“Skip it,” I said shortly. “How the hell do I know whether he did it or not? The jury pinned it on him, didn’t they?”
“I ain’t interested in what the jury thought. I’m askin’ what you think.”
“I never think, brother,” I said hastily. “I just wait until somethin’ happens.”
Hughson snorted. “Okay, smart guy,” he said. “Wait until you want somethin’.”
We reached the prison at 11.40. There were some other witnesses waiting outside the gates as we drove up. They all looked uneasy in the dim light, and moved a little way away as we came tumbling out of the cars. We stood there in a bunch, pretending we didn’t know what we were there for, until the gates were opened at 11.45.
A couple of bulls inspected our cards and gave us a quick frisk. Since the Snyder execution the authorities were scared sick that another guy would smuggle in a camera. The boys knew it was pretty useless to try, and the cops knew they knew it, so the frisk was really just a matter of form. When they got through, we started through a maze of gates, each of which was locked behind Us before we could pass through the next.
We marched single file, and I guess we looked a fine bunch of professional mourners. We went past the big cell buildings, our footsteps resounding on the walk. It was dark and silent in the cells. The death house was over in the far corner of the immense prison yard.
We walked round the hearse, parked in front of the death house, and a number of us just took one quick look at that wagon and tucked in our tails.
The death house had two entrances. One led to a narrow passage between the death chamber and wall of the death house. The other led to the little cell where Vessi was—a few feet from the entrance.
There was no other building near the death house. It stood alone in a corner of the yard, where the convicts played their ball game. As we shuffled across the yard the dust got on to our shoes and we took it into the death house with us.