May God Have Mercy on Your Soul

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

About The Author

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all

Texas Law Enforcement Officers

In General

And

The Men and Women of the

Texas Department of Criminal Justice

Institutional Division

In Particular

Correctional Officers have the Toughest Beat in Texas. I know because I have been both PO - Police Officer - & CO - Correctional Officer.

These People are the Rough Men and Women - as Orwell is said to have called them - that allow us to sleep in our beds safely each night.

Thank You & Gracias

Chapter One

The February sky in Houston was steel gray, and a dark bank of midnight-blue clouds lay across the horizon to the North of the city. The drive-time Country DJ focused on the weather, talking about a genuine ‘Blue Norther’, as Jim managed to thread his way through heavier-than-usual traffic headed north and home. Because the DJ proclaimed himself a gardener, he rambled on with tips about covering outdoor tropical plants or just bringing them indoors, because it could easily be one of the coldest days of what are usually our very mild Houston winters. He was clearly excited that this norther seemed worthy of its designation.

It’s now snowing in Conroe! he declared and enthusiastically began a new song. He sang along with the first line, Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow, sounding delighted as a child.

Houston very rarely had snow, maybe every ten years, or thereabouts. Everyone seemed to welcome the prospect of a few inches of snow. However, some office personnel had asked to get off a couple of hours early, hoping to avoid the predicted bad weather, to say nothing of the slow commute people unused to driving in snow would end up in.

Jim was the office manager\chief accountant of a small electronics company. They designed simulators for the oil industry, tasked with the routing of pipelines and transfer of petroleum from tankers to various refineries. Huge deposits of petroleum product were finally directed to the ubiquitous storage tanks dotting multiple outlying areas of the fourth largest city in the country.

The cold front had grown more ominous and colder as the afternoon progressed. The North wind had increased in velocity and buffeted his small pick-up. There was a sweet, clean taste to the cold, as Jim cracked open the window, allowing it to blow in his face. He attempted to reach his wife, Alice on his cell phone, but the call went directly to voice mail. Smiling, he left a jovial message: he would sure like to have a big, steamin’ bowl of Wolf Brand Chili for supper!

The north-bound traffic had about come to a standstill, and Jim could see the string of red tail lights that seemed to go on forever. As might be expected, in-bound traffic was lighter and still moving. The glare of newer ‘blue’ headlights on some vehicles hurt Jim’s eyes and made it harder to see. He was forty-one years old, mellower than he used to be, but had at times experienced his share of road rage because of the terrible heavy traffic.

The DJ and the traffic both droned on, to the music of Frosty the Snowman. He continued with updates and advisories from the National Weather Service. Locations of fender-benders and stalled vehicles were given, to help avoid delays on the long, slow trip home. Jim tried to reach Alice again, but still got no answer.

As Jim jockeyed his pick-up for his upcoming exit ramp, the DJ interrupted yet another snowy tune to advise that a robbery was in progress at a convenience store. The location of the store, just a few blocks from his home, naturally caught Jim’s ear. It was not uncommon to hear these robbery reports fairly frequently, and even warnings about high-speed car chases. There might occasionally be the mention of a hostage situation or some other deadly scene. They were graphic reminders that the growth and prosperity of a big city like Houston could also bring crime and pain to its citizens. Reports of shots fired quickly brought Jim’s focused attention back to the radio broadcast.

As Jim exited the freeway and turned under it, he waited for the light to change. He heard, then saw, a Houston Police helicopter circling over what he expected to be the location of the robbery. A Houston Fire Department ambulance screamed toward him, and he did not proceed, though the light had turned green. He calmly waited for the ambulance to either turn onto the freeway, south toward town, or charge straight ahead under the freeway. He seemed oblivious to the many irritated drivers that were honking their horns.

Jim proceeded through the light, preparing to enter their small sub-division. The Houston Police helicopter continued to circle a few blocks ahead. As Jim approached the scene of the robbery, he saw Houston Police cruisers and a Crime Scene Van, all with lights flashing. A Harris County Sheriff’s car was parked on the grassy esplanade, doors open, while the Deputy directed traffic through the intersection, keeping the rubber-neckers moving.

Jim knew the store well; he and Alice bought gas and grabbed a loaf of bread or carton of milk there on occasion. Jim waited his turn to proceed through the intersection at the Deputy’s direction. Lights from the helicopter suddenly lit up the area around the store, almost bright as full daylight. Though it was only dark-thirty, as Jim often said, it was close to being totally dark already.

