The lawyer’s tale...

“16th October 2016

San Quentin Prison, California

Dear Stephanie,

I am not sure when, or even if, you will read this, and no doubt you will have heard about your Grandfather who was murdered on Death Row. Hopefully you will have heard the truth from your Dad, but he may have been unable, or unwilling, to have told you the whole tale, so I’ve asked my lawyer to pass this onto you after his death.

Firstly, I am sorry for your loss, when I knew your Father, my Son, he was an amazing man, strong, protective, intelligent, and loved you and your Mother without reserve.

Secondly, the lawyer who has given you this letter is now under your control, he has a handsome trust fund for you, and any of your descendants, hence the reason even (hopefully) so long after my murder you are receiving this letter.

Thirdly, you deserve to know what happened to put me into this awkward position, with my death only hours away, which I will go to with a clear conscience and my head held high.

John Callahan was killed, though not at my hand, by a single gunshot wound to his upper chest. If I’d have killed him then I would have made him suffer, not die quickly and virtually painlessly! It was your Father who killed him, using a gun that I provided him with from my collection, one that I’d test fired earlier that day, hence the gun shot residue on my hands.

Your Dad wore gloves and took my car with the sat-nav that I’d programmed. He knew when Callahan would be alone as I’d spent a lot of money on Private Investigators to learn everything I could about the roach. This information was also presented at my sentencing, and pushed it from life imprisonment to death row. I pleaded guilty to the murder, there was no need for a trial, and I’d been told the state wouldn’t press for the death penalty. I didn’t get that in writing, and my lawyer wasn’t present, so I was Shanghaied!

Anyway, back to Callahan, he was pure evil, he had no redeeming qualities. He was a violent thug, he ran protection rackets, he was a serious name within both prostitution and drugs, he was responsible for multiple murders, though never charged (I’ve always assumed he had half the police in L.A. on his payroll) let alone imprisoned.

But why did we care? Well, you may or may not know, you had an older Sister, April, she was 10 years older than you are. So at the time I am writing, she’d have been 14, 13 when she disappeared. Callahan took her and two of her friends from the shopping mall, he had people going around promising to help make girls models, but any that showed an interest were added to his prostitution rings in various different states.

April and her friends were taken, and as far as I am aware neither of her friends were ever found, though hopefully that won’t remain the case after my death. April was found 5 days after she was taken. She was naked in a ditch outside of Las Vegas, while her body had been partially eaten by animals, they were able to determine that she had been beaten and raped multiple times before being strangled.

I was a multi-millionaire, and I used this money to tear apart Callahan’s organization, piece by piece. The men who could be identified as raping your sister were put in prison (where they will have suffered significantly, again my funds ensured this), and many of the cogs were destroyed, but Callahan, he had to be dealt with by me and your Dad.

As said, my investigators found him, and your Dad pulled the trigger, looking him straight in the eye, and letting him know why he was dying. I told your Dad that he had you and your Mum to care for, and that I would take the blame. With my money, a life in prison would have been a very easy life. Sadly, that part didn’t go to plan, hence my counting down the minutes to my demise.

Even with my money, I couldn’t buy my way out of the death sentence, and I refused to let my beautiful son die in my stead. I ordered him not to tell anyone what had happened, particularly after my death, as he could be charged with the killing of Callahan (I will never say murder, he was put down like the rabid animal that he was) and also put to death.

I wanted you to know who I was, that I am an honourable man, that the killing that I took the blame for was just and the best for the world as a whole. Your Father, my son, was doing the right thing when he shot that beast dead, love him still.

Finally, I hope that you have had a good and long life so far, and have many more years to come. While I’ve not had the opportunity to share your life, I will, if possible, watch over you, always.

All my love.

From

Your Grandfather,

Gary Richardson”

The guard banged on the cell door, “Times up Richardson.”

Gary sealed the envelope and passed it on to his young lawyer, barely 25 years old, and seemingly in good health. Gary’s eyes showed fear of death, but he stood, greying at the temples, but still physically powerful, his voice still strong, “James, make sure that my granddaughter receives this when my son dies, and not before. It is not to be opened by you, or anyone at your firm. I have ensured a retainer for you personally to keep that envelope safe, and to allow you to keep track of my family. This is in addition to your firm’s payments, and the various trust funds. Protect my family.”

“Yes, Mr. Richardson. I promise.”

The men walked from the cell, James tucking the envelope into his jacket pocket, where it would remain for nearly 40 years.

Gary remained stoic as he was strapped down into the chair, and the lethal injections were administered, his eyes closing calmly as his breathing slowed, and finally his heartbeat monitor flat lined.

Thirty-nine years later

The car slowed to a halt in the rain drenched church carpark, the gullwing door lifting automatically, as steps emerged and an old man stepped out. His walking cane helped the man to balance as he walked calmly across the grass to the mourners gathered in front of the open grave.

James spotted Stephanie, dressed all in black, she was still a stunningly beautiful woman, in her mid-forties. She was stood with her husband and three children watching her Father’s coffin lowering into the trench. The remaining mourners started to leave the graveside, heading back to their transporters.

James walked steadily towards the five surviving members of the Richardson dynasty, the rain drenching his suit, the same one he’d worn at the last ever execution in the United States.

“Stephanie, I am sorry for your loss. I am undertaking one of my first ever instructions as a lawyer, and now my last before retirement. This is from your Grandfather.” James said, passing the old and yellowed envelope to the surprised lady, before turning and walking away.

Stephanie, opened the envelope, reading the contents, before smiling through her tears, cuddling in close to her husband, and pulling her three children to her.