They came for Donte at noon. Not a minute before, not a minute after. Everything precise and well rehearsed. There was a knock on the metal door behind him. Three loud raps. He was talking to Cedric, but when he knew it was time, he asked for his mother. Roberta was standing1 behind Cedric, with Andrea and Marvin at her sides, all four squeezed into the small room, all four crying now with no effort to hold back the tears. They had watched the clock for four hours, and there was nothing left to say. Cedric exchanged places with Roberta, who took the phone and placed her palm on the Plexiglas. Donte did the same from the other side. His three siblings2 embraced behind his mother, all four huddled3 together, touching4, with Andrea in the middle and on the verge5 of collapse6.
"I love you, Momma," Donte said. "And I'm so sorry this is happening."
"I love you too, baby, and you don't have to say you're sorry. You did nothing wrong."
Donte wiped his cheeks with a sleeve. "I always wished I could've gotten outta here before Daddy died. I wanted him to see me as a free man. I wanted him to know that I did nothing wrong."
"He knew that, Donte. Your daddy never doubted you. When he died, he knew you were innocent." She wiped her face with a tissue. "I've never doubted you either, baby."
"I know. I guess I'll be seeing Daddy pretty soon."
Roberta nodded, but could not respond. The door behind him opened, and a large male guard appeared. Donte hung up the phone, stood, and placed both palms flat on the Plexiglas. His family did the same. One final embrace, and then he was gone.
With his hands cuffed7 again, Donte was led from the visitors' wing, through a series of clicking metal doors, out of the building, over a lawn crisscrossed with sidewalks, and into a wing where he was taken back to his cell for the last time. Everything, now, was for the last time, and as Donte sat on his bunk8 and stared at his box of assets, he almost convinced himself that it would be a relief to get away.
His family was given a few minutes to collect themselves. As Ruth was leading them out of the room, she gave them a hug. She said she was sorry, and they thanked her for her kindness. Just as they were walking through a metal door, she said, "You folks headed to Huntsville?"
Yes, of course, they were.
"Might want to get on over there. Rumor9 is there might be trouble on the roads."
They nodded but were not sure how to respond. They walked through security at the front building, got their driver's licenses11 and purses, and walked out of Polunsky for the last time.
The "trouble on the roads" mentioned by Ruth was a clandestine12 Facebook conspiracy13 inspired by two black students at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville. The code name was Detour14, and the plan was so simple and so brilliant that it attracted dozens of volunteers.
In 2000, soon after Donte arrived on death row, the inmates15 were moved from Huntsville to Polunsky. The inmates were moved; the death chamber16 was not. For seven years and two hundred executions, it had been necessary to haul the condemned17 men from Polunsky to Huntsville. Elaborate movements were planned and used, but after a few dozen transfers, with no ambushes18, no heroic efforts to rescue the condemned, without a hitch19 of any kind, the authorities realized that no one was watching. No one really cared. The elaborate plans were discarded, and the same route was used with every transfer. They left the prison at 1:00 p.m., turned left on 350, turned left again on 190, a four-lane road with plenty of traffic, and an hour later the trip was over.
Inmates were placed in the rear of an unmarked passenger van, surrounded by enough muscle and weaponry to protect the president, and escorted, for good measure, by an identical van filled with another squad20 of bored guards hoping for a little excitement.
The last execution had been on September 25, when Michael Richard was injected. Ten students, all members of Operation Detour, used five vehicles and plenty of cell phones to track the movements of the two white vans from Polunsky to Huntsville. The students were not detected. No one suspected them. No one was looking for them. By early November, their plan was complete, and their operatives were itching21 for trouble.
At 12:50 p.m., a guard, a black one sympathetic to Donte, tipped off a member of Detour. The two white vans were being loaded; the transfer had begun. At 1:00 p.m., the vans left the prison for a service road near the maximum security unit. They turned onto Route 350 and headed for Livingston. There was little traffic. Two miles from the prison, the traffic increased, became heavy, then stopped completely. Ahead of the vans, a car had stalled in the right lane. Oddly, one had stalled in the left lane, and another on the shoulder. The three cars blocked any passage. Their drivers were out checking under their hoods23. Then, behind the three cars, there were three more, all stalled in a neat line across the road. The vans did not move, and seemed to be in no hurry. Behind them, in the right lane, another car came to a stop. Its driver, a young black woman, popped the hood22, got out, feigned24 exasperation25 because her Nissan had quit on her. A Volkswagen Beetle26 pulled beside her in the left lane, suffered a mechanical failure on cue, and the hood went up. More vehicles materialized from nowhere and bunched together behind the first wave, thoroughly27 blocking the road, its shoulders, and all exits and entrances to it. Within five minutes, a traffic jam of at least twenty vehicles had occurred. The white vans were surrounded by disabled cars and SUVs, all with their hoods up, the drivers loitering about, talking, laughing, chatting on cell phones. Several of the male students went from car to car, disabling each by pulling the wires to the distributor caps.
