Love Her Madly Read online

  “We know that. It took you two weeks to find what we’d spent six months on to no avail.”

  “You knew someone was robbing you for six months?”

  “I suppose we hadn’t told you that. We were too embarrassed.”

  Oh.

  I dialed the number my director had given me. A receptionist sang, “Secretary of State.” I identified myself and asked to speak to the secretary. Without a hint of hesitation she asked me if she should call him out of his meeting. I told her yes, and she told me it would be just a couple of minutes. It took one minute.

  “Agent Rice, what can I do for you?”

  I described the news that was about to come down in two days and, no, I wouldn’t say which publication, just that it was national and it was big. Then I asked him if the governor could fit in a meeting with me right away, preferably tomorrow.

  He asked me where I was.

  “Gatesville.” I gave him my number.

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  I told him, “If I don’t hear from you tonight, say by eight o’clock, I’ll call the New York Times one minute after eight.”

  He didn’t get back to me and neither did the governor. The governor’s wife called me at seven-forty-five instead. She inquired as to how I was enjoying Texas. I told her I loved it, I’d been to so many places, and I was entirely smitten with Laredo.

  She said, “Me, too!” Then, “I’m also wonderin’ if you can make it down to Austin tomorrow. We’re havin’ a barbecue here at the house, and the governor and myself would love it if you’d join us.”

  Good. I was finally going to get an authentic Texas barbecue.

  I went to the Best Western desk and asked the clerk if I’d have to go to Waco to get the best boots around.

  “No, ma’am, you just head right into town. Man who makes the warden’s boots’ll make yours.”

  She gave me the address.

  I drove into the center of Gatesville. I asked the bootmaker, “How long have you been out?”

  He said, “Not long enough, buttercup.”

  Boots cost six hundred and fifty dollars. Another hundred for the rush.

  * * *

  There were around forty people gathered in the backyard of the governor’s mansion, and none were uniformed guards. Just a couple of Texas Rangers in full dress stationed at the gate. I spotted another Ranger not in full dress. He was a guest. Max Scraggs. He gave me a nod.

  I was surprised at the lack of security, just as I’d been surprised when I came upon the prisons in Gatesville where all the prisoners were out hoeing, unattended. Just as surprised as I’d been in Laredo, watching the Mexicans bathe in the Rio Grande. The governor’s mansion had a fence around it, but it was decorative wrought iron. The mansion stood on probably an eighth of an acre of grass, and across the street a rising lawn led to the capitol, sitting on a crest. Aside from that view there was no other. The mansion was surrounded on three sides by soaring new office buildings.

  I mentioned the lack of security to my assigned escort guide.

  He said, “We really don’t need much. I guess it’s because everybody round here is packin’ a rod. If some cowboy with a weakness north of the ears looks like he’s trying to get into the governor’s house uninvited, why, the postman will nail him.”

  That was good to know.

  The mansion was a pretty white house with columns in front and swings at either end of the wide front porch. But it wasn’t a terribly big house, four rooms down, four up, with a four-room addition in the back. My escort explained that seventy-five years ago a governor had moved in with eleven children, hence the addition. There was a basketball hoop in the driveway and a little patio where the governor’s cat snoozed on one of several worn and comfortable-looking wicker rockers. The cat’s fur was shaved over his backside. The escort told me the cat tended to roam and had come in a few nights ago with a couple of bites out of his hindquarters.

  “A retreat injury. If his head were bitten, that would be an injury of aggression and he’d be showin’ off his stitches. He’s one embarrassed wimp of a cat.”

  Then he complimented me on my boots.

  The governor came right over as soon as he spotted me. He was as gracious as he was attractive. In his forties, trim, his hair graying ever so classically at the temples. Tanned and tall. He wanted me to feel comfortable in his home, he told me. He introduced me to several Texas legislators whose wives were on the other side of the lawn, chatting. The guys did a lot of backslapping and laughing, maneuvering me along what was pretty much a reception line until I was funneled to the wives.

