Stay of Execution by K. L. Murphy Read Free Book Online Page B

unsolved cases or seek out the guilty; rather it was to find men and women who had been wrongly incarcerated and grant them the freedom they had lost. Anti–death penalty groups and activists rejoiced, convinced this testing was the first step in eliminating the death penalty altogether.
    Conservatives shouted with dismay that juries might be fearful of convicting anyone in the future if mistakes were uncovered and publicized. More than one judge agreed with this assessment, even going so far as to say the standard “beyond a reasonable doubt” was nearly impossible to meet. All of this was relevant in the abstract but took on new significance when the case of the Coed Killer came along. Now, a convicted murderer sitting on death row had been granted a full pardon, his freedom the direct result of DNA testing. What was a small town with virtually no political clout to do?
    The jury hadn’t needed long to convict Leo Spradlin, deliberating less than two hours and presenting their verdict in front of a packed courthouse. Things in Little Springs had returned to normal. Years had passed. Now old pictures of Spradlin, along with a few from prison, were plastered across the front page and the nightly news. Politicians, civil rights groups, and talking heads all chimed in. No one asked the residents of Little Springs how they felt or what they thought, but Cancini knew and he understood.
    He sat up. The pills had reduced the pounding at the base of his skull to a dull ache. He switched on the overhead light and pushed aside the curtains. Outside, the streetlamps illuminated glass storefronts and lit up the courthouse. A ­couple strolled hand in hand before ducking inside a cafe. Life moved on.
    His hand dropped and the drapes fell closed. He paced the room, ten steps toward the door, ten steps back to the window. Coed Killer. Cancini hadn’t liked the label then, and he didn’t like it now. To him, it trivialized the horror the young girls and the town had endured. With the pardon, the name had no face. The Coed Killer was a phantom.
    At the press conference, Spradlin had promised to stay in Little Springs. Yet, after the reporters were gone and the media frenzy had faded, would he? If he did stay, would the townsfolk’s antagonism toward him fade, too? Cancini couldn’t see how, at least not until another face could be named the Coed Killer. Talbot was right. It wasn’t his problem, his case, anymore. The press conference was over. The sun would rise on a new day, and everyone would go about their business as usual. He stopped pacing. So why was he still there, sitting in a bland hotel room, haunting the streets of his past?
    After Spradlin’s conviction, Cancini had needed to escape, to wash away the horror. He’d spent a month on a Florida beach alone, burning his pale skin day after day, swilling beer from a cooler until he was drunk enough to forget. No one in sunny Florida knew or cared about the Coed Killer, at least not back then, before today’s constant barrage of news and tabloid coverage. The days had passed. Restless by nature, he’d wondered idly what he would do with his life. Should he go back to police work? And if he did, would he be destined for the lonely life he anticipated? In the end, he’d had no choice. It was in his soul, in his heart.
    Cancini pulled on his jacket and pocketed the plastic hotel key. He switched off the overhead light and closed the door. He didn’t have the ability to be anything other than what he was—­a homicide detective.

 
    Chapter Twelve
    J ULIA SAT ALONE, perched on a swivel stool at the diner counter, feet dangling. She pushed aside the meat loaf, dense with peppers and onions, and scooped up a bite of gravy-­laden mashed potatoes instead. Shoulders hunched, she ate slowly, eavesdropping on the conversation at the table behind her.
    â€œWhat’s with this guy anyway?” She recognized the