THE EXECUTION {Stories}

 

 

                       

When the foreman of the jury stood up and read the verdict, Warren Selby, the prosecutor, listened to the words declaring the accused guilty, as if they were a personal praise of his merits. In the somber tones of his voice she recognized not a condemnation of the man, who shuddered in the dock, but a tribute to his brilliance.

Found guilty... no, Warren Selby thought triumphantly. Guilty has been proven… thanks to me!

For a second the old judge's melancholy gaze met Selby's; and he could not suppress an expression of disgust at the shine of happiness that he saw in those eyes. However, the prosecutor could not hide the joy that appeared in his eyes, the satisfaction he felt when he saw that his efforts had borne fruit.

He picked up the papers with clumsy, nervous movements, fighting to regain his eternal poker face, although his repressed smile hurt. With the folder under her arm, she turned, facing the trial attendees.

"Forgive me," he said gravely, and made his way to the exit, thinking only of Doren at that moment.

He tried to imagine her, with her red lips that could close relentlessly or open generously, depending on whether she was in a bad or good mood. He tried to guess her gestures when he heard the good news, the impression he would get from feeling her warm body pressed against his, how her arms would hug him.

But that anticipated taste of Doren's charms was abruptly interrupted. The eyes of many men were searching for him, and countless hands were fighting to shake his to congratulate him. Garson, the district attorney, smiled sincerely and shook his lion head in approval of his cub's behavior. Vanee, the assistant district attorney, was trying to make a face that resembled a smile, but it was clear that he was not all that happy that someone younger than him had achieved such success. There were also journalists, who asked him questions; and photographers, who fired their cameras again and again.

At another time in his life, this would have been enough for Warren Selby to feel happy, seeing himself surrounded by men who admired him. But, at that moment, he also had Doren; and thinking of her he hastened to exchange the sand of her victory for a more private and pleasant prize.

But he didn't escape in time. Garson took him by the arm and got with him into the gray car that was waiting for them at the corner.

-How are you feeling? The district attorney smiled again, patting her knees as they walked away.

-Very good. "But it was nothing," said Selby, and then tried to make some comment that would show a modesty he didn't feel. "But damn, Gar, the glory isn't just mine." Your boys did the job perfectly.

"Come on, come on, don't pretend," Garson told him. I've been watching you throughout the trial, Warren. You smelled like blood. You were the avenging sword. You were the one who put him on the list for the electric chair, not me.

-Never say that! exclaimed Selby sharply. He was guilty, and you know it. The evidence was against him. The jury gave the only possible verdict.

-OK. They did the only thing that was appropriate, based on the way you presented the evidence to them. With another prosecutor perhaps they would have acted differently. We must give the medal to those who deserve it, Warren!

Selby couldn't hold back his smile for a second longer.

And it illuminated his long face, so he felt relieved as his features relaxed. He leaned against the high back of the car.

"You may be right," he agreed. However, for me it was guilty, and I tried to convince others of it. Evidence isn't the only thing that counts, Gar, and you know it. There are times when you simply sense the truth...

-Of course. The district attorney looked out the window, "How's your wife, Warren?"

-Ah, Doren is perfectly fine.

-Glad to hear it. She is a lovely woman.

She was lying on the couch when Selby entered the apartment. She had not imagined this detail of his triumphant welcome to her home.

He approached her, and got her arms around him.

"Have you heard, Doren?" he asked, "Have you heard what happened?"

-I have followed him on the radio.

-And good? Don't you know what that means? I have achieved my first favorable ruling, and a top one! I'm not a nobody anymore, my dear!

-What will they do to that man?

He looked at her, trying to determine what mood she was in.

-I asked for the death penalty. He murdered his wife in cold blood. Isn't that what you deserve?

"I was just asking, Warren," she commented, and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

-Death is part of my job. You know it as much as I do, Doren. You're not going to blame me!

She pushed him away for a second, apparently deciding whether to get angry or not. She immediately pressed herself against him, and she could feel that warm breath that tickled her ear.

They embarked on a week of celebration. An intimate party, dining in discreet restaurants and only meeting the closest friends. It would not have been right for Selby to appear in public organizing a party under such circumstances.

On the night of the day Murray Rosman was sentenced to death, they stayed at home and drank a few brandies. Doren immediately became happy and playful; then, passionate. And Selby believed that she had never been happier than then. With a rather mediocre resume as a law student, after passing through a third-rate position in a state department, he had jumped to an important position where he was respected. He had married a pretty and cuddly woman, and he had the power to make her melt in her arms. He felt proud of himself. He would always be grateful to Murray Rosman for the opportunity he had given him.

However, on the day Rosman was scheduled to be executed, Selby was approached by a gray-haired and somewhat hunchbacked old man, who was wearing a hat stained with grease.

The character had emerged from the threshold of a drugstore, with his hands stuck in the pockets of a dirty jacket and the brim of his hat lowered. He hadn't shaved in several days, you could tell that right away because his face was covered in whitish fuzz.

"Please, sir," he said, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

Selby looked him up and down, and searched his jacket pocket for some coins.

