With the sun up and the town anxiously coming to life, the Slone police were on high alert, with holsters unfastened, radios squawking, patrol cars darting1 up and down the streets, and every officer looking for the next hint of trouble. It was expected at the high school, and for good measure the chief sent half a dozen men there early on Thursday morning. When the students arrived for class, they saw police cars parked near the main entrance, an ominous2 sign.
All of Slone knew that the black players had boycotted3 practice on Wednesday and had vowed4 not to play Friday. There could be no greater insult to a community that loved its football. The fans, so ardent5 and loyal only a week earlier, now felt betrayed. Feelings were strong; emotions were raw all over Slone. On the white side of town, the bitterness was caused by football, and now the burning of a church. On the black side, it was all about the execution.
As with most violent and sudden conflicts, the precise manner in which the riot began would never be known. In the endless retelling of it, two things became obvious: the black students blamed the white students, and the whites blamed the blacks. The question of time was a bit clearer. Just seconds after the first bell at 8:15, several things happened at once. Smoke bombs were lit in the boys' restrooms on the first and second floors. Cherry bombs were rolled down the main hallway, exploding like howitzers under the metal lockers6. A string of firecrackers went off near the central stairwell, and panic swept the school. Most of the black students walked out of class and mingled7 in the halls. A brawl8 erupted in a junior homeroom class when a black hothead and a white hothead exchanged insults and started swinging. Others were quick to take sides and join in. The teacher ran from the room screaming for help. One fight sparked a dozen more. Before long, students were rushing out of the building, running for safety. Some were yelling, "Fire! Fire!" though no flames had been seen. The police called for backups and fire trucks. Firecrackers were popping all over the first and second floors. The smoke grew thicker and thicker as the chaos9 spread. Near the entryway to the gymnasium, some black kids were ransacking10 the trophy11 cases when they were seen by a gang of whites. Another fight broke out, one that spilled into a parking lot next to the gym. The principal stayed in his office and barked nonstop into the PA system. His warnings were ignored and only added to the confusion. At 8:30, he announced that school had been canceled for that day and the next. The police, with reinforcements, eventually settled things down and evacuated12 Slone High School. There were no fires, only smoke and the acrid13 smell of cheap explosives. There was some broken glass, clogged14 toilets, upended lockers, and stolen backpacks, and a soft drink machine was vandalized. Three students--two whites and one black--were taken to the hospital and treated for cuts. There were a lot of cuts and bruises15 that went unreported. Typical of such a melee16, with so many taking part, it was not possible to determine who was causing trouble and who was trying to flee, so no arrests were made at the time.
Many of the older boys, black and white, went home to get their guns.
Roberta, Andrea, Cedric, and Marvin were cleared through the security desk at Polunsky's front building and led by a supervisor17 to the Visitors' Room, a process and a walk they had endured many times in the past seven years. And though they had always hated the prison and everything about it, they realized that it would soon be a part of their past. If it meant nothing else, Polunsky was where Donte lived. That would change in a matter of hours.
There are two private rooms used by attorneys in the visiting area. They are slightly wider than the other booths used by visitors, and they are fully18 enclosed so no guard or prison official, or other inmate19 or lawyer, can eavesdrop20. On his final day, a condemned21 man is allowed to see his family and friends in one of the attorney's rooms. The Plexiglas is still there, and all conversations are through black phones on each side of it. No touching22.
The Visitors' Room is a loud and busy place on weekends, but on weekdays there is little traffic. Wednesdays are set aside as "Media Days," and a man "with a date" is typically interviewed by a couple of reporters from the town where the murder took place. Donte had declined all requests for interviews.
When the family entered the visiting area at 8:00 a.m., the only other person there was a female guard named Ruth. They knew her well. She was a thoughtful soul who liked Donte. Ruth welcomed them and said how sorry she was.
Donte was already in the attorney's booth when Roberta and Cedric entered. A guard could be seen through the window of a door behind him. As always, he placed the palm of his left hand flat on the Plexiglas, and Roberta did the same from the other side. Though the touch was never completed, it was a long, warm embrace in their minds. Donte had not touched his mother since the last day of his trial, in October 1999, when a guard allowed them a quick hug as he was being led from the courtroom.
He held the phone with his right hand and said with a smile, "Hi, Momma. Thanks for coming. I love you." Their hands were still together, pressed against the glass. Roberta said, "And I love you right back, Donte. How are you today?"
"The same. I've already had my shower and a shave. Everybody's real nice to me. Got fresh clothes on, a new pair of boxers23. This is a lovely place. They get real nice around here right before they kill you."
"You look great, Donte."
"And so do you, Momma. You're as beautiful as always."