About midway through turning on to his own street, Jim stomped on the brake when he spotted Alice’s car - parked at the gas pumps, with the driver’s door standing open. The cars behind him started honking their horns; one guy gave him the bird as he passed Jim on the right. Jim slammed the little truck into low gear, and burned rubber as he jumped over the curb and onto the esplanade, next to the Sheriff’s Unit.

The scene was surreal, with the noise of the helicopter above, and red, white and blue lights flashing all around him. The Sheriff’s Deputy whistled sharply through his teeth, as he kept the traffic moving. Several HPD Officers blocked the entrance to the store, and waved the traffic off with their big flashlights. An Officer with a clip board in his hand was talking to a man, next to Alice’s car.

Jim negotiated through the cars as he crossed the street, and into the parking lot of the store. He had focused on Alice’s car, but now concentrated on searching for Alice. He looked in the bright store, but could still not spot Alice. Jim walked rapidly toward Alice’s car, but was stopped by an HPD Officer.

Stay away from that car and leave this area. This is a crime scene, the young Officer stated with authority.

That’s my wife’s car, Jim blurted out.

The Officer that had been talking to the man by Alice’s car dropped his clip board down to his side, and walked toward him. He said, Sir, let me talk to you in my car, please.

He directed Jim to his car by shining his flashlight on it. Then, taking Jim by the arm, he led him to his car and opened the passenger door.

Is my wife here? Jim asked anxiously. He was balking at getting into the squad car.

No Sir. She is en route to the hospital. She has been hurt in an attempted robbery, the Officer explained.

Jim slumped into the seat of the Police car, as the Officer returned to the man he had been talking to. Jim didn’t stay seated for very long though and jumped out of the Police Unit.

Jim approached the Officer again. What happened? What hospital is my wife going to, and how is she hurt? he demanded.

The man that the Officer was interviewing dropped his eyes to the ground, and would not look into Jim’s face. Jim waited as strobes on cameras flashed and several uniformed Officers hovered around Alice’s car. The outside speakers of the enforcement vehicles were blaring out a barrage of information.

Some of the verbiage was indistinct and meant nothing to Jim, as a thousand thoughts ran through his disbelieving mind. - But some of it, when he started listening closely, gave out the gruesome facts in a choppy, horrific narrative.

Pick up for robbery by firearms, of an individual at the convenience store at Morning Glory Lane and Oak Road, young black male, 20-25, 6 feet, wearing dark pants and a black windbreaker type jacket. He is armed with a large caliber auto pistol, very dangerous. Subject shot a white female in an attempted carjacking. Subject last seen running west from that location.

These words had come through loud and clear for Jim, as the dispatcher repeated the ‘pick up’.

Is my wife shot? Jim gasped.

Yes Sir, I’m afraid so, responded the senior Officer with the clip board.

Where are they taking her? Jim pressed.

To the Baptist Hospital North, just about two miles from here, the Officer replied with a very somber tone.

Is she hurt very bad? Jim had to know.

Yes, Sir, she is. It’s straight toward town, that way. I’ll meet you over there pretty quick, he spoke with empathy in his eyes.

Jim didn’t reply and walked to the circle of Officers near Alice’s car. In the light of the helicopter and the flashing strobes of all the investigators’ cars, Jim saw Alice’s purse lying on the ground, near her door. The purse straps were broken open, and the wind blew bits of paper across the concrete. There was blood on the concrete, as well as blood splatters on the window glass and inside the car. Jim just stood and looked.

Hey fellow, you need to move on away from this area, a younger Officer said.

It’s my wife’s car, Jim said.

The Officers moved back a couple of feet, and allowed Jim to look at the scene.

"I’ve got to go to the hospital and see how she is," Jim said, as an automatic response.

There was a pause as the Officers looked at the ground and each other.

Yes, Sir. That’s what you need to do right now. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes, the younger Officer said, placing his hand on Jim’s shoulder and directing him away from the car.

Hey, you cops! You have to get this damned car off my lot before this blood sets up. People don’t want to see blood on the driveway. Damn nigger. Who’s going to pay for all that gas she had pumped? It’s not free, you know! We run a business here! The dark-complexioned man spoke in loud, emphatic, slightly-broken English.

Jim stopped and turned toward the man, but the Officer tugged at Jim’s sleeve. He kept him going in the direction of his truck.

Don’t pay any attention to that thoughtless son-of-a-bitch, the Officer countered. He made sure he said it loud enough to be heard by the clerk, and gave him a hard look at the same time.

Jim sat in his truck for a few seconds and looked at the scene again. He shook his head, as if to come out of a dazed state, and cranked his truck up. He forcefully jammed it into first gear, and then jumped the curb in front of him. He was quickly directed through the red light by the Sheriff’s Deputy. He retraced his steps back to the freeway and turned toward town.

