Terrence took a seat and looked through the viewing window. The death chamber was empty at the moment. The gurney was ready.The doctor had already checked the machine. He would be there to watch the death, and record the final moments.
Terrence shifted in his chair, waiting.
Outside Mitchell’s cell, the two officers assigned to making sure Mitchell didn’t kill himself had turned their chairs, signifying the end. Wicked Willy watched from his cell and said nothing. He might be next, but he still had plans—he was the kind of man who always had plans, and had never stopped to ask where they had gotten him.
Shaking so hard he could barely make his hands work, Mitchell changed into his paper jumpsuit. Willy turned away, as the men always did when the others changed, or used the naked toilet. You built walls in your mind. Life would go on, Mitchell thought. That was the most terrible part. Life would go on.
He went to the toilet bowl, thinking he would be sick, but he was not. He leaned against the cold concrete wall, feeling it on his skin for the last time. He wiped his eyes.
The officers were back. It was time.
Terrence watched as the door on the other side of the death chamber opened and the warden led Mitchell in, dressed in his thin jumpsuit. The young man looked to be in shock.
Terrence realized that he had forgotten to ask Mitchell if he had any message for his grandfather. The attorney was upset that Ruby was not there. He could see that Mitchell was looking for her. They had not known each other long, but it was a connection. Mitchell looked as if this was the final disappointment, the final betrayal in a life that had gone awry.
The officers led Mitchell to the gurney. He was shaking even harder. Tears coated his cheeks. He didn’t want to die.
Frank Castle fiddled with his beer bottle.
“I didn’t know he would be there,” he said. “I stopped in that bar because I liked to do my hunting in Union City. A thousand women could go missing down there and no one would care.” He chuckled, and it was a dry sound that went to her stomach. “Maybe some of them did.”
“It was a coincidence?”
“Bad luck—for him. Sat next to him and we started talking.” He shook his head at the memory. “I didn’t want him to tell anyone he had seen me.”
“Why would it matter?”
“He remembered me from Chinook. We used to talk, when we ran into each other. I didn’t want anyone to connect me with back there. In case they ever found them.”
“The bodies.”
“Yeah.” He finished his beer. “They might start asking questions about the caretaker. I buried bodies there, you know. I’m pretty sure they can’t track me down. I took my file when I left.”
Ruby didn’t mention the ledgers. He wouldn’t know that the matron had written his name there, too.
“And Betty?” she asked.
“Betty always did have bad luck. As soon as Mitchell turned down that road and kept going, I was wondering if he would stop there. He was a fool. It worked out well for me.”
He smiled at her, victorious.
“The district attorney recognized your car from the video,” she said. “He would have known it from around the courthouse. Once he talked to you, he knew better than to tell anyone. He asked you to put on your old uniform and take those exhibit boxes out the back door. In return, hesigned off on the probate. So you could have this place. In Willa’s name. Your very own burial ground.”
There was no light in his eyes.
“You pretended to be an investigator to get Mitchell’s work file,” she added. “Just in case there was anything in there that led back to Chinook. So they wouldn’t go there and ask questions.”
He said nothing.
“My mom tried to tell me about you when I was twelve,” she said. “I asked her if she loved you. When really I should have asked if you loved her.”
His eyes were very dangerous now.
But then he smiled.
“You’re making one mistake,” he said.
“What is that?”
