Keith arrived early at the hospital and made his rounds. St. Mark's Lutheran currently had half a dozen members in various stages of treatment or recuperation. He said hello to all six, shared a quick word of comfort, held their hands in prayer, then was off to get Mr. Boyette for what promised to be an eventful day.
Eventful in unexpected ways. Mr. Boyette was already gone. According to a nurse, when they checked on him at 6:00 a.m., they found his bed empty and neatly1 made up, his hospital gown folded next to his pillow, and the IV wrapped carefully around the portable stand next to his bed. An hour later, someone from Anchor House called with the message that Travis Boyette was back home and wanted his doctor to know all was well. Keith drove to Anchor House, but Boyette was not there. According to a supervisor2, he was not scheduled to work on Wednesdays. No one had any idea where he was or when he might return. As Keith was driving to St. Mark's, he told himself not to worry, not to panic, Boyette would show. Then he called himself an idiot for placing even the remotest bit of confidence in a confessed murderer, a serial3 rapist, and a compulsive liar4. Because he habitually5 tried to see the good in every person he knew and met, he realized, as he began to panic, that he had been much too gentle with Boyette. He had tried too hard to be understanding, even compassionate7. Hell, the man had murdered a seventeen-year-old girl just to satisfy his lust8 and was now seemingly content to watch another man die for the crime. God only knew how many other women he'd raped9.
Keith was angry when he entered the church office. Charlotte Junger, back from the flu, greeted him with a cheery "Good morning, Pastor11," and Keith was barely civil.
"I'm locked in my office, okay? No calls, unless it's a man named Travis Boyette."
"Yes, sir."
He closed his door, ripped off his coat, and called Dana with the latest news. "He's loose on the streets?" she asked.
"Well, yes, he's in the process of getting paroled. He's served his time, and he's about to be a free man. I guess you could say he's loose."
"I can't believe you said that."
"Sorry. I can't either. What's the plan?"
"There's nothing to do but wait. Maybe he'll show up."
"Keep me posted."
Keith called Matthew Burns in the prosecutor13's office and told him there was a delay. Matthew had first been cool to the idea of meeting Boyette and videoing his statement, but he came around. He had agreed to make a call or two to Texas after he heard Boyette's story, if, in fact, he believed what he heard. He was disappointed to hear the man was missing.
Keith checked the Drumm Web site for an update, something he'd done almost every waking hour since Monday morning. He went to the filing cabinets and pulled out folders14 with old sermons. He called Dana again, but she was having coffee with the girls.
At exactly 10:30 a.m., he called the law office of Robbie Flak. The young lady who answered the phone explained that Mr. Flak was unavailable. Keith said he understood this and said that he'd called yesterday, Tuesday, left his phone numbers, but had not heard from anyone. "I have information about the murder of Nicole Yarber," he said.
"What type of information?" she asked.
"I need to speak to Mr. Flak," Keith said firmly.
"I will give him the message," she said, just as firmly.
"Please, I'm not some wacko. This is very important."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
He decided15 to violate the vow16 of confidentiality17. There were two possible consequences. First, Boyette could sue him for damages, but Keith was no longer worried about this. The brain tumor would take care of any future litigation. And if for some reason Boyette survived, he would be required to prove that Keith's breach18 of confidence had caused him damages. Though Keith knew little about the law, he found it difficult to believe that a judge or jury anywhere would have sympathy for such a miserable19 person.
The second consequence was that of a possible disciplinary action by the church. But in light of the facts, and especially in light of the liberal leanings of the synod, he could not imagine anything more than a slap on the wrist.
Screw it, he said to himself. I'm talking.
He typed an e-mail for Robbie Flak. He described himself, leaving all possible phone numbers and addresses along the way. He described his encounter with an unnamed parolee who once lived in Slone, and did so at the time Nicole disappeared. This parolee has a lengthy20 criminal record, a violent one, and was once arrested and jailed in Slone. Keith had verified this. The man confessed to the rape10 and murder of Nicole Yarber and gave plenty of details. Her body was buried deep in the hills south of Joplin, Missouri, where this parolee grew up. The only person who can find the body is the parolee himself. Please call. Keith Schroeder.
