When Drake debuted in the NFL sixteen years ago, he was the next big thing. Fresh off a closely-contested bid for the Heisman Trophy which he lost by just a handful of votes, Drake was selected fifth overall by the Seattle Seahawks in the draft. Why the four teams ahead of Seattle decided not to draft Drake always befuddled Cal. The former Auburn star was the kind of running back you only see once every generation. Cal never forgot the descriptive words of one columnist who opined that Drake “dances across the field with such finesse and grace that you wish you could freeze time to watch him—but he moves so fast you’re never afforded such an indulgence.”
Drake’s first season with the Seahawks was a continuation of the poetry in motion he exhibited while playing on the collegiate level. Despite being a rookie, Drake played like a seasoned veteran. He darted out of bounds to avoid crushing hits but put his head down and ground out tough yards when the situation called for it. But more often than not, he’d leave 70,000 fans slack-jawed in a stadium several times every game after he broke off a beautiful run or hurdled a defender on his way for a touchdown. And for the first four seasons, Drake only got better.
Cal sighed deeply as he stared at the card and shook his head.
Too bad there wasn’t a fifth season—or a sixth or a seventh.
“Honey, when are you coming down?” Kelly called from the ground floor. “Maddie wants to have tea with you before we leave.”
“Coming.”
Cal slid his Isaiah Drake card into a protective sleeve made out of hard plastic and then scurried down the ladder. He closed up the attic and wasted no time in finding Maddie’s room, where she’d set a place for him at her table.
“What are we celebrating today?” he asked, sitting down in front of Maddie’s table.
“Tea!” she said before proceeding to pour pretend cups of tea for her father and the two stuffed guests seated on both sides of him.
Cal delicately picked up the plastic tea cup and held his pinky out.
“Is this how you’re supposed to drink it?” he asked.
She giggled. “Of course, Daddy. You should know by now. We’ve done this a bajillion times.”
Cal enjoyed the moment with his daughter before the conversation turned somewhat serious.
“You know your mom and I are going away again, right?” he asked.
She nodded. “But Aunt Jillian’s coming, isn’t she?”
“She sure is. You two are going to have so much fun.”
As quickly as Maddie’s face broke into a wide grin, it sank. “When will you be back home?”
Cal reached across the table and held her hand. “It won’t be that long, just a little over a week. I made a little poster for you to count down the days. It’ll be fun, plus you’ll have a blast with Aunt Jillian.”
Maddie smiled. “You’re probably right.” She paused. “I may not want you to come home either.”
Cal exaggerated a jaw drop then grabbed Maddie and tickled her. “Don’t you worry. I’ll always come back for you.”
After he finished playing with her, Cal’s phone rang. It was his editor, Frank Buckman.
“When are you coming down here, Cal?” he asked with a growl. “We’ve got a few things to discuss before you leave.”
“Yeah, we’ll stop by before we head to the airport. Kelly’s just rounding up all her camera gear and we’re waiting on her sister to get here.”
“Good. We need to be careful how we handle this story. Wading into one of the most controversial sports stories of our time isn’t something to be taken lightly.”
“No, it isn’t. To be honest, I’m a little nervous.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re a pro. Just don’t lose your focus, and you’ll be fine. Plus, you’ll have your wife with you, snapping some unbelievable photos. It’ll be your favorite assignment you’ve ever had, trust me.”
“But the South Georgia swamp? I’ve read some crazy stories about that place down there.”
“What? Did you find articles about The Marsh Monster?”
Cal remained silent for a moment. “Yeah. So?”
“So, those are all just a great big hoax. There isn’t some crazy Neanderthal-looking guy running around down there, hacking people to death.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“I wouldn’t either if I’d read those stupid websites. But just remember, Cal, that when it comes to journalism today, the name of the game is clicks, not accuracy. People will quickly forgive you. They all know how easy it is to accidentally snap a picture of their private parts and have it spread all across social media. Or how someone could hack their account and invite all their friends to purchase a pair of sunglasses. If you say it was a mistake, people will believe you.”
“If either of us gets eaten alive by some scaly green monster, you’ll know where to look for our bodies.”
Buckman chuckled. “If that actually happened, I doubt I’ll be out looking for your body in the swamp. We’ll probably just have some type of memorial service for you, maybe put your body in a crocodile-shaped urn.”
“That’s not as funny as you think it is.”
“Loosen up, Cal. You’re headed back to the Deep South.”
“I know, which is exactly why I’m not excited about it. Perhaps you don’t remember me telling you about the time I went to the bayou to investigate the murder of a superstar recruit.”
“Oh, if I’ve heard that story once, I’ve heard it a hundred times. Just enjoy yourself and come back with a bang-up story, okay?”
“You can count on that.”
“Good because that’s what I was worried about most. I know your wife is going to get some great pictures that will make your story appear better than it is.”
“How much pleasure do you derive in needling me, Buckman?”
“It’s immeasurable.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told, though I don’t let it bother me.”
“No, you don’t,” Cal quipped before hanging up.
