The prosecution1's theory of guilt2 had been based in part on the desperate hope that one day, someone, somewhere would find Nicole's body. It couldn't stay submerged forever, could it? The Red River would eventually give it up, and a fisherman or a boat captain or maybe a kid wading3 in the backwater would discover it and call for help. After the remains4 were identified, the puzzle's final piece would fit perfectly5. All loose ends would be tied up. No more questions, no more doubts. The police and prosecutors7 could quietly, smugly close the book.
The conviction, without the body, was not that difficult to obtain. The prosecution attacked Donte Drumm from all angles, and while it pushed relentlessly9 for a trial, it also banked heavily on the appearance of a corpse10. But nine years had passed and the river had not cooperated. The hopes and prayers, the dreams in some cases, had vanished long ago. And while this caused doubts in the minds of some observers, it did nothing to dampen the convictions of those responsible for Donte's death sentence. After years of rigid11 tunnel vision, and with so much at stake, they were certain beyond all doubt that they had nailed her killer12. They had invested far too much to question their own theories and actions.
The district attorney was a man named Paul Koffee, a tough career prosecutor6 who'd been elected and reelected without serious opposition13 for over twenty years. He was an ex-Marine who enjoyed a fight and usually won. His high conviction rate was splashed across his Web site and, during elections, trumpeted14 in gaudy15 advertisements sent by direct mail. Sympathy for the accused was rarely shown. And, like the routines of most small-town district attorneys, the grind of chasing meth addicts16 and car thieves was broken only by a sensational17 murder and/or rape18. Much to his well-guarded frustration19, Koffee had prosecuted20 only two capital murders in his career, a paltry21 record in Texas. Nicole Yarber's was the first and the most notorious. Three years later, in 2002, Koffee had won an easier death verdict in a case involving a botched drug deal that left bodies all over a country road.
And two was all he would get. Because of a scandal, Koffee was leaving office. He'd promised the public that he would not seek reelection in two years. His wife of twenty-two years had left him in a rather swift and noisy exit. The Drumm execution would be a final moment of glory.
His sidekick was Drew Kerber, who, after his exemplary work in the Drumm case, had been promoted to chief detective, Slone PD, a position he still proudly held. Kerber was pushing forty-six, ten years younger than the prosecutor, and though they often worked closely together, they ran in different social circles. Kerber was a cop. Koffee was a lawyer. The lines were clear in Slone, as in most small southern towns.
At various times, each had promised Donte Drumm that he would be there when he "got the needle." Kerber did so first, during the brutal22 interrogation that produced the confession23. Kerber, when he wasn't jabbing the kid in the chest and calling him every name in the book, promised him over and over that he would get the needle, and that he, Detective Kerber, would be there to witness it.
For Koffee, the conversation had been much briefer. During a break in the trial, while Robbie Flak was not around, Koffee had arranged a quick and secret meeting with Donte Drumm under a stairwell just outside the courtroom. He offered a deal--plead guilty and take life, no parole. Otherwise, you'll get death. Donte declined and again said he was innocent, at which Koffee cursed him and assured him he would watch him die. Moments later, Koffee denied the encounter when Flak verbally assaulted him.
The two men had lived with the Yarber case for nine years, and for various reasons they had often seen the need to "go see Reeva." It was not always a pleasant visit, not always something they looked forward to, but she was such an important part of the case that she could never be neglected.
Reeva Pike was Nicole's mother, a stout24, boisterous25 woman who had embraced victimhood with an enthusiasm that often bordered on the ridiculous. Her involvement in the case was long, colorful, and often contentious27. Now that the story was entering its final act, many in Slone wondered what she would do with herself when it was over.
Reeva had badgered Kerber and the police for two weeks as they frantically28 searched for Nicole. She had wailed29 for the cameras and publicly berated30 all elected officials, from her city alderman to the governor, because they had not found her daughter. After the arrest and alleged31 confession of Donte Drumm, she made herself readily available for lengthy32 interviews in which she showed no patience with the presumption33 of innocence34 and demanded the death penalty, and the sooner the better. For many years, she had taught the Ladies' Bible Class at the First Baptist Church and, armed with scripture35, could practically preach on the subject of God's approval of state-sponsored retribution. She repeatedly referred to Donte as "that boy," which riled up the blacks in Slone. She had other names for him too, with "monster" and "cold-blooded killer" being two favorites. During the trial, she sat with her husband, Wallis, and their two children in the front row directly behind the prosecution, with other relatives and friends wedged closely around them. Two armed deputies were always close by, separating Reeva and her clan36 from the family and supporters of Donte Drumm. Tense words were exchanged during recesses37. Violence could have erupted at any moment. When the jury announced its death sentence, Reeva jumped to her feet and said, "Praise be to God!" The judge called her down immediately and threatened to remove her. As Donte was led away in handcuffs, she could not restrain herself. She screamed, "You murdered my baby! I'll be there when you take your last breath!"