The state and local police arrived in minutes, dozens of marked cars with sirens screaming. They were followed by a brigade of tow trucks, all of which had been rounded up in Livingston on short notice. Operation Detour had briefed its volunteers well. Each driver was adamant28 that his or her car had quit, and under Texas law this was not a crime. Citations29 would certainly be written for blocking traffic, but Detour had found a lawyer who would fight those in court. Officers did not have the right to take keys and check the engines for themselves. And if they tried, the engines were dead. The students had been told to resist searches of their vehicles; to peacefully resist any attempts at being arrested; to threaten legal action in the face of an arrest; and, if arrested, consider it an honor, a badge of courage in the fight against injustice30. Detour had other lawyers who would handle their cases. The students relished31 the thought of being locked up, an act of defiance32 in their minds. Something they could talk about for years.
As the police cars and wreckers parked haphazardly33 near the traffic jam, and as the first troopers were approaching the students, the second phase of the plan fell beautifully into place. Another wave of students in cars turned onto Route 350 from Livingston and were soon approaching the melee34. They parked three abreast35 and three deep behind the tow trucks. All hoods popped open, more roadside breakdowns36. Since the tow truck drivers were expected to react with anger and maybe violence to being penned in, the second wave of drivers remained in their cars with the windows up and doors locked. Most cars were full of students, and many were healthy young men who could take care of themselves. They wouldn't mind a fight. They were angry to begin with.
A tow truck driver approached the first car parked behind him, realized it was full of blacks, and began swearing and making threats. A state trooper yelled at him and told him to shut up. The trooper was Sergeant37 Inman, and he took charge of a truly unique situation, one that included, so far, eight police cars, seven tow trucks, at least thirty "disabled" vehicles, and two prison vans, one of which was transporting a man to his death. To make matters worse, the locals who routinely used Route 350 were backing up, unaware38 they had chosen the wrong time to get from one place to another. The road was hopelessly clogged39.
Inman was a cool professional, and he knew something the students didn't. As he walked through the jam, headed for the vans, he nodded politely at the students, smiled, asked if they were having a nice day. At the vans, security details for Donte unloaded, thick men in blue SWAT-style uniforms with automatic weapons. Most of the students made their way close to the vans. One seemed to lead the pack. Inman approached him, extended a hand, and politely said, "I'm Sergeant Inman. May I ask your name?"
"Quincy Mooney." He reluctantly shook Inman's hand.
"Mr. Mooney, I'm sorry about your car breaking down."
"Don't mention it."
Inman looked around, smiled at the other students. "All these folks friends of yours?"
"I've never seen 'em before."
Inman smiled. "Look, Mr. Mooney, we need to get these cars off the road. Traffic is backing up. Everything is blocked."
"Guess we need to call some mechanics."
"No, we're just gonna tow 'em, Quincy. Unless, of course, ya'll would like to save a hundred bucks40 and drive away. If you chose to do so, then we wouldn't be forced to write a bunch of tickets. That's another hundred bucks a car."
"So, it's against the law for your car to break down?"
"No, sir, it's not. But you and I both know why you're here. The judge will know too."
"I know why I'm here. Why are you here?"
"I'm doing my job, Quincy. Traffic control and keeping the peace." Inman nodded his head and said, "Come with me." Quincy followed him to the first van. Its double side doors were open. Inman looked inside, then invited Quincy to do the same. The van was empty. They walked to the second van. Both looked inside. It, too, was empty. The security guards were snickering. The whirling thump-thump of a helicopter could be heard.
"Where's Donte Drumm?" Quincy asked, stunned41.
"He ain't here, is he?" Inman asked with a smirk42. Quincy stared at the darkened windows of the empty van. They walked back to the front of the first one. Inman looked to the sky, in the direction of Polunsky. Everyone waited and waited, and seconds later a helicopter roared directly over them.
Inman pointed43 at it and said, "There goes Donte."
Quincy's jaw44 dropped, his shoulders slumped45. Word spread through the students, and there were looks of shock and disbelief. A perfect operation had been compromised. Donte Drumm would arrive at the death chamber ahead of schedule.
"Too much Internet chatter," Inman said. "Here's the deal, Quincy. You guys have fifteen minutes to clear this road and get outta here. In fifteen minutes, we start writing tickets and towing. And, just so you know, there won't be any arrests, so don't provoke us. Got it?"
