Chamber

by John Grisham

  Slattery made his entrance and everyone stood for a moment. "Be seated," he said into his microphone. "Let's go on the record," he said to the court reporter. He gave a succinct review of the petition and the applicable law, and outlined the parameters of the hearing. He was not in the mood for lengthy arguments and pointless questions, so move it along, he told the lawyers.

  "Is the petitioner ready?" he asked in Adam's direction. Adam stood nervously, and said, "Yes sir. The petitioner calls Dr. Anson Swinn."

  Swinn stood from the first row and walked to the witness stand where he was sworn in. Adam walked to the podium in the center of the courtroom, holding his notes and pushing himself to be strong. His notes were typed and meticulous, the result of some superb research and preparation by Hez Kerry and John Bryan Glass. The two, along with Kerry's staff, had devoted the entire day to Sam Cayhall and this hearing. And they were ready to work all night and throughout tomorrow.

  Adam began by asking Swinn some basic questions about his education and training. Swinn's answers were accented with the crispness of the upper Midwest, and this was fine. Experts should talk differently and travel great distances in order to be highly regarded. With his black hair, black beard, black glasses, and black suit, he indeed gave the appearance of an ominously brilliant master of his field. The preliminary questions were short and to the point, but only because Slattery had already reviewed Swinn's qualifications and ruled that he could in fact testify as an expert. The state could attack his credentials on cross-examination, but his testimony would go into the record.

  With Adam leading the way, Swinn talked about his two hours with Sam Cayhall on the previous Tuesday. He described his physical condition, and did so with such relish that Sam sounded like a corpse. He was quite probably insane, though insanity was a legal term, not medical. He had difficulty answering even basic questions like What did you eat for breakfast? Who is in the cell next to you? When did your wife die? Who was your lawyer during the first trial? And on and on.

  Swinn very carefully covered his tracks by repeatedly telling the court that two hours simply was not enough time to thoroughly diagnose Mr. Cayhall. More time was needed.

  In his opinion, Sam Cayhall did not appreciate the fact that he was about to die, did not understand why he was being executed, and certainly didn't realize he was being punished for a crime. Adam gritted his teeth to keep from wincing at times, but Swinn was certainly convincing. Mr. Cayhall was completely calm and at ease, clueless about his fate, wasting away his days in a six-by-nine cell. It was quite sad. One of the worst cases he'd encountered.

  Under different circumstances, Adam would've been horrified to place on the stand a witness so obviously full of bull. But at this moment, he was mighty proud of this bizarre little man. Human life was at stake.

  Slattery was not about to cut short the testimony of Dr. Swinn. This case would be reviewed instantly by the Fifth Circuit and perhaps the U.S. Supreme Court, and he wanted no one from above second-guessing him. Goodman suspected this, and Swinn had been prepped to ramble. So with the court's indulgence, Swinn launched into the likely causes of Sam's problems. He described the horrors of living in a cell twenty-three hours a day; of knowing the gas chamber is a stone's throw away; of being denied companionship, decent food, sex, movement, plenty of exercise, fresh air. He'd worked with many death row inmates around the country and knew their problems well. Sam, of course, was much different because of his age. The average death row inmate is thirty-one years old, and has spent four years waiting to die. Sam was sixty when he first arrived at Parchman. Physically and mentally, he was not suited for it. It was inevitable he would deteriorate.

  Swinn was under Adam's direct examination for forty-five minutes. When Adam had exhausted his questions, he sat down. Steve Roxburgh strutted to the podium, and stared at Swinn.

  Swinn knew what was coming, and he was not the least bit concerned. Roxburgh began by asking who was paying for his services, and how much he was charging. Swinn said Kravitz & Bane was paying him two hundred dollars an hour. Big deal. There was no jury in the box. Slattery knew that all experts get paid, or they couldn't testify. Roxburgh tried to chip away at Swinn's professional qualifications, but got nowhere. The man was a well-educated, well-trained, experienced psychiatrist. So what if he decided years ago he could make more money as an expert witness. His qualifications weren't diminished. And Roxburgh was not about to argue medicine with a doctor.

