One young officer shifted uncomfortably while the older guard beside him snorted with impatience and muttered that condemned inmates were in no position to ask for favors. Victor did not argue, and instead he explained that Avery was only eight years old and that he had not held her in his arms for three years, repeating softly that it was the only thing he wanted before he died. The request moved slowly through prison channels until it reached the desk of Warden Robert Gaines, a sixty two year old career officer who had watched more executions than he cared to remember. Something about Victor’s case had bothered him since the day the prisoner arrived because the evidence looked flawless on paper yet the man’s eyes had never carried the coldness Gaines had learned to recognize in real killers.
The file said fingerprints had been found on the knife that killed Victor’s wife, blood covered clothing had been discovered in the laundry room, and a neighbor swore he had seen Victor leaving the house late that night. Everything pointed in the same direction, but those eyes always carried something different, a mixture of fear and stubborn certainty that Gaines could not ignore.