Mandy Morgan's body, encased in a cardboard box, was slid into the natural-gas-fired furnace at the crematorium at nine-thirty the following Monday morning, exactly forty-eight hours to the minute after the time of her death shown on the death certificate signed by the Travis County Chief Medical Examiner. Ninety minutes later, the sixteen-hundred-degree fire had vaporized her body tissues and organs and reduced the physical being that was Mandy Morgan (and her unborn child) to skeletal remains. Which remains were collected and pulverized by the cremulator until they were ashes. She had weighed one hundred ten pounds in life; in death, her ashes weighed only three and a half pounds and were placed in a silver urn at her mother's request. Madeline Morgan, James Robert Burnet, and Governor Bode Bonner witnessed the cremation. Madeline cried; Bode sat stunned; Jim Bob paid the $500 cremation fee from the campaign petty cash fund. The Travis County District Attorney filed a written request for an autopsy with the Medical Examiner's Office at precisely 11:07 that morning.
Jim Bob drove Mrs. Morgan to the airport for her flight back to Odessa with the urn containing her daughter's ashes cradled in her arms like an infant. Bode returned to the Mansion and found the kids playing soccer on the south lawn. With no adult supervision. He walked over to Josefina. She again wore the yellow dress, as if it were her only item of clothing.
"Where's Becca??Donde esta Becca?"
" Duerme."?Duerme?
"?Que? "
" Esta durmiendo. "
Bode turned his palms up.
"?Que? "
"Becca… she…"
Josefina put her hands together and lay her face on her hands and closed her eyes. As if sleeping.
"She's sleeping?"
" Si. Duerme. "
Bode checked his watch.
"It's almost noon."
He went inside and upstairs to Becca's room. He knocked but she didn't answer. He opened the door and peeked in. She was still sleeping. He went over to the bed and sat next to his daughter bundled under a blanket even though it wasn't cold. Becca Bonner never used to sleep till noon. Back on the ranch, she'd be up at dawn to ride her horse or brand cows or practice volleyball before school. She had been an active, athletic, fearless girl. Now she was a frightened, fearful, depressed child hiding from the world in bed. It was his fault. His actions had put her in this state. He put his hand on his daughter over the blanket and gave her a little shake.
"Becca, wake up. It's almost noon."
No response.
"Come on, honey, you can't stay in bed all day. It's not healthy."
Still no response.
"Becca."
He stood and yanked the blanket off her. Saliva hung from her mouth. Her face was pale. He shook her hard this time and slapped her face. No response.
She was unresponsive.
"Becca!"
"Don't tell Mom, okay?"
Two hours later, Texas Rangers stood guard outside the emergency room at Austin General Hospital in downtown. Inside, Bode Bonner sat in a chair next to his daughter's bed. They had pumped her stomach. Alcohol and sleeping pills.
"I wasn't trying to kill myself. I was just trying to sleep. I'm afraid to shut my eyes."
This was his fault, too.
"Daddy, I want to go home."
"To the Mansion?"
"To the ranch."