On the first anniversary of Nicole's disappearance38, and presumably her death, Reeva organized an elaborate vigil at Rush Point on the Red River, near the sandbar where the gym card and student ID were found. Someone built a white cross and stuck it in the ground. Flowers and large photos of Nikki were packed around it. Their preacher led a memorial service and thanked God for the "just and true verdict" that had just been handed down by the jury. Candles were burned, hymns39 were sung, prayers were offered. The vigil became an annual event on that date, and Reeva was always there, often with a news crew in tow.
She joined a victims group and was soon attending conferences and giving speeches. She compiled a long list of complaints with the judicial40 system, the primary one being that of the "endless, painful delays," and she became adept41 at pleasing a crowd with her new theories. She wrote vicious letters to Robbie Flak and even tried writing to Donte Drumm.
Reeva created a Web site, WeMissYouNikki.com, and loaded it with a thousand photos of the girl. She blogged incessantly42 about her daughter and the case, often pecking away throughout the night. Twice, Robbie Flak threatened to sue her for libelous43 material she published, but he knew it was wiser to leave her alone. She hounded Nikki's friends to post their favorite memories and stories, and held grudges44 against the kids who lost interest.
Her behavior was often bizarre. Periodically, she took long drives downriver in search of her daughter. She was often seen standing45 on bridges, gazing at the water, lost in another world. The Red River bisects Shreveport, Louisiana, 120 miles south and east of Slone. Reeva became fixated on Shreveport. She found a hotel downtown with a view of the river, and this became her refuge. She spent many nights and days there, roaming the city, loitering around shopping malls, cinemas, and any of the other places where teenagers liked to gather. She knew it was irrational46. She knew it was inconceivable that Nikki could have survived and was alive and hiding from her. Nonetheless, she kept driving to Shreveport and watching the faces. She couldn't quit. She had to do something.
Several times, Reeva dashed off to other states where teenage girls went missing. She was the expert with wisdom to share. "You can survive this" was her motto, her effort to soothe47 and comfort the families, though many back home wondered how well she was surviving.
Now, as the final countdown was under way, she was in a frenzy48 with the details of the execution. The reporters were back, and she had plenty to say. After nine long and bitter years, justice was finally at hand.
Early Monday evening, Paul Koffee and Drew Kerber decided49 it was time to go see Reeva.
She met them at the front door with a smile, even quick hugs. They never knew which Reeva they would find. She could be charming, and she could be frightening. But with Donte's death so close, she was gracious and vibrant50. They walked through the comfortable suburban51 split-level to a large room behind the garage, an add-on that had become Reeva's war room over the years. Half was an office with filing cabinets, the other half a shrine52 to her daughter. There were large framed color blowups, portraits done posthumously53 by admirers, trophies54, ribbons, plaques55, and an award from the eighth-grade science fair. Most of Nikki's life could be traced through the displays.
Wallis, her second husband and Nicole's stepfather, was not at home. He had been seen less and less over the years, and it was rumored57 that he simply couldn't take much more of his wife's constant mourning and griping. She served them iced tea as they sat around a coffee table. After a few pleasantries, the conversation moved to the execution.
"You have five slots in the witness room," Koffee said. "Who gets them?"
"Wallis and I, of course. Chad and Marie are undecided, but will probably be there." She threw out the names of Nicole's half brother and half sister as if they couldn't decide to go to the game or not. "The last place will probably be Brother Ronnie. He doesn't want to watch an execution, but he feels the need to be there for us."
Brother Ronnie was the current pastor58 of the First Baptist Church. He'd been in Slone for about three years, had obviously never met Nicole, but was convinced of Drumm's guilt and afraid to cross Reeva.