Quincy walked away, thoroughly defeated.
Boyette, after a sandwich and three cups of coffee, was feeling better. He was at the table, lights on, shades opened. Robbie and Keith were staring at him, and no one was smiling. Evidently, the issue of money had been put aside by Boyette, at least for the moment.
"So if I tell you what happened with Nicole, what happens to me?" he asked, looking at Robbie.
"Nothing, at least nothing for a long time. The cops and prosecutors46 have their man. If he's killed tonight, then they'll never consider pursuing someone else. If Donte gets a stay, I'm not sure what they'll do, but it'll be a long time before they admit that anybody but Donte killed Nicole. They have far too much invested in their wrongful conviction."
"So I won't be arrested today or tomorrow or the next day?"
"I can't speak for these clowns, Mr. Boyette. I don't know what they'll do. As a general rule, the cops here are stupid, and Detective Kerber is a moron47. But to arrest you is to admit they were wrong about Donte, and that's not going to happen. If you walked into the police station right now, swore on a Bible, and gave them every detail of the abduction, rape48, and murder, they would dismiss you outright49 as a lunatic. They'll have no desire to believe you, Mr. Boyette. Your admission destroys them."
The tic, the pause. Robbie leaned forward and glared at him. "Time's up, Mr. Boyette. I want to hear it. Tell me the truth. Did you kill the girl?"
"Yes, just like I've told Keith here. I grabbed her, raped50 her for two days, then choked her and hid the body."
"Where is the body? Finding the body will stop the execution, I guarantee it. Where is it?"
"In the hills south of Joplin, Missouri. Deep in the hills."
"Joplin, Missouri, is at least five hours from here."
"More than that. Nicole and I drove there."
"So she was alive when you left Texas."
The tic, the pause, finally, "Yes. I killed her in Missouri. Raped her from here to there."
"Is it possible to call the authorities in Joplin and tell them how to find the body?"
Boyette managed to laugh at such foolishness. "You think I'm stupid? Why would I bury her where someone could find her? I'm not even sure I can find her after all these years."
Robbie anticipated this and didn't miss a beat. "Then we need to take your statement, by video, and quickly."
"Okay. I'm ready."
They walked to the conference room, where Carlos was waiting with a camera and a court reporter. Boyette was directed to a chair facing the camera. The court reporter sat to his right, Robbie to his left. Carlos worked the camera. The other members of the firm suddenly materialized--Robbie wanted them as witnesses--and they stood with Keith ten feet away. Boyette looked at them and was suddenly nervous. He felt like a man facing his own, well-attended execution. The court reporter asked him to raise his right hand and swear to tell the truth. He did, and then Robbie began the questioning. Name, place of birth, address, employment, current status as a parolee, and criminal record. He asked if Boyette was giving his statement voluntarily. Nothing had been promised. Was he living in Slone in December 1998? Why? How long?
Robbie's questions were gentle but efficient. Boyette looked squarely at the camera, no flinching51 or blinking, and seemed to warm to the task. Oddly, the tic went away.
Tell us about Nicole.
Boyette thought for a second and then launched into his narrative52. The football games, the fascination53 with Nicole, the obsession54, the stalking, and finally the abduction outside the mall, not a single witness anywhere. On the floor of his truck, he put a gun to her head and threatened to kill her if she made a sound, then he bound her wrists and ankles with duct tape. He taped her mouth. He drove somewhere into the country, he was not sure where, and after he raped her the first time, he almost dumped her in a ditch, injured but not dead, but wanted to rape her again. They left Slone. The cell phone in her handbag kept ringing and ringing so he finally stopped at a bridge over the Red River. He took her cash, credit card, and driver's license10, then threw the handbag off the bridge. They drifted through southeastern Oklahoma. Just before sunrise, near Fort Smith, he saw a cheap motel he'd stayed in before, alone. He paid cash for a room and, with a gun to her head, got her inside without being seen. He taped her wrists, ankles, and mouth again and told her to go to sleep. He slept a few hours, not sure if she did. They spent a long day at the motel. He convinced her that if she would cooperate, give him what he wanted, then he would release her. But he already knew the truth. After dark, they moved on, headed north. At daybreak on Sunday, they were south of Joplin, in a heavily wooded, remote area. She begged him, but he killed her anyway. It wasn't easy, she fought hard, scratched him, drew blood. He stuffed her body in a large toolbox and buried it. No one would ever find her. He drove back to Slone and got drunk.
