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buried her?”
    “Because there was no body! She’s not dead, I’m telling you. She’s sitting in a room somewhere, watching the TV, laughing her head off at this whole cornball sideshow!”
    “You think so?” Alex practically sneered.
    “Goddamn right, I think so!”
    “And have you got anything by way of … evidence?”
    Burrow looked at the lawyer like he wanted to hit him.
    “If I had evidence d’you think I’d be in this shit hole?”
    Alex was breathing heavily, trying to restore calm.
    “Okay, I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. But just tell me one thing … why would she frame you ?”
    “What?”
    “Motive? What’s her fucking motive?”
    Burrow’s face showed how hard he felt the full force of his lawyer’s skepticism.
    “You think I’m bullshitting, don’t you?”
    Alex sighed.
    “I think you’re clutching at straws.”
    But he knew that this didn’t make sense either. Why would Burrow be clutching at the straw of a crackpot theory, when the governor had just thrown him a rope?
    “I think she did it because I…”
    He trailed off. But Alex could see in his eyes that he wanted to say more. He tried an encouraging tone.
    “What? Bullied her at school? You think she’d take it this far? Just to get revenge on a bully?”
    But Burrow’s mood had changed.
    “Look, forget it, okay? Let’s just forget it. You’ve done your best for me. I can’t say you haven’t gone the extra mile. Now let me just prepare for the inevitable.”
    Alex was looking at Burrow with an uneasy thought going through his mind: this was not the response of a guilty man.
     
     
     

10:52 PDT
     
    Martine Yin was checking her makeup in the trailer outside San Quentin prison preparing for her next report. It was a hot day, and she decided to swap her blue jacket for a man’s waistcoat – the one that she wore as a semi-professional snooker player.
    Her mind was focused on the matter in hand. She had spotted Burrow’s lawyer going into the prison and had been hoping to get an interview with him when he came out, but she found herself caught in a media scrimmage and was unable to get anywhere near his car before it broke through the line and receded into the distance. She knew that the lawyer had been scheduled to meet the governor that morning, but that was just a formality. Besides, if anything had come out of that meeting, it would have been announced by the governor’s office.
    Nevertheless, she did want to talk to Sedaka, if only to get the low-down on how his client took the inevitable bad news. But she had missed the opportunity. Aside from that, she assumed that Alex didn’t want to talk about it. In fact he probably couldn’t talk about it. But still, it would be nice to get an exclusive.
    The problem was how to contact him. All she had was the number of Sedaka’s office. The secretary had been polite, but consistently refused to give out Sedaka’s cell phone number.
    So now Martine just had to sit tight outside San Quentin awaiting further developments. The report this morning had gone well. Of course as the execution time approached, things would hot up. The closer to midnight they got, the bigger this story would become. There was no chance of the governor granting clemency – notwithstanding his own unpopular views on capital punishment. Indeed the only thing that could upstage the execution itself would be if Dorothy Olsen walked in off the street and said: “Surprise, surprise! I’m alive!”
    Martine smiled at the thought. It reminded her of all the urban legends and conspiracy theories about the Lindbergh baby, complete with several people claiming to be the dead tyke – including one who was black and female!
    There were a few doubts about the case against Hauptmann, who had been executed for the murder of the baby. Some said his trial was unfair – not least the atmosphere of vengeance amid which it had taken place. But it was a strong case nevertheless. Likewise the case against