Cal sighed as he hung up. Buckman never missed an opportunity to give him a hard time. But this wasn’t just a hard time. Cal had serious reservations about heading into muddy southern waters again.
“You all right, honey?” Kelly asked.
Her voice startled Cal and brought him back to reality.
“Who me?”
She smiled. “Who else do you think I’m calling honey?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little skittish about getting back to the south, not to mention getting to interview one of my favorite fallen NFL stars. I’m looking forward to it, though I’m sure it will make me sad.”
“Don’t you worry. Everything will work out just fine.”
Cal returned to packing, but several minutes later, the phone rang. He glanced at the screen but didn’t recognize the number. For the first several rings, he avoided answering the phone.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know who it is.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“I am, but not right now. I’ve got more important things to do.”
Cal’s phone rang again, this time from the same number.
“No, I don’t want your stupid business loan,” Cal mumbled as he stared at his phone. “I’ve got enough problems as it is, like I need a new one to keep me awake at night.” But he finally relented. “Hello?”
“Cal Murphy?” asked the woman on the other end in a timid manner.
He stared at the phone number again before putting it back up against his ear. “Yes.”
“My name is Marsha Frost, and I work with The Innocence Alliance. We work to get innocent men and women off death row and back into society where they belong.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Frost, is it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m getting ready to go on a trip. I don’t have a lot of time right now. Can we talk about this later?”
“I know about your trip, Cal. It’s precisely why I am calling. I was wondering if you could do us a favor.”
CHAPTER 3
CAL PARKED BENEATH THE SHADE of a towering oak bordering the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison parking lot and stepped out of the vehicle. The muggy air combined with the early July heat led him to loosen his tie almost immediately. He locked the car and waited for Kelly.
“Don’t you miss the south?” he said as he took her hand.
She smiled and shrugged. “My hair doesn’t, that’s for sure. But I can’t wait to get a glass of sweet tea somewhere.”
“As long as it’s paired with pulled pork barbecue, I’m with you.”
Striding toward the visitor’s entrance, Cal felt Kelly’s grip tighten. The barbed-wire fence that encircled the grounds and the ominous armed sentries who paced around in towering guard posts felt every bit as intimidating as designed to do. Cal pulled on the glass door leading into the security screening area, holding it open for Kelly.
“We need to get back here more often,” she said, patting him on the chest as she walked by. “You’ve become genteel on me all of a sudden.”
Cal smiled and followed her inside.
After they cleared security, they were met by Isaiah Drake’s lawyer, Robert Sullivan. In Seattle, Sullivan was well known for his high-profile clientele and winning cases that faced seemingly insurmountable odds. Opposing lawyers rarely managed to get a conviction against him. And when they did it, the ruling was often symbolic or a slap on the wrist at best. However, Drake’s case was Sullivan’s lone blemish, at least among his most famous defendants. Not only was it a failure from the fact that Drake was deemed guilty, but Drake was the first major professional athlete to be sentenced to death in American history. A handful of other stars had committed murder, but none drew such a harsh punishment.
In interviews years after the conviction, Sullivan concluded that Drake would’ve been better served by a defense attorney from the area, someone the jury didn’t look on with suspicion. Hal Golden was the prosecutor in the case and was regarded favorably according to all the news reports at the time. And Sullivan was viewed as the big city lawyer who drew suspicion. Cal, who remembered following the trial as a kid, always thought Sullivan came across as slippery if not slimy when he was on television. Perhaps Sullivan’s fake tan or perfect teeth that appeared to glisten when he smiled led not only Cal but the general public to distrust Sullivan. However, Cal felt differently upon meeting Sullivan for the first time.
Sullivan offered his hand while smiling warmly at Cal. In an instant, the suspicion Cal felt toward Drake’s lawyer vanished. In less than a minute, Cal was wishing he could befriend Sullivan.
“Thank you, Mr. Murphy,” Sullivan said before turning toward Kelly, “and Mrs. Murphy. You both look stunningly refreshed after traveling here from the west coast.”
Kelly blushed and smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Please, call me Robert.”
“And call me Cal.”
“Of course, of course. So, tell me why The Seattle Times is suddenly interested in interviewing my client. I’d always been under the impression that the Emerald City’s favorite football player went from hero to pariah the moment the judge read the verdict and swung his gavel.”
“I’m not about to dispute that assessment,” Cal said. “As you well know, it’s not easy to turn the tide of public perception. But I think there is some growing sentiment among people in the city who are starting to question whether Isaiah Drake actually committed the murder he was convicted of, especially as his appeals dwindle and the date of his execution draws closer.”
“We haven’t exhausted all our appeals yet,” Sullivan countered. “There’s still hope.”
Cal shrugged. “Maybe, but he doesn’t stand much of a chance without some heavy hitters making some noise.”
“And you consider The Times to be a heavy hitter?”
“They’re not the only ones examining the possibility that Isaiah Drake’s conviction was a wrongful one.”
“Oh, really? I’d like to know who else is on board.”
“I happen to know that The Innocence Alliance is considering taking on his case.”
