by John Grisham
the crime. Not Donte Drumm."
"Why are you coming forward now, and not a year ago?"
"I should have, but I figured the courts down here would finally realize they had the wrong guy. I just got out of prison in Kansas, and a few days ago I saw in the paper where they were getting ready to execute Drumm. Surprised me. So here I am."
"Right now, only the governor can stop the execution. What would you say to him?"
"I'd say you're about to kill an innocent man. You give me twenty-four hours, and I'll show you the body of Nicole Yarber. Just twenty-four hours, Mr. Governor."
Judge Henry scratched his chin with his knuckles and said, "A bad night just got worse."
------
Barry and Wayne were in the governor's office watching Boyette on CNN. Their governor was down the hall being interviewed for the fifth or sixth time since his courageous handling of the angry mob. "We'd better go get him," Wayne said.
"Yep. I'll go; you keep an eye on this."
Five minutes later, the governor was watching a rerun of Boyette. "He's obviously a crackpot," Newton said after a few seconds. "Where's the bourbon?"
Three glasses were filled, and the bourbon was sipped as they listened to Boyette talk about the body.
"How did you kill Nicole?" Strangled her with her belt, black leather with a round silver buckle, still around her neck. Boyette reached under his shirt and pulled out a ring. He thrust it at the cameras. "This is Nicole's. I've worn it since the night I took her, has her initials and everything."
"How did you dispose of the body?"
"Let's just say it's underground."
"How far from here?"
"I don't know, five or six hours. Again, if the governor would give us twenty-four hours, we can find it. That'll prove I'm right."
"Who is this guy?" the governor asked.
"A serial rapist, rap sheet a mile long."
"It's amazing how they always manage to pop up right before the execution," Newton said. "Probably getting money from Flak."
All three managed a nervous laugh.
------
The laughter at the lake was interrupted when a guest walked past a TV inside and saw what was happening. The party quickly moved indoors, and thirty people huddled around the small screen. No one spoke; no one seemed to breathe as Boyette went on and on, perfectly willing to answer any question with a blunt response.
"Ya'll ever hear of this guy, Paul?" asked one of the retired lawyers.
Paul shook his head no.
"He's at Flak's office, the train station."
"Robbie's up to his old tricks."
Not a smile, not a grin, not a forced chuckle. When Boyette produced her ring, and freely displayed it for the cameras, fear swept through the cabin, and Paul Koffee found his way to a chair.
------
The breaking news was not heard by everyone. At the prison, Reeva and her gang were gathered in a small office where they waited for the van ride to the death chamber. Not far away, the family of Donte waited too. For the next hour, the two groups of witnesses would be in close proximity to each other, but carefully separated. At 5:40, the family of the victim was loaded in a white unmarked prison van and driven to the death house, a ride that lasted less than ten minutes. Once there, they were led through an unmarked door into a small square room twelve feet long and twelve feet wide. There were no chairs, no benches. The walls were blank, unmarked. Before them was a closed curtain, and they had been told that on the other side of the curtain was the actual death chamber. At 5:45, the Drumm family made the same trip and entered their witness room through another door. The witness rooms were side by side. A loud cough in one could be heard in the other.
They waited.
CHAPTER 26
At 5:40, the U.S. Supreme Court, by a vote of 5-4, refused to hear Donte's insanity petition. Ten minutes later, the Court, again 5-4, denied cert on the Boyette petition. Robbie took the calls outside the holding cell. He closed his phone, walked inside to Warden Jeter, and whispered, "It's over. No more appeals."
Jeter nodded grimly and said, "You got two minutes."
"Thanks." Robbie reentered the holding cell and broke the news to Donte. There was nothing else to do, the fight was over. Donte closed his eyes and breathed deeply as the reality set in. Until that moment there had always been hope, however distant, however remote and unlikely.
Then he swallowed hard, managed a smile, and inched closer to Robbie. Their knees were touching, their heads just inches apart. "Say, Robbie, you think they'll ever catch the dude who killed Nicole?"
Again, Robbie wanted to tell him about Boyette, but that story was far from over. The truth was anything but certain. "I don't know, Donte, I can't predict. Why?"
"Here's what you gotta do, Robbie. If they never find the guy, then folks will always believe it was me. But if they find him, then you gotta promise me you'll clear my name. Will you promise me, Robbie? I don't care how long it takes, but you gotta clear my name."
"I'll do that, Donte."
"I got this vision that one day my momma and my brothers and sister will stand beside my grave and celebrate because I'm an innocent man. Won't that be great, Robbie?"
"I'll be there too, Donte."
"Throw a big party, right there in the cemetery. Invite all my friends, raise all sorts of hell, let the world know that Donte is innocent. Will you do that, Robbie?"
"You have my word."
"That'll be great."
Robbie slowly took both of Donte's hands and squeezed them in his. "I gotta go, big man. I don't know what to say, except that it's been an honor being your lawyer. I have believed you from the very beginning, and I believe you even more today. I've always known you are innocent, and I hate the sons of bitches who are making this happen. I'll keep fighting, Donte. I promise."
