The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,144

back in two and put it in his pocket. “When Zachariah Culpepper was on trial, she wanted to flip the switch herself. This was back when they still electrocuted people. Remember everybody who committed a crime before May of 2000 was grandfathered in.”

Sam had read about the methods of execution during law school. She had found the process barbaric until she imagined Zachariah Culpepper pissing himself the same way Charlie had as he awaited the first delivery of 1,800 volts.

Rusty said, “She wanted Gamma’s murderer to be executed and she wants her husband’s murderer to be spared.”

Sam shrugged. “People mellow when they get older. Some people.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Rusty said. “As to Judith Pinkman, I would say: ‘It is better to be sometimes right than at all times wrong.’”

Sam decided now was as good a time as any to drop Charlie’s problem back into Rusty’s lap. “Kelly told me that Mason Huckabee put the murder weapon down the back of his pants. I’m assuming he walked it out of the building. You need to figure out why he took such a huge risk.”

Rusty did not respond. He smoked his cigarette. He stared out into the parking lot.

“Dad,” Sam said. “He took the murder weapon from the scene. He’s either involved somehow or he’s an idiot.”

“I told you stupid breaks your heart.”

“You came to that conclusion pretty quickly.”

“Did I?”

Sam was not going to volley back his riddles. Rusty obviously knew something that he was not sharing. “You’ll have to turn Mason in for the gun. Other than Judith Pinkman, he’s probably Coin’s strongest witness.”

“I’ll find another way.”

Sam shook her head. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll find another way to neutralize Mason Huckabee. No need to put a man in jail for making a stupid mistake.”

“We’d have to let half of them out if that was the standard.” Sam rubbed her eyes. She was too drained for this conversation. “Is this guilt on your part? Some sort of penance? I don’t know if giving Mason a pass makes you a hypocrite or soft-hearted, because you’re clearly trying to protect Charlie at the expense of your client.”

“Probably both,” Rusty admitted. “Samantha, I will tell you something very important: there is value in forgiveness.”

Sam thought about the letters in her purse. She was not sure she wanted to know why her mother’s murderer, the man who had tried to rape her sister, who had stood by while Sam was shot in the head, was reaching out to Rusty. In truth, Sam was afraid that her father had forgiven him, and that she could never forgive Rusty for having given Zachariah Culpepper’s conscience a reprieve.

Rusty asked, “Have you ever been to an execution?”

“Why on earth would I attend an execution?”

Rusty stubbed out his cigarette. He slipped it into his pocket. He held out his arm to Sam. “Feel my pulse.” He saw her expression. “Humor your old man before you get back on a plane home.”

Sam pressed her fingers to the inside of his bony wrist. At first, she felt nothing but the thick line of his flexor carpi radialis. She moved her fingers around, then located the steady tap-tap-tap of blood pulsing through his veins.

She said, “Got it.”

“When a person is executed,” Rusty began. “You sit in the viewing area, and there’s the family down front and a pastor and a reporter and then on the other side, there’s you, the person who couldn’t stop any of this from happening.” Rusty put his hand over Sam’s. His skin was rough and dry. She realized that this was the first time she had touched her father in almost thirty years.

He continued, “They pull back the drape, and there he is, this human being, this living, breathing creature. Is he a monster? Perhaps he has done monstrous deeds. But now, he is strapped down in a bed. His arms and legs, his head, are pinned so that he cannot make eye contact with any one person. He’s staring up at the ceiling, where the tiles have been painted with white clouds and a blue sky. Cartoonish in nature, likely done by another inmate. This is the last thing this condemned man will ever see.”

Rusty pressed her fingers closer against his wrist. His heart rate had accelerated.

“So what you notice is that his chest is pumping as he tries to control his breath. And that’s when you feel it.” He tapped the top of her fingers. “Dum-dum. Dum-dum. You feel your own blood pumping through your