“That’s news to me.”
“It hasn’t been made public yet, and they’ve asked me to help them make a determination about the viability of the case.”
“Based off this interview?”
Cal nodded. “Yes, and among other things.”
“Well, let’s hope that he’s far more convincing to you than I was when I presented my case to the jury.”
***
CAL STOOD THE MOMENT the hulking fallen idol entered the room. Drake gripped Cal’s hand firmly, forcing the reporter to suppress a grimace. Drake looked Cal in the eye and shook Kelly’s hand as well before settling into the chair across the table from them.
Kelly discreetly captured some shots of Drake while he and Cal exchanged pleasantries. The dim fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered occasionally, creating an ominous atmosphere. In his mind, Cal could almost hear other photographers from The Times complaining about the poor lighting, but not Kelly. She’d make the best of any situation, especially one involving facial close-ups. It was her specialty, and Cal had little doubt her pictures possessed the potential to overshadow Drake’s story. That, however, would depend on what the death row inmate had to say about the case and that fateful night more than twelve years ago.
Cal shifted in his seat and slid his digital voice recorder closer to Drake.
“I want to tell your side of the story,” Cal began. “I have to be even handed in this feature, so the more forthcoming you can be, the better light I’ll be able to cast you in.”
“I understand.”
“Good. So, before we get to the night of the alleged murder, can you give me a little bit of background on your relationship with Susannah Sloan?”
Drake closed his eyes and winced, surprising Cal. The almost immediate emotion Drake showed appeared genuine. However, Cal couldn’t determine if it was out of regret or pure sorrow.
“Susannah and I had a rocky relationship in high school,” Drake said as he looked down at the table, his voice quivering. “I’m almost certain it had nothing to do with me. I know she was in love with me—and not in that fake high school kind of way. It was real. But we were always breaking up and getting back together, probably because of her father.”
“Sheriff Sloan?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I always thought he was a fair man, but he was jealous when it came to Susannah. He didn’t want her dating a black guy, that’s for certain. But with that said, I don’t know if I’d go as far as to consider him a racist. Sounds crazy, I know, but he always treated me with respect. Maybe it was because I went to Auburn.”
“Was he an Auburn fan?”
“The biggest, at least in Pickett County. If he wasn’t in uniform, you’d rarely catch him in anything but orange and blue. I’d get him going when I mentioned Bo Jackson’s name. He’d have a grin on his face for the next twenty minutes as he raved about Bo’s other-worldly skills.”
“Did he try to steer you toward Auburn?”
Drake eyed Cal cautiously. “Not in any illegal kind of way. I mean, there were other players gettin’ paid, but I wasn’t one of them. I wanted my education and a shot at the NFL. Anything that could’ve potentially derailed my dreams was shoved aside, including girls.”
“But you and Susannah remained friends?”
“She went to Auburn, too, and watched out for me while I was there. We never really dated while we were at Auburn. She was too focused on getting good grades to get into law school, and I was concentrating on improving myself on the field and in the classroom.”
“But things with Sheriff Sloan changed?”
Drake nodded. “After I graduated, I could tell Sheriff Sloan’s attitude toward me wasn’t the same. It made me question whether the only reason he was e
ver nice to me was due to the fact that I was always either interested in Auburn or attending there.”
“From what I’ve read, you were quite the legend in Pickett County. It’d make sense that he’d want you to play for his favorite college team.”
“Yeah, and maybe that’s why I was blinded to how others in my neighborhood viewed him. But I never had anything against him . . . until that night.”
“Before we get to that, I want you to tell me what happened with you and Susannah . . . How did you move from friends to engagement?”
“Aside from my mother, Susannah was the one constant in my life. She was always there for me. When I was going through a hard time at Auburn, she kept me going. When I was trying to make the Seahawks during camp, she would call me and give me encouraging quotes. She was my rock. I had to marry her. I couldn’t do life without her.”
“So, what happened?”
Drake’s face fell, and he stared down at the table.
“She chased her dream to go to law school and become a prosecutor. And I chased mine in the NFL.”
“But weren’t you still engaged?”
“Some of my boys had mentioned that they thought she was seeing somebody else, but I didn’t want to believe it. I came back to visit with friends and family and talk with her about it before training camp that year. I didn’t want to believe she’d betrayed me like that, but I couldn’t ignore it, especially after what happened that night at the club.”
“The night?”
“Yeah, May 7, 2004—the night my life changed forever.”
Cal scratched out a few notes. “Walk me through that day, will you?”
“I got up and hung out with my boy, Jordan Hayward.”
“What did you do?”
“Got something to eat. Went fishing. Shot a few rounds at the range. Ate lunch. Nothing exciting.”
“Then what?”
“I took a nap and then met some more of my guys at The Pirate’s Den for drinks. We were all having a great time, drinking and reliving the glory days at Pickett County. When you win a state championship in this town, you instantly become a legend, part of this community’s folklore. Pickett County hadn’t won a title in more than twenty years before my freshman year. By the time I graduated, we’d won three.”
Dead to Rights Page 2