"No," the man said quickly. I don't want a handout. I just want to talk to you, Mr. Selby.

-Do you know me?

-Yes, you can be sure of that, Mr. Selby. I've read everything about you.

The prosecutor's hard gaze softened.

-Well, right now I'm in a bit of a hurry. I have made an appointment.

-This is important, Mr. Selby. God is witness that he is! Can't we go somewhere, have coffee? It will only take you five minutes.

-Why don't you write me a letter or come to the office? We are on Chambers Street…

-It is this man, Mr. Selby, who is going to be executed tonight!

The prosecutor examined the old man's eyes. He gazed at her with an intense, penetrating gaze.

"Okay," Selby agreed. There is a cafe near here. But let it not be more than five minutes, I beg you.

It was almost half past two; Lunch time was over and there were hardly any people in the premises. They took a table at the back, and sat in silence while the waiter removed the remains of a meal.

At last the old man leaned forward and said:

-My name is Arlington, Phil Arlington. I've been out of town, in Florida. If it hadn't been like that, I would never have allowed things to get this far. Because in all this time I have neither read newspapers, nor listened to the radio or television, or anything like that.

-I don't know where you're going, Mr. Arlington. Are you talking about the Rosman trial?

-Yes, from the Rosman case. When I returned to the city and found out what had happened, I didn't know what to do. You understand, right? He hurt me. It hurt me a lot to read what was going to happen to that poor man. But I was afraid. Understand me. I was very scared!

-Afraid of what?

The man spoke to the collar of his shirt.

-I had a terrible time trying to decide what to do. But then it occurred to me: Damn, this Rosman is young! How old is he, perhaps thirty-eight years old? I am sixty-four, Mr. Selby. So… What is better?

-Better for what? -The young prosecutor was beginning to lose patience; He looked at the time. Explain yourself, Mr. Arlington. I am a busy man.

-I thought about asking you for advice. -The old man licked his lips-. He scared me to go to the police directly. I thought it best to talk to you first. Shall I tell you what I did, Mr. Selby? Do I tell them that I was the one who killed that woman? Answer me: do I confess it to you?

The prosecutor's world fell apart. He felt his hands go cold around the coffee cup. He examined the man sitting across from him.

-What are you talking about? -asked-. Rosman killed his wife. We have tried it.

-No no! That's where I'm going to stop. I was on the road hitchhiking, heading east. They took me to Wilford. I was wandering around the city, trying to figure out how I would manage to eat or find a job, whatever. I knocked on that door. And a very kind lady opened it for me. She had no work for me; but she offered me a sandwich. It was ham...

-What house? How do you know it belonged to the Rosmans?

-I'm sure. I've seen her photo in the newspapers. She was a very pretty lady. If she hadn't gone into the kitchen afterwards, nothing would have happened.

-That? -Selby jumped.

-I should never have done it. Truly, she was very good to me; but I was on my last legs, penniless. I dedicated myself to looking inside the vases in the closet. You know how women are: they are always putting "money" in the vases, money for unexpected expenses, like paying the gas or the electricity bill or the deadline for the vacuum cleaner. She caught me and got furious. She didn't scream or anything, but I could tell she was ready to get me into trouble. I lost control…

"I don't believe you," said Selby, "Nobody saw any person in the neighborhood." Rosman and his wife spent their time fighting...

The old man shrugged his shoulders.

-I don't know anything about that topic, Mr. Selby. I don't know those people very well. But that's how it happened, and that's why I would like your advice. -He scratched his head-. What I want to know is... if I confess... What will they do to me?

"They'll fry him in the chair," the prosecutor replied coldly. They will execute him in Rosman's place. Is that what you want?

Arlington paled.

-No. Prison, I could still take it. But never that!

-Then forget such a matter. Do you hear me? Mr. Arlington, it seems to me that you have dreamed everything you just told me, don't you? Look at it that way. A bad dream. Now get back on the road and stop thinking about it.

-But that man... they are going to kill him tonight...!

"Because he's guilty." Selby slammed his fist on the table. I proved that he was. Understands?

The old man's lips trembled.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

Selby stood up and left a five-dollar bill on the table.

"Pay the bill," he said abruptly. And keep the change.

That same night, Doren asked him the time for the fourth time.

"Eleven o'clock," he answered sullenly.

-Just one more hour. -She sank into the sofa cushions-. I wonder what the condemned man is thinking about right now; how he will feel, right now.

-Shut up already!

-Oh! We're cranky tonight!

-I no longer have anything to do with the matter, Doren. I've told you forty times. Now it's up to the state government.

The tip of her tongue peeked out from between her teeth, a sign he knew that meant a storm was coming.

-But you put him where he is, Warren, don't deny me.

-The jury took him there.

-You don't have to yell at me, Mr. Prosecutor.

-Oh, Doren...

He leaned toward her apologetically when the phone rang.

He picked it up furious.

-Mr. Selby? I'm Arlington.

The prosecutor shuddered.

-What does he want?

-Mr. Selby, I've been thinking about what we talked about.