  Along the way I was introduced to Commander Scraggs. He shook my hand. “Nice to see you, Agent.”

  I said, “Likewise,” and moved on.

  The ladies welcomed me into the conversations about their jobs and the juggling they did to keep up the domestic ends of their lives, about politics, religion, and everything that mattered, while the boys went back to the pressing matter of a crucial playoff game.

  Then we were all handed plastic bibs that said, I ATE RIBS WITH THE GOVERNOR.

  Once we dug in, the governor’s wife kept plying me with Handi-Wipes until she was assured I didn’t mind eating ribs without the use of utensils and could fall right into sucking the sauce off my fingers along with the locals. I told her the rest of the country didn’t know the meaning of barbecue. She said, “The secret is just a few blocks away. A restaurant called Stubbs. They cater, God love them. Stubbs makes our favorite sauce. If you have time, you can stop by and get a few jars to stick in your suitcase.”

  I would try so I could take the sauce to Joe, and he’d duplicate her feast.

  The governor ambled over to us, leaned toward me, and said, “You and me will just sneak away shortly. Have that little powwow you’d like before dessert’s served.”

  He’d do his best to blow me off in the few minutes between courses.

  His wife led me to a bathroom so I could have a “scrub.” Just before she dropped me off in the library—“the governor’s favorite room”—she said, “You do know that the Bible instructs us, An eye for an eye.”

  Now where had I heard that before? I was about to protest, tell her the issue I was concerned with was not the death penalty but rather ferreting out corruption. But I felt like playing her idiotic game.

  I said, “I interpret that scripture as meaning a crime deserves punishment but not that the punishment should be the same act as the crime. If someone is raped, you don’t rape the rapist. So I believe it should be left to the Lord concerning the ultimate punishment, since the Bible commands ten things in particular, one of them, Thou shalt not kill.”

  Her response was a little cough. She escaped as quickly as she could, depositing me at the library door. Inside was a small antique cabinet with very old books, the bindings faded and cracked. That was the extent of the library’s collection.

  I went in and sat on one of the chairs across from the sofa. An aide led the governor in, I stood, and he waved me back into the chair. Then he waved the aide out. He settled comfortably into the sofa, a coffee service on the table between us. He poured. Next to the coffee service he’d set the glass of scotch he’d carried in. It was half empty. He picked that up, rather than the cup of coffee, and polished it off.

  His handsome laugh lines were now worry lines. He looked ten years older than he did while shmoozing out on the line. He took me in.

  “Been enjoyin’ yourself, Agent?”

  “I have.”

  “Everyone treat you good?”

  “Everyone. Your wife went out of her way.”

  “She can sense when to do that and she can sense when she needn’t bother. She is aware that you did us one very crucial favor. Knowing news that will affect me as strongly as this will.… You have allowed that I will maintain the upper hand. Besides that, made me realize I shouldn’t be seen as hidin’ out. Time to throw a little party. So I owe you and I will listen to you. But I have to tell you tha
t I don’t expect anything you can say will influence the decision I’ve made. Only reasonable I should say that. I have made up my mind as regards the condemned prisoner. However, I will hear you out if you wish to proceed.”

  He looked at his empty glass, decided on the coffee after all. He leaned back into the cushy sofa with his cup in hand and waited.

  I said, “Governor, I do wish to proceed, and I want to start by saying people in this country, as you know, have begun to feel uneasy about the escalating numbers of executions. They’re feeling especially uneasy about the mounting number of mistakes. Considering the impact of DNA testing—”

  “I have considered that impact. But very few people in Texas, according to the polls we’ve taken, are feeling uneasy. And they certainly know as I do that there’s no mistake when it comes to Rona Leigh Glueck. As their representative, my understanding of the law is that contrition is not a criterion for overthrowing a sentence of death. Contrition is not DNA. That woman is as cold-blooded a killer as ever there was. I know there are people who have decided that Jesus has saved Rona Leigh Glueck’s soul and that I should save her life. They are in the minority.”

