The last meal, the last walk, the last statement. Donte had never understood the significance of these final details. Why the fascination1 with what a man consumed just before he died? It wasn't as though the food gave comfort, or strengthened the body, or postponed2 the inevitable3. The food, along with the organs, would soon be flushed out and incinerated. What good did it do? After feeding a man gruel4 for decades, why pamper5 him with something he might enjoy just before you kill him?
He could vaguely6 recall the early days on death row and his horror of what he was supposed to eat. He'd been raised by a woman who appreciated and enjoyed the kitchen, and though Roberta relied too heavily on grease and flour, she also grew her own vegetables and was careful with processed ingredients. She loved to use herbs, spices, and peppers, and her chickens and meats were highly seasoned. The first meat Donte was served on death row was allegedly a slice of pork, and completely devoid7 of taste. He lost his appetite the first week and never regained8 it.
Now, at the end, he was expected to order a feast and be thankful for this one last favor. As silly as it was, virtually all condemned9 men gave thought to the final meal. They had so little else to think about. Donte had decided10 days earlier that he wanted to be served nothing that even remotely resembled dishes his mother once prepared. So he ordered a pepperoni pizza and a glass of root beer. It arrived at 4:00 p.m., rolled into the holding cell on a small tray by two guards. Donte said nothing as they left. He'd been napping off and on throughout the afternoon, waiting on his pizza, waiting on his lawyer. Waiting on a miracle, though by 4:00 p.m. he'd given up.
In the hallway, just beyond the bars, his audience watched without a word. A guard, a prison official, and the chaplain who'd tried twice to talk to him. Twice Donte had rejected the offers of spiritual counseling. He wasn't sure why they watched him so closely, but presumed it was to prevent a suicide. How he might go about killing12 himself wasn't clear, not in this holding cell. If Donte could have committed suicide, he would have done so months earlier. And now he wished he had. He would already be gone, and his mother could not watch him die.
For a palate neutralized14 by tasteless white bread, bland15 applesauce, and an endless stream of "mystery meats," the pizza was surprisingly delicious. He ate it slowly.
Ben Jeter stepped to the bars and asked, "How's the pizza, Donte?"
Donte did not look at the warden16. "It's fine," he said softly.
"Need anything?"
He shook his head no. I need a lot of things, pal13, not a damned one of which you can provide. And if you could, you wouldn't. Just leave me alone.
"I think your lawyer's on the way."
Donte nodded and picked up another slice.
At 4:21, the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals in New Orleans denied relief under Donte's claim of mental illness. The Flak Law Firm immediately filed in the U.S. Supreme17 Court a petition for a writ18 of certiorari, or cert, as it's known; a request that the Court hear the appeal and consider the merits of the petition. If cert was granted, the execution would be stopped, and time would pass while the dust settled and briefs were filed. If cert was denied, the claim would be dead, and so would the claimant, in all likelihood. There was no other place to appeal.
At the Supreme Court Building in Washington, the "death clerk" received the cert petition electronically and distributed it to the offices of the nine justices.
There was no word on the Boyette petition pending19 before the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals.
When the King Air landed in Huntsville, Robbie called the office and was informed of the adverse20 ruling in the Fifth Circuit. Joey Gamble had not yet found his way to the law office of Agnes Tanner in Houston. The governor had denied a reprieve21, in spectacular fashion. There were currently no new fires in Slone, but the National Guard was on the way. A depressing phone call, but then Robbie had expected little else.
He, Aaron, Martha, and Keith jumped into a minivan driven by an investigator22 Robbie had used before, and they raced off. The prison was fifteen minutes away. Keith called Dana and tried to explain what was happening in his life, but the explanation got complicated, and others were listening. She was beyond bewildered and certain that he was doing something stupid. He promised to call back in a few moments. Aaron called the office and talked to Fred Pryor. Boyette was up and moving about, but slowly. He was complaining because he had not talked to any reporters. He expected to tell his side of the story to everyone, and it seemed as if no one wanted to hear him. Robbie was frantically24 trying to reach Joey Gamble, with no luck. Martha Handler took her usual pages of notes.