They talked for a few minutes about the protocol59 on death row, the rules regarding witnesses, the timeline, and so on.
"Reeva, could we talk about tomorrow?" Koffee asked.
"Of course we can."
"Are you still doing the Fordyce thing?"
"Yes. He's in town now and we'll film at ten in the morning, right here. Why do you ask?"
"I'm not sure it's such a good idea," Koffee said, and Kerber nodded his agreement.
"Oh, really. And why not?"
"He's such an inflammatory character, Reeva. We are very concerned about the aftershocks Thursday night. You know how upset the blacks are."
"We are expecting trouble, Reeva," Kerber added.
"If the blacks start trouble, then arrest them," she said.
"It's exactly the kind of situation Fordyce loves to pounce60 on. He's an agitator61, Reeva. He wants to start trouble so he can get in the middle of it. Helps his ratings."
"It's all about ratings," Kerber added.
"Well, well. Aren't we nervous," she chided.
Sean Fordyce was a New York-based talk-show host who'd found a niche62 on cable sensationalizing murder cases. His slant63 was unapologetically from the right side of the street, always in support of the latest execution, or gun rights, or the rounding up of illegal immigrants, a group he loved to attack because they were much easier targets than others with dark skin. It was hardly original programming, but Fordyce struck gold when he began filming the families of victims as they prepared to watch the executions. He became famous when his tech crew managed to successfully hide a tiny camera in the frame of a pair of eyeglasses worn by the father of a young boy who was murdered in Alabama. For the first time, the world saw an execution, and Sean Fordyce owned the footage. He played it and played it and, with each showing, commented on how simple it was, how peaceful and painless and much too easy for such a violent killer.
He was indicted64 in Alabama, sued by the dead man's family, and threatened with death and censure65, but he survived it. The charges didn't stick--they couldn't nail down a specific crime. The lawsuit66 was thrown out. Three years after the stunt67, he was not only standing but standing at the top of the cable garbage heap. Now he was in Slone, preparing for another episode. Rumor56 was that he'd paid Reeva $50,000 for the exclusive.
"Please reconsider, Reeva," Koffee said.
"No, Paul. The answer is no. I'm doing it for Nicole, for my family, and for the other victims out there. The world needs to see what this monster has done to us."
"What's the benefit?" Koffee said. Both he and Kerber had ignored phone calls from Fordyce's production team.
"Maybe the laws can be changed."
"But the laws are working here, Reeva. Sure, it's taken longer than we wanted, but in the scheme of things nine years is not bad."
"Oh my God, Paul, I can't believe you just said that. You haven't lived our nightmare for the past nine years."
"No, I haven't, and I don't pretend to understand what you've been through. But the nightmare won't end Thursday night." And it certainly would not, not if Reeva had anything to do with it.
"You have no idea, Paul. I can't believe this. The answer is no. No, no, no. I'm doing the interview and the show will run. The world will see what it's like."
They had not expected to be successful, so they were not surprised. When Reeva Pike made up her mind, the conversation was over. They shifted gears.
"So be it," Koffee said. "Do you and Wallis feel safe?"
She smiled, and almost chuckled68. "Of course, Paul. We got a houseful of guns and the neighbors are on high alert. Every car that comes down this street is watched through rifle scopes. We are not expecting trouble."
"There were phone calls at the station today," Kerber said. "The usual anonymous69 stuff, vague threats about this and that if the boy is executed."
"I'm sure you guys can deal with it," she said with no concern whatsoever70. After waging such a relentless8 war of her own, Reeva had forgotten how to be afraid.
"I think we should have a patrol car parked outside for the rest of the week," Kerber said.
"Do as you wish. It doesn't matter to me. If the blacks start trouble, they won't do it over here. Don't they normally burn their own buildings first?"
Both men shrugged71. They'd had no experience with riots. Slone had an unremarkable history with race relations. What little they knew had been learned from the television news. Yes, it did seem as if the riots were confined to the ghettos.
They talked about this for a few minutes, then it was time to leave. They hugged again at the front door and promised to see each other after the execution. What a great moment it would be. The end of the ordeal72. Justice at last.
Robbie Flak parked at the curb73 in front of the Drumm home and braced26 himself for another meeting.
"How many times have you been here?" his passenger asked.
"I don't know. Dozens and dozens." He opened the door, climbed out, and she did the same.
