True Crime by Andrew Klavan Read Free Book Online Page A

you.”
    “I appreciate that, Mr. Plunkitt,” Beachum said quietly. “Thank you.”
    For a second, in the pause that followed, Luther’s glance fell to the prisoner’s cigarette. The ash had grown long. And now, it dropped to the table of its own weight. And still, Beachum didn’t raise the cigarette, didn’t move his hands at all.
    It bothered Luther somehow. He had to look away. He forced his voice to sound brisk and businesslike. He stepped forward toward the cage bars, his thin smile in place, his open hand moving.
    “There’s some matters I gotta discuss with you,” he said. “Figure we do it first thing, get it out of the way.”
    Beachum nodded. “All right.”
    “Your dinner tonight, for one thing. Anything special you want? It can be pretty much anything you want.”
    “Steak …” Beachum cleared his throat. “Steak and french fries, I guess,” he said. “A beer would be nice.”
    Luther inclined his chin. “No problem. We’ll see what we can do.” He took another small step forward. He was within reach of the cage bars now. A more intimate distance. He lowered his voice. “Now about your personal effects and belongings …”
    Luther’s eyes flicked down to the prisoner’s hands again as another ash fell from his cigarette, unattended.
His damn coffee must be cold by now
, Luther thought, annoyed with himself for feeling so shaken.
    “My wife’ll take em,” said Beachum.
    “And your remains? Does that go for your remains too?” Luther asked. “If she can’t afford the funeral expenses …”
    “No. No. Her church raised some money. It’s all right.”
    “So your wife will be claiming your remains then.”
    Drawing a breath, Beachum straightened slowly in his plastic chair. It was the first sign he’d given of what had to be going on inside him. That little movement—that rattled Luther too. He felt a weight in his stomach, felt it twist and drag.
    “Yes, sir, that’s right,” said the prisoner.
    “Okay.” Luther felt his hand—the one in his pocket, on his keys—growing warm and damp. He brought it out and laced it with the other, hanging them both before him like a preacher at a graveside. He went into the next order of business, speaking briskly as before.
    “I want to give you some idea here of what’s going to happen tonight so there are no surprises,” he said. This was a standard part of the protocol now. In one of the discussions they held after each procedure, the Osage execution team had decided it would help matters along to keep the condemned man thoroughly informed. Otherwise, with everyone so jumpy as the hour of execution approached, any little deviation from what the prisoner expected would tend to startle him, and might cause trouble. “We’ll have to ask your visitors to leave at six P.M .,” Luther went on. “So you might want to inform them of that in case they’re expecting to stay till ten. You’ll be given your dinner and a fresh set of clothes. There’s a sort of plastic underwear thing we have to ask youto put on. No one’ll be able to see it or anything but we need it for sanitary purposes. We’ll make certain that it’s removed before your wife claims your body. After about ten-thirty tonight, you’ll be able to have your spiritual advisor down here with you if you want, which I believe you’ve requested.”
    The prisoner tried to answer, but couldn’t. He closed his eyes a moment and swallowed. Luther went on.
    “The gurney is actually brought right down here to the cell, oh, about half an hour before the procedure. You’ll be taken into the procedure room and they’ll hook an EKG up to you and the intravenous lines at that time. But nothing’s gonna happen early or anything. We start at 12:01 and right up to then, we’ll be monitoring the phones and we got open lines to the attorney general and the governor and those’ll be checked right through to make sure they’re in working order. You got any questions about any of