Mercy. David Kessler
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Название: Mercy
Автор: David Kessler
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Триллеры
isbn: 9780007341061
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He saw a man who had wasted every opportunity that had presented itself. He saw a man who had been needlessly cruel toward the weak. He saw a man who had achieved popularity with the mob at the expense of the frail and the vulnerable.
But most of all he saw a man who had no chance to redeem himself.
He knew that Dorothy Olsen must also have had inner demons, probably far worse than his. But he had just trampled all over her. And for what? For some cheap puerile thrills that meant nothing to him now.
He wished he could have his life over again. He wished he could have those moments back so that he could make wiser—and kinder—decisions. But God grants no second chances…if there even was a God.
He looked down at the letter and realized how little it really said—how little of what he really wanted to say.
Seized by anger, he picked up the letter and ripped it to shreds.
Through the bars, the cell guard watched with an implacably neutral look on his face.
Alex sat there in stunned silence. Whatever he had expected, it had not been this. Clemency? Before he had even put his well-rehearsed arguments? And the mother of the victim had specifically requested it.
Then reality kicked in.
‘She’s asked me to offer your client clemency.’
The words had been chosen very carefully.
‘When you say “asked you,”’ Alex said cautiously, ‘does that mean you haven’t decided yet?’
‘You know my views on the death penalty.’
‘Yes, sir, I do. And I’ve always respected your courage in taking that position.’
He regretted saying this as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It sounded sycophantic, and the governor was too shrewd a politician not to see right through it.
‘And you also know that I’m pretty much my own man, especially now that I’m quitting politics.’
Alex nodded. Like many others, he wasn’t quite sure if he believed this, but now was hardly the time to give voice to his skepticism.
‘Nevertheless, it would be inappropriate for me to set myself up against the will of the legislature and the courts.’
Alex panicked at the thought of this opportunity already slipping away.
‘But you said—’
‘Unless…there was some compelling reason. You see, son, even though I have the luxury of being able to ignore public opinion, I believe that I have a duty at least to respect it. Remember the words of Thomas Jefferson: “a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them.” The people who elected me may not agree with my decision. But I owe it to them at least to explain it to them. History will judge me harshly if I fail in my duty to put my reasons on record—and those reasons had better be good.’
Alex took a deep breath and regained his composure, trying to read the governor. He wasn’t sure if the governor was really thinking about his place in history. But now was not the time to get diverted down a blind alley of speculation over his motives. Dusenbury was throwing him a lifeline—or at least waving it in his face. That was all that mattered.
‘So you need reasons,’ Alex edged forward hesitantly, ‘and as yet you haven’t got them.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you want me to supply them.’
‘No, I want your client to supply them.’
Alex was beginning to understand.
‘Is that why you said “offer” my client clemency…rather than “give”?’
Dusenbury smiled.
‘You picked up on that real quick. That’s just what it is, son: an offer.’
‘So presumably,’ Alex pressed on, ‘there’s a quid pro quo?’
09:48 PDT (17:48 British Summer Time)
The clinic was quiet as the late afternoon melted into early evening. But the spacious TV room, with its well-scrubbed pale blue walls and clean gray leather furniture, was sufficiently sound-proofed and isolated from the wards to have the TV on. They had it on all day and all night. The nurses on night duty especially liked to take short coffee breaks there, flopping down on the armchairs and watching late-night TV. They preferred the all-night news stations—British or American—to the late-night quizzes, which were little more than premium line rip-offs.
Susan White, a middle-aged nurse of the ‘old’ school, flopped down in front of the TV with a cup of coffee and started skimming through the channels, trying to catch up on the news. While surfing, she caught the tail end of a report about a clinic in America being picketed by hordes of anti-abortionists, or ‘pro-lifers’ as they liked to call themselves, and realized how lucky she was to be here in Britain.
She liked her coffee strong but milky and the machine never quite got it right. She also liked it sugary, and that the machine usually did get right. It was often hard for her to get a coffee break, even though she was entitled to three per shift, because the other nurses frequently came to her with their problems, both personal and professional. So she made sure to get her caffeine fix before her shift started.
Using the remote, she turned the sound down, mindful of the fact that at this time most of the in-patients were sleeping. On the screen, a well-groomed, thirty-something woman, with somewhat underplayed oriental looks, was talking to the camera. She was wearing a smart blue suit, with a mid-length skirt and slightly tight jacket, designed to emphasize her firm, athletic figure, without over-emphasizing it.
But then a face came on that caught Susan’s attention. A photograph of a young woman, almost like a mugshot. Susan felt an uneasy stirring as her eyes focussed on the screen.
She picked up the remote and turned up the volume. The voiceover of an American female reporter could be heard. It was one of those generic, female anchorwoman voices, the kind that all sound alike, the trained confident voice that always carries a trace of sarcasm or bitchiness, but only the merest hint. Or maybe it was just the hard edge that was required to make it in what once had been a man’s world.
‘Dorothy Olsen never had a happy life. She was bullied at school, her parents broke up when she was in her teens and she never had any real friends. Just over nine years ago, on May 23, 1998—the day of her high school prom—Dorothy Olsen disappeared, never to be seen again.’
The picture changed to that of a man whom the nurse didn’t recognize. This one was definitely a mugshot.
‘Clayton СКАЧАТЬ