An hour later, Keith left his office and drove back to Anchor House. No one had seen Boyette. He drove downtown and had another quick lunch with Matthew Burns. After some debate, and a bit of cajoling, Matthew pulled out his cell phone and called Flak's office. Keith heard him say, "Yes, hello, my name is Matthew Burns, and I am a prosecutor in Topeka, Kansas. I would like to speak to Mr. Robbie Flak." Mr. Flak was unavailable.
"I have some information about the Donte Drumm case, specifically the identity of the real killer21." Mr. Flak was still unavailable. Matthew then gave his phone numbers, cell and office, and invited the receptionist to visit the Web site for the City of Topeka, Office of the City Attorney, to verify his legitimacy22. She said she would do this.
"I'm not some nut, okay? Please have Mr. Flak call me as soon as possible. Thank you."
They finished lunch and agreed to alert each other if a call came from Texas. Driving back to the office, Keith was relieved to have a friend, an attorney at that, willing to lend a hand.
By noon, the streets of downtown Slone had been blocked and barricaded23, and routine traffic had been diverted elsewhere. Dozens of church buses and vans were double-parked around the courthouse, but the police were not writing tickets. Their orders were to maintain a presence, keep the peace, and, by all means, do nothing to provoke anyone. Emotions were high. The situation was tense. Most of the merchants closed their shops, and most of the white folks disappeared.
The crowd, all black, continued to grow. Hundreds of students from Slone High School skipped out and arrived in packs, already rowdy and anxious to be heard. Factory workers brought their lunch boxes and ate while they milled around the courthouse lawn. Reporters took photos and scribbled24 notes. Camera crews from Slone and Tyler bunched together near the podium on the front steps of the courthouse. At 12:15 p.m., Mr. Oscar Betts, president of the local NAACP chapter, stepped to the microphones, thanked everyone for coming, and quickly got down to business. He proclaimed the innocence25 of Donte Drumm and said his execution was nothing more than a legal lynching. He blistered26 the police in a scathing27 condemnation28, calling them "racist29" and "determined31 to kill an innocent man." He ridiculed32 a judicial33 system that would allow an all-white jury to pass judgment34 on an innocent black man. Unable to resist, he asked the crowd: "How you supposed to get a fair trial when the prosecutor is sleeping with the judge?" "And the appeals courts said it was okay?" "Only in Texas!" He described the death penalty as a disgrace--an outdated35 tool of revenge that does not deter30 crime, is not used fairly, and has been abandoned by all civilized36 countries. Almost every sentence was followed with applause and shouting as the crowd grew louder. He called on the court system to stop the madness. He mocked the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles. He called the governor a coward for not stopping the execution. He warned of unrest in Slone and East Texas and perhaps even the entire nation if the state went forward with the execution of an innocent black man.
Betts did a masterful job of raising emotions and tensions. When he finally wound down, he changed course and asked the crowd to behave, to stay off the streets tonight and tomorrow night. "We gain nothing by violence," he pleaded. When he finished, he introduced the Reverend Johnny Canty, pastor of the Bethel African Methodist Church, where the Drumm family had worshipped for over twenty years. Reverend Canty began with a message from the family. They were thankful for the support. They remained strong in their faith and were praying for a miracle. Roberta Drumm was doing as well as could be expected. Her plans were to travel to death row tomorrow and be there until the end. Reverend Canty then asked for quiet and began a long eloquent37 prayer that started with a plea for compassion6 for the family of Nicole Yarber, a family that had endured the nightmare of the death of an innocent child. Just like the Drumm family. He thanked the Almighty38 for the gift of life and the promise of eternity39 for all people. He thanked God for His laws, the most basic and most important being the Ten Commandments, which included the prohibition40 "Thou shalt not kill." He prayed for those "other Christians41" out there who take the same Bible and twist it and use it as a weapon to kill others. "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do."
