TWO GROUPS ABOUT thirty people strong stood on opposite sides of the gate, carrying homemade signs. Susan eyed them warily as she and Robert drove toward them.
They ranged from kids to the elderly. One group held up signs with messages like “Don’t Kill for Me” and “Execute Justice Not People.” The other group’s signs proclaimed “An Eye for an Eye is Just” and “Death for Child Killers.”
But despite being polar opposites, the two groups were noncombative and seemed respectful of each other. Nobody was shouting and they all seemed to be honoring the solemnity of the occasion. Maybe it was just too cold out here to get in a big fight.
The one thing Susan found disturbing was that several of the pro-death-penalty people had huge, blown-up pictures of Amy wearing the necklace.
Robert and Susan rode up to the gate, which blocked their way. A corrections officer with a red, puffy face and a beer belly stood at the opening of the small guardhouse, holding a clipboard.
Robert rolled down his window and handed over their drivers’ licenses. “We’re here for the execution. We’re on the witness list.”
The CO checked their licenses, then leaned down and peered into the car at Susan.
“Susan Lentigo,” he said, his beady black eyes narrowing. “You’re not really backing the scumbag that killed your daughter, are you?”
Susan was too taken aback to speak, but luckily Robert stepped in. “Officer, that’s not your business, is it?”
The CO glared at Robert menacingly. “If she’s coming in here to cause trouble, then hell yes it’s my business.”
Robert stared straight back. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up and let the lady through?”
Susan was stunned, but apparently Robert had read the situation right. Although the CO’s eyes flared with anger, he didn’t do anything. He just handed the IDs back to Robert and opened the gate.
“Thanks,” Susan said to Robert, as they headed up the long driveway to the main administrative building.
He gave a dry smile. “No worries. That guy’s a bully, but he wasn’t about to mess with the mother of the victim. Not in any way that could get him in trouble.”
As they came around a small hill and approached the building, Susan saw the big parking lot was close to full and there were six or seven TV vans with cable dishes. Robert parked at the edge of the lot. By the front steps, about fifty reporters, anchorpeople, and cameramen were waiting, loosely guarded by two or three corrections officers. They were probably waiting for Susan, but they hadn’t spotted her yet.
“God, there’s a lot of them,” Susan said. “Guess Lisa got them all excited.”
Robert looked at her. “We can stay in the car for a while if you want.”
“That won’t make it any easier.”
Susan’s right leg was bothering her again, but she was determined to ignore it. They headed for the front steps of the building. As soon as the media people saw her, they raced up with their microphones and cameras. Susan knew what their questions would be even before they started shouting at them.
“Susan, how do you feel?”
“Did Curt Jansen kill your daughter?”
“Are they executing the wrong man?”
Robert stepped in front of her, blocking the media and trying to clear a path so they could make it to the steps. “Give us room, please. Step back.”
But the questions kept coming: “Susan, who do you think killed your daughter?” “Is Lisa Jansen telling the truth about you?”
Robert said, “Let us through, please. Let us through—”
“Susan, look this way.”
“Susan, are they killing an innocent man?”
Despite Robert’s efforts, the crush was overwhelming Susan. Why weren’t the COs trying harder to control these people? Maybe they were slacking because they were pissed off at her, just like the CO at the front gate.
Following closely behind Robert, she managed to make it halfway up the steps. Then a woman in her mid-thirties, well dressed but a little plump, came down the steps toward them. She seemed somehow different from the media people, with a different kind of worry on what looked like a usually cheerful face. She said loudly, so Susan could hear her over the reporters, “Susan, I’m Pam Arnold from Public Relations. You don’t have to talk to them. Come on inside.”
Pam tried to pull her up the final steps into the prison. But when Susan made it to the top step, she said, “Hang on a second.”
The media were still yelling questions, even more aggressively now that their quarry was about to escape inside the prison where they couldn’t follow. A twenty-something man shoved a microphone into Susan’s cheek so hard it rattled her teeth.
Robert pushed the man backwards. He fell into an anchorwoman, who stumbled and almost fell herself, which led to a brief interruption to the questions. Robert took quick advantage of that. He raised his hands and said, “If you’ll all be quiet for a moment, Ms. Lentigo has a brief statement she’d like to make.”
Susan stepped up next to Robert.
On the other side of her, Pam said, “Susan, are you sure this is a good idea?”
Susan ignored her. Below her on the steps, everybody with a microphone or a camera jostled for better position. She waited for them to quit pushing each other, and for her own heart to stop beating so fast.
But her heart kept pounding, and she quit hoping that would change. She needed to speak, right now. Just do it.
“I’d like to say,” she started, and then stopped. Her voice sounded both squeaky and hollow. It didn’t feel right, like it was coming from another person.
She began again. “I’d like to say that …” She paused again, still disconcerted by the strange sound of her voice, then plunged on. “Curt Jansen’s sister seems like a very kind woman, and she’s been through a lot. I’m sorry she misunderstood me.”
Her throat caught for a second, like there was a big lump stuck in there. Then she continued. “I am confident that Curt Jansen is the man who killed my daughter.”
The lump grew, but she was able to get out, “That’s really all I have to say.”
Then Susan turned and went inside, as the media yelled questions and Robert and Pam followed her.