The Execution of Marissa Wilkes

November 3rd, 1975

Reed Thatcher never wanted to become a journalist, on the contrary, he wanted to become a novelist, a mystery novelist to be exact. His parents, on the other hand, saw that career as unrealistic and gave him an ultimatum, either pursue a more realistic career or go without their help in school and possibly failing. So, of course, Reed broke and gave into his parent’s demands.

There was also the fact that he wanted to make them proud, for as long as he could remember his parent's opinions were something Reed cared deeply about.

Now, he was here. The fresh new face at the Tampa Bay Times located in St. Petersburg Florida, and he was already hating it.

The office was hot and filled with bustling men and women. Smoke filled the air from the frequent smokers that worked there. Reed never cared for smoking, even though he lived with one for the first seventeen years of his life, smoking was never something Reed could get used to.

Reed stood in the threshold of the building, his body wound tightly unsure of where he was supposed to go or who he could ask where he should go.

’If I was a writer this wouldn’t be such an issue.’

“You alright, kid? You lost or something?”

Reed jumps and looks to his right, standing next to him was a woman who looked a couple of years older than him, she has auburn hair that hung in long curls past her breasts, her dark green eyes stared at him quizically.

The woman was pretty, she had lightly tanned skin with a dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose. She was petite and wore a simple white button-up shirt and a black pencil skirt with a small slit up the side.

“I um… I’m new? Um, Reed Thatcher, may I ask who you are?”

The woman smiles, she had a small gap in her front teeth but that didn’t make her any less pretty.

“I’m Peggy Ashford, I write the Ask Peggy column. It’s nice to meet you, Reed Thatcher, since you’re acting like a lost puppy, I’ll lend you my services. Ya wanna go straight past all these desks to the door at the main back. It’s where our boss’s office is.”

Reed offers her his own smile as he thanks her, he takes a deep breath and walks towards his new boss’s office. He has a feeling he and Peggy were going to get along swimmingly.

He stops in front of the wooden door with a glass window, the words ’Clive Johnson- Editor and Chief’ were painted on the window in bold black letters. Reed takes another breath before knocking on the door, a deep voice calls for him to come in.

“Shut the door, I’ve done told those assholes about smoking in here,” says Clive as he doesn’t even look up from a piece of paper that he was reading.

’Must be someone’s collum he’s assessing.’

“Is there something you wanted kid or are you just going to stand there looking like a jackass all day?”

Reed feels his face heat up in embarrassment.

“Um… I-I’m Reed Thatcher, sir? Your newest employee?” He stammers.

Clive finally looks up and blinks, his dark brown eyes rakes over Reed’s form before a wide grin breaks out across his face.

“I know you, you’re Harvey’s boy! Sorry, kid, I forgot about it being your first day! I was wondering when you were going to show up, I got you ya first job.”

Of course, Clive would know his father, practically everyone knew Harvey Thatcher, the man was considered one of the best criminal defense attorneys in Florida.

“A-Already, sir? Isn’t it a bit too early? Isn’t their training or anything I need to do?”

“Can you write?” Clive asks.

Reed blinks and tilts his head.

“Um… Yes? That doesn’t answer my ques-.”

“Can you ask hard-hitting questions that would keep readers interested and wondering what the interviewee is going to respond with to said questions?” Clive interrupts him, which honestly annoys Reed a bit.

“Yes.”

“Then there ya go, kid, there’s your training. Now, about that assignment, I told you about just now. You’re gonna have to keep this close to the chest alright, no telling the others or even your old man, seeing as it’s his client.”

That last sentence made Reed feel anxious, he’s heard about some of his father’s clients. His father tended to represent dangerous men and women, Reed remembers one time when he was fifteen, how his dad talked about a client who had bludgeoned his own wife to death. Reed still shudders at the graphic detail his father went into when describing the crime scene photos.

“Two weeks ago, before you started, we got a letter in from Marissa Alexandra Wilkes, I’m sure you’ve heard of her, correct?”