  I tried again. “What I’m saying to you has nothing to do with any of that. I am not here protecting Rona Leigh. I am here because, unfortunately, there is no test the equivalent of DNA that can say a prisoner was a victim of false evidence, police tampering, or a lawyer who fell asleep at the wheel. Giving such a victim a second chance at—”

  “Wait right there. Giving a second chance to a condemned killer is a sign of weakness, as far as I can see. Weakness is a political liability, sure as anything. As many people as there are who need to think Jesus wants me to change Rona Leigh’s death sentence to life in prison, twice as many do not. I am not a wimp, Miz Rice.”

  “I am talking about a reprieve, not a commutation of her sentence.”

  “It’s all the same. People are watching to see if I am tough enough to put a woman to death. Well, I surely am.” He stood up and picked up his empty glass. “Think I’ll have another one of these. Care to join me?”

  “Thank you. Yes.”

  He went to a little cabinet, took out a decanter and a glass, and poured. There was no ice around. He refilled his own glass.

  He handed me the glass of scotch and sat down again. I took a sip. Man knew how to drink.

  While he slugged it down, I took advantage. “Governor, I’ve come to learn several things about the crime Rona Leigh Glueck was convicted of which, in other states, would be conditions for a reprieve, for a new investigation. But the reason I am here to see you personally, the reason I needed to see the governor of Texas, is because the evidence I’ve found would allow you to determine whether or not she had a fair trial.”

  He snorted. “First off, what other states do or don’t do makes no matter to me. And second, I am only duty-bound to consider two factors: whether there’s any doubt about the inmate’s guilt—and the only doubt would arise from a DNA test—and whether that inmate had access to the courts.”

  “But fairness is—”

  “Court says guilty, that’s it. It’s a contradiction to say the condemned is innocent of a crime he’s been condemned to die for because otherwise he wouldn’t be condemned.”

  I think he got the line of double-speak he’d memorized mixed up. Single malt scotch will do that.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand your point.”

  Neither did he. “Listen, nobody raped anybody here. Nobody left their telltale body fluids behind, and what a relief that is.” He raised his glass. “I believe I will drink to that fact.”

  “You are disdainful of the fact that DNA testing has exonerated innocent men convicted of rape and murder?”

  “Maybe I am. My mama used to say you could judge a man by his friends. You’re suspected of rape? Then you are probably a no-’count. If we execute a few rotten apples, a few losers who bring nothing to the society that feeds them, what difference does it make?”

  He leaned back into his sofa cushions and the smirk became a grin. The governor of Texas was drunk. He started blathering the way drunks tend to do.

  “And I am perfectly aware, Miz Rice, of the rumor that Rona Leigh’s boyfriend committed the crime and then put the ax in her hand. But I am sure you understand that if you take part in a crime, even if you don’t strike the blow, you are just as guilty of first-degree murder.”

  “First degree? Only if you were part of a deadly intent.”

  “Intent? Girl was there, wasn’t she? If some piece of garbage in prison with Lloyd Bailey goes around saying Lloyd told him on his deathbed that Rona Leigh just stood there not knowin’ what the hell was goin’ on, then fuck him.”

  I do love it when the gloves come off. I knocked down the rest of my scotch.

  “Governor, I am not fool enough to come here and think I can convince you of an unproven theory as to what took place in a motel room seventeen years ago when two people were axed to death. But if you give her a thirty-day stay, I know I will produce evidence that will—”

  “The paroles board grants stays, not me.”

  “They’re your appointees. You tell them what to do.”

  “Listen, there’s too much red tape, if you want to know the truth. We’ve got 459 prisoners on death row, and I can’t be—”

  “They’ll cut the red tape on your say-so.”

  He squinted, took another slug of scotch, and looked at his watch. “Much as I like drinkin’ with a mighty fine-lookin’ woman, I am a busy man. Is there anything else you have to say? I mean, without repeatin’ yourself?”

