Smart and beautiful. Brad didn’t tell her that. “John Ramsey isn’t on death row because he’s a good guy, Miss Elliott. He’s ruined enough lives, and it’s part of my job to make sure he doesn’t destroy any more.”
“What does that have to do with my story?”
He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m guessing he fed you a line about his innocence.” When acknowledgment flickered in her gaze, Brad smiled. “That story will be a knife in the back to the families of the victims. They’ve put their lives on hold waiting for justice.”
“Whatever I write won’t change the outcome, Mr. Jericho. My computer isn’t directly linked to the governor and I don’t have any intention of assisting in Mr. Ramsey’s get-out-of-jail project. I’m just a reporter.”
Brad came around his desk. His height caused her to tip her head back slightly to see his face. “I doubt you’re ‘just’ anything, Miss Elliott, but you and I both know you’re one of the top journalists in the country. Your words have power, and if you write what John Ramsey wants you to write, you’re wielding the sword for him.”
“I can’t deny him his right to free speech.”
“You mean you
won’t
deny him.”
“If he wants to talk to the press badly enough, he’ll find a reporter who will listen.”
“So why not let it be you, right?” Brad didn’t attempt to hide the disdain he felt.
Kate slipped her purse strap onto her shoulder and circled the chair to move away from him. “Regardless of your opinion of the media, we have a job to do. Don’t tell me how to do mine and I won’t tell you how to do yours.”
Brad watched her walk to the door, her stride that of a confident, self-assured woman, one who wouldn’t be intimidated. She’d need that if she intended to continue talking with Ramsey. The guy thrived on intimidation, and just one glimpse of fear in a woman’s eyes would satisfy him for days.
Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, Kate looked over her shoulder. “I assume I should tell my editor I won’t be allowed a follow-up with John Ramsey.”
“That would be a correct assumption.”
Anger tinged her cheeks red before she looked away. Without another word, she left the room, the tiles outside his office echoing the click of her high heels.
Brad wanted to punch something. He might have effectively cut off Kate Elliott’s future access to a potentially award-winning story, but it wouldn’t stop her from running with what she had. And giving Ramsey that extra shot of attention his kind craved.
“I don’t think it was wise to talk to the press.” Angelo Salli sat across from John Ramsey, his frown so deep his dark eyebrows practically met in the middle.
Ramsey studied his fingernails. He couldn’t care less what his attorney thought. The state had appointed the man and Salli had made it clear from the beginning of the appeal process he’d rather be banging his head against a brick wall than representing a notorious killer.
Salli cleared his throat. “As your attorney, I’m going to suggest you cancel any further meetings you may have scheduled with Kate Elliott.”
“Well, unless you’re the warden, you ain’t got no say in who I see.” Just the thought of Brad Jericho had Ramsey’s heart racing. It wasn’t possible to hate a man as much as he hated the warden. “And I quite enjoyed talking to the press. Have you seen Kate Elliott?” He rubbed his stomach with his shackled hands. “I don’t remember the last time I saw anything so pretty.”
Salli’s mouth gaped open. “This isn’t about her looks, John. You are five days away from execution. We need to be more focused on your final appeal.”
“Let’s be honest, Counselor.” He offered the address with just enough sarcasm in his voice to let his attorney know the title meant nothing to him. “You don’t want to be here, and you don’t want me to win an appeal. Right now you’re just going through the motions so the state bar won’t go crawling down your shorts.”
“I always take my job very seriously, and I’ve given my best to your case, just as I would for any other client.”
Ramsey smiled, enjoying the lawyer’s self-righteousness. The guy was exactly what he needed, someone who wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut when provided the right information. “So what if I told you there are other bodies out there?”
Salli coughed, took a sip of water from the small plastic cup and coughed again. “Are you telling me that?”
“What could happen if there are?”
Visibly trying to regain control of the conversation and himself, Salli tugged at his neatly knotted tie. “That depends. If those victims do exist, and you’re willing to disclose the location of their bodies, a judge might consider a stay in order to bring closure to those families. I’ll need to talk to the district attorney, see what we can work out.”
