Page 29

After Hyde was declared dead and his death certificate signed, his body was loaded into a waiting hearse backed up to the same door of the death house where he had entered alive.

A local funeral home would prepare his remains for transfer to Kilgore.

Carrie and the families were led in a somber procession from the prison, across the street, to an area outside near the administration building. TV news vans and satellite trucks were parked in the distance.

People from Tyler, Clear River and across Texas had gathered with signs advocating their support for Hyde’s execution. Nearby, separated by police and prison staff, a smaller group opposed to the death penalty carried placards and lit candles.

A few yards away, dozens of journalists had assembled. The families had agreed to a brief press conference, and they joined the group gathered around an impromptu podium, heaped with microphones under the glow of TV lights.

First to speak was an official with the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, who summarized how Hyde’s death sentence was carried out. Next up was one of the wire service reporters who’d witnessed the execution. Referring to the notes he’d taken, he gave a careful account of the execution. He detailed Hyde’s appearance, his demeanor, how he’d turned to look at everyone present. He recounted how Hyde had apologized with his final statement, reading word for word from his notes as other reporters recorded it.

The victims’ families and their supporters had formed a large group. With them were friends of Jenna Dupree and investigators from Tyler. Relatives and friends of Abby and Erin stood nearby, along with detectives from Clear River County, deputies and friends. Clay and Lacey Smith, along with others, were also there.

The reporters began by asking Jenna Dupree’s family for reaction. Her uncle came to the podium.

“Our anguish at losing Jen will never ever go away,” he said. “But we’re relieved to know Hyde can’t hurt any more innocent people.”

Then the first question for Abby’s and Erin’s families came from a TV reporter from Dallas.

“Why was it important for you to be here?”

Nicole Hall, Abby’s sister, glanced around. Being closest to the podium, she stepped up to it and, with all the news cameras aimed at her, took a breath.

“To see justice done,” Nicole said. “I think all of us take some comfort that we’ve reached some sort of finality.”

A Houston newspaper reporter asked: “What did it mean for you when Hyde expressed remorse for his crimes?”

Lauren Eddowes, Erin’s cousin, stepped forward. “It took so long for us to reach this point,” she said. “For years we’ve lived with the pain of not knowing the truth, and—” Lauren glanced at Nicole, then they both glanced at Carrie, blinking apologetically. “There were so many unanswered questions, so many hurtful rumors. So, yes, we’re glad he confessed and it’s finally over.”

Carrie covered her mouth with her hand. The gesture from Lauren and Nicole, who’d behaved so coldly and accusatorily to her at Lacey’s party, had taken her by surprise.

Another TV network reporter indicated the framed photos of Abby and Erin that many held, as well as the T-shirts Lauren and Nicole were wearing, which displayed the faces of the murdered teens. A few friends of Jenna also wore T-shirts showing her picture.

“Lauren, Nicole,” the reporter said, “can you tell us a little about why you wore those T-shirts into the execution?”

“Well,” Nicole said, “we weren’t permitted to take photographs into the viewing area.”

Lauren said: “We had these shirts made so that their faces would be the last thing Hyde saw.”

“Did Hyde see them?” the reporter asked.

“Yes, he did,” Nicole said.

Luke studied the faces of the girls in the framed photos and on the T-shirts.

Faces of the dead.

Suddenly waves of raw emotion unleashed horrible images…the face of the woman he’d killed in Los Angeles… Then, in Clear River, driving home that night, the storm… the face of a woman hurtling over his windshield… Thinking of Hyde dying on the gurney, all of it churned in Luke…

“You were there when Abby and Erin were killed,” Denise Diaz of the Chronicle was now saying to Carrie, pulling Luke from his thoughts.

Carrie had moved to the podium, surveying all the news cameras.

“We know from the witness list that you didn’t see Hyde’s execution. Why did you not want to be there?”

“I just couldn’t do it.”

“This was the man who’d tried to kill you.”

“I didn’t want to witness his death.”

“I’m wondering,” Diaz continued, “if being here today brought back memories of that day in Wild Pines Forest?”

Carrie was silent for a long moment. Vern stood next to her, putting his arm around her as she began shaking her head slowly.

“No,” Carrie said. “I remember very little.”

“Not even after today?”

“She nearly died in the attack,” Vern said. “She suffered a serious neurological injury, impairing her memory to this day.”

“I understand,” Diaz said. “But on another aspect, Carrie, you were the sole survivor. Three of you entered the woods that day. But you were the only one who came out alive. Early in the case, investigators considered you a suspect. Does Hyde’s confession and his execution today bring you any solace, any relief?”

Carrie took a breath. “It’s been a nightmare and now it’s over.”

Diaz continued while paging through her notebook. “This is for the Clear River investigators—it’s my understanding that Hyde confessed after he was recently visited on death row by Vernon Hamilton, Carrie’s father and Clear River County’s former sheriff, who oversaw the initial investigation. Can you tell us how Hyde’s confession came about when he’d always denied having any involvement in the case? And I also understand that investigators had no hard evidence linking Hyde to the case. Could you elaborate on what changed?”

Vern’s jaw muscles bunched as he traded a glance with Sheriff Bob Ellerd, who made his way to the podium.

“I don’t think,” Ellerd said, indicating the families, “that this is the proper time and place for this discussion.”

But national network reporters from Dallas and Houston, eager to piggyback on Diaz’s expertise on the case, pressed Ellerd to respond.

Exchanging glances with Vern and Will Young, the Clear River County district attorney, Ellerd rubbed his chin before he spoke.

“Donnie Ray Hyde was always the primary suspect. His polygraph was inconclusive; his alibi was weak. After his death sentence for killing Jenna Dupree, he launched appeals. As long as he had any hope of succeeding, he would not cooperate with our case. But once all of his appeals were exhausted, he confessed.”

“Sir,” a reporter from NBC said, “can you or any official here tell us what Hyde said in his confession?”

Ellerd turned to the DA, who indicated for Hyde’s lawyer, Ridley Martin, and Vince Azure, his spiritual counselor, to join him.

“I can tell you,” Martin said, “that Donnie Ray waived his attorney-client privilege after death.”

“We can also say,” Young added, “that he provided information only the person who killed Abby and Erin would know.”

“Can you elaborate?” the NBC reporter pressed. “What sort of information?”

“We’re still assessing it,” the DA said. “But there is no indication that anyone other than Donnie Ray Hyde is responsible for the deaths of Abby Hall and Erin Eddowes.”

A reporter from CNN then asked Vince Azure: “As his spiritual counselor, can you tell us why Hyde made the last-minute confession?”

“He told me he wanted to leave this world knowing that he’d told the truth. He wanted to cleanse his conscience, do the right thing, maybe give the families some peace.”

At that point, the TDCJ official took to the podium. “I think this concludes things.”

Reporters called out more questions, but the official closed it down with: “Thank you, everyone.”

As the various groups began leaving, Lacey and Clay joined Carrie and her father.

“You did good, Carrie,” Lacey said, rubbing her shoulder.

“You sure did,” Clay added. “It’s over now, all of it.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Vern said. “This puts it all to rest.”

Carrie offered a weak smile, looking for Luke.

He’d stopped and was staring hard at the imposing “Walls Unit.”