  Prick. “Yes. There are circumstances surrounding the condemned that haven’t—”

  “Stop right there. Don’t go thinking child-abuse stuff carries any weight with me. It don’t give you the excuse to kill somebody once you grow up.”

  “Actually, she was still a child when the crime was committed.”

  “Not in Texas, she wasn’t.”

  “Governor, there’s an important detail that never came out at the trial.”

  “Why tell me about it? Have her lawyer file an appeal based on your information.”

  “Because as you point out we’re in Texas. Thirty days has passed since her conviction, hasn’t it? And legislation to change such a travesty has been vetoed three times. By you.”

  “You aimin’ to get personal here?”

  I kept at him. “No. I’m not. How do you feel about entrapment?”

  “There was no entrapment during her trial.” During her trial? “Nothing came out as to—”

  “Melody Scott’s husband set up his own wife to be attacked. He told Lloyd—”

  He put his hand up. “All bullshit. Gossip.”

  “Mr. Scott knew—”

  “Don’t matter a damn about Mr. Scott. See, I heard it all. I am not moved. And that RC cardinal won’t move me either, rest assured.” He drained his glass.

  “Governor, how can it not matter? Gary Scott knew he would inherit money upon his wife’s death. Were you aware—”

  “Hardly any money at all. In fact, peanuts. Agent, I already know everything you came here to tell me. But I will not go around granting reprieves based on the shenanigans of white trash.”

  “So you’ll let her die even if she was set up? Even if she—”

  “I can see I am not gettin’ anywhere with you, Agent. My wife has probably started serving her pies. So this is the last thing I’m sayin’. In Texas, you get arrested, you have full access to the courts, and that is all you deserve. She has lost all her appeals. The law has ruled against your killer. Her time is officially up.”

  “Excuse me, my killer? You’re going to get personal with me now?”

  He stood up. “You have outstayed your welcome, Agent. I suggest—”

  I stood up too. “A prisoner requesting clemency or a reprieve from her governor is not exercising the right to an appeal. The governor isn’t the court, isn’t the clemency board, he’s—”
r />   “I know what the governor is. I am the governor. I will not second-guess my courts. Or my board. I leave their affairs to them.”

  “But it’s not a matter of second-guessing. It’s your duty as governor. A singular duty. You are the only one with the right to consider whether a punishment is fair. That’s the key concept I keep trying to bring up to you: fairness. Even if you dislike having to be fair when it comes to white trash. Fairness isn’t considered by prosecutors and judges and juries and boards. In fact there are state legislatures trying to prevent that right of the governor, trying to take it upon themselves to determine the fairness of a penalty. Now I can certainly see why. You—”

  He put his finger in my face. “This is my state! Here, the law is the law. In my state, if you’re fool enough to get your ass in the way of the law, then expect to pay the price. My duty is to see that the laws of the land are carried out. I will not stand in the way of the will of the people of Texas!”

  “Their will for blood?”

  He waved his glass in the air. He bellowed, “For justice!”

  And I chose to speak barely above a whisper. “Governor, the slant you’ve chosen to take on your duty is a perversion of the power granted to you by the people of Texas, even if the people of Texas are too stupid to know where your power lies. It’s a hell of a lot easier to say you are powerless than it is to exercise power. You are not a wimp. You’re worse. You’re impotent.”

  He started to sputter. The door opened.

  Now I raised my voice. “The possibility that my killer is innocent flies in the face of what you rely on. Order and establishment. Because you’re afraid of the responsibility inherent in the breakdown of order if it flies in the face of the truth! You don’t want any part of the truth—and you’re the governor! You should be ashamed.”

  He threw the glass against the wall behind my head. Shards flew. The door swung open. Men surrounded us. He pushed the closest one back and pointed his finger at me again. “Now you hear me, girl. You can go around exercising all the power you want. Be my fucking guest. But you are a fool. Rona Leigh Glueck will be executed. She has killed in cold blood. Or she stood by and watched her lover do the same. The punishment is fair. An eye for an eye, goddamn it. I am the Christian, not that piece of dirt. An eye for a fucking eye.”