I don't think it's right. I can't accept that I should forget it just like that. I mean…

-Arlington, listen to me. I want you to come to my apartment right now!

From the sofa, Doren exclaimed:

-Hey!

-Did you hear me, Arlington? Before I do anything stupid, I need to talk to you. I must explain your legal situation. I think it's the least you should do for yourself.

There was a pause on the other end of the thread.

-I suppose you're right, Mr. Selby. The bad thing is that I am here, in the center of the city; and by the time I get there...

-He will get it. Take the subway; the blue line is the fastest. Get off at 86th Street.

When he hung up, his wife was standing there waiting for him.

-Doren, wait. I'm sorry. This man... is an important witness that I have in my hands. I can only see him now.

- Have fun! -she shouted, without her tone indicating that that was what she wanted.

- And he went to his room.

-Doren…

She slammed the door shut and bolted it.

Selby cursed his wife's bad mood under his breath and opened the door to the liquor cabinet.

By the time Arlington knocked on the door, the prosecutor had downed half a bottle of bourbon.

The appearance of the tramp's dirty jacket and grease-stained hat contrasted with the elegance of the apartment. He took off both clothes and looked around shyly.

"We only have three quarters of an hour," he said. I have to do something, Mr. Selby. It is precise.

"I know what his behavior must be," commented the prosecutor, smiling. Let's have a drink and talk about all this one more time.

-I don't think I should... -He was staring at the bottle that Selby was holding in his hand. He smiled confidently.

Around half past eleven Arlington's voice sounded hoarse and clumsy. His gaze was no longer so intense, and his interest in Rosman's fate had already lost all its strength.

Meanwhile, Selby had continued to fill his visitor's glass.

The old man mumbled a series of stories between his teeth about his childhood, about the respectability he once had and about all those who had played dirty with him, pushing him into the situation in which he found himself. After a while, he began to nod off, and his heavy eyelids closed.

However, the chimes of the wall clock startled him out of his stupor.

-What's that?

"Nothing... the watch," Selby replied.

-The watch? What time is it?

-It's twelve o'clock, Mr. Arlington. He doesn't have to worry anymore. Mr. Rosman has paid for his crime.

-No! -The old man stood up and began to walk around the room from one side to the other. No! Is not true! I killed that woman! Noel! They can't execute him for something he hasn't...!

-Calm down, Mr. Arlington. Nothing can be done for him now.

-Yes Yes! We have to tell it... to the police...

-But for what? Rosman has been executed. When the last chime of that clock rang, he had already died. How is he going to help you at this point with his confession?

-I have to do it! -exclaimed the old man, whimpering. Don't you see it? I could never stand it, Mr. Selby. Please…

He stumbled over to the phone. The prosecutor put his hand on the device forcefully.

-No! -she ordered.

The two struggled to grab the receiver but the younger one easily got away with it.

"You won't stop me, Mr. Selby." I'll go myself, in person. I will confess, and tell them what you have done...!

Then he staggered to the door. Selby grabbed him from behind.

-Damn crazy! You're making things very difficult for me. Rosman has died...

-I do not care!

Selby punched him in the face. The old tramp staggered, groaning in pain, but persisted in his intention to reach the door. The prosecutor's fury increased and he struck him again; and then he put his hands on her neck. At that moment, naturally, an idea struck him: after all, there was little life throbbing in that throat. With a little pressure, he made the frantic breathing, the high-pitched, grating voice, and the cursing words stop…

He continued to squeeze harder and harder.

And then, he let go.

The old man fell to the ground, sliding against the prosecutor's body.

Suddenly, the beautiful wife appeared at the bedroom door with a stiff, cold expression.

-Doren, listen...

"You strangled him," he whispered.

"In self-defense!" shouted Selby. He broke in, he wanted to rob the apartment.

She slammed the door and locked it. The murderous prosecutor went to the door and started banging on it, desperately. He tried to force entry and shouted for her, but she ignored him. Then she heard him dial a phone number.

Things were already going bad, without the need for Vanee to be among the police officers who entered the apartment. The assistant district attorney made no secret of his mania for Selby, especially after the success of the Rosman case. He was sure that he would destroy, in the blink of an eye, the story of the homeless man who entered the young jurist's house by force, with the intention of stealing. Furthermore, he would find out, with the collaboration of the "mistress" Doren, that the prosecutor was expecting the visit of the homeless man. The enemy was going to enjoy the case.

But you couldn't say he was enjoying it. He seemed rather confused. He looked at the body, which was still on the floor of Selby's apartment, and asked:

-I don't understand, Warren. It really doesn't enter my head. Why did you want to kill a harmless old man like this?

-Harmless? Harmless?

-Well of course. Harmless. It's old Arlington. I would recognize him right away, anywhere.

-How do you know him? -Selby was stunned.

-Yes, of course, I ran into him when I worked in Bellaire County! A crazy old man who goes around confessing crimes. But kill him, Warren... for what?

END

1998 Edited by Paya Frank @ Blogger

Posted by Paya Frank Freelance Writer and Editor