World affairs

They do things differently in the southern States of America. JOE.ie editor Nick Bradshaw went to Texas to watch a murderer being strapped down and killed.

A young man dressed in prison-white overalls is strapped flat to a gurney, locked in place by four thick leather straps around his torso and one around each of his legs and outstretched arms. The warden stands by his side, up close to the prisoner’s right arm, into which a hypodermic needle, attached with surgical tape, is, for now, feeding harmless saline solution.

The chaplain, who, along with the warden, is dressed in his execution-day best suit and tie, is holding the man’s ankle in his right hand and a Bible in his left while mouthing silent, urgent prayers.

Then, with everyone in place – witnesses, guards, relatives – in two adjoining rooms behind a glass partition, the heavy green metal door of the main chamber opens. “Warden,” says the man at the door loudly and sternly, “you may proceed”.

*****

Like all executions in Texas, the final moments of Andrew Flores’s life were recorded to the last detail, from the number of tortillas in his final meal (10), to the time the lethal solution began flowing into his arm (6.20pm)

The carefully choreographed procedures that form the main event of the day are now under way. Over the next few minutes, the state of Texas will perform, by means of lethal injection, one of its world-famous executions. The evening’s reluctant lead is Andrew Flores, a handsome 32-year-old who pleaded guilty at trial to the slaying in 1993 of John Moreno, 23, a clerk at a San Antonio convenience store.

Moreno had surrendered $44 from a cash register during a raid, but had refused to hand over his car keys and, subsequently, in full view of a surveillance camera, had been forced to his knees at gunpoint and shot in the head. Keys were prised from the dead man’s grasp, but Flores fled on foot when neither he nor his lookout accomplice could start Moreno’s car.

Flores was apprehended within hours. If you take a life in Texas you can expect a life sentence. Kill and rape, kill a policeman, kill an infant, go on a killing spree or, as in Flores’s case, kill and steal, you can expect to end up strapped to the gurney. As it turned out, the paltry sum of $44 has resulted in the death of a man who had begged to keep his car keys, and the death of Flores more than a decade later.

According to Flores' Death Watch, the official record taken of prisoners’ actions in the three days prior to their execution, Flores was awake and packaging his belongings when guards inspected his cell at 4.45am on this, his final day. At 8.15am he was taken to the Death Row visitation area where he received visitors until noon. Then he was transferred from Death Row, situated within the Polunsky Unit near the town of Livingston, to the Texas Death House – they don’t hide behind quaint names here – situated behind the imposing red-brick façade of The Walls Unit, 30 miles away in Huntsville.

Unclaimed executed bodies end up in a nameless prison
grave marked with a 'x'

While in the Death House holding cell, prisoners may shower, speak with their attorney or their spiritual advisor, and eat their last meal. For his last meal, Flores picked a huge selection that included beef and chicken fajitas, barbecue ribs, barbecue chicken, fried chicken, beefsteak , mash, beans, soda and a pint of vanilla ice cream.

At precisely 6pm, Flores had been taken from the holding cell and led the few short steps to the gurney where, at 6.01pm, prison guards fastened the leather straps and volunteer executioners inserted a hypodermic needle connected to a long tube into each of his arms.

Having received the cue to continue, the warden steps back from the gurney and asks the condemned man if he wishes to make a final statement. Closing his eyes briefly and swallowing, Flores look straight up to where a microphone has been positioned. “Yes, sir,” he replies in a remarkably calm, clear and steady voice. “Today I go home to the Lord. But first I have something to say.”

There are two observation rooms- one for family and friends of the condemned, one for those of the victim – with a thin wall in between. Flores turns his head towards the glass behind which Esmerelda Moreno Casanova, his victim’s young widow, stands motionless, no more than a few feet from his outstretched arm.

“I am really sorry,” he says. “I took a family member’s life and I shouldn’t have. I hope that you can move on. I am just sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I can’t bring anyone back. I would if I could. I hope you will be fine. I won’t ask for your forgiveness. God will be my judge.”