Their foreheads touched. Donte said, "Thank you, Robbie, for everything. I'll be all right."
"I'll never forget you."
"Take care of my momma, okay, Robbie?"
"You know I will."
They stood and embraced, a long painful hug that neither wanted to end. Ben Jeter was by the door, waiting. Robbie finally left the holding cell and walked to the end of the short hallway where Keith sat in a folding chair, praying fervently. Robbie sat down beside him and began weeping.
Ben Jeter asked Donte for the last time if he wanted to see the chaplain. He did not. The hallway began to fill with uniformed guards, large healthy boys with stern faces and thick arms. The beef had arrived, just in case the inmate had second thoughts about going peacefully to the death chamber. There was a flurry of activity, and the place was filled with people.
Jeter approached Robbie and said, "Let's go." Robbie slowly got to his feet and took a step before he stopped and looked down at Keith. "Come on, Keith," he said.
Keith looked up blankly, not sure where he was, certain that his little nightmare would end soon and he'd wake up in bed with Dana. "What?"
Robbie grabbed an arm and yanked hard. "Come on. It's time to witness the execution."
"But--"
"The warden gave his approval." Another hard pull. "You're the spiritual adviser to the condemned man, thus, you qualify as a witness."
"I don't think so, Robbie. No, look, I'll just wait--"
Several of the guards were amused by the altercation. Keith was aware of their smirks, but didn't care.
"Come on," Robbie said, now dragging the minister. "Do it for Donte. Hell, do it for me. You live in Kansas, a death-penalty state. Come watch a little democracy in action."
Keith was moving, and everything was a blur. They walked by the columns of guards, past the holding cell where Donte, eyes down, was being handcuffed again, to a narrow unmarked door Keith had not noticed before. It opened and closed behind them. They were in a small boxlike room with dim lights. Robbie finally turned loose of him, then walked over and hugged the Drumm family. "No more appeals," he said softly. "There's nothing left to
do."
------
It would be the longest ten minutes in Gill Newton's lengthy career in public service. From 5:50 until 6:00 p.m., he vacillated as never before. On one side, literally on one side of his office, Wayne pushed harder and harder for a thirty-day reprieve. He argued that the execution could be delayed for thirty days, and thirty days only, while the dust settled and the claims of this Boyette clown could be investigated. If he was telling the truth, and the body could be found, then the governor would be a hero. If he turned out to be a flake, as they strongly suspected, then Drumm would live another thirty days and then get the needle. There was no long-term harm, politically. The only permanent damage would occur if they ignored Boyette, executed Drumm, then found the body exactly where Boyette took them. That would be fatal, and not just for Drumm.
The mood was so tense that they were ignoring the bourbon.
On the other side, Barry argued that any form of retreat would be nothing but a show of weakness, especially in light of the governor's performance before the mob less than three hours earlier. Executions, especially high-profile ones, attract all sorts of attention seekers, and this guy Boyette was a perfect example. He was obviously looking for the spotlight, his fifteen minutes onstage, and to allow him to derail a proper execution was wrong from a judicial point of view, and even more so from a political one. Drumm confessed to the murder, Barry said over and over. Don't let some serial pervert cloud the truth. It was a fair trial! The appeals courts, all of them, had affirmed the conviction!
Play it safe, Wayne countered. Just thirty days, maybe we'll learn something new about the case.
But it's been nine years, Barry retorted. Enough is enough.
"Are there any reporters outside?" Newton asked.
"Sure," Barry said. "They have been hanging around all day."
"Line 'em up."
------
The final walk was a short one, some thirty feet from the holding cell to the death chamber, the entire pathway lined with guards, some of whom watched from the corners of their eyes to see the dead man's face, others stared at the floor as if they were sentries guarding a lonely gate. One of three faces could be expected from the condemned man. The most common was a hard frown with wide eyes, a look of fear and disbelief. The second most common was a passive surrender, eyes half-open, as if the chemicals were already at work. The third and least common was the angry look of a man who'd kill every guard in sight if he had a gun. Donte Drumm did not resist; that rarely happens. With a guard holding each elbow, he marched on, his face calm, his eyes on the floor. He refused to allow his captors to see the fear he felt, nor did he wish to acknowledge them in any way.
For such a notorious room, the Texas death chamber is remarkably small, a near-square box twelve feet long and wide, with a low ceiling and a permanent metal bed in the center, adorned in clean white sheets for each occasion. The bed fills the room.
Donte could not believe how cramped it was. He sat on the edge of the bed, and four guards quickly took over. They swung his legs around, stretched them out, then methodically secured his body with five thick leather straps, one around his chest, midsection, groin, thighs, and calves. His arms were placed on extensions 45 degrees from his body and secured with more leather straps. As they prepped him, he closed his eyes, listened to and felt the urgent business about him. There were grunts and a few words, but these men knew their tasks. This was the last stop on the system's assembly line, and the workers were well experienced.
