Love Letters From the Grave(9)

‘I was just the driver,’ he repeated. ‘I only wanted to drive the Packard.’

Adams watched him sadly. ‘How old are you, Charlie?’

‘Fifteen, sir.’

‘Fifteen.’ The man swallowed hard. ‘Well, you may be young but you will be tried as an adult. There is no question of you not being convicted for your part in thishorrific crime, even if you were only the driver, in your view. Moreover—? Adams swallowed again, clearly finding this harder than his demeanor suggested. ‘Moreover, you will almost assuredly be given the death sentence. There is absolutely no point in hoping for a different result. That gang of yours caused the deaths of six law-enforcement officers and three innocent bystanders. You cannot hope to avoid being executed in the electric chair, sometime before the end of the year.’

Charlie slumped into his chair. It was a living nightmare, and then when it ended he would go to Hell, where he belonged.

‘But I didn’t do anything,’ he cried in anguish. ‘I was just the driver. I didn’t know those men; I didn’t know what I was doing. It was just … just for the car and a hundred bucks.’

Adams could barely meet his eye. ‘You may believe that, Charlie,’ he said eventually, ‘and even I may believe that, but no judge or jury in the land is going to acquit you just because you didn’t know what you were doing. You’re going to the chair, son, and you’d better get used to the idea.’

Son. The word echoed around his brain. His father – Charles Senior. He’d know what to do. He’d believe his own son, the heir he trusted with running and expanding the farm.

‘Can I speak to … can’t my father be brought here?’

Adams exchanged glances with the sheriff who was leaning in the doorway, then consulted his scrap of paper again. He directed his words to the table, unable to look at Charlie.

‘Your father was brought here and told what you’d done. He was asked if he’d like to see you.’ Adams chewed his lip. ‘I’m afraid that he did not wish to see you. His exact words, I think, were that he has one son called William, who is working in the city, and five others back on the farm. He has no other son. No son called Charlie.’

‘He … he left?’ He’d gone without speaking to Charlie. Without helping him. But surely he must know that Charlie would never do anything like this if he’d known what he was doing? Surely? ‘Please! Get him to come back.’

Adams shook his head, that sad expression haunting his eyes again. ‘He’s disowned you, Charlie. I think you broke his heart. You’re on your own now.’



The trial was over in three days. Charlie sat with his eyes downcast throughout, unable to work out how this nightmare had overtaken his life – was about to end his life. An empty chair stood to one side of him, as Hepworth was too injured to attend the trial. To his right sat Mr Adams, quiet and measured, carefully taking notes and gently propping Charlie up whenever the pain of hearing about the murders at the bank threatened to topple him.

The prosecuting attorney presented a short, concise, straight-forward case, in which he asked the jury to return a verdict of guilty and a recommendation of the death penalty for both the surviving bank robbers. Charlie shook his head silently. Just a driver. Not even a regular driver – just doing someone he barely knew a favor, for the excitement of driving a Packard.

Hepworth was quickly convicted and sentenced to die in the electric chair, with the sentence to be carried out immediately upon his release from the prison hospital.

Then it was Charlie’s turn.

Adams tightened his tie and positioned himself solidly in the center of the court room.

‘Members of the jury, I appeal to you for leniency in the case of my client. He has been painted as a member of this notorious gang, and yet here he is … just a boy. The day before the awful events at the bank, Charlie helped around the farm as he always did, doing many of his father’s chores for him, as he has always done. He took care of his young siblings. He visited the church to talk with the priest and the nuns, who all adore and admire Charlie. Then he went to the high school where he is held up as an example to the other children, not of the things to avoid in this life, but of the way to be an exemplary student, on the way to university.’

A few members of the jury cast glances in Charlie’s direction, but he stared down at his hands, unable to meet their eyes, hardly able to believe himself that what Mr Adams said was true. He chanced a glance behind him, and wished he hadn’t. His mother sat five rows behind, held up by William, clutching a handkerchief to her tear-soaked cheeks. Of his father, there was no sign.

Adams had paused for his plea to sink in, but now he continued.

‘This young man has no previous criminal record. In fact, he has no previous criminal connections whatsoever, apart from his unfortunate acquaintance with Wendell Harrison - which only came about because of the charity Charlie’s family had extended to Harrison’s folks, offering them a house on their farm. Charlie has only ever seen the best in people. The best of people. The best kind of people. He had no way to see through Harrison’s manipulation of an innocent.’

Adams pointed at Charlie, and the jury’s eyes followed his finger. ‘He was recruited by the gang exclusively to be a get-away car driver. He was not armed. He did not participate in the robbery nor in the shoot-out. Did he know he was getting involved in a bank robbery? Yes, of course. He’s a bright young man. But did he know what that meant, or what it could lead to? Not in any way whatsoever. That was so far from the life that Charlie had led up to that terrible day that he could not ever have foreseen what might happen. He should not die because of this, and you all know that. You have children of your own. You were young yourselves. You can see how this might have happened, even when Charlie wasn’t able to see it for himself. If you truly care about justice, you will not give this boy the death sentence.’