Reed blinks, actually he hasn’t heard of her. Usually, his father would speak briefly about his clients, but not once has Reed heard of this Marissa Wilkes woman. She’s probably been in the news before, but Reed was never one to watch the news, he found it too annoying and unnecessarily dramatic.

“I can’t say that I have… perhaps you can fill me in?” Reed prompts.

Clive gestures for him to sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of his oak desk, he does as he’s told and sits upright with his spine erect, being sure to keep eye contact with his boss.

“Marissa Wilkes, aged twenty-four, confessed to police eleven months ago to the murder of her late husband, Charles McAlister, along with four others. The other four have been cold cases dating back as far as 1969,” he pauses for a moment to rummage through his top desk drawer.

Reed wonders why his father never mentioned this woman before.

“Her past murders,” Clive continues as he hands a piece of folded up paper to Reed. “Were so notorious that they earned her the alias, ’The Black Widow of Tampa.’ Police always suspected that it was the husband’s spouse that had done these horrendous crimes, but they could never track her down. It was as if she’d disappear without a trace.”

Reed takes the paper that was handed to him, he scrunches up his nose when the scent of flowery perfume hits his nose.

“That’s… Impressive, from the time stamp you’ve given that, suggests that she’s been doing this since she was in her late teens.”

Clive nods and gestures for Reed to look at the paper, “She was. Eighteen, I believe. I want you to read the letter, Reed, and then we’ll get to your assignment.”

Reed hesitates for a moment before unfolding the paper, the letter was short, but the handwriting that was written in dark blue ink looked immaculate.

Dearest Editor,

I hope this letter finds you well. A little birdy has told me that you’ve been wanting to hear the juicy gossip that is my life. Well, I’ve some good news for you, kind sir. After eleven months of my silence, I’ve decided that now is the time for the world to learn my story.

Yes, I know that you’re more desperate to learn why I killed my husband and the ones before him, but you’ll have to hear my tragic tale first.

I expect to have one of your capable journalists visit me soon, you’ll only have a month to get your exclusive story before I am sent to be fried for my crimes.

A request though, I expect your chosen journalist to be exciting, maybe even a certain young man who has big dreams… I’m sure you know who I’m referring to.

I look forward to this meeting.

Love,

Marissa Alexandra Wilkes.

Reed frowns, “What did she mean by that last bit? ’Maybe even a certain young man who has big dreams’?”

Clive snorts in amusement and holds his hand out for the letter, Reed skims over it once more before handing it back to him.

“Pretty sure she’s meaning you, Reed. Maybe your daddy’s been talking about you to her, I’ve heard he sees her often to check up on how she’s doing, with being on death row and all that.”

Perhaps that’s why his father hadn’t mentioned her before, she was a failed case of his. One thing about Harvey Thatcher is that if you were a failed court case, you weren’t worth bragging about.

“Why is she requesting you send me? There are far more capable journalists here other than me,” Reed argues, but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat flattered by her words.

Clive shrugs and leans back in his chair, his arms folded across his broad chest, his dark brown eyes twinkling with mirth.

“It’s hard to tell kid, but I do know that if you accept this assignment and do a good job in talking to her, your career will get off to a great start. Not many serial killers are willing to speak like she is, especially one who eleven months before refused to answer any questions people like us had to ask.”

Reed sighs, as much as he hates it, Clive has a point. If he wants to prove his parents proud then it would be in his best interest into getting some notoriety on his first day. Not to mention he could use this experience as a possible way to spark an idea to try and burn away his horrible writer’s block.

“When was she wanting to do the interview?” He asks.

“This evening, I spoke to her over the phone yesterday after we received the letter from her.”

Of course, she wants it to happen today, Reed’s glad that he always keeps a pen and paper in his car in case he ever gets the notion to write.

“Well, what do you say, Reed? Do you want to take on, Marissa Wilkes?”

What else did he have to lose? He has to prove himself, and what better way to do that than to uncover the truth of an infamous serial killer?

“I’ll be sure to be the most exciting human being she’s ever met in her life, sir.”