Free The 24th Letter ((Mystery/Thriller)) by Tom Lowe

from William’s eyes.
    O’Brien said, “I’ll find who did it.”
    “Bull shit, man!  You got sixty-seven hours ‘till they poison me.  How are you going to find the killer in sixty-seven hours?  Huh?  Tell me?  Took you eleven years to find out I didn’t do it.  What the hell can you do in sixty-seven hours?”
    O’Brien said nothing.   
    “Tell me, O’Brien!” Williams screamed.  “Are you gonna work as hard to get me out as you did to get me in?”  He dropped the receiver, blinking tears out of his eyes, lower lip trembling, saliva in the corner on his mouth.  Two guards ran over and lifted him, kicking, out of the metal chair.  As they dragged Williams back to death row, O’Brien could hear him screaming, “I loved her!  I loved Alex!  What’re you gonna do now O’Brien!  Tell me!”          
     
     

 
    THIRTY-FIVE
     
    In his rearview mirror, O’Brien could see the white buildings, guard towers, and razor fence of Florida State Prison as he drove away.  O’Brien lifted his cell phone and called information.  “Connect me, please, to the office of Florida’s Attorney General.”
    “Hold for that number.”
    He was transferred three times before O’Brien reached the Attorney General’s executive assistant.  “May I help you?”
    O’Brien explained why he was calling.
    “Hold, please.”
    After listening to a more than one minute of a tape-recorded message from of the governor, the assistant came back on the line.  “Attorney General Billingsley is in a meeting.  Then he has a cabinet meeting.  May I take a number?”
    “Time is running out for Charlie Williams.  If the attorney general is busy, please get me the deputy attorney general.”
    “Hold, please,” her voice now agitated.
    “O’Brien listened to recorded message of the governor discussing his accomplishments in education and job creation.  Then a man’s voice came on the line, “Carl Rivera, can I help you?”   
    “Are you the deputy attorney general?”
    “No, but I am an assistant attorney is this office.”
     

 
    O’Brien fought the urge to throw the cell phone out the Jeep window.  “I’ll be quick and to the point.” 
    The assistant attorney listened without interruption.  He said, “Mr. O’Brien, as tragic as the murders are, it’s not within the capacity or jurisdiction of this office to intercede.  The original case was tried in Miami.  I’d suggest you begin there.”
    “The Attorney General’s office is the first to hear a capital case appeal.”
    “Indeed, but this isn’t an appeal.  It’s a stay of execution.  Only the governor can issue that order.”
    “I’ve been listening to his tape recorded message every time someone in your office puts me on hold.  Stay on the line and put me through to the governor’s office.”
    “I can do that, but I can also tell you that Governor Owens is out of the country.  He’s in Saudi Arabia on a fact-finding trip.”
    “The facts in this case spell death for an innocent man.  The governor needs to know it.  Media could have a field day while he’s away.  I’m leaving you with my cell number.  I need to speak to the attorney general.  He can at least examine the new revelations in the case and make a call to the governor.  We have satellites and phones; all it takes is someone to make the call.”
    “What’s your number, Mr. O’Brien?”
    O’Brien gave it to him, disconnected and immediately called the Miami FBI headquarters.  As his call was being put through, he thought about what the attorney general’s assistant had said.  And he wondered how the cabinet could be meeting without the governor in attendance.  “Special Agent Miles,” said the voice on the line.
     

 
    “Lauren, this is Sean O’Brien, how are how?”
    “I’ll be damned…if it’s not Sean O’Brien…maybe Miami-Dade PD’s best dropout.  What do I owe the privilege?  Last time you resurfaced was the Miguel Santana