Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [154]
“How fast can I be put to death?”
“I wouldn’t answer that if I knew. It’s counter to my purpose.”
“Your purpose is to keep me alive?”
“Of course. It’s my job.”
“You’re not supposed to represent me, try to get me what I want? Because I want to die and soon. All I want to know is how soon you can get that done.”
Jackie Kent sat back and sighed. “Even if you plead guilty and don’t try for life, there are mandatory appeals of death penalty sentences at all levels.”
“Mandatory? You mean they appeal for me even if I don’t want them to?”
“Exactly.”
“How long does all that take?”
“Years.”
“No good. What’s the shortest amount of time?”
“If you don’t cooperate with the process and keep going public with your guilt and your wish to die, maybe as short as three years, the way it was back in the forties, fifties, and sixties.”
“The good old days.”
“Let me fight for you, sir. I’ve read your file.”
“Then you know what happened.”
“You made that fairly plain, yes. There’ll be no getting you cleared. But it wasn’t your car. It wasn’t your weapon. You were not in your own neighborhood. You have been a habitual drug user. You could have been high. Your relationship went sour; an argument became heated. You meant only to scare her, maybe make her think you were going to shoot yourself. The shotgun went off. You didn’t mean to do it.”
“Except none of that’s true. I was stone-cold sober. Do I regret what I did? ’Course I do. I want to die for it. But she played me for the fool, and I killed her because I wanted to.”
“Temporary insanity. A crime of passion. That fine line between love and obsession. If you couldn’t have her, no one could.” Kent looked at his watch and began refilling his briefcase. Brady wondered if he had finally convinced the man. “In case you change your mind, let me enter a plea of nolo contendere. That’s just Latin for not admitting anything but accepting punishment as if you were guilty. The judicial system of the county, in its gratitude for your willingness to spare it considerable time and expense, will come back insisting that you plead guilty in exchange for life without parole over a death sentence.”
“No deal. Now, I been pulling schemes and scams my whole life, and I’m done. What do I have to do to be guaranteed the death penalty as fast as I can get it?”
Jackie folded his arms. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this. I have an ethical and professional obligation to—”
“All right, I’m tired of hearing that. I know what your job is. I know you don’t need or want this case, and I’m going to ask for someone else if you won’t get me what I want.”
“Truth is, Mr. Darby, the fastest way to get what you want is to plead not guilty, make the county prove its case, and don’t cooperate in your own defense. Everybody will love the publicity, and all they have to prove is motive, which you just told me you had; method, which has your fingerprints all over it; and opportunity. Can you be placed at the scene? A no-brainer.”
“But wouldn’t any trial take longer than no trial?”
“If they’ll let you plead guilty and still sentence you to death, no. But if I go to the judge with that plea, without asking for life, he’ll find you or me unstable, and then you’ll be interviewed by batteries of shrinks trying to get a handle on your death wish.”
“Handle? There’s no handle. There’s a death sentence for murderers. And I’m a murderer.”
Jackie Kent told Brady it surprised even him, but within a week, the Heiress Murderer got what he wanted. He was sentenced to die at the Adamsville State Penitentiary, method to be determined. As his lawyer had predicted, a schedule of mandatory appeals was drawn up, despite Brady telling the judge in plain language that he opposed these, would not cooperate, and hoped they would all fail.
With cameras rolling, the judge said, “Mr. Darby, as you have pleaded guilty, there is no cause for me to lecture you regarding your thoughtless, wanton act. Do you wish to make any statement before being remanded to the penitentiary?”
Brady spoke so softly