The DJ was still giving out weather tips for the impending snow, and wondering if there would be enough to make a snowman. Jim could only turn the radio off. He now lived in a drastically changed reality. When he drove into the Emergency Entrance at the hospital, a light snow started to fall. Jim sat in his truck after he parked and watched the snow fall, and attempted to collect his thoughts.

The Fire Department ambulance that had been ablaze with light minutes ago, sat silent backed up to the Emergency Room door. Jim locked his truck and walked toward the back end of the ambulance. Looking in the window, he saw blood on the floor and mounds of bloody gauze in the back. And there was blood on the concrete drive, Alice’s blood.

As Jim approached the double doors leading to the Emergency Room, they opened automatically. Jim walked into the hall way, and a Nurse came out of a room. She asked Jim if she could help him.

My wife was just brought in by ambulance; I want to see her, Jim stated.

The Nurse stepped in front of the door that she had just come out of. She said, I’m sorry, Sir, but you can’t see her right now. The Doctor will be here in a few minutes. She remained in her position, standing in front of the door.

Get out of my way, please, Jim said in a soft voice. He carefully pushed past the Nurse and into the treatment room.

No one was in the room except Alice. She was lying on a gurney, covered up with a blood-soaked sheet. And her right hand was exposed. He knew it was Alice; it was her hand that he had seen so many times in the six years they had been married. His Alice was a kind and gentle person, and even in death, she had pretty hands.

The Nurse walked in behind him. Please, Sir, let me clean her face. I’m sorry, we’ve not had time to clean her up yet, she apologized.

Jim turned the sheet back from Alice’s face, and threw the sheet off her completely. Then he let it drop to the floor.

Get a fresh sheet, he instructed the young Nurse in an even tone.

The Nurse started to cry. Please, Sir, let me do that, she implored.

Get the sheet and something to clean her up with, please Jim said softly.

Alice’s blouse had been cut off, and she was naked from the waist up. The Nurse came back in with a fresh sheet as requested, and with several packets of gauze.

Jim tenderly touched Alice’s face. She had a bullet wound to the left of her nose and powder burns around her face. There was another wound, just above her forehead into the hairline. And a third wound was almost in the center of her now-still chest. Her hair was matted, thick with blood and tissue residue.

I’m so sorry about your wife, the Nurse said. She wept as she wiped the blood away from Alice’s unseeing eyes.

Get a pillow or something to put under her head now, Jim directed.

She did as he’d requested. She continued to clean Alice’s face. Jim got a packet of gauze and helped the Nurse clean her face. When most of the blood was cleared away, Jim pulled the fresh sheet over her face, and thanked the Nurse. He just stood, looking at Alice. The Nurse continued with her duties. She asked Jim several times if there was anything she could do for him.

The door to the room was opened, and the two Firemen stood in the doorway. A young, brash Doctor strode briskly into the room, and proceeded to ask Jim to leave until they had finished.

No, Jim replied in his soft voice. Hot tears coursed down his face as he spoke.

The young Doctor turned and left the room. Jim asked the Nurse to remove Alice’s jewelry, as he also left the room. He approached the Firemen, and thanked them for doing what they’d done, and shook their hands.

We are very sorry for your loss, but, well, neither of us thought she was still alive, when we picked her up. She was just shot too bad, one of them commented.

Thank you for bringing her in anyway, Jim said appreciatively. Thanks for giving her every consideration; she deserved it.

Jim signed a slip of paper that said he would pay the ambulance bill. Matters like this still had to be tended to.

The taller Fireman looked at the paper and said, Mr. Renfro, right?

Yes. My name is James Renfro, and my wife’s name is Alice, Jim answered.

We’re going to wait here with you, until the Police get here. Okay? the older Fireman said.

Yes. Thank you, please, Jim whispered.

The Nurse brought Jim a clear, plastic bag containing Alice’s jewelry. He quietly thanked her again.

If you need to use the phone, there is an empty room by the Nurses’ Station. Can I get you a cup of coffee, or Coke or something? the Nurse asked, as she touched his arm.

No, thank you anyway. I’m alright. I would like to sit here in the room with my wife, though, Jim said.

The taller Firemen said, Let me get you a chair, Mr. Renfro. My name is Gabriel.

Jim’s legs shook as he started to sit down, which surprised him a bit.

The older Fireman caught his arm. He asked Jim, Are you okay?

Yeah, I’ll be okay, Jim said, I guess.

Jim heard the doors to the Emergency Room open. The Policeman with the clip board from the 7-11 Store walked by the open door, then looked in and stopped.