Her name was Martha Handler. She was an investigative journalist, a freelancer74 who worked for no one but was paid occasionally by the big magazines. She had first visited Slone two years earlier when the Paul Koffee scandal broke and after that had developed a fascination75 with the Drumm case. She and Robbie had spent hours together, professionally, and things might have degenerated76 from there, but for the fact that Robbie was committed to his current live-in, a woman twenty years his junior. Martha no longer believed in commitment and gave mixed signals as to whether the door was open or not. There was sexual tension between the two, as if they were both fighting the urge to say yes. So far, they had been successful.
At first, she claimed to be writing a book about the Drumm case. Then it was a lengthy article for Vanity Fair. Then it was one for the New Yorker. Then it was a screenplay for a movie to be produced by one of her ex-husbands in L.A. In Robbie's opinion, she was a passable writer, with a brilliant recall of the facts, but a disaster with organization and planning. Whatever the final product, he had complete veto power, and if her project ever earned a dime77, he and the Drumm family would get a share. After two years with her, he was not counting on any payoff. He liked her, though. She was wickedly funny, irreverent, a total zealot to the cause, and she had developed a fierce hatred78 for almost every person she'd met in Texas. Plus, she could guzzle79 bourbon and play poker80 far past midnight.
The small living room was crowded. Roberta Drumm sat on the piano bench, her usual position. Two of her brothers stood by the door to the kitchen. Her son Cedric, Donte's oldest brother, was on the sofa holding a toddler who was asleep. Her daughter, Andrea, Donte's younger sister, had one chair. Her preacher, Reverend Canty, had another. Robbie and Martha sat close to each other in flimsy, shaky chairs brought in from the kitchen. Martha had been there many times, and had even cooked for Roberta when she had the flu.
After the usual hellos and hugs and instant coffee, Robbie began talking. "Nothing happened today, which is not good news. First thing tomorrow, the parole board will issue its decision. They don't meet, they just circulate the case and everybody votes. We don't expect a recommendation for clemency81. That rarely happens. We expect a denial, which we will then appeal to the governor's office and ask for a reprieve82. The governor has the right to grant one thirty-day reprieve. It's unlikely we'll get one, but we have to pray for a miracle." Robbie Flak was not a man of prayer, but in the staunch Bible Belt of East Texas, he could certainly talk the talk. And he was in a room full of people who prayed around the clock, Martha Handler being the exception.
"On the positive side, we made contact today with Joey Gamble, found him outside of Houston, a place called Mission Bend. Our investigator83 had lunch with him, confronted him with the truth, impressed upon him the urgency of the situation, and so on. He is following the case and knows what's at stake. We invited him to sign an affidavit84 recanting the lies he told at trial, and he declined. However, we won't give up. He was not decisive. He seemed to waver, to be troubled by what's happening to Donte."
"What if he signs the affidavit and tells the truth?" Cedric asked.
"Well, we suddenly have some ammunition85, a bullet or two, something to take to court and make some noise. The problem, though, is that when liars86 start recanting their testimony87, everybody gets real suspicious, especially judges hearing appeals. When does the lying stop? Is he lying now, or was he lying then? It's a long shot, frankly88, but right now everything is a long shot." Robbie had always been blunt, especially when dealing89 with the families of his criminal clients. And at this stage in Donte's case, it made little sense to raise hopes.
Roberta sat stoically with her hands wedged under her legs. She was fifty-six years old, but looked much older. Since the death of her husband, Riley, five years earlier, she had stopped coloring her hair and stopped eating. She was gray and gaunt and said little, but then she never had said much. Riley had been the big talker, the boaster, the bruiser, with Roberta in the role as the fixer who eased behind her husband and patched up the rifts90 he created. In the past few days, she had slowly accepted reality, and seemed overwhelmed by it. Neither she nor Riley, nor any member of the family, had ever questioned Donte's innocence. He had once tried to maim91 ballcarriers and quarterbacks, and he could adequately defend himself when necessary on the playground or in the streets. But Donte was really a pushover, a sensitive kid who would never harm an innocent person.
"Martha and I are going to Polunsky tomorrow to see Donte," Robbie was saying. "I can take any mail you might have for him."
