The Pardon

Chapter 43

At six o’clock the next morning, Governor Harold Swyteck was in his robe and slippers, shaving before a steamy bathroom mirror, when he heard a ring on the portable phone in his briefcase. It was the same phone he’d been given in Miami’s Bayfront Park. Realizing who was calling, the governor gave a start and nicked himself with the blade.

Annoyed, he dabbed his shaving wound with a washcloth, then dashed from the bathroom, grabbed the phone from his briefcase, and disappeared into the walk-in closet, so as not to wake his sleeping wife. “Hello,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Me again, Governor,” came the thick but now familiar voice.

Harry bristled with anger, but he wasn’t totally surprised by the call. Clever as this maniac was, he seemed to thrive on letting his victims know how much he enjoyed their suffering, like a gardener who planted a rare seed and then had to dig it up to make sure it was growing.

“What do you want now?” he answered. “A pair of argyle socks to go with your wing tips?”

“My, my,” came a condescending reply. “Aren’t we testy this morning. And all just because you’re gonna have to sign your own son’s death warrant.”

“My son is not going to be convicted.”

“Oh, no? Seems to me that his last chance at getting off is lying on a slab in the morgue. I’m sure you’ve heard that the fox who testified against him had him over for a little chat-and then ended up a bloody mess on her bedroom floor. Too bad, because if you happened to be the eavesdropping type”-he snickered, remembering how he’d perched outside her sliding-glass doors-“you’d know that she was going to get back on the stand and bail him out of trouble.”

“I knew it was you,” Harry said in a voice that mixed frustration with outrage. “You butchered that poor girl.”

“Jack Swyteck butchered her. I told him the rules. It’s just me against him. I warned him that whoever tried to help him was dead meat. He went and asked for the bitch’s help anyway. That son of yours did it again, Governor. He killed another innocent person.”

Harry shook with anger. “Listen to me, you sick son of a bitch. If you want your revenge for Raul Fernandez, go ahead and take it. But don’t take it out on my son. I’m the one responsible.”

“Now, isn’t that noble-the loving father who’s willing to sacrifice himself for his son. But I’m not stupid”-his voice turned bitter-“I know Jacky Boy didn’t even make an effort. If he had, his own father would have listened to him in a heartbeat.”

Harry sighed. You’d think so, unless that father were a pigheaded fool.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Harry said firmly.

“And just who’s gonna stop me, Governor?”

“I am.”

“You can’t. Not unless you want to turn the case of State versus Swyteck into State versus Harold Swyteck. And not unless you want the whole world to know you’ve been paying off a blackmailer to cover up the execution of an innocent man. Didn’t you get the point of my poetry, my man? You’re as powerless to save your son as I was to save Raul.”

The governor’s hands began trembling. “You bastard. You despicable bastard.”

“Sticks and stones-well, I think now you get the point. Gotta go, my man. Big day ahead of me. Should be a guilty verdict coming down in the Swyteck case.”

“You listen to me! I won’t allow my son-” he said before stopping mid-sentence. The caller had hung up.

“Damn you!” He pitched the phone aside. He was boiling mad, but he was feeling much more than that. He was scared. Not for himself, but for Jack.

He turned and saw his wife standing in the doorway.

“It was him again, wasn’t it?” she asked.

Sensing her fear, he took her in his arms and held her close. “Agnes,” he asked with a sigh, still holding her, “would you still love me if I weren’t the governor of Florida?”

“Of course I would, Harry,” she replied without hesitation. “Why would you ask such a silly question?”

He broke their embrace and stepped back, pondering his next move. “Because I think I’ve made a decision.”