At 4:30, Chief Justice Milton Prudlowe convened25 the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, by teleconference, to consider the Boyette petition in the case of Donte Drumm. The court had not been impressed with Boyette. The general feeling was that he was a publicity26 seeker with serious credibility issues. After a brief discussion, he called the roll. The vote was unanimous; not a single judge voted to grant relief to Donte Drumm. The clerk of the court e-mailed the decision to the attorney general's office, the lawyers fighting Donte's appeals; to Wayne Wallcott, the governor's lawyer; and to the law office of Robbie Flak.
The van was almost at the prison when Robbie got the call from Carlos. Though he'd been reminding himself throughout the afternoon that relief was unlikely, he still took it hard. "Sons of bitches!" he snapped. "Didn't believe Boyette. Denied, denied, denied, all nine of them. Sons of bitches."
"What happens next?" Keith asked.
"We run to the U.S. Supreme Court. Let 'em see Boyette. Pray for a miracle. We're running out of options."
"Did they give a reason?" Martha asked.
"Nope, they don't have to. The problem is that we want desperately27 to believe Boyette, and they, the chosen nine, have no interest in believing him. Believing Boyette would upset the system. Excuse me. I gotta call Agnes Tanner. Gamble's probably in a strip club getting plastered while a lap dancer works him over."
There were no strippers, no stops or detours28, just a couple of wrong turns. Joey walked into the law office of Agnes Tanner at 4:40, and she was waiting at the door. Ms. Tanner was a hard-nosed divorce lawyer who, when bored, occasionally volunteered for a capital murder defense29. She knew Robbie well, though they had not spoken in over a year.
She was holding the affidavit30 and, after a tense "Nice to meet you," led Joey to a small meeting room. She wanted to ask him where he had been, why it took so long, whether he was drunk, if he realized they were out of time, and why he lied nine years ago and had sat on his fat ass11 ever since. She wanted to grill31 him for an hour, but there was no time; plus, he was moody32 and unpredictable, according to Robbie.
"You can read this, or I'll tell you what it says," she said, waving the affidavit.
Joey sat in a chair, buried his face in his hands, and said, "Just tell me."
"It gives your name, address, all that crap. It says you testified at the trial of Donte Drumm on such and such date in October 1999; that you gave crucial testimony33 on behalf of the prosecution34, and in your testimony you told the jury that on the night of Nicole's disappearance35, at about the same time, you saw a green Ford36 van driving suspiciously through the parking lot where her car was parked, and that the driver appeared to be a black male, and that the van was very similar to the one owned by Donte Drumm. There are a lot more details, but we don't have time for details. Are you with me, Joey?"
"Yes." His eyes were covered, and he appeared to be crying.
"You now recant that testimony and swear that it was not true. You're saying that you lied at trial. Got that, Joey?"
He nodded his head in the affirmative.
"And it goes on to say that you made the anonymous37 phone call to Detective Drew Kerber in which you informed him that Donte Drumm was the killer38. Again, lots of details, but I'll spare you. I think you understand all this, Joey, don't you?"
He uncovered his face, wiped tears, and said, "I've lived with this for a long time."
"Then fix it, Joey." She slapped the affidavit on the table and thrust a pen at him. "Page five, bottom right. Quickly."
He signed the affidavit, and after it was notarized, it was scanned and e-mailed to the Defender39 Group office in Austin. Agnes Tanner waited for a confirmation40, but it bounced back. She called a lawyer at the Defender Group--it had not been received. There had been some problems with their Internet server. Agnes sent it again, and again it was not received. She barked at a clerk who began faxing the five pages.
Joey, suddenly neglected, left the office without being noticed. He at least expected someone to say thanks.
The prison in Huntsville is called the Walls Unit. It's the oldest prison in Texas, built the old way with tall, thick brick walls, thus the name. Its storied history includes the incarcerations of once-famous outlaws41 and gunslingers. Its death chamber42 has been used to execute more men and women than any other state. The Walls Unit is proud of its history. A block of the oldest cells has been preserved and presents a step back in time. Tours can be arranged.