"I have a meeting with the mayor at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow," Reverend Canty announced. "I'll be joined by several other pastors92. We intend to convey our concerns about what might happen in Slone if Donte is executed."
"It'll be ugly," said an uncle.
"You got that right," Cedric added. "Folks on this side are fired up."
"The execution is still set for 6:00 p.m. on Thursday, right?" asked Andrea.
"Yes," Robbie said.
"Well, when will you know for sure that it'll be carried out?" she asked.
"These things usually go down to the wire, primarily because the lawyers fight to the last minute."
Andrea looked uneasily at Cedric, then said, "Well, I'll just tell you, Robbie, a lot of people on this side of town plan to get outta here when it happens. There's gonna be trouble, and I understand why. But once it starts, things might get out of control."
"The whole town better look out," Cedric said.
"That's what we'll tell the mayor," Canty said. "He'd better do something."
"All he can do is react," Robbie said. "He has nothing to do with the execution."
"Can't he call the governor?"
"Sure, but don't assume the mayor is against the execution. If he got through to the governor, he'd probably lobby against a reprieve. The mayor is a good old Texas boy. He loves the death penalty."
No one in the room was fond of the mayor, or the governor for that matter. Robbie moved the discussion away from the prospect93 of violence. There were important details to be discussed. "According to the rules from the Department of Corrections, the last family visit will take place at 8:00 a.m. on Thursday morning, at the Polunsky Unit, before Donte is transferred to Huntsville." Robbie continued, "I know you'll be anxious to see him, and he's desperate to see you. But don't be surprised when you get there. It will be just like a regular visit. He'll be on one side of a sheet of Plexiglas, you'll have to stay on the other. You talk by phone. It's ridiculous, but then this is Texas."
"No hugs, no kisses?" Andrea said.
"No. They have their rules."
Roberta began crying, quiet sniffles with big tears. "I can't hug my baby," she said. One of her brothers handed her a tissue and patted her shoulder. After a minute or so, she pulled herself together and said, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, Roberta," Robbie said. "You're the mother, and your son is about to be executed for something he didn't do. You have the right to cry. Me, I'd be bawling94 and screaming and shooting at people. Still might do it."
Andrea asked, "What about the execution itself? Who's supposed to be there?"
"The witness room is divided by a wall to separate the victim's family from the inmate's family. All witnesses stand. There are no seats. They get five slots, you get five slots. The rest are given to the lawyers, prison officials, members of the press, and a few others. I'll be there. Roberta, I know you plan to be a witness, but Donte is adamant95 that he doesn't want you there. Your name is on his list, but he doesn't want you to watch."
"I'm sorry, Robbie," she said, wiping her nose. "We've had this discussion. I was there when he was born and I'll be there when he dies. He may not know it, but he'll need me. I will be a witness."
Robbie wasn't about to argue. He promised to return the following evening.
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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prosecutors
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| 检举人( prosecutor的名词复数 )； 告发人； 起诉人； 公诉人 | |
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relentless
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relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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corpse
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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trumpeted
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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addicts
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| 有…瘾的人( addict的名词复数 )； 入迷的人 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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contentious
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frantically
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wailed
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berated
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| v.严厉责备，痛斥( berate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alleged
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lengthy
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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disappearance
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hymns
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judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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libelous
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| adj.败坏名誉的，诽谤性的 | |
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grudges
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| 不满，怨恨，妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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posthumously
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| adv.于死后，于身后；于著作者死后出版地 | |
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54
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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55
plaques
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| （纪念性的）匾牌( plaque的名词复数 )； 纪念匾； 牙斑； 空斑 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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rumored
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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protocol
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| n.议定书，草约，会谈记录，外交礼节 | |
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pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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agitator
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| n.鼓动者；搅拌器 | |
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62
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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indicted
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| 控告，起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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67
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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freelancer
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| n.自由职业者 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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76
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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guzzle
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| v.狂饮，暴食 | |
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80
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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81
clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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82
reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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83
investigator
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| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
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84
affidavit
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| n.宣誓书 | |
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85
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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86
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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87
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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88
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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89
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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90
rifts
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| n.裂缝( rift的名词复数 )；裂隙；分裂；不和 | |
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maim
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| v.使残废，使不能工作，使伤残 | |
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92
pastors
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| n.（基督教的）牧师( pastor的名词复数 ) | |
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93
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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94
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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95
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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