Ramsey grinned but felt no humor. His goal was so close he could smell it, along with the fresh, ripe air outside. It wouldn’t be long now and he’d be a free man. His eyes nearly glazed at the thought.
“Ramsey?” Salli’s voice squeaked.
“You tell the DA I’m bringing a whole lot to the table, and I ain’t gonna say a word until I get something in writing saying I’m not gonna be executed.”
“She’s going to want you to give her something as a gesture of good faith.”
“Then set up a meeting. I’ll tell her myself.” He pushed away from the table, grinned when his attorney cowered in fear. With his legs chained, he duck-walked to the door and banged on the metal. “We’re done.” Another glance over his shoulder brought a swell of satisfaction. Salli was wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.
“One more thing, Counselor. Be sure to invite that reporter to the meeting. There are still a few more things about me she needs to know.”
“Guy didn’t give you any indication what he meant about this whole death thing?” Aaron Kendrick, a cigar clenched between his teeth, stared down at the transcribed report, his face darkening to a deep purple. His wrinkled clothes and stained tie testified to far too many hours without sleep or a foot outside his office.
The editor of
The
South Carolina Chronicle
, Aaron carried too much weight around his waist and on his shoulders. By outward appearances he was a gruff man whose stare intimidated the interns and sent them cowering in fear, but Kate knew him to be much softer on the inside. Many times he’d offered a listening ear and a spot on his sofa to one of those same interns in crisis.
“No. He kept talking about how everything would be revealed in time. Then he complimented my taste in clothing.” The thought still made her shiver.
“Bastard.” Aaron chomped harder on the cigar. “Every killer denies their crimes. Not too many of them act like death is afraid of them.”
Kate had gotten that same impression. “There was something in his eyes, Aaron. They weren’t just cold. It was like looking into an empty grave.” She ran her hands up and down her arms for warmth.
“He’s got to be screwing with you.” Aaron scratched his head, dislodging his comb-over. “You think it’s possible he might have had a partner, though?”
“That’s what I intend to find out.” Pure, sweet adrenaline still rushed through her system. An assignment of this magnitude didn’t come around very often, and when it did, she grabbed hold with both hands and held on for the ride. And she’d get the second part of this interview no matter what Jericho’s objections were.
Kate had fought her way up from unpaid intern to one of the East Coast’s top investigative journalists. Working the crime and court beat, she made her living making enemies and digging for the truth, sometimes to her own detriment. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d risked life and limb to shed light on a murder case gone cold, and she didn’t let little things like objections stand in her way.
“Are you listening to me?” Aaron huffed out a breath, always a precursor to an explosion unless immediately defused.
She smiled and began backing toward the glass door of her boss’s office. “Of course. I’m just already thinking ahead about the story.”
The editor-in-chief’s eyes gleamed. “You know, a follow-up interview might not be a bad idea.” He tapped one finger with the nail chewed off against his chin. “As a matter of fact—”
“I’m one step ahead of you, Chief, but the warden has an issue.”
Full brows lowered into a scowl. “What kind of an issue?”
“He wants to see the copy before it runs.” She knew that would set Aaron’s blood to boiling. He didn’t like to be second-guessed any more than she did. A phone call from the editor of
The Chronicle
might motivate Brad Jericho to be a little more flexible. No man in a position of authority wanted the press on his coattails.
“Did you tell him to go to hell?”
“In a manner of speaking, but he’s refusing the second interview. Not that it’s going to stop me. Whatever the reason, Ramsey’s media hungry now. He didn’t want to let me go even when my time was up, and I’m going to get whatever he has to say.”
Aaron’s lips twisted, a sure sign his inner predator was coming out. “Perfect. You let me know if you need some help on this.”
“I can handle it, although I wouldn’t say no to your giving the warden a call. Might shake him up a little.”