Canty had worked on his prayer for a long time, and he delivered it slowly, with perfect timing42, and without notes. The crowd hummed and swayed and offered hearty43 "Amens" as he plodded44 along, no end in sight. It was far more a speech than a prayer, and Canty savored45 the moment. After praying for justice, he prayed for peace, not the peace that avoids violence, but the peace yet to be found in a society in which young black men are incarcerated46 in record numbers, in which they are executed far more often than those of other races, in which crimes committed by blacks are deemed more grievous than the same crimes committed by whites. He prayed for mercy, for forgiveness, for strength. Like most ministers, Canty went on too long and was losing his audience when he suddenly found it again. He began praying for Donte, "our persecuted47 brother," a young man snatched from his family nine years ago and thrown into a "hellhole" from which no man escaped alive. Nine years without his family and friends, nine years locked away like a caged animal. Nine years serving the time for a crime committed by someone else.
From the window of a small law library on the third floor, Judge Elias Henry watched and listened. The crowd was under control as the reverend prayed, yet it was the restlessness that frightened the judge.
Slone had known little racial discord48 over the decades, and the judge took most of the credit for this, but only when talking to himself. Fifty years earlier, when he'd been a young lawyer struggling to pay his bills, he'd taken a part-time job reporting and writing editorials for the Slone Daily News, then a prosperous weekly that was read by all. Now it was a struggling daily with a lower readership. In the early 1960s, the newspaper was one of the few in East Texas that recognized the fact that a sizable portion of the population was black. Elias Henry wrote occasional stories about black sports teams and black history, and though this was not well received, it was not openly condemned49. His editorials, though, managed to rile up the whites. He explained in layman's terms the true meaning of Brown v. Board of Education and criticized the segregated50 schools in Slone and Chester County. The newspaper, through the growing influence of Elias and the declining health of its owner, took bold stands in favor of voting rights for blacks, as well as fair pay and fair housing. His arguments were persuasive51, his reasoning was sound, and most of those who read his opinions realized he was far smarter than they were. He bought the paper in 1966 and owned it for ten years. He also became a skilled lawyer and politician and a leader in the community. A lot of white folks disagreed with Elias, but few challenged him publicly. When the schools were finally desegregated, at the end of a federal gun barrel, white resistance in Slone had been softened52 after years of crafty53 manipulation by Elias Henry.
After he was elected judge, he sold the paper and assumed a loftier position. From there, he quietly but firmly controlled a judicial system that was known to be tough on those who were violent, strict on those who needed guidance, and compassionate to those who needed another chance. His defeat by Vivian Grale led to a nervous breakdown54.
The conviction of Donte Drumm would not have happened on his watch. He would have known about the arrest not long after it occurred. He would have examined the confession55 and the circumstances surrounding it, and he would have called in Paul Koffee for an unofficial meeting, just the two of them with the door locked, to inform the DA that his case was rotten. The confession was hopelessly unconstitutional. It would not get to the jury. Keep looking, Koffee, because you have yet to find your killer.
Judge Henry looked at the throng56 packed tightly around the front of the courthouse. Not a white face anywhere, except for the reporters. It was an angry black crowd. The whites were hiding, and not sympathetic. His town was split, something he thought he would never see.
"God help us," he mumbled57 to himself.
The next speaker was Palomar Reed, a senior at the high school and vice58 president of the student body. He began with the obligatory59 condemnation of the death sentence and launched into a windy and technical diatribe60 against capital punishment, with heavy emphasis on the Texas version of it. The crowd stayed with him, though he lacked the drama of the more experienced speakers. Palomar, though, soon proved to have an incredible knack61 for the dramatic. Looking at a sheet of paper, he began calling the names of the black players on the Slone High School football team. One by one, they hurried to the podium and formed a line along the top step. Each wore the royal blue home jersey62 of the Slone Warriors63. When all twenty-eight were packed shoulder to shoulder, Palomar made a shocking announcement: "These players stand here united with their brother Donte Drumm. A Slone Warrior64. An African warrior. If the people of this city, county, and state succeed in their illegal and unconstitutional efforts to kill Donte Drumm tomorrow night, these warriors will not play in Friday's game against Longview."
