The Sun Does Shine

by Anthony Ray Hinton

  It was hard not to spend time wishing for a different life, but I tried not to dwell on all the what-ifs. What if I had never driven off in that car? What if I had taken a job somewhere besides Bruno’s? What if I hadn’t been born poor? What if I’d had Bryan as my lawyer from the start? I was still fighting for my freedom, but it was with a quiet acceptance of what seemed inevitable. They were never going to admit they had put the wrong man on death row. I was never going to walk out of there.

  Bryan filed our petition for a writ of certiorari in the U.S. Supreme Court in October 2013, and the State filed their response in November. We filed a response to their response a week after. There was no New Year’s celebration on death row, and 2014 came in like a quiet thief in the night. What could we celebrate, really—another year of being alive or another year of being closer to death?

  How did free men celebrate a new year?

  I didn’t know, and I couldn’t remember.

  * * *

  It was near the end of February when I got word to call Bryan. How many of these phone calls had I made over the last fifteen years? And how many had ever been good news?

  Bryan seemed breathless when he got on the line. And excited. I tried not to get my hopes up, but I felt my heart start to beat faster.

  “Ray, I only have a few moments, but I need to tell you—”

  “What is it, Bryan? Did Kim Kardashian call looking for me?” I had recently decided to divorce Sandra for Kim. It was a big drama that I was dealing with every night.

  Bryan laughed.

  “No, Ray. The U.S. Supreme Court ruled.”

  I took in a breath. I hoped they were going to grant review, let there be oral arguments. I knew Bryan could work his magic if he got in front of them. It was rare, I knew, but I had imagined it in my mind. Bryan pleading my innocence in front of the justices of the Supreme Court. Maybe even Obama. We had a black president, and nobody ever thought that would happen.

  “Ray, it was a unanimous decision. They ruled on your case. They didn’t say they would review; they reviewed and ruled. Here, let me read something to you.”

  “What do you mean, Bryan?” I asked. I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

  “Listen to this: Anthony Ray Hinton, an inmate on Alabama’s death row, asks us to decide whether the Alabama courts correctly applied Strickland to his case. We conclude that they did not and hold that Hinton’s trial attorney rendered constitutionally deficient performance. We vacate the lower court’s judgment and remand the case for reconsideration of whether the attorney’s deficient performance was prejudicial.”

  I didn’t say a word. I wanted to be sure I understood what Bryan was saying.

  Bryan went on, “The petition for certiorari and Hinton’s motion for leave to proceed in forma pauperis are granted, the judgment of the Court of Criminal Appeals of Alabama is vacated, and the case is remanded for further proceedings not inconsistent with this opinion. It is so ordered.”

  “It is so ordered?”

  “Ray, it is so ordered. By the United States Supreme Court. They didn’t grant review; they ruled outright. In your favor. They overruled the appeals court. Ray, it was a unanimous decision.”

  I dropped the phone and sat down on the floor and wept like a baby. Nine Supreme Court Justices. Even Scalia. They believed me. Who was going to argue with them? Could Alabama?

  It was a few moments before I picked up the phone and put it back to my ear. I didn’t know if Bryan was still there.

  “Bryan?”

  “I’m here, Ray.”

  “Will you call Lester for me?”

  “I will. Ray, we still have work ahead of us, and we have to go back through the state courts, but this is a win, Ray. A big win. They’re going to have to issue you a new trial.”

  “When should I start packing?”

  “Not yet, but hopefully soon. It’s still going to take some time, and you still need to hang in there, but hopefully soon, my friend. Hopefully soon.”

  I went back to my cell, but I didn’t tell anyone the news. I still had a ways to go, but for the first time in twenty-nine years, there was a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel. I didn’t know how the appeals court was going to act now that the U.S. Supreme Court told them they had made an error. Because Perhacs hadn’t asked for more money to hire a better expert, I was prejudiced by his performance. Payne had been a horrible expert. Perhacs hadn’t tried. The United States Supreme Court was on my side.