“Not from what I heard about the guy. Tougher than dried shoe leather. I guess you’d have to be to run that prison. When he took it over that place was having riots every other day. Now, maybe once every other month. Guy’s a real hothead too.”
“I picked up on that, but everyone can be persuaded.” She winked at her boss over her shoulder. “By the way, I may snag a couple of the interns to do some of the footwork on this story.”
Bobbing his head, the editor waved her toward the door. “Of course, of course. You bag me a Pulitzer Prize-winning story, and I’ll give you a litter of interns.”
Kate couldn’t erase the grin from her face. A Pulitzer Prize-winning story. Music to her ears. It was the one award she didn’t have occupying the top shelf of her glass cabinet, the same one she’d left a space for.
“Ramsey, if you’re pulling my leg, I’ll strap you onto that table myself.”
“Open the gates.” Brad stood outside the metal bars separating him from the long row of death row inmates locked inside boxy cells. When the door ground open he followed the length of the hall to the last cell on the right—John Ramsey’s home for the past five years.
“Warden Jericho. Can’t say I’m surprised to see you.” Halting in the middle of a push-up, Ramsey smiled up at him. “I imagine you didn’t care for my little one-on-one with the lady reporter from
The Chronicle
.”
Brad folded his arms and studied the man who’d destroyed his family so many years ago. Death was too good for him. If Brad had his way Ramsey would suffer like his victims had. Like his sister had.
“I hope you enjoyed it because she’s not coming back.”
That brought Ramsey to his feet. “We’ve already scheduled the second part of the interview, and since I’ve been a model prisoner, you can’t restrict my privileges. Ms. Elliott is on my list of approved visitors.”
The smug look on the man’s face would have irritated another man but Brad had come too far for that. Ramsey had already done everything he could to him. Now it was just a waiting game until time of death was pronounced.
“You’d be surprised what a warden can do. For instance, did you know I can prevent anyone from entering or exiting the prison at any time if I feel his or her presence may threaten the safety of the staff or prisoners?”
Ramsey’s mouth worked. He lurched toward the bars, his hands closing around the metal rods with such intensity his knuckles whitened. “That reporter doesn’t pose a threat to anyone but you.”
“Actually, her arrival caused an onslaught of protestors outside the prison. Any time you have a group gathered, there’s the potential for rioting.” Brad lifted one shoulder in a shrug, seeing he had the murderer’s full attention. “I believe it’s in the best interest of this prison to restrict further visitors with the exception of family members, clergy or your attorney. You’ll still have your little visit with the DA, but Ms. Elliott won’t be present.”
“I want her there.”
“Your wants don’t mean a thing to me, Ramsey. The staff has already been given specific instructions regarding your visitors. Try to pull something and I’ll send you to the hole until it’s execution time.”
“You can’t do that.” Ramsey’s voice had taken on a guttural growl, its intensity designed to intimidate.
“There is very little I can’t do here, Ramsey. This is
my
prison. Subject to the laws of South Carolina, I run it. Of course, if you have a problem with one of my decisions, you’re welcome to file an appeal with the Department of Corrections.”
Ramey’s gray eyes burned. “An appeal will take more time than I got.”
That Brad knew. He smiled before turning away. “That’s unfortunate.” He’d made it halfway down the hallway when Ramsey stopped him cold.
“You can’t save that pretty little thing from me, Warden. The minute I saw her picture, I knew I had to have her.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re locked up and can’t go anywhere near her.”
“Now who’s doing the underestimating?”
Kate awoke in a cold sweat, foggily realizing the buzzing in her head was her alarm clock. She punched the snooze button and rolled to her side. The nightmare she’d been unable to squelch played over in her head like a bad movie.
Having studied John Ramsey before the interview, she’d seen the photographic evidence of his crimes and, during the night, those images had segued into vibrant, beautiful women, alive, happy and full of life…until they’d encountered Ramsey. And she’d watched each of them fall at his brutal hand.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, shoving her hair away from her face with a shaky hand. Her mind had translated her interview with John Ramsey into vivid re-creations of his crimes, leaving an icy residue on her skin.
