Page 2 of The Devil's Advocate

‘I believe you,’ said Korn.

‘You what ?’ asked Warren.

‘I believe him. And the acting governor will do whatever I tell him. I’ll get him back on the phone right now. Give me a second, and it will all be over soon,’ said Korn.

Tears began to run down Darius Robinson’s cheeks.

Cody Warren’s shoulders slumped, as if five hundred pounds had just been lifted off his back. He looked to the ceiling, whispered athank youto the heavens and closed his eyes. He had saved a young man’s life. And right then, nothing could be as sweet as that relief.

He strode up to the death cell, put his forearms through the bars and held his client’s face. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he said.

Korn pressed the screen on his cell with this thumb. ‘Governor, are you still there ?’

‘I’m here. We’re cutting this fine, Randal. What do you want me to do ? I’m inclined to commute the sentence based on Mr. Warren’s submission, but I won’t go against my district attorney – not if you have strong views. What’s your attitude ?’

Korn took a step back, admiring the scene in front of him. Warren and Robinson were hugging each other through the bars of the cell. Both of them were crying now.

‘I’ve spoken to Mr. Warren. He is very persuasive. He has a strong argument for commuting Robinson’s sentence. I understand that is your preference too. It’s not easy to take a life in the name of justice,’ said Korn.

Warren and Robinson were now smiling through their tears, laughing. The vast, unfathomable fear that had held them for weeks had gone, and the relief was total.

‘But that’s why wemustgo through with the sentence in this case,’ said Korn.

Warren was the first to register what Korn had just said. His head snapped to the side, his eyes locking on the district attorney.

‘A jury convicted Mr. Robinson of murder and sentenced him to death. We are dishonoring that jury, and dishonoring Mr. Robinson’s victim, if we allow him to live. No, in my opinion, Darius Robinson dies tonight.’

Warren started toward Korn, but two guards stepped in between them, grabbing hold of Warren and forcing him back.

‘Like I said, Randal, I’m not going to go against your wishes. The execution will proceed as planned. Appeal denied,’ said Patchett.

The Department of Corrections staff had performed training drills for weeks leading to this day, making sure the straps were tight, the sponge on his head held enough saline, the electrodes securely attached. They finished their well-practiced work in under two minutes, and stepped out of the death chamber leaving Robinson strapped into Yellow Mama and blindfolded.

The chamber itself was relatively small. The chair was in the center of the brick-walled room, facing the large viewing window. The controls for the electric current were in a separate room. It was through the glass pane in the control-room door that Korn would watch the execution.

Robinson’s blue prison-issue uniform had been altered somewhat. His left pant leg had been cut away just above the knee. An electrode strapped to that calf, which had been smeared with a conductor gel. Both legs were secured to the chair by thick leather straps with bright silver buckles around his ankles. More straps around his stomach, chest, arms and forehead. A sponge containing exactly three fluid ounces of saline sat ready on the electrode emanating from what they called the ‘helmet’, the cap which delivered most of the current into Korn’s body. If there was too much saline in the sponge, the electrode would short. Too little, and Darius’s head would catch fire.

The prisoner’s uniform had damp patches on it. Under the arms and on the chest. Robinson was sweating through his uniform. Even strapped down tightly, he was still shaking like a pistol in a child’s hand.

A lever in the control room pulled open the curtain in the death chamber to reveal the glass wall, and the people beyond. Half a dozen witnesses. None of them related to the dead used-car salesmen who’d been murdered by Porter. No, these were professional witnesses and reporters. Cody Warren was not present. He had been removed from the building. Korn could see the witnesses, but they could not see him. His viewing pane was one-way glass.

The condemned man was offered his final words.

‘I’m innocent and they all know it.’

Korn knew it. And he didn’t care. He didn’t become a prosecutor in a death-penalty state to concern himself with guilt or innocence. It was the system that appealed to him. Justice was simply a cloak he wore to disguise his true nature.

All was quiet now. Then, he heard the sound of the machine kick to life.

Korn heard something else, a low hum, which suddenly became louder as Robinson’s left shoulder jerked and then slammed back against the chair.

Yellow Mama had begun her first cycle.

Almost two-and-a-half-thousand volts were now coursing through Robinson. Korn’s eye’s widened, his lips parted. He could taste something metallic in his mouth. The air was thick with static.

For the first two seconds, Robinson appeared as if an invisible force had pinned his shoulder to the back of the chair. Another two seconds passed with his body jerking wildly, like a jackhammer was buried in his stomach. This first jolt was supposed to knock him out, stop his heart.

It did neither of those things. The human skull is a poor conductor.