Chapter 6 - THE BLOOD ON THE COAT
The clock clicked to 8:45 a.m.
Mitchell stared at the detective sitting across from his desk. Arthur Russo wasn't a cold-blooded sociopath; he was a broken, desperate man who had made a horrific bargain with the devil. But that bargain was about to cost an innocent father his life in barely an hour.
“You’re telling me to execute an innocent man to protect a corrupt judge’s legacy,” Mitchell stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
“I’m telling you to protect the child!” Russo pleaded, gripping the edge of the mahogany desk. “Judge Vance controls the state police. He controls the appeals court. If Gavin walks out of here, Vance’s men will silence both Gavin and Chloe before the sun goes down. The red coat is the only evidence that can touch him, and Sarah hid it too well.”
Suddenly, the red phone on Mitchell’s desk rang.
Not his standard office line. The red phone. The direct line to the Governor’s office.
Mitchell picked up the receiver. “Warden Mitchell.”
“Warden, this is the Governor’s Chief of Staff,” a crisp, professional voice echoed over the line. “Due to anticipated media protests, the Governor has ordered the execution of Gavin Cole to be moved up by forty-five minutes. You are to proceed immediately. You have until 9:15 a.m. to conclude the procedure.”
Mitchell’s blood turned to ice. Thirty minutes.
Judge Vance had pulled a string at the very top. He was accelerating the timeline to ensure Gavin died before any last-minute appeals could be filed.
“Understood,” Mitchell lied smoothly, and hung up the phone.
Russo slumped back in his chair. “It’s over, Rob. You have to do it.”
Mitchell stood up. He didn't reach for his keys to the execution chamber. He reached for the heavy, steel-plated flashlight resting on his desk.
In one fluid, brutal motion, Mitchell swung the flashlight, striking Russo squarely across the jaw.
Russo’s eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor, completely unconscious.
“Not on my watch,” Mitchell muttered.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Officer Ramirez.
“Warden!” Ramirez shouted over the sound of a roaring car engine. “I got the locker open. I have the red coat.”
“Listen to me, Ramirez,” Mitchell ordered, moving quickly to secure Russo’s wrists with heavy zip-ties. “The Governor just moved the execution up. You have exactly twenty-five minutes to get back to this prison with that coat.”
“Warden, I have a problem,” Ramirez panted. “I just merged onto the highway, and a state trooper pulled in right behind me. His lights are flashing. He’s pulling me over.”
Mitchell’s stomach dropped. Judge Vance’s men. They had been monitoring the bus terminal.
“Do not pull over, Ramirez,” Mitchell commanded. “If they get that coat, Gavin dies.”
“Warden,” Ramirez said, his voice dropping in terror. “The trooper is pulling alongside me. He’s rolling down his window.”
A tense, agonizing silence stretched over the phone line. Mitchell waited for the sound of gunshots. He waited for the sound of a crash.
Instead, Ramirez let out a breathless gasp.
“Warden... the trooper isn't trying to run me off the road. He’s gesturing for me to follow him.”
May you like
“Who is it?” Mitchell demanded.
“I don't know,” Ramirez said, genuine confusion in his voice. “But he’s wearing a massive silver watch.”
