once Johnny starts doing his time.”

  “I would imagine.”

  “So… that means David was born just after-”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about it.”

  “Mmm.” She looked at him for a long moment. “I liked Ellen. I can see why she meant so much to you.”

  Ben looked away, out at the horizon. “I thought I knew her. Stupid. Truth is that no matter what you do, how much time you spend, you can never know another person.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s true. I thought I knew Ellen. Mike thought he knew Agent Swift. Tony Barovick thought he knew Shelly. You think you know someone and you put your trust in them and-pow! They betray you.”

  “Not always,” Christina said firmly. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “Easy to say.”

  “Look at me,” she said, gently turning his head until he faced her. “I would never betray you. And you would never do anything to hurt me. I know that. I know it.”

  A silence fell, one that threatened to become oppressive. Christina snapped her fingers, shattering the silence. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.” She pulled a small tape player out of the picnic basket and turned it on.

  “Is that Rachmaninoff?” Ben asked. “ ‘Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.’ I love that piece.” He peered at her strangely. “I didn’t think anyone knew.”

  Foolish boy. Mothers know everything. But I’m taking credit. “I thought it seemed like something you’d enjoy.”

  “Heck of a good guess.”

  “Well, we have worked together for a good while now, Mr. Kincaid.” She eyed him carefully. “I know you pretty darn well.”

  “I guess so.” Christina wished she were telepathic; she’d give anything to know what was buzzing in that little brain of his.

  “I’ve been a real horse’s ass, haven’t I?” he said.

  “Not at all. Extenuating circumstances.”

  “I know I have. I was awful.”

  “You were just you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Like there’s something wrong with just me?”

  “Apparently not.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

  He put his other hand on hers. “I think I’m ready. To take the next step.”

  She peered back at him. “You mean-beyond Scrabble?”

  “If-it’s okay with you.”

  “Ben Kincaid, it is so, so, so okay with me.”

  Their heads drew closer together…

  And a basketball slammed into Ben’s forehead.

  “Hey, heads up!” Jones shouted. “What’s with you two? Weren’t you watching?”

  Ben looked at Christina. Christina looked at Ben.

  They kissed.

  53

  JOURNAL OF TONY BAROVICK

  Just came in for a few minutes to jot down my thoughts. Wish I could be more upbeat about things, but there’s no denying that this has been a tough week.

  It started with Roger. After all we’ve shared, as long as we’ve been together, it looks as if our relationship may be coming to an end. I suppose in the cosmic scale of things it isn’t that big a deal. More lovers fall apart than stay together. But I can’t get over the feeling of loss, the sense that I’m giving up some part of me that I can never regain. It hurts in a way that nothing has ever hurt me before.

  I’m very concerned about what’s been going down at the bar. Remote Control has been my baby from the get-go, but I have the sense that it’s slipping away from me, that outside forces are stealing my progeny. I don’t know what to do about it. Word on the street is that an undercover cop is watching the place. Why? I’d like to think it was the hate crime those hoods perpetrated on Brian Meadows, but I know that incident isn’t even a blip on the law enforcement radar. I adore Shelly and she knows it. I would never want her to be hurt. Why does life always have to be so hard?

  There were two frat boys sitting at a table together tonight. They knew I was gay and were determined to give me grief about it. One of them seemed truly mean, almost psychotic mean. For a split second, I wondered if we were going to have a repeat of what happened to Brian. Fortunately, as soon as I backed away, they went back to swilling their overpriced Mexican beer.

  The easiest thing would be to hate those two frat boys. Easiest thing in the world. But somehow I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t know what made them the way they are, but I know in my heart that given half a chance, both of them would be capable of doing great things, wonderful things, of doing great good in the world. No one is born to be a villain. I believe that everyone-even those two-in their heart of hearts wants to be good. Wants to do good.

  Oops-phone call from Shelly. Gotta wrap this up. I can’t begin to know what the future holds for me. But I do know that the power of love is still out there, still waiting to be tapped. And I’m ready to play my part. I’m excited about it-looking forward to it, in fact. And why not?

  I’ve got my whole life ahead of me.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Since 1976, the year the U.S. Supreme Court reaffirmed the constitutionality of the death penalty, thirty-eight states have adopted death penalty statutes, and thirty-two of them have actually carried out executions. Polls show that most Americans favor the death penalty, at least in theory, even if they don’t trust the system through which it is administered. In a May 2002 Gallop Poll, 69 percent of the respondents said they favored capital punishment, but 73 percent of the respondents said that they believed at least one innocent person had been put to death in the previous five years.

  In January of 2003 (after this book was written), the Republican governor of Illinois, George Ryan, commuted the sentences of all 167 people on death row in his state. “Our capital system is haunted by the demon of error,” he declared, “error in determin-ing guilt and error in determining who among the guilty deserves to die.” Among the problems he cited were racially motivated prosecutions, coerced confessions, district attorneys and judges subject to popular election, and unreliable witnesses-problems discussed in this novel; my previous work, Death Row; and other books in the Ben Kincaid series.

  In the spring of 2000, a team of criminologists at Columbia University released the first phase of the most far-reaching study yet of the U.S. death penalty system. It showed that the system was riddled with unfairness and incompetence, with serious errors arising with alarming frequency at every stage of the process. The study also showed that of every three death sentences reviewed, two were overturned on appeal. No one knew what percentage of the remaining cases were tainted-until science provided us with a heretofore-unknown method for assessing guilt.

  In recent years, DNA evidence has called many of those verdicts into question, but there is still no law in any state guaranteeing a defendant DNA testing or the right to an appeal based upon newly discovered DNA evidence. As of this writing, more than one hundred people on death row have had their convictions overturned because DNA or other scientific evidence provided irrefutable proof of their innocence. If these figures are typical of the national rate of wrongful conviction, that would mean that one in eight of the prisoners now on death row are not guilty of the crimes for which they were convicted.

  – William Bernhardt

  October 2003

  About William Bernhardt

  William Bernhardt is the author of many books, including Primary Justice, Double Jeopardy, Silent Justice, Murder One, Criminal Intent, and Death Row. He has twice won the Oklah
oma Book Award for Best Fiction, and in 2000 he was presented the H. Louise Cobb Distinguished Author Award "in recognition of an outstanding body of work in which we understand ourselves and American society at large." A former trial attorney, Bernhardt has received several awards for his public service. He lives in Tulsa with his children, Harry, Alice, and Ralph.

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