“Okay. Shake it off, Kate.” She got to her feet and checked the time. Six a.m. Just as she’d planned. Coffee, yoga, then time to go toe-to-toe with Brad Jericho.
The last vestiges of the nightmare dissipated and the glint of sunlight through the tilted plantation shutters gave a fresh look to the morning. She was halfway to the bathroom when the doorbell rang. Snagging her robe from the foot of the bed, she shoved her arms into the terrycloth and hurried down the hallway. “Who is it?”
“Delivery.”
She peered through the keyhole, saw a face too young to be working staring back at her. With a frown, she tugged open the door, leaving the chain on. The guy didn’t look dangerous but with her mind recalling Ramsey’s victims, she wasn’t in a trusting mood. “What kind of delivery?”
The boy stuck a bouquet of roses with an envelope into the gap and scurried away before she could ask any questions. She caught the vase before it could hit the marble entryway.
“Wonder what his problem was.” Kate scanned the card and all the oxygen left her lungs in a rush of air.
A cold chill swept down her spine, and she quickly secured the deadbolt on her door. For a moment nerves got the best of her and her knees jellied. The note slipped from her fingers, danced in the air before settling to the wood at her feet.
The words stared up at her, as direct as a pointed finger.
Looking forward to our next meeting, Kate.
It was signed John Ramsey.
“You’re off the story.” Aaron paced his office, sweat beading on his forehead.
Kate shot up out of her chair. “What? No, you can’t do that! This is my story, Aaron.”
He shook his head violently and a thin lock of hair fell across his eyes. With a muttered curse, he patted it back into place. “This guy knows where you live, Kate.”
“He could have gotten that off the application I made to visit him. A guy like that has to have connections in prison. It’s a scare tactic. He just wants to unnerve me.”
“Did it work? ’Cause I gotta tell you it’s scared the hell out of me.”
“Okay, I’ll admit it did make me a little nervous.” At her editor’s stony glare she amended her statement. “It does make me a little nervous.” More glaring. “A lot nervous. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to back down. This guy chose me. Why I don’t know, but I’m not walking away from this.”
“Yeah well, I want to know why he chose you too, especially now, but I’m just not so sure either of us is going to like the answer.” Aaron shook his head, reached for his mug of coffee and grimaced. “Jessie, get me some more damn coffee!”
The sound of sneakers slapping against tile brought a smile to Kate’s lips. Jessie, Aaron’s editorial assistant, dashed into the office wearing a vivid yellow T-shirt and a broad grin he directed at Kate. “Yes, Mr. Kendrick?”
“Coffee. Now. And stop staring at Kate.”
Jessie’s face flushed. He scooped the mug off Aaron’s desk and retreated from the office just as quickly as he’d entered.
“I know this has you a little freaked, Aaron, but remember your blood pressure.”
“Between you and Marilyn telling me all the time, I don’t have to remember it.” With a grunt, he seated himself behind his desk and clamped an unlit cigar between his teeth. “Now, where were we? Oh yeah. No story is worth risking your life.”
“Don’t you think that’s being a little dramatic? I got flowers, not a head in a box.”
“Well, don’t be surprised if that’s what you get next.” He rocked back in his chair, planted his feet on the edge of his desk. “No. I’m not having it.”
Kate began to pace. “Are you telling me you’re killing the story?”
Aaron’s gaze jerked away from hers.
Realization dawning, she stormed over to his desk where he sat hunched over and avoiding her eyes. “Wait a second! You’re not killing the story. You’re just taking it away from me!” He still wouldn’t look at her. “What? Are you going to give it to one of the beefy guys in sports? They know nothing about this type of writing, and the only other person we have working the crime beat is Guy Yeltson. And I could take him in a fight any day of the week. I could only imagine what someone like John Ramsey could do to him. But you can’t do that anyway since John Ramsey will only talk to me.”