Robbie was taking notes. The court reporter pressed the keys of her stenotype machine. No one else moved. No one seemed to breathe.
Boyette went silent, his story complete. His detached narration55 and his command of details were chilling. Martha Handler would later write: "Watching Boyette's eyes and face as he talked about his crimes left no doubt that we were in the presence of a ruthless killer56. The story that we will never know, and perhaps prefer not to know, is the suffering this poor girl endured throughout the ordeal57."
Robbie, calm but also anxious to finish the testimony58, pressed on: "Approximately what time on Sunday did you kill her?"
"The sun was barely up. I waited until I could see things, see where I was, and find the best place to hide her."
"And this was Sunday, December 6, 1998?"
"If you say so. Yes."
"So sunrise would be around 6:30 a.m.?"
"That sounds about right."
"And you returned to Slone and went where?"
"I went to my room at the Rebel Motor Inn, after I'd bought a case of beer with the cash I took from Nicole."
"You got drunk at the Rebel Motor Inn?"
"Yes."
"How long did you live in Slone after the murder?"
"I don't know, maybe a month and a half. I was arrested here in January, you got the records. After I got outta jail, I took off."
"After you killed her, when did you hear that Donte Drumm had been arrested?"
"Don't know exactly. I saw it on television. I saw you yelling at the cameras."
"What did you think when he was arrested?"
Boyette shook his head and said, "I thought, what a bunch of idiots. That kid had nothing to do with it. They got the wrong guy."
It was a perfect place to end. Robbie said, "That's all." Carlos reached for the camera.
Robbie asked the court reporter, "How long before we have a transcript59?"
"Ten minutes."
"Good. Hurry." Robbie huddled with the rest of his firm at the conference table and everyone talked at once. Boyette was forgotten for a moment, though Fred Pryor kept an eye on him. Boyette asked for water, and Pryor handed him a bottle. Keith stepped outside to call Dana and Matthew Burns and to get some fresh air. But the air wasn't refreshing60; it was heavy with smoke and tension.
There was a loud thud, followed by a shriek61, as Boyette fell out of his chair and hit the floor. He grabbed his head, pulled his knees to his chest, and began shaking as the seizure62 consumed him. Fred Pryor and Aaron Rey knelt over him, uncertain what to do. Robbie and the others crowded around, staring in horror at a fit so violent that the ancient wooden floor seemed to shake. They actually felt sorry for the man. Keith heard the commotion63 and joined the crowd.
"He needs a doctor," Sammie Thomas said.
"He has meds, doesn't he, Keith?" Robbie asked in a hushed tone.
"Yes."
"Have you seen this before?"
Boyette was still thrashing about, groaning64 pitifully. Surely the man was dying. Fred Pryor was patting him softly on the arm.
"Yes," Keith said. "About four hours ago, somewhere in Oklahoma. He vomited65 forever and then passed out."
"Should we take him to the hospital? I mean, look, Keith, could he be dying right now?"
"I don't know, I'm not a doctor. What else do you need from him?"
"We must have his signature on his affidavit66, signed under oath." Robbie stepped back and motioned for Keith to join him. They spoke67 softly. Robbie continued, "And then there's the matter of finding the body. Even with his affidavit, there's no guarantee the court will stop the execution. The governor will not. Either way, we have to find the body, and soon."
Keith said, "Let's put him on the sofa in your office, turn off the lights. I'll give him a pill. Maybe he's not dying."
"Good idea."
It was 1:20 p.m.
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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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siblings
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| n.兄弟，姐妹( sibling的名词复数 ) | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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cuffed
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| v.掌打，拳打( cuff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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licenses
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| n.执照( license的名词复数 )v.批准，许可，颁发执照( license的第三人称单数 ) | |
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clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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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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ambushes
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| n.埋伏( ambush的名词复数 )；伏击；埋伏着的人；设埋伏点v.埋伏( ambush的第三人称单数 )；埋伏着 | |
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hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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citations
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| n.引用( citation的名词复数 )；引证；引文；表扬 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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haphazardly
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| adv.偶然地，随意地，杂乱地 | |
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melee
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| n.混战；混战的人群 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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breakdowns
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| n.分解( breakdown的名词复数 )；衰竭；（车辆或机器的）损坏；统计分析 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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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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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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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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moron
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| n.极蠢之人，低能儿 | |
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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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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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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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51
flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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52
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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53
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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54
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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55
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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56
killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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57
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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58
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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59
transcript
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| n.抄本，誊本，副本，肄业证书 | |
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60
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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61
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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62
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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63
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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64
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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65
vomited
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66
affidavit
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| n.宣誓书 | |
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67
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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