Crime Zero (9 page)

"So, Governor Weiss, as far as you're concerned, gender is irrelevant?" asked Strather.

"Of course it is. As Senator Tilson said, what America needs now is strong leadership. Not male leadership or female leadership or black leadership or white leadership, just good leadership. And if you really want to look at gender, you could argue that when the world is poised on the brink of war, the one person you do want in charge is a woman, particularly one who hates the very notion of armed conflict. The last candidate I'd vote for is an old warhorse with something to prove.

"As for experience in running the country, my eight years as governor of California must count for something. Certainly more than Senator Tilson can lay claim to. Don't forget I also have the full support of the current President as he nears the end of his second successful term. I intend to build on his administration's achievements through injecting new blood, both male and female."

"But the current administration's record is appalling," said Tilson. "Vice President Smith is a laughingstock; his comments on the UN and the recent sex scandals have destroyed his credibility and by association weakened that of the President. But of even more relevance is the issue of crime. Violent crime is soaring at an unprecedented rate across the nation. Surely Governor Weiss doesn't think that record is good enough to simply carry on the good work?"

"No, of course not, there's always room for improvement. Still, if you look at the crime figures in more depth, you would know that my own state of California is already showing the way forward. Violent crime is down, particularly in the trouble spots like South Central L.A."

"That is true, Governor Weiss," acknowledged Doug Strather. "Can you explain why California has bucked the trend over the last five years?"

Tilson cut in quickly. "It's clear to me that building more prisons and having a death penalty we are willing to enforce go a long way to cutting down crime. The sooner we as a nation get tougher on crime and stay tougher on crime, then the sooner this country will be safer for normal citizens like you and me."

Some of the audience clapped at this hollow rhetoric, but Weiss laughed and shook her head. "But that simply isn't true. Texas, which has a Republican governor and a zero tolerance program in every major city, is the execution capital of the Western world. Outside of Islamic countries no other administration has more draconian laws or carries them out with more vigor than Texas. Ten people a month are currently being executed there, and many other states aren't far behind. But it's not working. Texas has the second-highest crime rate after Michigan.

"Time and time again more prisons and death penalties have been proved to fail. We need to reduce the incidents of crime by influencing the small minority that commits them before they commit them. The Philadelphia study and countless others have shown that over seventy percent of the homicides, rapes, and aggravated assaults attributed to any group of men are committed by a hard core of only six percent. If we could target this six percent and stop them, we would significantly reduce crime. And apart from the obvious social benefits, there are huge financial ones. If we reduce violent crime by just one percent, we save the country over one-point-two billion dollars. That must be worth doing."

"But how do you do this? How do you reduce crime?"

The camera again focused on Weiss. "First of all, we must stop simply viewing crime as an external enemy to be fought and vanquished. Let's be clear on one thing: Violent crime is almost the sole preserve of male criminals. In this country a man is about nine times more likely as a woman to commit murder, seventy-eight times more likely to commit forcible rape, ten times as likely to commit armed robbery, and almost six times as likely to commit aggravated assault. Altogether, American men are almost ten times as likely as women to commit violent crime. They account for over ninety percent of all these crimes. And the majority of all penal reform is devised and implemented by men. Therefore they are fighting against themselves, and that's a fight no one can win."

Kathy Kerr was mesmerized by the screen. Pamela Weiss was citing her own research, voicing her own arguments for tackling violent crime.

"Are you saying that being a woman makes you better equipped to fight crime?" asked Strather on the TV.

"Of course not. My gender makes no difference. Certainly not when it comes to fighting crime. What I am saying is that perhaps 'fighting crime' is the wrong mind-set. Perhaps it would be better to think of treating crime, diagnosing its real causes and, as with any health strategy, seeking prevention as well as a cure."

"Again how?"

"By looking at not just social factors but others as well. By looking beyond sociology and turning to the harder sciences, such as biology and genetics."

Kathy Kerr couldn't believe it.

"But that's preposterous," scoffed Tilson. "Even the governor must have heard about the disastrous double Y chromosome study in the late 1960s. Back then scientists believed that men with an extra Y chromosome were more likely to be violent. But that was later entirely discredited. The only way to--"

"I know that particular study was discredited," Weiss cut in. "But we need proof rather than just theories. There have been no conclusive results proving that any of the conventional methods of preventing or punishing crime actually work. Indeed all the indications are that they fail--miser-ably. It's time for a change."

Doug Strather adjusted his glasses. "Governor Weiss, there's a lot of talk in the media about getting proof, biological proof of what causes violent crime, but are you saying that through your success in California--?"

"This is ridiculous," interrupted Tilson. "She is part of a defunct administration exhausted of ideas, trying any gimmick to retain power. First the Democrats play the feminist card, choosing a woman to run for President despite the threat to national security this may pose. Now they try to claim some responsibility for the one single state in an otherwise crime-riddled nation that has a half-decent record. It's preposterous, not to say downright dishonest. Unless she knows something specific about curing crime that the rest of us don't, then she should keep her counsel."

"Did you hear that, Governor Weiss?" said Strather, smiling. "I think you've been told to stop talking the talk and walk the walk. What do you say to that?"

At that moment the camera zoomed in on Pamela Weiss's face. Looking totally in control, she gave a wide, relaxed smile and said, "What I say is this: The election is less than a week away. Don't worry, I'll walk the walk before then. I can assure you of that."

Kathy turned from the TV and looked at Rocky. "Did you hear that?"

