Cut to the Bone(92)

He swept his eyes across the twenty-by-thirty-five rec room. The walls were covered with cork, and square-eyed from casement windows. Glossy acoustical tile and full-spectrum fluorescent tubes brightened the dark brown carpet. The steel bench that filled one end of the room was jammed with milling equipment, cutting oil, arc welders, grinders, polishers, and other tools, powered by a bank of 110 and 220 outlets. A Wells Fargo floor safe sat at right angles to the bench. A leather razor strop hung off the back of the Aeron chair.

The photographs dotting the cork were framed in lacquer black. They showed cattle in various stages of rendering, from the bolt gun that stunned them senseless to the white-coated knife teams that sliced off everything but the moo. Each photo dangled from a worn-out knife hammered into the cork. A photo collage over the workbench showed Emily Thompson, Martin Benedetti, Wayne Covington, and a dozen other people.

“And that’s not even the bizarre part,” VapoRub mumbled.

That particular honor went to the granite slab in the center of the room.

Which contained an electric chair.

Nine feet high.

Six feet square.

Made entirely of stainless-steel Bowie knives.

“They’re welded together,” the water crew chief said, squatting for a closer look. “There’s hundreds of ‘em. Finger-size to monster.” He pointed to the wired device on the eighty-knife seat. “Any idea what this is?”

“Telephone answering machine,” VapoRub said, opening his cell to call in the cavalry. He didn’t know if this was related to the execution, but no other explanation made sense. “Vacate the house. This is now a crime scene.”

11:16 a.m.

“Governor George Ryan was misguided when he released all those monsters from Death Row,” Covington said to camera three. “So I put them back. The result is this magnificent center, and the justice it will deliver to Corey Trent today.”

Breathe, swivel, continue.

“Some of you may wonder, Why Naperville?” he said. “Why not some poor town in rural Illinois, out of the public eye?” He nodded. “Well, I’m happy you asked.”

11:30 a.m.

“Please fill each row before starting the next,” Emily said, escorting the official witnesses to the chairs facing the nine-by-twenty viewing window. Her excitement over meeting Covington had long evaporated. While she was still happy at Trent’s impending dispatch, this wasn’t a celebration. A baby was still dead-

“Marty?” she said, shocked, as she spied him in the back. “What are you doing here?”

“Need to see this through,” he said.

“Did Barbara approve your leaving the - never mind,” she said, fearing the answer.

Marty winked, then went to the back row to sit.

Right on time, the Executioner noted with approval.

11:31 a.m.

“We got a hit,” the intelligence officer said. “Danny Monroe switched buses in Iowa.” He reeled off the new plate and description.

“Find it,” Branch ordered.

11:33 a.m.

“Naperville is the envy of the nation,” Covington said to camera two. “With its strong schools, proud businesses, close-knit families, and stunning lack of crime thanks to the ever-vigilant cop on the beat” - a salute to Ken for putting up with all this - “Naperville is the zenith of the American dream. So when people ask, Why Naperville? I ask, Why not?”

The reporters snickered.

“You laugh!” Covington thundered, seizing the opportunity to ratchet the drama. “You think I’m ashamed to put an electric chair in the nation’s most celebrated suburb? Well, I’m not. I’m honored. As are the people of Illinois. We built a cathedral of justice on a mountaintop, and the world turned out to worship.”

He pointed toward the ululating mass at the base. “I didn’t select a lonely hamlet that reporters deign not visit. I selected Naperville, dead center of the American experience.” Passion foamed out his lungs and over his lips. “I will never shirk my responsibility to visit justice upon America’s evildoers. Never. Never. Never.”

He touched the flag pin on his lapel.

“So it gives me great pleasure to announce that I’m going to build on today’s success, and next week’s, and next year’s, and bring the Justice Center concept to the rest of the planet. It will take decades, and all the energy I can muster. But I will never rest. Never falter. And one day I’ll look back in pride and say, ‘We did it, Andy. The Covington boys won.’“

11:34 a.m.

“Morris Wolf, please.”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Katherine Covington.”

“Right away, ma’am,” said the chief receptionist of Chicago’s most powerful matrimonial law firm. “Please hold.”