Stay of Execution by K. L. Murphy

man’s voice. It was Larry Conroy, the reporter her soon-­to-­be-­ex had sent. “Talk about managing your press. You’d never know this guy’s been in jail for twenty years the way he’s playing us.”
    â€œI heard he’s got someone scheduling us in fifteen-­minute blocks in order of circulation or TV ratings,” a woman said.
    Julia smiled. If that rumor turned out to be true, the woman with Conroy would be waiting a long time.
    Another reporter from Washington chimed in. “Damn. I hope I get picked. I’d love fifteen minutes. That speech he gave yesterday was like something written for the movies. Beautiful. Only thing is, you kinda picture a gorgeous sunset and a girl waiting at the end, not a mob that seems like it wants to lynch you.”
    Julia turned at the sound of raised, excited voices. She spotted the mayor, the man who had introduced Spradlin at the conference the day before. Without thinking, she slipped off the barstool, working her way toward him until she stood outside the circle of ­people surrounding him near the long counter. She tilted her chin to look up at him.
    Mayor Baldwin was a big man, well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a few extra pounds around his waistline. His age was hard to guess, maybe early forties, and when he smiled, his light eyes brightened. His shirt was open at the collar, his dark tie loose. A matching suit jacket hung over one arm. The mayor glanced down at her, then turned away to nod at an elderly woman clutching his arm. Waiting, Julia kept her position, staying close enough to hear the mostly one-­way conversations.
    â€œMayor, my daughter and my granddaughters are terrified,” the older woman said. She held on to his arm with two wrinkled hands. “You can understand. Everyone around here is scared by this whole crazy business. I mean, how can this guy just walk out of jail? All my girls are worried, and I can hardly blame them.” She shook her head, pursing her lips. “I remember everything, how afraid we all were.” The lady’s moist eyes were fixated on the mayor. “You were there, too. I know you remember.”
    â€œYes, Edith, I remember.”
    The woman opened her mouth to speak again, but a shout from the back of the crowded diner stopped all conversation.
    â€œWe don’t have to take it,” a man said. He raised a finger and pointed at the full house. “None of us want Spradlin here. I say, let’s not take it. Shit! Let’s force him out. This is our town.” A small chorus shouted in agreement.
    Baldwin looked at the man, his expression benign. “What’s done is done. The man is legally free. He’s entitled to live here if he chooses. We can’t make him leave. It would be against the law.”
    The man scowled. “Fuck the law!”
    â€œGarrett,” Baldwin said, casting a look in the direction of a booth filled with gray-­haired women, “there are ladies present.”
    â€œSorry,” the man muttered, his face sheepish.
    Julia’s eyes slid from the mayor to the reporters. Conroy struggled to repress his laughter. They weren’t in Washington anymore.
    â€œBut it’s true,” Garrett pressed on. “If it weren’t for the law, that scumbag murderer wouldn’t be free right now.” The faces encircling the mayor nodded. Some grew pinched with indignation. Julia glanced again at the reporters who’d been sitting behind her. A few were furiously taking notes now. The others watched the commotion closely.
    Raising his right hand, the mayor spoke to the crowd, his tone smooth, controlled. “Look, Spradlin is a free man whether we like it or not.”
    â€œWe don’t!” The man’s face was beet-­red, his chin jutting forward.
    The mayor’s right hand dropped back to his side. “Now, Garrett, I don’t like it any more than you, but it doesn’t