  The questions grew even stranger as Roxburgh began asking about other lawsuits in which Swinn had testified. There was a kid who was burned in a car wreck in Ohio, and Swinn had given his opinion that the child was completely, mentally disabled. Hardly an extreme opinion.

  "Where are you going with this?" Slattery interrupted loudly.

  Roxburgh glanced at his notes, then said, "Your Honor, we're attempting to discredit this witness."

  "I know that. But it's not working, Mr. Roxburgh. This court knows that this witness has testified in many trials around the country. What's the point?"

  "We are attempting to show that he is willing to state some pretty wild opinions if the money is right."

  "Lawyers do that every day, Mr. Roxburgh."

  There was some very light laughter in the audience, but very reserved.

  "I don't want to hear it," Slattery snapped. "Now move on."

  Roxburgh should've sat down, but the moment was too rich for that. He moved to the next minefield, and began asking questions about Swinn's examination of Sam. He went nowhere. Swinn fielded each question with a fluid answer that only added to his testimony on direct examination. He repeated much of the sad description of Sam Cayhall. Roxburgh scored no points, and once thoroughly trounced, finally went to his seat. Swinn was dismissed from the stand.

  The next and last witness for the petitioner was a surprise, though Slattery had already approved him. Adam called Mr. E. Garner Goodman to the stand.

  Goodman was sworn, and took his seat. Adam asked about his firm's representation of Sam Cayhall, and Goodman briefly outlined the history of it for the record. Slattery already knew most of it. Goodman smiled when he recalled Sam's efforts to fire Kravitz & Bane.

  "Does Kravitz & Bane represent Mr. Cayhall at this moment?" Adam asked.

  "Indeed we do."

  "And you're here in Jackson at this moment working on the case?"

  "That's correct."

  "In your opinion, Mr. Goodman, do you believe Sam Cayhall has told his lawyers everything about the Kramer bombing?"

  "No I do not."

  Rollie Wedge sat up a bit and listened intensely.

  "Would you please explain?"

  "Certainly. There has always been strong circumstantial evidence that another person was with Sam Cayhall during the Kramer bombing, and the bombings which preceded it. Mr. Cayhall always refused to discuss this with me, his lawyer, and even now will not cooperate with his attorneys. Obviously, at this point in this case, it is crucial that he fully divulge everything to his lawyers. And he is unable to do so. There are facts we should know, but he won't tell us."

  Wedge was at once nervous and relieved. Sam was holding fast, but his lawyers were trying everything.

  Adam asked a few more questions, and sat down. Roxburgh asked only one. "When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Cayhall?"

  Goodman hesitated and thought about the answer. He honestly couldn't remember exactly when. "I'm not sure. It's been two or three years."

  "Two or three years? And you're his lawyer?"

  "I'm one of his lawyers. Mr. Hall is now the principal lawyer on this case, and he's spent innumerable hours with the client during the last month."

  Roxburgh sat down, and Goodman returned to his seat at the table.

  "We have no more witnesses, Your Honor," Adam said for the record.

  "Call your first witness, Mr. Roxburgh," Slattery said.

  "The state calls Colonel George Nugent," Roxburgh announced. Nugent was found in the hallway, and escorted
to the witness stand. His olive shirt and pants were wrinkle-free. The boots were gleaming. He stated for the record who he was and what he was doing. "I was at Parchman an hour ago," he said, looking at his watch. "Just flew down on the state helicopter."

  "When did you last see Sam Cayhall?" Roxburgh asked.

  "He was moved to the Observation Cell at nine this morning. I spoke with him then."

  "Was he mentally alert, or just drooling over in the corner like an idiot?"

  Adam started to jump and object, but Goodman grabbed his arm.

  "He was extremely alert," Nugent said eagerly. "Very sharp. He asked me why he was being moved from his cell to another one. He understood what was happening. He didn't like it, but then Sam doesn't like anything these days."

  "Did you see him yesterday?"

  "Yes."

  "And was he able to speak, or just lying around like a vegetable?"

  "Oh, he was quite talkative."

  "What did you talk about?"

