Mercy. David Kessler

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       10:52 PDT

      Martine Yin was checking her makeup in the trailer outside San Quentin prison preparing for her next report. It was a hot day, and she decided to swap her blue jacket for a man’s waistcoat—the one that she wore as a semiprofessional snooker player.

      Her mind was focussed on the matter in hand. She had spotted Burrow’s lawyer going into San Quentin and had been hoping to get an interview with him when he came out, but she found herself caught in a media scrimmage and was unable to get anywhere near his car before it broke through the line and receded into the distance. She knew that the lawyer had been scheduled to meet the governor that morning, but that was just a formality. Besides, if anything had come out of that meeting, it would have been announced by the governor’s office.

      Nevertheless, she did want to talk to Sedaka, if only to get the low-down on how his client took the inevitable bad news. But she had missed the opportunity. Aside from that, she assumed that Alex didn’t want to talk about it. In fact he probably couldn’t talk about it. But still, it would be nice to get an exclusive.

      The problem was how to contact him. All she had was the number of Sedaka’s office. The secretary had been polite, but consistently refused to give out Sedaka’s cell phone number.

      So now Martine just had to sit tight outside the penitentiary awaiting further developments. The report this morning had gone well. Of course as the execution time approached, things would hot up. The closer to midnight they got, the bigger this story would become. There was no chance of the governor granting clemency—notwithstanding his own unpopular views on capital punishment. Indeed the only thing that could upstage the execution itself would be if Dorothy Olsen walked in off the street and said: ‘Surprise, surprise! I’m alive!’

      Martine smiled at the thought. It reminded her of all the urban legends and conspiracy theories about the Lindbergh baby, complete with several people claiming to be the dead tyke—including one who was black and female!

      There were a few doubts about the case against Hauptmann, who had been executed for the murder of the baby. Some said his trial was unfair—not least the atmosphere of vengeance amid which it had taken place. But it was a strong case nevertheless. Likewise the case against Clayton Burrow.

      The cell phone cut into her thoughts.

      ‘Martine Yin.’

      ‘Hi, Marti, it’s Paul.’ Paul was an eager kid who worked at the station. ‘We’ve just had a tip-off about what’s going down in the Burrow case. You’re not gonna believe this.’

      In response to what he said next, her jaw dropped.