recorder, closed his eyes, and leaned back into the couch. Chapa sat there for several minutes, going over everything he could remember about the interview, and letting the music take him deeper into his thoughts. Then his eyes snapped open and he sat up. Goddamn it, Chapa believed him, and that meant Annie Sykes’ life might now be measured in days.
He thought about calling Andrews, but knew his friend made a habit of going to bed much too early. So instead Chapa heated up a bowl of black beans from a pot he’d cooked the day before, and made sure all of his doors were locked—something told him that was a good idea. He spent a little more than an hour catching up on month-old magazines and thinking about Annie Sykes, then left the empty bowl in the sink and got ready for bed. Though he was tired and it was late, settling in wasn’t easy that night. And when sleep finally did come, it proved to be anything but peaceful.
Five Days Before the Execution
CHAPTER 13
The cruel morning sun slipped in through Chapa’s curtains, shoving him out of a series of fragmented dreams. He sat up too fast and his head screamed for mercy. When he finally got up at a more reasonable pace, Chapa reached for his cell phone and called Andrews.
“I believe him, Joe.”
“I know you do, and I think you might be right.”
Two of the names had already checked out, though it was not yet clear if any link existed between them. Andrews was still waiting to hear back about the others.
“It’s most likely that Grubb has gotten information from the outside, heard or read about those cases, and tied them together,” Andrews said. “But just based on those two we’re going to have a couple of our guys talk to Grubb today.”
The Bureau handled murderers as well as anyone, but Grubb had an agenda, and Chapa doubted they’d get anywhere.
“We’ll get a list of everyone who has been in to see him during the past year,” Andrews said. “But there are all sorts of ways to get information into and out of almost any prison.”
“Any guesses on who could be paying him tribute ?” Chapa asked, spitting the last word out as though it were a mouthful of phlegm.
“No clue. I got copies of all his files, but there isn’t much there.”
“Grubb had family, but no friends,” Chapa remembered.
“That’s right. The parents have been dead for years. Grubb has a brother, but they checked him out thoroughly back then. For a while there was some thought that Grubb was working with someone. Annie Sykes claimed there was another person in the basement with her and Grubb.”
Chapa remembered that detail. Annie had believed there could have been a second person who always stayed hidden in shadows, just beyond her sight. But the police found no evidence of anything like that.
“Al, as far as I can tell the only big mistake Grubb’s brother ever made was being born into that family.”
“How about that father of one of the other kids Grubb murdered?”
“You mean Jack Whitlock, he went a little nuts, I remember. I don’t suspect there’s anything there, but I’ll run a check on him, anyhow.”
Chapa nearly dropped the phone as he maneuvered out of yesterday’s clothes.
“You still there?” Andrews asked.
“Yeah, I’m in the process of peeling off the clothes I slept in.”
“C’mon, Al, it’s already been a tough day for me. I sure as hell don’t need that image doggin’ me around.”
“Were there any surprises in the old police file?”
Chapa could hear the sound of pages ruffling, and files getting slapped down on Andrews’ desk.
“Not really, the cops were thorough. You remember. They checked out the family, talked to the neighbors.”
“Let me guess, they said he was a quiet man who generally kept to himself.”
“Bingo. They even questioned a self-proclaimed psychic who’d gotten enough of the details right to be considered a possible suspect.”
“I remember her. One of our staffers did a
He thought about calling Andrews, but knew his friend made a habit of going to bed much too early. So instead Chapa heated up a bowl of black beans from a pot he’d cooked the day before, and made sure all of his doors were locked—something told him that was a good idea. He spent a little more than an hour catching up on month-old magazines and thinking about Annie Sykes, then left the empty bowl in the sink and got ready for bed. Though he was tired and it was late, settling in wasn’t easy that night. And when sleep finally did come, it proved to be anything but peaceful.
Five Days Before the Execution
CHAPTER 13
The cruel morning sun slipped in through Chapa’s curtains, shoving him out of a series of fragmented dreams. He sat up too fast and his head screamed for mercy. When he finally got up at a more reasonable pace, Chapa reached for his cell phone and called Andrews.
“I believe him, Joe.”
“I know you do, and I think you might be right.”
Two of the names had already checked out, though it was not yet clear if any link existed between them. Andrews was still waiting to hear back about the others.
“It’s most likely that Grubb has gotten information from the outside, heard or read about those cases, and tied them together,” Andrews said. “But just based on those two we’re going to have a couple of our guys talk to Grubb today.”
The Bureau handled murderers as well as anyone, but Grubb had an agenda, and Chapa doubted they’d get anywhere.
“We’ll get a list of everyone who has been in to see him during the past year,” Andrews said. “But there are all sorts of ways to get information into and out of almost any prison.”
“Any guesses on who could be paying him tribute ?” Chapa asked, spitting the last word out as though it were a mouthful of phlegm.
“No clue. I got copies of all his files, but there isn’t much there.”
“Grubb had family, but no friends,” Chapa remembered.
“That’s right. The parents have been dead for years. Grubb has a brother, but they checked him out thoroughly back then. For a while there was some thought that Grubb was working with someone. Annie Sykes claimed there was another person in the basement with her and Grubb.”
Chapa remembered that detail. Annie had believed there could have been a second person who always stayed hidden in shadows, just beyond her sight. But the police found no evidence of anything like that.
“Al, as far as I can tell the only big mistake Grubb’s brother ever made was being born into that family.”
“How about that father of one of the other kids Grubb murdered?”
“You mean Jack Whitlock, he went a little nuts, I remember. I don’t suspect there’s anything there, but I’ll run a check on him, anyhow.”
Chapa nearly dropped the phone as he maneuvered out of yesterday’s clothes.
“You still there?” Andrews asked.
“Yeah, I’m in the process of peeling off the clothes I slept in.”
“C’mon, Al, it’s already been a tough day for me. I sure as hell don’t need that image doggin’ me around.”
“Were there any surprises in the old police file?”
Chapa could hear the sound of pages ruffling, and files getting slapped down on Andrews’ desk.
“Not really, the cops were thorough. You remember. They checked out the family, talked to the neighbors.”
“Let me guess, they said he was a quiet man who generally kept to himself.”
“Bingo. They even questioned a self-proclaimed psychic who’d gotten enough of the details right to be considered a possible suspect.”
“I remember her. One of our staffers did a
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