During one of her first visits, Roberta had wept and had been unable to stop herself. Afterward24, Donte wrote to her and explained how upsetting it was to see her so distraught. In the solitude25 of his cell, he wept for hours, but he couldn't bear to watch his mother do the same. He wanted her to visit him whenever possible, but the tears did more harm than good. There had been no more tears, not from Roberta, Andrea, Cedric, Marvin, or any other relative or friend. Roberta made this very clear with each visit. If you can't control yourself, get out of the room.
"I talked to Robbie this morning," she said. "He has one or two more plans for the final appeals, plus the governor has not ruled on your request for a reprieve26. So there's still hope, Donte."
"There's no hope, Momma, so don't kid yourself."
"We can't give up, Donte."
"Why not? There's nothing we can do. When Texas wants to kill somebody, they're gonna do it. Killed one last week. Got another planned later this month. It's an assembly line around here, can't nobody stop it. You might get lucky and get a stay every now and then, happened to me two years ago, but sooner or later your time is up. They don't care about guilt27 or innocence28, Momma, all they care about is showing the world how tough they are. Texas don't fool around. Don't mess with Texas. Ever heard that?"
Softly she said, "I don't want you to be angry, Donte."
"I'm sorry, Momma, I'm gonna die angry. I can't help it. Some of these guys go peacefully, singing hymns29, quoting scripture30, begging for forgiveness. Dude last week said, 'Father, unto you I commend my spirit.' Some don't say a word, just close their eyes and wait for the poison. A few go out kicking. Todd Willingham died three years ago, always claimed to be innocent. They said he started a house fire that burned up his three little girls. Yet he was in the house and got burned too. He was a fighter. He cussed 'em in his final statement."
"Don't do that, Donte."
"I don't know what I'll do, Momma. Maybe nothing. Maybe I'll just lie there with my eyes closed and start counting, and when I get to a hundred, I'll just float away. But, Momma, you're not gonna be there."
"We've had this conversation, Donte."
"Well, now we're having it again. I don't want you to witness this."
"I don't want to either, believe me. But I'll be there."
"I'm gonna talk to Robbie."
"I've already talked to him, Donte. He knows how I feel."
Donte slowly withdrew his left hand from the glass, and Roberta did the same. She placed the phone on the counter and removed a sheet of paper from her pocket. No purses were allowed past the front desk. She unfolded the paper, picked up the phone, and said, "Donte, this is a list of the folks who've called or stopped by to ask about you. I promised them I would pass along their thoughts."
He nodded and tried to smile. Roberta went through the names--neighbors, old friends from down the street, classmates, beloved church members, and a few distant relatives. Donte listened without a word, but seemed to drift away. Roberta went on and on, and with each name she added a brief commentary about the person or an anecdote31.
Andrea was next. The touching ritual was followed. She described the burning of the Baptist church, the tension in Slone, the fears that things would get worse. Donte seemed to like that--the thought of his people fighting back.
The family had learned years earlier that it was important to arrive at the Visitors' Room with a pocketful of coins. Vending32 machines lined the walls, and the guards delivered the food and drinks to the inmates33 during the visits. Donte had lost serious weight in prison, but he craved34 a certain cinnamon bun coated with thick frosting. While Roberta and Andrea handled the first round of the visit, Marvin bought two of the buns, with a soft drink, and Ruth took them to Donte. The junk food helped his mood.
Cedric was reading a newspaper, not far from the attorney's room, when the warden35 popped in for a friendly hello. He wanted to make sure all was well, everything in his prison running smooth.
"Anything I can do to help?" he asked as if he were running for office. He was trying hard to appear compassionate36.
Cedric stood up, thought for a second, and then got angry. "Are you kidding me? You're about to put my brother to death for something he didn't do, and you pop in here with some happy horseshit about wanting to help."
"We're just doing our jobs, sir." Ruth was walking over.
"No, you're not, unless your job allows you to kill innocent people. You wanna help, stop the damned execution."
Marvin stepped between them and said, "Let's be cool here." The warden backed away and said something to Ruth. They had a serious conversation as the warden walked to the door. He soon left.
The Texas Court of Criminal Appeals (TCCA) has sole jurisdiction37 over capital murder cases and is the court of last resort in Texas before an inmate hits the federal circuit. It has nine members, all elected, all required to run statewide. In 2007, it still clung to the archaic38 rule that all pleadings, petitions, appeals, documents, and such had to be filed as hard copies. Nothing online. Black ink on white paper, and tons of it. Each filing had to include twelve copies, one for each justice, and one for the clerk, one for the secretary, and one for the official file.
It was a bizarre and cumbersome39 procedure. The federal court for the Western District of Texas, housed a few blocks from the TCCA, adopted electronic filing in the mid-1990s. By the turn of the century, paper filings were rapidly becoming obsolete40 as technology marched on. In law, both in courts and in offices, the electronic file became far more popular than the paper file.