  "I had a checklist of things I needed to cover with Sam. He was very hostile, even threatened me with bodily harm. He's a very abrasive person with a sharp tongue. He settled down a bit, and we talked about his last meal, his witnesses, what to do with his personal effects. Things such as that. We talked about the execution."

  "Is he aware he is about to be executed?"

  Nugent burst into laughter. "What kind of question is that?"

  "Just answer it," Slattery said without a smile.

  "Of course he knows. He knows damned well what's going on. He's not crazy. He told me the execution would not take place because his lawyers were about to unload the heavy artillery, as he put it. They've planned all this." Nugent waved both hands at the entire courtroom.

  Roxburgh asked about prior meetings with Sam, and Nugent spared no details. He seemed to remember every word Sam had uttered in the past two weeks, especially the biting sarcasm and caustic remarks.

  Adam knew it was all true. He huddled quickly with Garner Goodman, and they decided to forgo any cross-examination. Little could be gained from it.

  Nugent marched down the aisle and out of the courtroom. The man had a mission. He was needed at Parchman.

  The state's second witness was Dr. N. Stegall, psychiatrist for the Department of Corrections. She made her way to the witness stand as Roxburgh conferred with Morris Henry.

  "State your name for the record," Slattery said.

  "Dr. N. Stegall."

  "Ann?" His Honor asked.

  "No. N. It's an initial."

  Slattery looked down at her, then looked at Roxburgh who shrugged as if he didn't know what to say.

  The judge eased even closer to the edge of his bench, and peered down at the witness stand. "Look, Doctor, I didn't ask for your initial, I asked for your name. Now, you state it for the record, and be quick about it."

  She jerked her eyes away from his, cleared her throat, and reluctantly said, "Neldeen."

  No wonder, thought Adam. Why hadn't she changed it to something else?

  Roxburgh seized the moment and asked her a rapid series of questions about her qualifications and training. Slattery had already deemed her fit to testify.

  "Now, Dr. Stegall," Roxburgh began, careful to avoid any reference to Neldeen, "when did you meet with Sam Cayhall?"

  She held a sheet of paper which she looked at. "Thursday, July 26."

  "And the purpose of this visit?"

  "As part of my job, I routinely visit death row inmates, especially those with executions approaching. I provide counseling and medication, if they request it."

  "Describe Mr. Cayhall's mental condition?"

  "Extremely alert, very bright, very sharptongued, almost to the point of being rude. In fact, he was quite rude to me, and he asked me not to come back."

  "Did he discuss his execution?"

  "Yes. In fact, he knew that he had thirteen days to go, and he accused me of trying to give him medication so he wouldn't be any trouble when his time came. He also expressed concern for another death row inmate, Randy Dupree, who Sam thinks is deteriorating mentally. He was most concerned about Mr. Dupree, and chastised me for not examining him."

  "In your opinion, is he suffering from any form of decreased mental capacity?"

  "Not at all. His mind is very sharp."

  "No further questions," Roxburgh said, and sat down.

  Adam walked purposefully to the podium. "Tell us, Dr. Stegall, how is Randy Dupree doing?" he asked at full volume.

  "I, uh, I haven't had a chance to see him yet.

  "Sam told you about him eleven days ago, and you haven't bothered to meet with him."

  "I've been busy."

  "How long have you held your present job?"

  "Four years."

  "And in four years how many times have you talked to Sam Cayhall?"

  "Once."

  "You don't care much for the death row inmates, do you, Dr. Stegall?"

  "I certainly do."

  "How many men are on death row right now?"

  "Well, uh, I'm not sure. Around forty, I think."

  "How many have you actually talked to? Give us a few names."

  Whether it was fear or anger or ignorance, no one could tell. But Neldeen froze. She grimaced and cocked her head to one side, obviously trying to pull a name from the air, and obviously unable to do so. Adam allowed her to hang for a moment, then said, "Thank you, Dr. Stegall." He turned and walked slowly back to his chair.

  "Call your next witness," Slattery demanded.

  "The state calls Sergeant Clyde Packer."

  Packer was fetched from the hallway and led to the front of the courtroom. He was still in uniform, but the gun had been removed. He swore to tell the truth, and took his seat on the witness stand.

