Free By Reason of Insanity by Shane Stevens Page B

the issue, because it’s timely and it’s passionate.” He blew his nose into a silk handkerchief, which he neatly tucked back in his breast pocket. “What I want for a kickoff is a lead piece on the man who was the big symbol in the sixties.”
    “And who might that be?” asked Ding.
    “Without him,” said Lavery, ignoring the question, “we might still have the death penalty. He pulled all the do-gooders together, he started the whole idea of cruel and unusual punishment. Before he came along there was just an automatic appeal and a call to the governor. He polished the technique of appeals right to the top. He was granted more stays of execution than anybody, and he lived in the death house longer than anybody.”
    No one spoke for a long moment. Finally Kenton was unable to contain his curiosity. “What happened to him?” he blurted out.
    “He was executed.” Ding sighed, looked at Lavery. “Chessman?”
    “Caryl Chessman,” Lavery said softly.
    The room darkened as passing clouds hid the sun. After a while Ding sighed again, a long low moan of resignation. “It was a long time ago,” he whispered.
    “Thirteen years,” replied Lavery. “And twelve years before that on death row. But I don’t want a rehash, I want a fresh look at the crime and those twelve years. The angle is capital punishment. You know what I mean,” he said, glancing at Ding. “‘Was Caryl Chessman a Victim of Capital Punishment?’ Something like that.”
    “I just remember the name. Who did he kill?” asked Kenton.
    Lavery turned to him. “That’s just the point. He didn’t kill anybody. That’s why it’s a good lead story. His death got a lot of people mad and paved the way for abolishing the death penalty. That’s the angle you use: he died for nothing but his death helped others to live.”
    “I don’t understand. If he didn’t kill anybody—”
    “He was convicted,” interrupted Ding, “of robbery, rape and kidnapping with intent to commit bodily harm. In those days, after the Lindbergh thing, that was worth execution. But his kidnapping, if I remember right,” he turned back to Lavery, “was just moving the woman someplace else to rape her.”
    “That’s right.” Lavery tapped the desk with his finger. “He killed nobody. His crime wasn’t worth execution. And he faced death for twelve long years.”
    Another silence filled the room. At length Lavery spoke. “There’s another thing you should know. Right up to the end Chessman claimed he was innocent. Now, I don’t give a damn if he was guilty or not, but”—he stopped to emphasize the word—”if we could cast doubt on his guilt, any doubt at all, we’d have not only the fact that the crime wasn’t worth death but maybe he didn’t even do it. Just remember that,” he added calmly, “when you write it up.”
    “What’s the time on it?”
    “None,” snapped Lavery. “I want it running in four weeks. You got one, that’s all.”
    Kenton sucked in his breath, looked over at Ding who nodded back. They had worked together on several stories and had attended many of Lavery’s briefings. When he wanted something that quickly it usually meant he was determined to go all the way with it, no matter what. They were visibly impressed.
    “Actually,” continued Lavery, “the idea came to me last month when I heard a radio show about capital punishment. They mentioned Chessman. Since then I’ve been trying to find the right lead, and yesterday it hit me. Chessman was perfect.” He shoved a folder toward Kenton. “There’s a transcript of the trial and a few other things the research people dug up. Like Ding says, it was a long time ago.”
    “That’s all we got?”
    “That’s all we got now,” said Lavery. “You get more.” He leaned back in the Barclay Lounger, cigar in hand.
    “Ding, I want you to backtrack some of the people on the crime and the trial. Talk to a few, get some direct quotes. You know the game. Adam, you handle the