Free By Reason of Insanity by Shane Stevens Page A

in thought. It was a good subject if handled right. After years of silent approval and thousands of executions, people were thinking seriously about capital punishment. States were stopping it, even the Supreme Court was calling it cruel and unusual. And people were separating into two warring camps.
    The phone buzzed and Lavery picked it up. Another moment and the door opened to a booming voice.
    “Derek, sorry I’m late.”
    Lascelles Dingbar crossed the room hurriedly and stuffed himself into a chair, his overweight body squealing in delight. He nodded to Kenton, at the same time pulling out an enormous handkerchief and mopping his huge brow. “The weather, you know.”
    “Glad you could make it,” murmured Lavery in mock sarcasm. The two men were good friends, having put in almost twenty years together. Lavery knew Dingbar—Ding to everyone—to be a good legman and tenacious with facts. But he would never trust him to be on time anywhere.
    Ding ignored the remark, squeezing himself further into the chair. Roughly the same age as Lavery, of average height and many pounds overweight, he had a shade of sandy hair left atop a large oval face, usually florid. His hands were soft and flabby, his legs mere pipestems, and he suffered from innumerable disorders to which he paid absolutely no attention. He could move fast if he had to, and he had the knack of putting people at ease, a valuable asset in his work. He was also a very good listener.
    “We were talking about capital punishment.” Derek Lavery placed his cigar carefully in the heart-shaped ashtray and looked at the two men in front of him. Neither spoke.
    Swiftly and expertly he outlined the controversy on the subject in the 1950s and sixties, from the Rosenberg aftermath to Barbara Graham to the civil rights movement and the disproportionate number of black men executed. He was interrupted only by his puffings on the cigar.
    “For twenty years capital punishment has been dying on its own, through disuse. But it was slow and didn’t attract the headlines or the sustained passion.” Puff, puff “And without passion we have no news.” He smiled briefly.
    “In 1952 there were eighty-three executions in this country; in 1965 there were seven. But for the past six years—none. Not one, nothing. Two years ago fifteen states had abolished it. Now the Supreme Court has finished the job.” He clamped the cigar between his teeth. “Only they ain’t.”
    Kenton shifted in his chair, unbuttoned his jacket.
    “I said they haven’t finished the job. All they really did was draw the battle lines. From now on the shit’s going to be flying.”
    “I don’t see it that way,” said Ding, still mopping his brow. “When the Court ruled 5—4 against it last year, seems to me that was the end of capital punishment.”
    “The hell it was.” Lavery shook his head. “A lot of the states will vote to restore the death penalty, some will call for a constitutional amendment. But all that doesn’t interest me. What I’m talking about is the public reaction, that’s where the news will come from.” He put the cigar down. “Look at it this way. The do-gooders think they won and the hard-liners are watching for the first wrong move. There’s maybe a thousand men in jail right now that a lot of people want dead. Meanwhile the killings on the outside go on as they always do. People are afraid to go out at night, they’re afraid to leave their houses. They’re buying dogs and gates and locks, and they’re buying guns too. Every time somebody gets raped or killed, they scream for capital punishment.” He tapped the desk. “The next time some punk knocks off a half dozen people there’ll be holy hell to pay. That’s where the action is, not in some court. And that’s where we should be.”
    Kenton and Ding exchanged glances. Both were certain now that he had something specific in mind.
    “If what I say is right,” continued Lavery, “we should be doing stories on