  Holy shit.

  * * *

  The Court of Criminal Appeals sent me back down to circuit court—back to Judge Petro—so that court could determine whether Perhacs would have hired a better expert if he had known there was money to do so, and whether that expert would have led to reasonable doubt about my guilt. The answer was yes. On September 24, 2014, the circuit court found that that I was prejudiced. Perhacs was ineffective, and my Rule 32 petition was granted. In December, my case was redocketed in Jefferson County. I was going back to where it all started. I stayed awake in my cell and rang in the new year alone but with joy—2015. It was my only New Year’s celebration in thirty years on death row. I wasn’t free yet, but I was going to have a new trial, with Bryan Stevenson as my attorney and three of the best ballistics experts in the country testifying on my behalf. In January, the judge ordered Holman to have me back in Jefferson County for a February 18 hearing at 9:00 A.M.

  I was finally leaving death row.

  Not on a gurney. Not in a body bag.

  I gave away my television and my tennis shoes. I passed out my commissary food and my books and my extra clothes. It was a joyful time on my block of the row. When the guard came to walk me out, I yelled out to the twenty-eight guys on my tier.

  “Can I have your attention for a minute?”

  There were some hoots and hollers.

  “I want you to know that I’m fixing to go. I’m leaving here. It took me thirty years to get to this moment. It may take thirty-one years for you. It may take thirty-two or thirty-three or thirty-five years, but you need to hold on. You need to hold on to your hope. If you have hope, you have everything.”

  The guys began to make a noise. They didn’t bang on the bars like we did for executions; it was a joyful noise. It was a mixture of applause and laughter and chanting. “Hin-ton! Hin-ton! Hin-ton!”

  I was taken back to high school and the basketball court and the time when I thought the crowd was chanting my name but they weren’t. Life was a crazy, strange mix of tragedy and sorrow and triumph and joy.

  I walked off the row with my head held high and my birth certificate in my hand.

  Free at last.

  Free at last.

  Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last.

  When I climbed into the van, I could see the cages I had walked in almost thirty years earlier. I could see the razor-wire fences and the dry, dusty yard. I never wanted to see this place again. I wasn’t home yet, but I was one step closer.

  23

  THE SUN DOES SHINE

  You can’t threaten to kill someone every day year after year and not harm them, not traumatize them, not break them in ways that are really profound.

  —BRYAN STEVENSON

  I had just finished a meeting with one of Bryan’s staff attorneys and said my goodbyes when he came running back into the room set aside for legal visits. “Ray, Ray, you have to call Bryan. You have to call him as soon as you get back to the phones.”

  I waited for the guard to take me back, wondering what it could be this time. I had been back in county jail for two months awaiting my new trial. A date hadn’t been set yet. We had a few hearings, but we had gotten delayed because the district attorney’s office couldn’t find the gun or the bullets. He had accused Bryan of stealing them. It was incredible. Bryan Stevenson had supposedly stolen the most important evidence in my case. We had to pull the transcripts from the 2002 hearing with Judge Garrett to prove they had been admitted back into evidence then after being tested by
my experts. Later, the clerk found a box in a court storage facility off-site that had a bag in it with the gun and the bullets from my case. We had been waiting for the prosecutors to run new ballistics tests. Lester was worried they were going to frame me again and send me back to the row, but I wasn’t too worried. I had faith in Bryan. I had faith in the truth.

  I got back to my cell block and went over the bank of phones on the wall. I called Bryan’s phone collect. A young guy came up next to me.

  “What’s going on, Pops?”

  I pointed to the phone and shook my head at the kid. He was supposedly a big gang member. They were all little thugs to me—little wannabe gangsters playing at a game they knew nothing about. I wanted to sit each one of them down and show them their future if they didn’t choose a better way. Life was precious. Their freedom was precious. They each had the potential to be so much more than whatever had landed them in jail. I didn’t want to end up on death row. I tried to tell them what it was like. They all called me Pops, because my hair and beard had patches of gray throughout. I had been twenty-nine years old the last time I was in County, not much older than most of these guys.