Mr. Renfro, can we talk up the hall way for a few minutes? the Officer asked.

I would rather stay here with my wife, if I could, Jim admitted.

I’ll get a chair, Gabriel volunteered once again. He quickly returned with the chair.

The Police Officer sat, and both the Firemen expressed condolences and excused themselves.

Mr. Renfro. I’m Officer Davis and need to give you an update, he reported. First of all, we’re sorry about what happened, but the son-of-a-bitch that committed this awful crime is on his way to the jailhouse right now. A County Unit spotted him running about 4 blocks away, headed for the Projects closer in to town. They nabbed him after exchanging a few shots with him. Too bad they didn’t kill this murderer. Crack head, pure and simple. He has a rap sheet longer than he is. Two-time ex-con, not a nice fellow.

God damn his soul, Jim whispered, in his soft voice.

Is there anything at all we can do for you? Officer Davis offered.

No, Sir. I don’t think so. What happens now? Jim asked.

Well, Mrs. Renfro will have to be taken to the County Morgue, for an examination. There will have to be a trial at some point in the future. The man I was talking to at the scene - when you arrived, has made a positive ID. The County Unit bought the shooter back to the scene, and Mr. Cole identified him. He’ll be a good witness for us. The Coroner’s Office is sending a Unit out to take your wife downtown. Don’t you have some family member that can be with you during this time?

No Sir. I don’t suppose I do, Jim replied.

Well, damn it all, man. A fellow shouldn’t have to go through this by himself. Ain’t there anybody you can call - some old friend or someone from your workplace? Officer Davis persisted.

Any family I have left are two states away, and Alice has no family at all, Jim sighed.

Well, shit, Officer Davis said, under his breath. He seemed clearly distressed for Jim.

The Officer gave Jim his card, and explained he needed to get to the jail. There was a report to be filed and additional follow-up paperwork to be completed. He seemed reluctant to leave, but as he stood to leave, another one of Houston’s finest walked into the room. Officer Davis then bowed, tipped his hat and departed.

A tall, nice-looking young man with close-cropped red hair, he wore plain clothes. He introduced himself as an Investigator in the Robbery Division and proffered his card to Jim.

Mr. Renfro? I’m Matt Wakefield and will be working this case. First, I am very sorry for your tragic loss. A hell of a thing to do for a car.

Officer Wakefield handed Jim Alice’s purse with sorrowful eyes. Jim stood up on shaky legs and shook his hand.

I will stay in touch with you and apprise you of our progress, as we collect evidence and data. The goal, of course, is to fully prepare a case that will prevail in court. The courts and the laws seem to make that tougher than it ought to be, with each passing year. But, I assure you, I will do my job, and we will put his guy away. It’s a Death Penalty case if I ever saw one! Officer Wakefield spoke with passion.

Jim asked, What’s this crazy, murdering bastard’s name any way?

Reginald Algernon Phillips. I’m going all the way to the wall with this piece of shit! Officer Wakefield exclaimed.

Officer Wakefield, thank you for your dedication. I’ll appreciate all you can do. I can’t bring my Alice back, but getting justice is something we ought to be able to get for her. She was the light of my life, Jim started to choke up.

Please just call me Matt, Mr. Renfro. I’ll do my best for your Alice and for you. It’s the very least that a victim’s family should be able to expect. I won’t let either one of you down; that’s a promise, Matt swore.

Jim said, Thank you, Matt. That means just everything to me at this point. It’s really all I have left. And please, just call me Jim.

Jim shook hands with Matt again. When Matt offered to get him a cold drink, Jim agreed. His throat felt raw from shedding tears, or from the strain of holding them back. Matt stayed with Jim until the Coroner’s Unit came and went. Jim took several deep breaths and got up to leave.

Matt walked Jim to his pick-up truck. He offered, I think I’ll follow you home, just to make sure you make it alright. Okay?

The snow was heavier now as Jim unlocked his truck. He sat down wearily, and leaned over the steering wheel, weeping bitter tears. Matt stood by quietly. It was the only thing he could do. After several minutes, Jim started his lonely journey home. The snowflakes were bigger now and pretty in the headlights of his truck, but he barely noticed them.

Matt followed him home with caution. Jim’s state of mind was fragile and driving would have been tricky enough, just with the snow. Matt could see his love for Alice had been, and was, the real deal, not just lip service. By now, he was already operating on automatic pilot. The shock would hit him again, harder, when he first entered that empty house - that used to be their happy home.

Matt escorted Jim to the door, telling him to call should he need someone to talk to.