Robbie had been there twice before, always hurried and burdened and disinterested43 in the history of the Walls Unit. When he and Keith walked in the front door, they were met by Ben Jeter, who managed a smile. "Hello, Mr. Flak," he said.
"Hello, Warden," Robbie said grimly, grabbing his wallet. "This is Donte's spiritual adviser44, the Reverend Keith Schroeder." The warden shook hands cautiously. "Wasn't aware that Drumm had a spiritual adviser."
"Well, he does now."
"Okay. Give me some ID."
They handed Jeter their driver's licenses45, and he gave them to a guard behind a counter. "Follow me," he said.
Jeter had been the warden at Walls Unit for eleven years, and every execution belonged to him. It was a duty he assumed but didn't ask for; it was just part of the job. He was noted46 for his detachment and professionalism. All movements were precise, all details followed without variation. Texas was so efficient in its death work that other states sent over prison officials for consultation47. Ben Jeter could show them precisely48 how it should be done.
He had asked 298 men and 3 women if they had any last words. Fifteen minutes later, he declared them all dead.
"What about the appeals?" he asked, one step ahead of Robbie, two ahead of Keith, who was still in a daze49. They were zipping down a hallway, its walls lined with fading black and whites of former wardens50 and dead governors.
"Doesn't look good," Robbie said. "Couple of balls in the air, but nothing much."
"So you think we'll go at six?"
"I don't know," Robbie said, unwilling51 to offer much.
"Go at six," Keith said to himself. As if they were catching52 a flight or waiting for a kickoff.
They stopped at a door and Jeter waved a card. It opened and they stepped outside, walked twenty feet, then entered the death house. Keith's heart was pounding, and he was so dizzy he needed to sit down. Inside, he saw bars, rows of bars in a dimly lit block of cells. There were guards in the way, two men in bad suits, the warden, all looking at the holding cell.
"Donte, your lawyer is here," Jeter announced, as if he were delivering a gift. Donte rose to his feet and smiled. Metal clanged, the door slid open, and Donte took a step. Robbie grabbed him, clutched him, whispered something in his ear. Donte squeezed his lawyer, the first real human contact in almost a decade. Both were crying when they separated.
Next to the holding cell was the visiting cell, a space identical except for a wall of glass behind the bars that allowed privacy as the lawyer met with his client for the last time. The rules allowed one hour of visitation. Most condemned men saved a few minutes for the last prayer with the prison chaplain. The rules stated that the hour of visitation ran from 4:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m., leaving the inmate53 all alone at the end. Warden Jeter, though a stickler54 for the rules, knew when to bend them. He also knew that Donte Drumm had been a model prisoner, unlike many, and that meant a lot in his business.
Jeter tapped his watch and said, "It's 4:45, Mr. Flak, you have sixty minutes."
"Thank you."
Donte entered the visiting cell and sat on the edge of the bed. Robbie followed him and sat on a stool. A guard closed the glass door, then rolled the bars in place.
They were alone, knees touching55; Robbie put a hand on Donte's shoulder and worked to keep his composure. He had agonized56 over whether he should bring up Boyette. On the one hand, Donte had probably accepted the inevitable and, with an hour to go, was ready for whatever stood beyond. He certainly seemed to be at peace. Why upset him with a wild new story? On the other hand, Donte might appreciate knowing that the truth would finally be known. His name would be cleared, even though posthumously57. The truth, though, was far from certain, and Robbie decided not to mention Boyette.
"Thanks for coming, Robbie," Donte said in a whisper.
"I promised I'd be here until the end. I'm sorry I couldn't stop this, Donte, I'm truly sorry."
"Come on, Robbie, you did the best you could. You're still fighting, aren't you?"
"Oh yes. We have some last-minute appeals still out there, so there's a chance."
"How much of a chance, Robbie?"
"A chance. Joey Gamble has admitted he lied at trial. He got drunk last night in a strip club and admitted everything. We secretly recorded it, and filed a petition this morning. The court turned us down. Then around 3:30 this afternoon, Joey contacted us and said he wants to admit everything."
Donte's only reaction was to slowly shake his head in disbelief.