  Adam was not surprised at the effect of Packer's testimony. He was an honest man who simply told what he'd seen. He'd known Sam for nine and a half years, and he was the same today as he was when he first arrived. He typed letters and law papers all day long, read many books, especially legal ones. He typed writs for his buddies on the Row, and he typed letters to wives and girlfriends for some of the guys who couldn't spell. He chain-smoked because he wanted to kill himself before the state got around to it. He loaned money to friends. In Packer's humble opinion, Sam was as mentally alert now as he'd been nine and a half years earlier. And his mind was very quick.

  Slattery leaned a bit closer to the edge of the bench when Packer described Sam's checkers games with Henshaw and Gullitt.

  "Does he win?" His Honor asked, interrupting.

  "Almost always."

  Perhaps the turning point of the hearing came when Packer told the story of Sam wanting to see a sunrise before he died. It happened late last week when Packer was making his rounds one morning. Sam had quietly made the request. He knew he was about to die, said he was ready to go, and that he'd like to sneak out early one morning to the bullpen on the east end and see the sun come up. So Packer took care of it, and last Saturday Sam spent an hour sipping coffee and waiting for the sun. Afterward, he was very grateful.

  Adam had no questions for Packer. He was excused, and left the courtroom.

  Roxburgh announced that the next witness was Ralph Griffin, the prison chaplain. Griffin was led to the stand, and looked uncomfortably around the courtroom. He gave his name and occupation, then glanced warily at Roxburgh.

  "Do you know Sam Cayhall?" Roxburgh asked.

  "I do."

  "Have you counseled him recently?"

  "Yes."

  "When did you last see him?"

  "Yesterday. Sunday."

  "And how would you describe his mental state?"

  "I can't."

  "I beg your pardon."

  "I said I can't describe his mental condition."

  "Why not?"

  "Because right now I'm his minister, and anything he says or does in my presence is strictly confidential. I can't testify against Mr. Cayhall."

  Roxburgh stalled for
a moment, trying to decide what to do next. It was obvious neither he nor his learned underlings had given any thought to this situation. Perhaps they'd just assumed that since the chaplain was working for the state, then he'd cooperate with them.

  Griffin waited expectantly for an assault from Roxburgh.

  Slattery settled the matter quickly. "A very good point, Mr. Roxburgh. This witness should not be here. Who's next?"

  "No further witnesses," the Attorney General said, anxious to leave the podium and get to his seat.

  His Honor scribbled some notes at length, then looked at the crowded courtroom. "I will take this matter under advisement and render an opinion, probably early in the morning. As soon as my decision is ready, we will notify the attorneys. You don't need to hang around here. We'll call you. Court's adjourned."

  Everyone stood and hurried for the rear doors. Adam caught the Reverend Ralph Griffin and thanked him, then he returned to the table where Goodman, Hez Kerry, Professor Glass, and the students were waiting. They huddled and whispered until the crowd was gone, then left the courtroom. Someone mentioned drinks and dinner. It was almost nine.

  Reporters were waiting outside the door to the courtroom. Adam threw out a few polite nocomments and kept walking. Rollie Wedge eased behind Adam and Goodman as they inched through the crowded hallway. He vanished as they left the building.

  Two groups of cameras were ready outside. On the front steps, Roxburgh was addressing one batch of reporters, and not far away on the sidewalk, the governor was holding forth. As Adam walked by, he heard McAllister say that clemency was being considered, and that it would be a long night. Tomorrow would be even tougher. Would he attend the execution? someone asked. Adam couldn't hear the reply.

  They met at Hal and Mal's, a popular downtown restaurant and watering hole. Hez found a large table in a corner near the front and ordered a round of beer. A blues band was cranked up in the back. The dining room and bar were crowded.

  Adam sat in a corner, next to Hez, and relaxed for the first time in hours. The beer went down fast and calmed him. They ordered red beans and rice, and chatted about the hearing. Hez said he'd performed wonderfully, and the law students were full of compliments. The mood was optimistic. Adam thanked them for their help. Goodman and Glass were at the far end of the table, lost in a conversation about another death row case. Time passed slowly, and Adam attacked his dinner when it arrived.