Rocky gave a bored snort and scratched his chest.

She reached for her mobile phone, wanting to talk to somebody. With Karen and Frank gone she considered calling Alice Prince but then remembered her less than enthusiastic reaction to the FDA approval and thought it best to wait until their meeting tomorrow. There was no way she would get hold of Director Naylor. She then thought of having a chat with her parents back in Scotland, but they were on holiday. Usually she would have gone with them, but because of the expected FDA approval, she had passed this year. Anyway the time difference ruled out a call to Britain, so that ruled out talking to her best friend in Edinburgh too. Suddenly she had an overwhelming impulse to ring the one person who had always disagreed with her work, to see what he thought of the Weiss announcement.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out his card. But by the time she read it she realized how stupid an idea it was to call him. Shaking her head, she put the card back. It had been years, she reminded herself. Luke Decker and she lived separate lives now.

Chapter 7.

San Quentin Execution Chamber, Thursday, October 30, 7:00 A.M.

The director of the FBI stood perfectly still in one of the two soundproof viewing rooms looking into San Quentin's renovated execution chamber. At five feet ten Madeline Naylor was two inches taller than the prison warden standing beside her. She wore a well-cut charcoal gray pantsuit, which accentuated her sinewy frame. Her shocking white hair was pulled off her high forehead and tied behind her neck. Her face was pale with the translucency of mother of pearl, and she wore the minimum of mascara around her dark brown eyes. The only color in her otherwise monochrome appearance was the liverish red of her thin lips.

Director Naylor had come here personally to persuade herself that there would be no obstacles. She had arranged the execution papers with the governor herself. Ensuring that all appeals were quashed had been a formality for such a notorious criminal so close to an election. She only wished Alice Prince would hurry up and get here. She hated it when anybody was late. And it was almost time.

To her sensitive nose this place reeked of sweat. Not the healthy physical perspiration from running in sunshine or playing innocent sport but the acrid emotional stench of adrenaline and fear. Even Neil Tarrant, the warden standing beside her, gave off the trace tang of nervous sweat through his aftershave. She hated that smell; it signified man at his basest. And looking through the airtight porthole of reinforced glass into the small execution chamber only confirmed her prejudice.

She looked down the corridor, past the second viewing room, where relatives of the victims sat waiting for justice, to the guards dragging the convict toward the airtight capsule. She had rarely seen a man look so pale before. He didn't struggle or betray any emotion. But then, how could he?

"What a farce! What a goddamn farce!" The words the warden muttered under his breath were almost inaudible, but she heard them. The irony that Tarrant, a man who had unflinchingly overseen the deaths of tens, if not hundreds, of men in that steel airtight capsule, found this more shocking than what he usually sanctioned did not make her smile.

"It is necessary," Naylor told him as she watched the guards open the capsule and slump the man in the crude chair inside. "You do understand that, don't you? We have to bring it forward to break the pattern, to avoid drawing attention to the five other men. That would look bad for all of us." She paused. "Not least of all you."

Tarrant refused to look at her, just rubbed the dark stubble on his chin and shook his head. "This was a mistake. I hate it when someone else's mess becomes mine."

"But that's the point: The mess is yours now. You might not know everything, but after all these years you are involved. You understand that surely?"

Tarrant gave a sullen shrug, and Naylor's face hardened. She knew her strengths. Blessed with both a decisive mind and a will of adamantine rock, she had smashed through the glass ceiling in one of the most male-dominated arenas, shooting up the ranks of the great FBI, finally becoming its first female director eight years ago after a seven-year break as a federal prosecutor and district court judge. Madeline Francine Naylor was not about to let some sulky warden jeopardize everything. Her tone dropped in temperature when she spoke.

"Tarrant, you do of course realize that the presidential election is only a week away? And that we--and when I say we, I very much include you--have been involved in something that could have a direct effect on that result. Something that all of us have been working on successfully for years. Several extremely powerful people have far too much resting on this to see it fail. This mistake, as you call it, has happened, and regardless of whose fault it may or may not have been, it won't jeopardize our plans. No one, least of all you, will be allowed to compromise what we are doing when we are so tantalizingly close. It just won't happen. Is that clear?"

The warden stared at her, nervously playing with his tie. He looked scared now, and that pleased the director. Naylor liked men to be afraid of her; it made them easier to control. Tarrant nodded.

"Good," said Naylor as Alice Prince arrived, escorted by a guard. "Could I have a moment alone with Dr. Prince please?" The dismissal was absolute; she didn't even wait for his agreement. Instead she turned to the door and watched Alice Prince enter. As usual Alice was flustered, apologizing to the departing warden for being late.

With her humble manner, shapeless navy skirt and jacket, graying hair, and large glasses, her friend looked more like a timid librarian or confused primary schoolteacher than one of the great minds of modern science. Only Dr. Prince's cool gray eyes betrayed the fierce intelligence behind the bland facade and the passion that fueled it.

Madeline Naylor had known Alice Prince since they were children. They had attended high school and later Vassar College together. She regarded Alice Prince as a younger sister and the closest thing she had to a family. Madeline felt even closer to Alice than she did to Pamela Weiss, the friend they had both met at Vassar who was the current governor of California and next week was running for the highest office in the land.

"Sorry I'm late, Madeline."

"It doesn't matter," she said, embracing her friend. "Come and stand next to me. We've got this room to ourselves, so we can talk." She smiled at Alice. "Don't be so nervous. Everything's going to be OK. In all the years we've been together have I ever let us down?"