Lisa Gardner - The Other Daughter  

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AS ALWAYS, IMindebted to quite a few people for their expertise and patience in helping make this book a reality. Being myself, I took artistic license with a great deal of the information but tried to keep things as rooted in the real world as possible. All mistakes are mine, of course. Special thanks to:

Special Agent Nidia C. Gamba and Supervisory Special Agent John C. Ekenrode of the Boston Federal Bureau of Investigation healthcare fraud squad. I know I didnt have the space to do your job justice, but I hope youll appreciate the fact that I tried.

Bob and Kim Diehl, former corrections officers for the Texas Department of Corrections. Not just anyone will answer e-mails from a total stranger, particularly a stranger inquiring about proper protocol for the electric chair.

Larry Jachrimo, custom pistolsmith and true artist. Ive never liked guns, but you helped me appreciate them.

The Arthritis Organization for the general information on AS and to my brother, who is living with it. The older we get, Rob, the more you are my hero.

Jennifer Carson, R.N., my dear roommate from college and one of the few healthcare professionals who doesnt mind answering all my inquiries about poisons. Youve got a devious mind, Jenn, and I love you for it.

Finally, to my agent, Damaris Rowland, for riding this roller coaster with me, and to my new husband, the love of my life. I couldnt do this without you.

AUTHORS NOTE

FANS OF THEdeath penalty in Texas will notice an immediate discrepancy in my novelthat a man is sent to the electric chair in 1977. In fact, Old Sparky was retired in 1964 after the execution of 361 men, and the death penalty was not carried out again until 1982, when Texas got lethal injection. Never let it be said that historical accuracy got in the way of a writer.

For the record, the Huntsville Prison Museum does exist and is an excellent source of information on the colorful world of the Texas Department of Corrections. Bonnie and Clyde are among the most famous prisoners documented there, though I like to think that Russell Lee Holmes would be worthy of similar notoriety. The Captain Joe Byrd Cemetery also exists in real life, and, yes, the day I visited it, there was a freshly dug grave just waiting for the next recipientI was told there was another execution planned that night.

And the owl did hoot while I was there, and there was one helluva thunderstorm, and I do so solemnly swear I will never commit a crime in the state of Texas.

PROLOGUE

September 1977
Huntsville, Texas

A T SIX A.M.the Huntsville Walls Unit went to full lockdown.

Outside the redbrick walls, protesters were already gathering for Texass first execution in thirteen years. Inhumane, picket signs read. Cruel and unusual. The Texas thunderbolt should never have been brought out of retirement. The death penalty was capricious and irresponsible.

An equal-sized crowd begged to differ. Cruel and unusual was still too good for Russell Lee Holmes. Send him to the chair. Let him fry. Execution candidate number 362 was worth bringing back the electric chairin fact, they should bring back hanging.

Inside the Death House, where hed been brought just the night before, Russell Lee Holmes settled his sparse frame more comfortably on the lone bunk in his cell and ignored them all. He had watery blue eyes, a thin face, and a hunched, lean frame. After thirty years of chewing tobacco and drinking soda, his teeth were crooked, stained, and half-rotted. He liked to pick them with his thumbnail. He definitely wasnt a pleasant man or a brilliant man. What he was was quiet and, for the most part, indifferent. Sometimes it was difficult to remember just what his small, finely boned hands had done.

In January, when Utah had ended the Supreme Courts moratorium on executions by throwing Gilmore in front of the firing squad, there hadnt been any doubt that Texas would reenter the death business. And there hadnt been any doubt that Russell Lee Holmes would be the first man up to bat.

Maybe thats because when the sentencing judge had asked him what he had to say about kidnapping, torturing, and murdering six small children, Russell Lee had said, Well, sir, basically, I cant wait to get me another.

The warden arrived at Russell Lees cell. He was a fat, barrel-chested man, nicknamed Warden Cluck due to jowls that reddened and shook like a roosters when he was angry or upset. Russell Lee knew from experience that it didnt take much to get Cluck upset. Now, however, the warden seemed kind, even benevolent, as he unrolled the warrant and cleared his throat so the other four men in the Death House could hear.

Heres your sentence, Russell Lee. Im gonna read to you your sentence. You listenin?

Theyre gonna fry my ass, he said casually.

Now, Russell Lee, were all here to help you today. To get you through this with less fuss.

Go to hell.

Warden Cluck shook his head and got to reading. It is the mandate of this court, that you, Russell Lee Holmes, shall be executed for the following crimes.

He ran down the list. Six counts of murder in the first degree. Kidnapping. Rape. Molestation. All-round sadistic bad ass deserving to die. Russell Lee nodded to each charge. Not a bad list for the kid his mama had simply called Trash, as in filthy white trash, as in, no betta than yer father, that piece of no good, filthy white trash.

You understand the sentence, Russell Lee?

Its a little late if I dont.

Fine, then. The Fathers here to meet with you.

I only want to speak with you, my son, Father Sanders said soothingly. To be with you in this time of crisis. To allow you to unburden your soul and understand this journey you are about to take.

Russell Lee, always cordial, said, Fuck you. I dont want to meet no pussy God. Im looking forward to meetin Mr. Satan. I figure I can teach him a thing or two about how to make babies scream. Dont you got a kid, Warden? A little girl...

The wardens pudgy face had suddenly turned beet red. He stabbed a thick finger in the air while his jowls started shaking. Dont start. Were trying to help you

Help fry my ass. Im no fool. You want me dead so you can sleep at night. But I think Im gonna like being dead. Then I can go anywhere I want, be like Casper. Maybe tonight Ill find your little girl

We aint gonna bury your body, the warden yelled. Were gonna put it through the chip machine, you son of a bitch. Were gonna dice you into dust, then dump the dust into acid. Wont be no trace of your sorry ass left on the face of this earth by the time were done with you. No fucking molecule!

Cant help myself, Russell Lee drawled. I was born to be bad.

Warden Cluck hiked up his gray pants, jerked his head at the priest to join him, and stomped out of the cell.

Russell Lee lay back down on his cot and grinned. Time for a good nap. Nothing more to look forward to today. Nothing more to look forward to period, Trash.

His grin faltered when in the corridor, the four dead men took up the chant.

How do you like Russell Lee? Baked, crisped, or fried? How do you like Russell Lee? Baked, crisped, or fried?

THREE-THIRTY P.M.Russell Lee got up, his last meal of fried chicken, fried okra, fried sweet potatoes finally arriving. With it came an uninvited guest, reporter Larry Diggerthe wardens way of punishing him for his morning display.