  I listened as Bryan accepted the collect call.

  “Hello, Mr. Stevenson!” I shouted at him. “I heard you wanted to talk to me, so here I am.”

  I smiled at a few of the guys who had looked my way when I yelled my greeting into the phone.

  “Ray!” I could hear the excitement in Bryan’s voice. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. I was just meeting with Ben to talk about the case. He told me Yates said he didn’t see what he saw thirty years ago. I couldn’t believe it, Bryan. Yates changed his opinion about the bullets. He was honest. It’s a miracle.”

  “Ray, I have to tell you something. Yes, it’s great news about Yates, but there’s something else.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, Ray, I’m up here in New York City, in a hotel. You know I’m speaking at a couple of colleges. I was driving here, and I got a call from Judge Petro.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Ray, I had to have the guy pull over to the side of the road. She told me the district attorney had filed something electronically today. Without a word to anyone, they just filed a document electronically.”

  Bryan sounded breathless.

  “What was it?” I asked him.

  “Ray, you’re going home. They dropped all the charges against you. You’re going home, my friend. You’re finally going home.”

  I crouched down and sat on my heels. I leaned my back up against the wall and closed my eyes. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe.

  Home.

  It had been so long since I’d heard those words.

  Home. I was going home.

  “Pops! Pops! You okay?” I opened my eyes, and the young thug was standing over me, concern on his face.

  I smiled up at him and nodded.

  “Bryan, this isn’t no April Fools’ joke, is it? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? It’s April 1. That’s not funny.”

  Bryan laughed.

  “It’s no joke, Ray. The judge wanted to release you Monday, but I told her it had to be Friday. You are going to be released Friday morning. I’ll be there, Ray. I’m not sure how I’m going to get there, but I will be there Friday morning at 9:30 A.M., and you and I are going to walk out of that jail, Ray. You’re going to be a free man.”

  I laughed. “I’ll see you Friday, Bryan, and you’ll bring me something to wear, won’t you? I can’t be walking out of this jail naked.”

  “We’ll take care of it.”

  We were both quiet for another minute. There was so much to say that I couldn’t find the words. How did I thank this man? He had been by my side for fifteen years and behind the scenes for longer than that. I had gone to death row, and Bryan Stevenson had come there to bring me home. There were no words. There was no way I could repay him.

  “God bless you,” I said.

  “Thank you, Ray.” He sounded as choked up as I was, and we said our goodbyes. I hung up the phone, sat on the floor, and cried like a baby in front of all those gangsters.

  I was going home.

  * * *

  Bryan was there Friday morning, and he brought a nice black suit and a shirt that was the exact color of the Alabama sky. I changed out of my jail issue and walked over to Bryan.

  “How do I look?” I asked.

  “You look good, Ray. You look good.” Bryan had a suit on also, and a tie.

  “We both look mighty fine. Is Lester here?”

  “Yes, he’s waiting for you outside. He’s going to take you out of here, take you to his house. We’ll give you a few days at home, but then I’d like to have you come down to EJI. There’s a whole lot of my staff that have been waiting to meet you.”

  I nodded at Bryan. I was excited and nervous and just a bit overwhelmed. After so many years imagining this day, it was hard to believe I was going to walk out a door of my own free will.

  “Ray, there’s a lot of people out there. There’s a lot of cameras and press. This is big news. I’m sure you’ve seen it. They want you to say a few words. Whatever you want to say, and if you don’t want to say anything, then you don’t have to.”

  I felt a flash of fear, and then I thought about the guys on the row. They would be watching the news. They would be seeing my release. I didn’t know what I was going to say, but I would say something when the time came.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  I signed some papers for the jail and then walked to the double glass doors. I could see the crowd. I could see the cameras. I reached my hand for the door and then looked back over my shoulder at Bryan.