The crowd exhaled65 in one massive cheer that rattled66 the windows of the courthouse. Palomar looked at the players, and on cue all twenty-eight reached for their shirttails and quickly yanked off the jerseys67. They threw them at their feet. Under the jerseys, each player wore an identical white T-shirt with the unmistakable image of Donte's face. Under it, in bold lettering, was the word "INNOCENT." The players puffed68 their chests and pumped their fists, and the crowd drowned them in adoration69.
"We will boycott70 classes tomorrow!" Palomar yelled into the microphone. "And Friday, too!
"And there will be no football game on Friday night!"
The rally was being broadcast live on the local channel, and most of the white folks in Slone were glued to their televisions. In banks and schools and homes and offices, the same muted utterances71 were heard:
"They can't do that, can they?"
"Of course they can. How do you stop them?"
"They've gone too far."
"No, we've gone too far."
"So, you think he's innocent?"
"I'm not sure. No one's sure. That's the problem. There's just too much doubt."
"He confessed."
"They never found the body."
"Why can't they just stop things for a few days, you know, a reprieve72 or something like that?"
"Why?"
"Wait till after football season."
"I'd prefer not to have a riot."
"If they riot, then they'll be prosecuted74."
"Don't bet on it."
"This place is going to explode."
"Kick 'em off the team."
"Who do they think they are, calling the game off?"
"We got forty white boys who can play."
"Damn right we do."
"Coach oughtta kick 'em off the team."
"And they oughtta arrest 'em if they skip school."
"Brilliant. That'll throw gas on the fire."
At the high school, the football coach watched the protest in the principal's office. The coach was white, the principal black. They stared at the television and said nothing.
At the police department, three blocks down Main Street from the courthouse, Chief of Police Joe Radford watched the television with his assistant chief. The department had four dozen uniformed officers on the payroll75, and at that moment thirty were watching nervously76 from the fringes of the rally.
"Will the execution take place?" the assistant chief asked.
"Far as I know," Radford answered. "I talked to Paul Koffee an hour ago, and he thinks it's a go."
"We might need some help."
"Naw. They'll throw a few rocks, but it'll blow over."
Paul Koffee watched the show alone at his desk with a sandwich and chips. His office was two blocks behind the courthouse, and he could hear the crowd when it roared. For him, such demonstrations77 were necessary evils in a country that valued the Bill of Rights. Folks could gather lawfully78, with permission of course, and express their feelings. The same laws that protected this right also governed the orderly flow of justice. His job was to prosecute73 criminals and put the guilty ones away. And when a crime was grave enough, the laws of his state directed him to extract revenge and seek the death penalty. This he had done in the Drumm case. He had no regrets, no doubts, not the slightest uneasiness about his decisions, his tactics at trial, or the guilt79 of Drumm. His work had been ratified81 by seasoned appellate judges on numerous occasions. Dozens of these learned jurists had reviewed every word of the Drumm trial and affirmed his conviction. Koffee was at peace with himself. He regretted his involvement with Judge Vivian Grale, and the pain and embarrassment82 it had caused, but he had never doubted that her rulings were right.
He missed her. Their romance had cracked under the strain of all the negative attention it created. She ran away and refused any contact. His career as a prosecutor would soon be over, and he hated to admit that he would leave office under a cloud. The Drumm execution, though, would be his high-water mark, his vindication83, a shining moment that the people of Slone, or at least the white ones, would appreciate.
Tomorrow would be his finest day.
The Flak Law Firm watched the rally on the wide-screen television in the main conference room, and when it was finally over, Robbie retreated to his office with half a sandwich and a diet cola. The receptionist had carefully arranged a dozen phone message slips on the center of his desk. The ones from Topeka caught his attention. Something rang a bell. Ignoring the food, he picked up the phone and punched in the number for a cell phone of the Reverend Keith Schroeder.
