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Authors: Joseph Flynn
Tags: Mysteries & Thrillers
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cemetery the next day, after the crowd had gone home. He knelt beside the freshly turned plot of earth, made the sign of the cross, and asked God to grant Andy eternal rest … and to forgive him for letting a good man die. When tears filled, then overflowed McGill’s eyes, he didn’t bother to wipe them away.
There was no one around to see him, he thought, and he was almost right.
Only the widow, unable to stay away and watching from a distance, saw him.
The trial of four of the five conspirators in Andy’s death was scheduled quickly and proceeded without delay. Lindell Ricker, per his plea bargain, testified against the others. The defense did not contest the facts of the case. Rather it argued that the defendants had acted out of a moral imperative. To save the lives of countless unborn children it was necessary that Andrew Grant lose his life. Only such an extreme lesson would finally make it clear to all politicians that the law must be changed to allow no abortions.
Erna Godfrey was far more blunt. “Once his wife refused to save him, God wanted that man dead.”
The jury took only sixty-five minutes to disagree and return a verdict of guilty.
Erna Godfrey, spurning the offer of a lesser sentence if she would implicate her husband, was condemned to death. Walter, Penny, and Winston Delk were sentenced to life without parole. Lindell Ricker was sentenced to ten years, a long time but hardly the stuff of martyrs. Representative Doak Langdon and Senator Howard Hurlbert, cosponsors of the Support of Motherhood Act, would run for reelection unopposed.
The reporters covering the trial asked Congresswoman Grant if she thought the sentences were fair. McGill was standing nearby and could have tried to run interference, but he didn’t think Patti Grant would have wanted that. And he was curious, too.
She said, “There’s nothing fair about having someone you love get killed. There’s no undoing it. There’s no forgetting it. There’s only the hard work of trying to find peace. What happened here today is the first step down that path. Ask me ten or twenty years from now if the sentences were fair; maybe I’ll have a better answer.”
The media mob turned to McGill and asked him the same question.
“I think they should all be strapped to gurneys,” he said.
Two weeks later McGill was cooking Italian for his three kids and a soon-to-arrive friend when the doorbell rang. A moment later, McGill’s youngest, Caitie, appeared in the kitchen, leading Patti Grant by the hand.
“Dad, company,” Caitie announced.
The McGill children were no slouches. They read the papers, knew who Patti was, what had happened, and their father’s role in the matter. They were also smart enough not to let their favorite meal with their dad, angel-hair pasta with tomatoes and basil, descend into a somber occasion.
“Invite her to dinner, Dad,” Kenny said, mischief in his eye. “It’s about time we had a good-looking woman around here.”
His sisters blew raspberries at him. Patti suddenly looked uncertain of herself, but before she could say anything, Caitie added, “The congresswoman brought some men with her. Four, I think. They’re outside.”
McGill raised his eyebrows.
“Protection,” Patti said. “The president insisted. For a while anyway. I … I’m sorry. I should have called first. I just wanted to properly express my appreciation for … for … I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”
She was backing out of the room when McGill asked, “You know how to slice tomatoes?”
“Pardon?”
“We’re having one guest for dinner, but we can set another extra plate. I’m making pasta and my famous focaccia. You will have to earn your keep however.” He held up a knife.
While she was trying to decide, Caitie piped up, “You won’t mind eating with Democrats, will you? We’re all Democrats here. Every McGill is.”
The elder McGill rolled his eyes. “I’m an independent.”
Older and
There was no one around to see him, he thought, and he was almost right.
Only the widow, unable to stay away and watching from a distance, saw him.
The trial of four of the five conspirators in Andy’s death was scheduled quickly and proceeded without delay. Lindell Ricker, per his plea bargain, testified against the others. The defense did not contest the facts of the case. Rather it argued that the defendants had acted out of a moral imperative. To save the lives of countless unborn children it was necessary that Andrew Grant lose his life. Only such an extreme lesson would finally make it clear to all politicians that the law must be changed to allow no abortions.
Erna Godfrey was far more blunt. “Once his wife refused to save him, God wanted that man dead.”
The jury took only sixty-five minutes to disagree and return a verdict of guilty.
Erna Godfrey, spurning the offer of a lesser sentence if she would implicate her husband, was condemned to death. Walter, Penny, and Winston Delk were sentenced to life without parole. Lindell Ricker was sentenced to ten years, a long time but hardly the stuff of martyrs. Representative Doak Langdon and Senator Howard Hurlbert, cosponsors of the Support of Motherhood Act, would run for reelection unopposed.
The reporters covering the trial asked Congresswoman Grant if she thought the sentences were fair. McGill was standing nearby and could have tried to run interference, but he didn’t think Patti Grant would have wanted that. And he was curious, too.
She said, “There’s nothing fair about having someone you love get killed. There’s no undoing it. There’s no forgetting it. There’s only the hard work of trying to find peace. What happened here today is the first step down that path. Ask me ten or twenty years from now if the sentences were fair; maybe I’ll have a better answer.”
The media mob turned to McGill and asked him the same question.
“I think they should all be strapped to gurneys,” he said.
Two weeks later McGill was cooking Italian for his three kids and a soon-to-arrive friend when the doorbell rang. A moment later, McGill’s youngest, Caitie, appeared in the kitchen, leading Patti Grant by the hand.
“Dad, company,” Caitie announced.
The McGill children were no slouches. They read the papers, knew who Patti was, what had happened, and their father’s role in the matter. They were also smart enough not to let their favorite meal with their dad, angel-hair pasta with tomatoes and basil, descend into a somber occasion.
“Invite her to dinner, Dad,” Kenny said, mischief in his eye. “It’s about time we had a good-looking woman around here.”
His sisters blew raspberries at him. Patti suddenly looked uncertain of herself, but before she could say anything, Caitie added, “The congresswoman brought some men with her. Four, I think. They’re outside.”
McGill raised his eyebrows.
“Protection,” Patti said. “The president insisted. For a while anyway. I … I’m sorry. I should have called first. I just wanted to properly express my appreciation for … for … I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”
She was backing out of the room when McGill asked, “You know how to slice tomatoes?”
“Pardon?”
“We’re having one guest for dinner, but we can set another extra plate. I’m making pasta and my famous focaccia. You will have to earn your keep however.” He held up a knife.
While she was trying to decide, Caitie piped up, “You won’t mind eating with Democrats, will you? We’re all Democrats here. Every McGill is.”
The elder McGill rolled his eyes. “I’m an independent.”
Older and
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