After Jim closed the front door, he went to the window and watched Matt drive away. Turning back into the living room, what had once been warm and comfortable, now seemed like the room in Poe’s poem, The Raven. The narrator’s life was now lived without his beloved Lenore. Now Jim’s life would be lived without his beloved Alice. He just didn’t know how he was going to bear it. Darkness here forever more, he thought.

Jim and Alice were not cookie-cutter types, just like everybody else. Both were educated, independent thinkers and self-reliant. Jim was a CPA and Alice was a Real Estate Broker.

They were not very social, preferring a very private life. They really enjoyed one another’s company, and didn’t see a need for much intrusion into their sweet existence. They went to church, but not very often. There were no close friends that they socialized with. They read, often to one another, and listened to their favorite music. They watched a bit of TV, though not of the network variety. They enjoyed history and nature shows, PBS - especially the mysteries, and the old classics - like westerns and stuff with Bogey, Eddie G. and Cagney. They put in time on their computers, though not on silly games. Jim had started writing and Alice did the editing. She believed he had great talent.

They led a very comfortable and happy life together. Great love, great companionship, great friendship and great sex. Having it all is a rarity, but they did and they knew it, and they treasured it. They were faithful to one another, and appreciated the serenity and goodness they were fortunate enough to enjoy.

Both of their parents had passed away many years before. Alice had a brother that lived in Colorado, but they’d had no contact for a number of years. Jim had an aunt, two uncles and a few cousins left, but no one that lived close. By this point, the main communication was limited to Christmas cards.

Jim was 35, and Alice was 30, when they’d decided to get married. A Justice of the Peace married them at the Harris County Court House. Both had lived in apartments prior to marriage. After they combined the stuff they’d accumulated through the years, they decided to buy a house.

It was a new home in a small sub-division, nearly out of the City limits of Houston. They were not native Houstonians, but both were native Texans. Jim had been reared in deep East Texas, the Piney Woods, and still loved it. Alice was reared in the Pan Handle, High Plains - the Llano Estacado, in a small dusty town. She still loved the area and its memories.

They both had been just regular folks, just living regular lives, with good jobs and good bank accounts. In the past, they had both worked low-level jobs and furthered their educations by attending night classes. Finally, they both had graduated from the University of Houston, though at different times. Now, they were members of the silent majority.

They were conservative, but not very active, politically. They voted whenever there was an election, but did not demonstrate in the streets. They made modest donations to their candidates and to causes they supported, such as some veterans’ organizations and the USO. They didn’t make plans for the future much, other than to keep on doing as they had been.

Alice was a good cook. She knew how to put pinto beans and cornbread on the table; they’d been reared on them and still liked them. Okra, Swiss chard, cabbage, purple-hulled peas, various greens and scalloped squash - they now loved all these old country dishes, even if they’d not yet developed a taste for them in their youth. They went to the farmers’ market, closer into town, to shop a couple of times a month during the produce season.

They were healthy, but didn’t exercise very much. There were often walks in the evening, if the weather was nice. Alice was a little bit overweight, according to the Doctors’ charts, but Jim saw her as voluptuous. Jim too had packed on a few extra pounds through the years. But they were in love with each other, just the way they were.

Jim’s bittersweet reflections were lovely for a little while. When he tried to think about now referring to Alice in the past tense, he didn’t know how he’d be able to go on living. How could he possibly learn to say ‘she was’ instead of ‘she is’? The pain of it was so acute, it about took his breath away.

Jim steeled himself to call Alice’s brother in Denver. He didn’t say much, except that they would send flowers. Next, he called his boss, who also said they would send flowers. He told his boss he would be off for several days. His boss proceeded to remind him a certain crucial report had to be ready in 10 days. Jim said nothing except ‘bye’.

No sleep came for Jim that night. He knew that he lived in a big city with a lot of crime, but never guessed it would impact his life as it had. He had never considered conjuring up any images or scenarios where he or Alice would be the victims of violent crime. It was unthinkable.

Who was this Reginald Phillips son-of-a-bitch any way? Why did he kill my wife? Why did he have to shoot her in the face and head and chest? Jim wondered what this piece of shit was thinking about right now. He didn’t figure that it was about his wife, Alice. He may be in a cell, but he’s placed me in a cell, too, thought Jim.

There is no righting this wrong, no undoing of what this man has done to my wife, and to my life with her. The only justice Jim could come up with, was that Phillips should die in the same violent way that Alice had. And it should be by Jim’s own hand - not by the State of Texas.

Not by some liquid that would be run in his vein by some M.D. - only to induce a peaceful sleep-type effect. Painless, humane, clean - no blood like Alice bled. No explosion in his face, no hot lead ripping his heart out of his chest or ripping through his brain; no terror in his eyes like Alice. How