At 9:00 a.m. on Thursday, the Flak firm and the Defender41 Group lawyers were notified that the insanity42 claim was denied by the TCCA. The court did not believe Donte was mentally ill. This was expected. Minutes after this denial was received, the identical petition was filed electronically in the federal court for the Eastern District of Texas in Tyler.
At 9:30 a.m., a Defender Group lawyer named Cicely Avis walked into the clerk's office at the TCCA with the latest filing by the lawyers for Donte Drumm. It was a claim of actual innocence based on the secretly recorded statements by Joey Gamble. Cicely routinely showed up with similar filings, and she and the clerk knew each other well.
"What else is coming?" the clerk asked as he processed the petition.
"I'm sure there will be something," Cicely said.
"Usually is."
The clerk finished his paperwork, handed a marked copy back to Cicely, and wished her a good day. Because of the obvious urgency of the matter, the clerk hand delivered a copy of the petition to the offices of all nine justices. Three happened to be in Austin. The other six were scattered43 around the state. The chief justice was a man by the name of Milton Prudlowe, a longtime member of the court who lived in Lubbock most of the year but kept a small apartment in Austin.
Prudlowe and his law clerk read the petition and paid particular attention to the eight-page transcript44 of the recording45 of Joey Gamble spilling his guts46 in a Houston strip club the night before. While it was entertaining, it was far from sworn testimony47, and there was little doubt he would deny making the statements if confronted with them. No consent had been given to the recording. Everything about it was tinged48 with sleaze. The young man was obviously drinking heavily. And, if his statements could be delivered, and if he had indeed lied at trial, what would it prove? Almost nothing, in Prudlowe's opinion. Donte Drumm had confessed, plain and simple. The Drumm case had never bothered Milton Prudlowe.
Seven years earlier, he and his colleagues had first considered the direct appeal of Donte Drumm. They remembered it well, not because of the confession49, but because of the absence of a dead body. His conviction was affirmed, though, and in a unanimous opinion. Texas law had long been settled on the issue of a murder trial without clear evidence of murder. Some of the usual elements were just not necessary.
Prudlowe and his law clerk agreed that this latest claim had no merit. The clerk then polled the clerks of the other justices, and within an hour a preliminary denial was being circulated.
Boyette was in the backseat, where he'd been for almost two hours. He'd taken a pill, and evidently it was working splendidly. He didn't move, didn't make a sound, but did appear to be breathing the last time Keith checked.
To stay awake, and to get his blood boiling, Keith had called Dana twice. They had words, neither retreated, neither apologized for saying too much. After each conversation, Keith found himself wide-awake, fuming50. He called Matthew Burns, who was at the office in downtown Topeka and anxious to help. There was little he could do.
When the Subaru drifted onto the right shoulder of a two-lane road, somewhere close to Sherman, Texas, Keith was suddenly awakened51. And mad. He stopped at the nearest convenience store and bought a tall cup of strong coffee. He stirred in three packs of sugar and walked around the store five times. Back in the car, Boyette had not moved. Keith gulped52 the hot coffee and sped away. His cell phone rang, and he snatched it from the passenger's seat.
It was Robbie Flak. "Where are you?" he asked.
"I don't know. Highway 82, headed west, outside of Sherman."
"What's taking so long?"
"I'm doing the best I can."
"What are the chances of me talking to Boyette, now, by phone?"
"Slim. Right now he's passed out in the backseat, still very sick. And he said he was not talking until he got there."
"I can't do anything, Keith, until I talk to this guy, okay? I have to know how much he is willing to say. Is he going to admit that he killed Nicole Yarber? Can you answer this?"
"Well, Robbie, it's like this. We left Topeka in the middle of the night. We're driving like crazy to get to your office, and the sole purpose, according to Boyette when we left Topeka, was for him to come clean, admit to the rape53 and murder, and try to save Donte Drumm. That's what he said. But with this guy nothing is predictable. He may be in a coma54 right now, for all I know."
"Should you check his pulse?"
"No. He doesn't like to be touched."
"Just hurry, damn it."
"Watch your language, please. I'm a minister and I don't appreciate that language."
"Sorry. Please hurry."
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darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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boycotted
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| 抵制，拒绝参加( boycott的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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lockers
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| n.寄物柜( locker的名词复数 ) | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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brawl
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| n.大声争吵，喧嚷；v.吵架，对骂 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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ransacking
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的现在分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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evacuated
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| 撤退者的 | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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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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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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eavesdrop
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| v.偷听，倾听 | |
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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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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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boxers
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| n.拳击短裤；（尤指职业）拳击手( boxer的名词复数 )；拳师狗 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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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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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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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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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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vending
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| v.出售（尤指土地等财产）( vend的现在分词 )；（尤指在公共场所）贩卖；发表（意见，言论）；声明 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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transcript
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| n.抄本，誊本，副本，肄业证书 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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51
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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52
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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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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coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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