The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [138]
At eleven fifty-five, the executioners shoved their syringes into the IV ampules, then awaited word to proceed.
The warden leaned close to the prisoner. “Richard Ray Singletary, do you have any last remarks?”
Vail closed her eyes, her heart pounding so hard she felt the pressure beating against her ear drums.
“Rot in hell, all of you,” Singletary yelled.
“Thank you, sir,” the warden said. “And may the same fate befall you, as I’m sure it will.” He turned to the executioners and said, “Proceed.”
Vail pictured them depressing their plungers, injecting a massive dose of the barbiturate sodium pentothal, the first step in Richard Ray Singletary’s death. In a matter of seconds, he would be unconscious.
After flushing the line with saline, a paralyzing agent, pancuronium bromide, was then injected to deaden nerve signals to the cardiac muscle and disable the diaphragm and lungs.
Bledsoe sighed deeply, his eyes focused on the second hand as it swept around the clock face. At two minutes past midnight, with the ECG monitor registering an unending flat line, the warden pronounced Richard Ray Singletary dead.
“Shit,” Bledsoe muttered under his breath.
Vail nodded. “Shit.”
sixty-one
The flight back on the governor’s private charter was quiet. No one spoke. Vail could not help thinking they were back to square one. As much as they knew, as much information they had garnered from the various crime scenes, they still had no clue as to who Dead Eyes was. No suspects. Just pages and pages of information, gruesome photos, and for all they knew, useless analyses.
Vail stretched out her legs, and a sudden spark of pain in her left knee took her breath. She pulled out a small bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol and popped two caplets. She realized she had almost finished the thirty-count bottle in less than three days. She promised herself that the next time she saw Dr. Altman she would ask him to look at the knee and give her something stronger for the pain. Even if it required treatment, she had no time. She needed to stay on top of things until they caught Dead Eyes. Along with Jonathan’s condition, the case had become the focus, dare she think it, obsession, of her life.
She reclined her seat and thought of Robby. She missed his touch, his warmth, his scent. It was a strange feeling, losing oneself so totally in another’s person. Had she not had everything else hanging over her head, she might have been able to revel in falling in love. It had been so long. She had only experienced it twice, the first time in junior high school, and then again with Deacon. Deacon happened fast, and then she quickly became pregnant with Jonathan. She didn’t think Deacon was a mistake at the time, but history was not as kind in retrospect.
The Lear jet banked left and the lights of the small private landing strip came into view. She tightened her belt and turned to face Thomas Underwood, who was sitting to her right. “I enjoyed working with you.”
“I wish the end result could’ve been better.”
“Me, too.”
“If there’s anything more I can do, please don’t hesitate.”
Vail let a small smile escape the right side of her mouth. “I could use your help writing a paper on the identification of signature within MO. Would you consider coauthoring it with me?”
“Absolutely. Of course, that’s assuming you’re not really the Dead Eyes killer.”
“Of course.” She rested her head against the seatback and closed her eyes as the plane hovered above the landing strip. The wheels caught with a slight screech, and she was home.
She knew Robby would be waiting up for her.
sixty-two
Turning points. Turning points seem to remain with you after other memories have long since faded, like a lone flower that remains in bloom amongst a basket of dried leaves. As he sat pecking away, he tapped into the emotions that led to his establishing his independence so many years ago. For him, a turning point like this was not