The data piled up in Emma’s brain. She knew that this was far better news than a life sentence, but that ten-year period in prison weighed on her. How could I have been so rash? She looked at Jack to gauge his reaction.
He touched her hair. “I don’t want a trial, and I don’t think you do either. I think this is the best offer we’re going to get. But I’m not the one who will be in prison. Tell me what you want to do.”
Emma was quiet for a few minutes, contemplating what she would say next. “I don’t want a trial. I’m guilty. I’ll take the plea bargain,” she said without the slightest hesitation. “I’ll pay my debt to society. But I have a favor to ask you, Maya.”
Maya bobbed her head. Her face was one of compassion. “I think I know what it is. You want to tell your mother good-bye and go to her funeral, like any loving daughter.”
Emma started to cry again. “Yes, I want to attend my mother’s funeral.”
“Let me present your request. I will also tell the DA you’ve accepted the plea deal. A lot of times a request to a family member’s funeral is denied, but again there are extenuating circumstances.” Maya returned the file to her briefcase and rose to depart. “I’ll contact the DA as soon as I leave. I should have an answer in the morning.”
Maya shook both of their hands, and the door opened. Sykes took the attorney’s place, standing guard, her hands clasped in front.
Emma turned to Jack. She put her hands on both his shoulders, the tears running down her cheeks. She searched his face, considering his dark eyes for an answer. “Jack, do you still love me? I miss you all so much!” She buried her face in her husband’s chest, the sobs overtaking her again.
She felt his lips whispering into her hair. “Shh, Emma. Shh. I love you more than you will ever realize.”
64
SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 2003 ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI LINDA’S CONDOMINIUM
Chief Langston relayed news that prosecutors in Missouri and Nebraska were working out the details of how the trials would proceed, extradition, and eventual incarceration. Linda knew that she would testify at all the trials, and there could be as many as six.
Tomorrow, she was flying home. Malachi was dropping by with dinner and to say a temporary good-bye. Malachi. Linda smiled at his name. Their budding romance had been a lovely development in a sea of darkness. On Wednesday they had found several hours free from police work for dinner and a movie. As the sun rose over the Arch, they were still talking.
A chilled six-pack of Budweiser was in the fridge. The doorbell rang. The clock read ten past six. She opened it to Malachi’s smiling face and the smell of fresh pizza.
“Whatever you brought, it smells divine,” she said, leading him to the kitchen.
“One St. Louis-style pizza and gooey butter cake from Gooey Louie’s for your last night in our fine city,” Malachi declared, kissing Linda’s cheek.
They moved in tandem—Linda pulling plates from the shelves and Malachi setting the oven on low.
Malachi helped himself to two Budweisers, placing the bottles on the counter. He found the opener in a drawer and handed Linda a beer. “Here’s to the perseverance of good old-fashioned police work.”
Bottles clinked as they drank to their victory. “As much as I want to get home, I am really going to miss you. Sure, there will be the trials, but that’s part of our jobs,” Linda said wistfully.
Malachi grinned and clasped Linda’s hands in his. “I say we give a long-distance relationship a chance and see where the journey takes us. I have vacation coming, and I’ve always wanted to see for myself what the ‘Go Big Red’ madness is all about.”
She was delighted at the suggestion. “It would be fantastic to see a game for once.” Her face clouded. “But we’re both committed to our careers. Are we fooling ourselves we can make this relationship work?”
“We’ll take it slow,” he said.
Linda wrapped her arms around Malachi’s muscular neck, tilting her face up to his. “It’s a deal,” she smiled. He pulled her close, engaging in their first kiss of this unexpected romantic interlude.
65
SEPTEMBER 9, 2010 POTOSI CORRECTIONAL CENTER, MINERAL POINT, MISSOURI
Today was the last day of Pamela Jane Watts’s earthly existence, and the remaining moments crept by. Never had she believed she would actually be looking forward to her execution, but she had nothing more to live for. Thoughts kept churning in her head. I was so damned close to disappearing for good. Pamela sat in her solitary cell, glaring at the drab walls, two distinct voices arguing in her head. Nearly got away with it all. I should’ve killed Ray. But I hesitated.
And she knew why.
She’d fallen for him. Unlike Darryl or Gregory, Ray exuded charisma, which had drawn her toward his magnetic presence. I was an idiot.
Four trials in three and one-half years jumbled together in her head—lawyers, cops, judges, families of victims, and juries made up of her peers with faces too numerous and nondescript to remember. The worst part was finding herself on death row, a fate her legal team genuinely believed they could avoid. Pamela recalled four judges separately sentencing her to death, her own stunned reaction and that of her lawyers. She heard guards whispering among themselves over newspaper accounts: Pamela Watts is the sixth woman on death row in Missouri and the first in Nebraska. A very elite group, she reflected sarcastically. Her legal team made numerous appeals, giving her a sliver of optimism. And then the appeals ran out. There was still a minute chance the Missouri governor would grant a last-minute reprieve, but she wasn’t just a heinous murderer, Pamela Watts was a child killer.
The authorities in Nebraska had decided to try her for the murders of Gregory and the children at the same time. Her legal advisors were blunt. You are the most vilified woman in the country, Pamela. Don’t expect a miracle; people want to see you pay for your sins. She rolled her stiff shoulders against the wall. None of this would have happened if Gregory hadn’t been hell-bent on being a savior in Africa. He completely upended my plan. Insisting missionary work would strengthen our marriage. Didn’t even fucking ask me. He was suddenly the “head of the household.” Said I couldn’t question his authority. Bullshit. I should have recognized he was becoming an arrogant prick and left sooner. A frustrated sigh emerged from deep within her lungs.
Her attention roamed to Jacob and Elizabeth. If Gregory had just died as she’d intended, she would simply have left the children sleeping in their beds. But Jacob woke to find his father stumbling over packing boxes. When she slammed the wooden baseball bat repeatedly against her husband’s skull, the blood splattered over the floor and walls; her son had witnessed it all. Why is Daddy bleeding? She threw a blanket over Gregory’s body. Daddy’s just resting, sweetheart.
She had to think fast, so she had mixed crushed Ambien into chocolate milk for both children as a special treat. She remembered waiting for their breathing to grow labored and then, under the muted glow of a full moon, finished digging their graves in the garden. She could never accept them as her blood and bone anyway.
Her shoulders slumped further against the cool cement wall. During the prior three days, prison guards had observed her every move in the sparsely furnished cell containing a mattress, a toilet, a sink, and a Bible, which she’d stuffed under the mattress. When she was issued a special dark prison jumpsuit, she had thought, An outfit to die for. That thought almost made her laugh out loud.