When all the straps were tightened, the guards retreated. A medical technician who smelled of antiseptic hovered and said, "I'm going to poke and find a vein, left arm first, then the right. You understand?"
"Be my guest," Donte said and opened his eyes. The technician was rubbing his arm with alcohol. To prevent infection? How thoughtful. Behind him was a darkened window, and below it was an opening from which two ominous tubes ran toward the bed. The warden was to his right, watching it all carefully, very much in charge. Behind the warden were two identical windows--the witness rooms--sealed off by curtains. If he'd been so inclined, and were it not for all the damned leather straps, Donte could've reached out and touched the nearest window.
The tubes were in place, one in each arm, though only one would be used. The second one was a backup, just in case.
------
At 5:59, Governor Gill Newton hurriedly stepped in front of three cameras outside of his office and, without notes, said, "My denial of a reprieve still stands. Donte Drumm confessed to this atrocious crime and must pay the ultimate price. He received a fair trial eight years ago, by a jury of his peers, and his case has been reviewed by five different courts, dozens of judges, and all have confirmed his conviction. His claim of innocence is not believable, nor is this last-minute sensational effort by his attorneys to produce a new killer. The judicial system of Texas cannot be hijacked by some criminal looking for attention and a desperate lawyer who will say anything. God bless Texas."
He refused to answer questions and returned to his office.
------
When the curtains were suddenly opened, Roberta Drumm nearly collapsed at the sight of her youngest son strapped tightly to the bed with tubes running from both arms. She gasped, covered her mouth with both hands, and had Cedric and Marvin not braced her, she would have been on the floor. The shock hit all of them. They squeezed tighter together, and Robbie joined the huddle, adding support.
Keith was too stricken to move. He stood a few feet away. Some strangers were behind him, witnesses who had entered at some point, Keith wasn't sure when. They inched forward straining for a view. It was Thursday, the second one in November, and at that moment the Ladies' Bible Class was meeting in the vestry of St. Mark's Lutheran for the continuation of their study of the Gospel of Luke, to be followed by a pasta dinner in the kitchen. Keith, Dana, and the boys were always invited to the dinner and usually attended. He really missed his church, and his family, and he wasn't sure why he was having such thoughts as he stared at the very dark head of Donte Drumm. It contrasted sharply with the white shirt he was wearing and the snow-white sheets around him. The leather straps were light brown. Roberta sobbed loudly and Robbie was mumbling and the unknown witnesses behind him were pressing for a better view, and Keith wanted to scream. He was tired of praying, and his prayers weren't working anyway.
Keith asked himself if he would feel differently if Donte was guilty. He didn't think so. Guilt would certainly take away some of the sympathy for the kid, but as he watched the preliminaries unfold, he was struck by the coldness, the ruthless efficiency, the sanitized neatness of it. It was similar to killing an old dog, a lame horse, or a laboratory rat. Who, exactly, gives us the right to kill? If killing is wrong, then why are we allowed to kill? As Keith stared at Donte, he knew the image would never go away. And he knew that he would never be the same.
Robbie stared at Donte too, at the right side of his face, and thought of all the things he would have changed. In every trial, the lawyer makes a dozen snap decisions, and Robbie had relived them all. He would have hired a different expert, called different witnesses, toned down his attitude toward the judge, been nicer to the jury. He would always blame himself, though no one else did. He had failed to save an innocent man, and that burden was too heavy. A big piece of his life was about to perish also, and he doubted he would ever be the same.
Next door, Reeva wept at the sight of her daughter's killer flat on his back, helpless, hopeless, waiting to take his last breath and go on to hell. His death--quick and rather pleasant--was nothing compared to Nicole's, and Reeva wanted more suffering and pain than she was about to witness. Wallis boosted her with an arm around her shoulder. She was held by her two children. Nicole's biological father was not there, and Reeva would never let him forget it.
Donte turned hard to his right, and his mother finally came into focus. He smiled, gave a thumbs-up, then turned back and closed his eyes.
At 6:01, Warden Jeter steppe
d to a table and picked up a phone, a direct line to the attorney general's office in Austin. He was informed that all appeals were final; there was no reason to stop the execution. He replaced the receiver, then picked up another one, identical to the first. It was a direct line to the governor's office. The message was the same, green lights all around. At 6:06, he stepped to the bed and said, "Mr. Drumm, would you like to make a final statement?"
Donte said, "Yes."
The warden reached toward the ceiling, grabbed a small microphone, and pulled it to within twelve inches of Donte's face. "Go ahead," he said. Wires ran to a small speaker in each witness room.
Donte cleared his throat, stared at the microphone, and said, "I love my mother and my father and I'm so sad my dad died before I could say good-bye. The State of Texas would not allow me to attend his funeral. To Cedric, Marvin, and Andrea, I love ya'll and I'll see you down the road. I'm sorry I've put you through all this, but it wasn't my fault. To Robbie, I love you, man. You're the