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Authors: Mary Willis Walker
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her bag.
He leaned back in his chair and looked down into his drink. “Not tonight. I’m tired. Let me think about it.”
Push , her instinct told her. “We could take twenty minutes now and get it done. It could be helpful in changing people’s minds about capital punishment, David. Showing the difficulty a religious man has after he does his duty and testifies in court.”
He shook his head slowly and held up his empty glass as explanation. “I can’t even think straight now. I don’t usually drink like this. I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we could talk after you check the autopsy stuff.”
Molly sighed, took a card out of her purse, and handed it to him. “What time will you call?”
He slid the card into his breast pocket and folded his hands again on the table, as though they might escape if he didn’t hold on to them. “In the afternoon,” he murmured.
“Where are you staying if I should need to get in touch with you? There’s always the chance I might get some information about the execution.”
“I’m staying with my cousin, Reuben Serrano, on South Fifth. 1802 South Fifth.”
Molly jotted it down. “What’s the phone number there?”
David put a ten-dollar bill on the table. “He’s got no phone.”
She decided to try once more to get him to talk, but just as she was about to speak, he stood and slid his chair into the table. “I’ve got to go,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “Got a date.” When she put her hand in his, he shook it with a firm, professional grasp and then made a slight bow from the waist.
“Talk to you tomorrow,” Molly said.
She watched him walk away in his dark suit and his dignified posture. A funeral director—he had certainly mastered the body language.
Molly could see from all the way across the room that Jo Beth’s eyes were sparkling with anticipation. As she slid into the booth and picked up her sandwich, Jo Beth said, “He was the guy who worked for the McFarlands, wasn’t he?”
Molly nodded and took a bite of the sandwich.
“Don’t get coy on me, Mother. What did he want that was so private?”
“Not coy,” Molly said with her mouth full, “just eating.” After she swallowed, she said, “I’ll tell you after I eat.” She started to take another bite, then stopped. “Something’s going on. First Charlie McFarland trying to talk me out of the story, then this stuff from the master poet, and now David Serrano. It’s like out in the oil fields when the rigs start drilling and all the snakes for miles around are set into motion. I just want to go on the record here as predicting that things are on the move.”
Jo Beth shook her head. “If you want to get credit for being a prophet, Mother, I think you need to be a little more specific than that.”
chapter 4
Here on death row
All set to go.
Ain’t scared,
All prepared.
Got no fear, they say,
Ready anyday.
All set to die,
Easy as pie—
What a fucking lie!
LOUIE BRONK
Death Row, Ellis I Unit,
Huntsville, Texas
M olly Cates looked down at the familiar photos spread out on the desk—eleven-year-old photos of a dead woman whose body was probably reduced to dust by now. The oval face, with its small even features, was appealing even in death and even without hair to soften it. The body stretched out on the stainless-steel autopsy table could have been that of a ten-year-old girl, except for the swelling of small breasts and the wispy hair growth in the groin. Tiny McFarland had been one of those women who pass from child to adult with only a minimum of external physical change.
Barbara Gruber, assistant to Travis County Medical Examiner Robert Perez, looked over Molly’s shoulder and demanded, “What on earth are you looking for, Moll, that you didn’t see the first hundred times?”
“I’d rather not say, so you can be impartial here,” Molly told her. “Let’s have a closer look at this head shot, Barb.”
A sturdy, middle-aged blonde in horn-rimmed
He leaned back in his chair and looked down into his drink. “Not tonight. I’m tired. Let me think about it.”
Push , her instinct told her. “We could take twenty minutes now and get it done. It could be helpful in changing people’s minds about capital punishment, David. Showing the difficulty a religious man has after he does his duty and testifies in court.”
He shook his head slowly and held up his empty glass as explanation. “I can’t even think straight now. I don’t usually drink like this. I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we could talk after you check the autopsy stuff.”
Molly sighed, took a card out of her purse, and handed it to him. “What time will you call?”
He slid the card into his breast pocket and folded his hands again on the table, as though they might escape if he didn’t hold on to them. “In the afternoon,” he murmured.
“Where are you staying if I should need to get in touch with you? There’s always the chance I might get some information about the execution.”
“I’m staying with my cousin, Reuben Serrano, on South Fifth. 1802 South Fifth.”
Molly jotted it down. “What’s the phone number there?”
David put a ten-dollar bill on the table. “He’s got no phone.”
She decided to try once more to get him to talk, but just as she was about to speak, he stood and slid his chair into the table. “I’ve got to go,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “Got a date.” When she put her hand in his, he shook it with a firm, professional grasp and then made a slight bow from the waist.
“Talk to you tomorrow,” Molly said.
She watched him walk away in his dark suit and his dignified posture. A funeral director—he had certainly mastered the body language.
Molly could see from all the way across the room that Jo Beth’s eyes were sparkling with anticipation. As she slid into the booth and picked up her sandwich, Jo Beth said, “He was the guy who worked for the McFarlands, wasn’t he?”
Molly nodded and took a bite of the sandwich.
“Don’t get coy on me, Mother. What did he want that was so private?”
“Not coy,” Molly said with her mouth full, “just eating.” After she swallowed, she said, “I’ll tell you after I eat.” She started to take another bite, then stopped. “Something’s going on. First Charlie McFarland trying to talk me out of the story, then this stuff from the master poet, and now David Serrano. It’s like out in the oil fields when the rigs start drilling and all the snakes for miles around are set into motion. I just want to go on the record here as predicting that things are on the move.”
Jo Beth shook her head. “If you want to get credit for being a prophet, Mother, I think you need to be a little more specific than that.”
chapter 4
Here on death row
All set to go.
Ain’t scared,
All prepared.
Got no fear, they say,
Ready anyday.
All set to die,
Easy as pie—
What a fucking lie!
LOUIE BRONK
Death Row, Ellis I Unit,
Huntsville, Texas
M olly Cates looked down at the familiar photos spread out on the desk—eleven-year-old photos of a dead woman whose body was probably reduced to dust by now. The oval face, with its small even features, was appealing even in death and even without hair to soften it. The body stretched out on the stainless-steel autopsy table could have been that of a ten-year-old girl, except for the swelling of small breasts and the wispy hair growth in the groin. Tiny McFarland had been one of those women who pass from child to adult with only a minimum of external physical change.
Barbara Gruber, assistant to Travis County Medical Examiner Robert Perez, looked over Molly’s shoulder and demanded, “What on earth are you looking for, Moll, that you didn’t see the first hundred times?”
“I’d rather not say, so you can be impartial here,” Molly told her. “Let’s have a closer look at this head shot, Barb.”
A sturdy, middle-aged blonde in horn-rimmed
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