"Keith Schroeder please," he said when someone answered "Hello."
"Speaking."
"This is Robbie Flak, attorney in Slone, Texas. I have your message, and I think I saw an e-mail a few hours ago."
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Flak."
"It's Robbie."
"Okay, Robbie. It's Keith on this end."
"Fine, Keith. Where's the body?"
"In Missouri."
"I have no time to waste, Keith, and something tells me this call is a complete waste of time."
"Maybe it is, but give me five minutes."
"Talk fast."
Keith ran through the facts--his encounters with an unnamed parolee, his search into his background, the man's criminal record, his dire80 medical condition, everything he could cram84 into five uninterrupted minutes.
"Obviously, you're not worried about breaching85 confidentiality here," Robbie said.
"I'm troubled by it, but the stakes are too high. And I haven't told you his name."
"Where is he now?"
"He spent last night in a hospital, checked himself out this morning, and I haven't heard from him since. He'd due back at the halfway86 house at 6:00 p.m. sharp. I'll be there to see him."
"And he has four felony convictions for sex offenses87?"
"At least."
"Pastor, this man has zero credibility. I can't do anything with this. There's nothing here. You gotta understand, Keith, that these executions always attract the nutcases. We had two fruitcakes show up last week. One claimed to know where Nicole is living now, she's a stripper by the way, and the other claimed to have killed her in a satanic ritual. Location of the body unknown. The first wanted some money, the second wanted out of prison in Arizona. The courts despise these last-minute fantasies."
"He says the body is buried in the hills south of Joplin, Missouri. That's where he grew up."
"How soon can he find the body?"
"I can't answer that."
"Come on, Keith. Give me something I can use."
"He has her class ring. I've seen it, held it, and examined it. SHS 1999, with her initials ANY. Blue stone, size about six."
"This is good, Keith. I like it. But where is the ring right now?"
"I assume it's around his neck."
"And you don't know where he is?"
"Uh, correct, at this moment, I don't know where he is."
"Who is Matthew Burns?"
"A friend of mine, a prosecutor."
"Look, Keith, I appreciate your concern. You've called twice, e-mailed once, got one of your friends to call. Thank you very much. I'm a very busy man right now, so please leave me alone." Robbie picked up his sandwich as he put down the phone.
收听单词发音 |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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supervisor
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| n.监督人，管理人，检查员，督学，主管，导师 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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raped
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 )；强奸 | |
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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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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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tumor
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| n.（肿）瘤，肿块(英)tumour | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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folders
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| n.文件夹( folder的名词复数 )；纸夹；（某些计算机系统中的）文件夹；页面叠 | |
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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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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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confidentiality
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| n.秘而不宣，保密 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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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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legitimacy
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| n.合法，正当 | |
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barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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24
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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25
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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26
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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27
scathing
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| adj.（言词、文章）严厉的，尖刻的；不留情的adv.严厉地，尖刻地v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的现在分词) | |
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28
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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racist
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| n.种族主义者，种族主义分子 | |
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30
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
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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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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outdated
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| adj.旧式的，落伍的，过时的；v.使过时 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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timing
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| n.时间安排，时间选择 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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savored
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的过去式和过去分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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incarcerated
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| 钳闭的 | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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50
segregated
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| 分开的； 被隔离的 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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52
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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53
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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54
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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56
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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57
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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59
obligatory
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| adj.强制性的，义务的，必须的 | |
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60
diatribe
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| n.抨击，抨击性演说 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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65
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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jerseys
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| n.运动衫( jersey的名词复数 ) | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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boycott
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| n./v.(联合)抵制，拒绝参与 | |
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utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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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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prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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payroll
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| n.工资表，在职人员名单，工薪总额 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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lawfully
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| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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81
ratified
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| v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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84
cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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85
breaching
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| 攻破( breach的过去式 )； 破坏，违反 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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offenses
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| n.进攻( offense的名词复数 )；（球队的）前锋；进攻方法；攻势 | |
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