testimony was. How the jury had to hear it from me. How I had to sound sure of what I was saying. That my whole family was counting on me. That I was the only one left, and it was up to me to make sure the man who committed this atrocity didn't live to do it again. He-" She turned her head, fighting back the tears. "He showed me pictures. Of them, I mean. Of what the killer did to them. So I'd see how important this was."
Ben felt as if someone had slipped a dull knife inside his heart. Small wonder Erin was traumatized-to be put through so much when she was only fifteen.
"So I did what he said," Erin continued, her voice trembling. "I testified. I told them I was certain." She paused. "But I wasn't."
Ben stared dumbly across the desk as Christina tried to comfort Erin. He had no illusions about what had happened at that trial. It was her testimony-the certainty of her testimony-that had convicted Ray Goldman. But for that, they would not have lost. And Ray would not have spent the last seven years on death row.
"You should talk to the DA," Ben said finally. "Tell him what you've told us."
"But-if I do that, won't they charge me with perjury?"
"I think it's unlikely. You were a crime victim, and a juvenile. And the prosecutors encouraged you. But I can't rule it out."
"I don't want to go to prison. And I don't want to see that district attorney. I can't face that man again. He'll try to shut me up."
"Well, Bullock isn't there anymore, but..." But other DAs were. And since her recantation meant they would have no legitimate conviction on one of the worst homicide sprees in Tulsa history, they had plenty of motivation to silence or discredit her.
If this mess was going to be fixed, it would have to be a defense attorney who did it.
"We'll need you to swear out an affidavit," Ben said quietly. "And the judge will want to hear from you in person. You'll be examined-and cross-examined."
"Whatever. Whatever it takes. Just stop this. Don't let it go on any longer." She drew herself up and tried to steady her voice. "I've been tearing myself apart. I've talked to everyone-my preacher, my friends, my boyfriend, my coworkers-everyone I know. But no one can help. When I thought Goldman was going to be executed, I almost died myself. That's when I made up my mind. That I had to talk to you."
Christina wrapped her arms around the young woman. A fresh wave of tears cascaded forth, but Erin continued to speak in the same voice tinged with despair. "I can't bear it any longer. I don't want that man's death on my conscience forever, damning my soul. I want it to be over." She looked up at Ben, her eyes wide and watery. "Please help me, Mr. Kincaid. Please."
"Do you believe her?" Christina asked, after Ben returned from escorting Erin to her car.
"Of course I believe her. Didn't you see her face?"
"I saw... a very disturbed woman."
Ben loosened his tie and flopped down behind his desk. "She's been carrying that guilt around for seven years."
"I agree that she's traumatized by guilt. But that doesn't necessarily mean she's telling the truth."
Ben's forehead creased. If this had come from anyone but Christina, he would find it laughable. But he knew Christina's instincts about people were sound-much better than his own, generally. "What do you mean?"
"She feels responsible for Ray's imminent execution."
"So? She is."
"A lot of people later come to regret the part they played in a case that leads to the death penalty. Witnesses, jurors, judges-even lawyers."
"What's your point?"
"She may be telling us she lied to stop the execution. Regardless of whether she thinks Ray is guilty."
"I don't believe that for a minute."
Christina sat on the edge of Ben's desk. "What if she's been born again? She said she'd been talking to a preacher. She said she worried about her soul being damned."
"I think you're stretching."
"Am I? She could've had a religious conversion experience, come to think of the death penalty as murder, and
Ben felt as if someone had slipped a dull knife inside his heart. Small wonder Erin was traumatized-to be put through so much when she was only fifteen.
"So I did what he said," Erin continued, her voice trembling. "I testified. I told them I was certain." She paused. "But I wasn't."
Ben stared dumbly across the desk as Christina tried to comfort Erin. He had no illusions about what had happened at that trial. It was her testimony-the certainty of her testimony-that had convicted Ray Goldman. But for that, they would not have lost. And Ray would not have spent the last seven years on death row.
"You should talk to the DA," Ben said finally. "Tell him what you've told us."
"But-if I do that, won't they charge me with perjury?"
"I think it's unlikely. You were a crime victim, and a juvenile. And the prosecutors encouraged you. But I can't rule it out."
"I don't want to go to prison. And I don't want to see that district attorney. I can't face that man again. He'll try to shut me up."
"Well, Bullock isn't there anymore, but..." But other DAs were. And since her recantation meant they would have no legitimate conviction on one of the worst homicide sprees in Tulsa history, they had plenty of motivation to silence or discredit her.
If this mess was going to be fixed, it would have to be a defense attorney who did it.
"We'll need you to swear out an affidavit," Ben said quietly. "And the judge will want to hear from you in person. You'll be examined-and cross-examined."
"Whatever. Whatever it takes. Just stop this. Don't let it go on any longer." She drew herself up and tried to steady her voice. "I've been tearing myself apart. I've talked to everyone-my preacher, my friends, my boyfriend, my coworkers-everyone I know. But no one can help. When I thought Goldman was going to be executed, I almost died myself. That's when I made up my mind. That I had to talk to you."
Christina wrapped her arms around the young woman. A fresh wave of tears cascaded forth, but Erin continued to speak in the same voice tinged with despair. "I can't bear it any longer. I don't want that man's death on my conscience forever, damning my soul. I want it to be over." She looked up at Ben, her eyes wide and watery. "Please help me, Mr. Kincaid. Please."
"Do you believe her?" Christina asked, after Ben returned from escorting Erin to her car.
"Of course I believe her. Didn't you see her face?"
"I saw... a very disturbed woman."
Ben loosened his tie and flopped down behind his desk. "She's been carrying that guilt around for seven years."
"I agree that she's traumatized by guilt. But that doesn't necessarily mean she's telling the truth."
Ben's forehead creased. If this had come from anyone but Christina, he would find it laughable. But he knew Christina's instincts about people were sound-much better than his own, generally. "What do you mean?"
"She feels responsible for Ray's imminent execution."
"So? She is."
"A lot of people later come to regret the part they played in a case that leads to the death penalty. Witnesses, jurors, judges-even lawyers."
"What's your point?"
"She may be telling us she lied to stop the execution. Regardless of whether she thinks Ray is guilty."
"I don't believe that for a minute."
Christina sat on the edge of Ben's desk. "What if she's been born again? She said she'd been talking to a preacher. She said she worried about her soul being damned."
"I think you're stretching."
"Am I? She could've had a religious conversion experience, come to think of the death penalty as murder, and
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