  “You ready?” he murmured.

  “I’ve been ready for thirty years.” I took a deep breath and walked out those doors with Bryan right behind me.

  The crowd swarmed toward me. My sisters. My nieces. I could see Lester and Sia. I started hugging them all. My sisters were crying and praising God, and the cameras just kept pop, pop, popping at me. I reached out my hand to grab Lester’s shoulder. He was in a pretty fancy suit himself.

  It seemed like ten minutes before the crying and carrying on died down. Everyone got silent, waiting for me to speak. I looked around at all the faces. I was a free man. There was no one who could tell me what to do or not to do. I was free.

  Free.

  I closed my eyes, and I lifted my face to the sky. I said a prayer for my mama. I thanked God. I opened my eyes, and I looked at the cameras. There had been so much darkness for so long. So many dark days and dark nights. But no more. I had lived in a place where the sun refused to shine. Not anymore. Not ever again.

  “The sun does shine,” I said, and then I looked at both Lester and Bryan—two men who had saved me—each in their own way. “The sun does shine,” I said again.

  And then the tears began to fall.

  * * *

  I climbed into Lester’s car and buckled my seat belt. It was the first time I had been in the front seat of a vehicle in thirty years.

  “Nice car,” I said.

  “It’s old and tired. Like us.” Lester laughed. “Where to?”

  “I want to go to the cemetery. I want to see Mama’s grave.” He pulled out onto the street and drove toward the highway. Sia had gotten a ride home with friends, letting Lester and me have some time alone.

  “Take a right in two hundred feet.”

  I jumped in my seat. It was a woman’s voice, and I whipped my head around to look in the back seat. I didn’t see anybody. I looked at the third row of seats in the way back, and I still didn’t see anyone back there. Where was she?

  “Turn right,” the voice said again.

  “Where is she?” I whispered to Lester.

  “Where is who?”

  “The white woman in the car telling you which way to go?”

  Lester looked at me blankly for a second and t
hen started to laugh. He laughed for at least two miles. “It’s GPS—the car’s navigation system. There’s no white woman hiding in the car, Ray, I promise you.”

  I obviously had a lot to learn.

  * * *

  I looked at the gravestone with my mama’s name. It made my heart hurt all over again.

  “I’m home, Mama. I told you I’d be home. Your baby’s come home.”

  Lester stood next to me in silence as I cried for the third time that day. It was weird to be outside. No guards. No fences. I felt a weird kind of anxiety I’d never felt before. Lester must have sensed my uneasiness because he put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. We made one more stop before home—this time at a local restaurant with a buffet. I couldn’t believe all the different choices. I loaded my tray with barbecue and biscuits and fried okra and banana pudding. I waited for my sweet tea while Lester walked in front of me. He stopped and handed a card to the cashier, and she handed it back to him. Without looking back at me, he kept walking toward a table.

  I froze.

  I didn’t have any money. I hadn’t seen Lester give the woman any money. I started to panic, and then I saw Lester turn around to look for me. I met his eye and just stared at him while the cashier stared at me. He walked back to me and whispered, “What’s wrong, Ray?”

  “I … I … don’t have any money to pay her,” I whispered back.

  “I already paid her, Ray. Don’t worry about it.”

  I could feel my chest pounding. Lester hadn’t given her any money. I had been watching. I didn’t understand what he was doing.

  “Lester, I didn’t see you give her any cash. I was looking the whole time. I’m not going back to jail for stealing some okra!”

  “I paid with a debit card, Ray, not cash. It’s okay. We’re all paid up. You don’t need to worry.”

  I followed Lester to the table and sat down. I could feel a lot of eyes on me. I had been all over the news since Wednesday when my release was announced. I hoped that’s why people were looking at me. I hadn’t used a fork in thirty years, so I fumbled with it and tried not to worry. What if people were looking at me as the guy who got away with murder? What if they thought I really did it? What if they said something? What would I say? I could feel the panic beginning again.