"We're trying to file another petition, one that includes his sworn affidavit, and it gives us a chance."
They were hunched58 over, their heads almost touching, speaking in whispers. There was so much to say, and so little. Robbie was bitter at the system, angry to the point of violence, burdened by his lack of success in defending Donte, but most of all he was, at that moment, just sad.
For Donte, the brief stay in the holding cell was confusing. Ahead, not thirty feet away, was a door that led to death, a door he preferred not to open. Behind him was death row and the maddening existence of isolation59 in a cell he preferred to never see again. He thought he was ready for the door, but he was not. Nor did he wish to ever see Polunsky again.
"Don't beat yourself up, Robbie. I'll be all right."
Keith, with permission, stepped outside and tried to breathe. It had snowed Monday morning in Topeka; now it felt like eighty degrees in Texas. He leaned against a fence and stared at the razor wire above him.
He called Dana and told her where he was, what he was doing, what he was thinking. She seemed as astonished as he was.
With the Drumm matter out of the way, Chief Justice Milton Prudlowe left his office and hurried to the Rolling Creek60 Country Club in west-central Austin. He had a 5:00 p.m. tennis match with a major contributor to his last, and next, campaigns. In traffic, his cell phone rang. The clerk of the court informed him that they had received a call from the Defender Group, and that another petition was in the works.
"What time do you have?" Prudlowe demanded.
"Four forty-nine."
"I get so tired of this crap," Prudlowe said. "We close at five, and everybody knows it."
"Yes, sir," the clerk said. The clerk knew quite well that Justice Prudlowe despised the last-minute Hail Marys thrown by desperate defense lawyers. The cases drag on for years with little activity, then with hours to go, the lawyers suddenly shift into high gear.
"Any idea what they're filing?" Prudlowe asked.
"I think it's the same thing they filed this morning--an eyewitness61 is recanting. They're having trouble with their computers."
"Gee62, that's original. We close at five, and at five I want the door locked, and not a minute after. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
At 4:45, Cicely Avis and two paralegals left the Defender Group offices with the petition and Gamble's affidavit. All twelve copies. As they sped through traffic, Cicely called the clerk's office with the heads-up that they were on the way. The clerk informed her that the office would close at five, the usual time, five days a week.
"But we have a petition that includes a sworn affidavit from the only eyewitness at trial," she insisted.
"I think we've already seen that one," the clerk said.
"You have not! This has a sworn statement."
"I just talked to the chief justice. We close at five."
"But we'll be a few minutes late!"
"We close at five."
Travis Boyette was sitting by a window in the conference room, cane63 across his knees, watching the chaos64 of frantic23 people yelling at each other. Fred Pryor was close by, also watching.
Unable to make sense of what was happening, Boyette stood and approached the table. "Can anybody tell me what's going on?" he asked.
"Yep, we're losing," Carlos snapped at him.
"What about my statement? Is anybody listening to me?"
"The answer is no. The court was not impressed."
"They think I'm lying?"
"Yes, Travis, they think you're lying. I'm sorry. We believe you, but we don't have a vote."
"I want to talk to the reporters."
"I think they're busy chasing fires."
Sammie Thomas looked at her laptop, scribbled65 down something, and handed it to Boyette. "This is the cell phone number of one of our local TV idiots." She pointed66 to a table near the television. "That is a telephone. Feel free to do whatever you want, Mr. Boyette." Travis shuffled67 over to the phone, punched the numbers, and waited. He was being watched by Sammie, Carlos, Bonnie, and Fred Pryor.
He held the receiver and stared at the floor. Then he flinched68, and said, "Uh, yes, is this Garrett? Okay, look, my name is Travis Boyette, and I'm down at the law office of Robbie Flak. I was involved in the murder of Nicole Yarber, and I'd like to go on the air and make a confession69." Pause. The tic. "I want to confess to the murder of the girl. Donte Drumm had nothing to do with it." Pause. The tic. "Yes, I want to say that on the air, and I have a lot more to say as well." The others could almost hear the frantic thrill in Garrett's voice. What a story!
Boyette said, "Okay," and hung up. He looked around the conference room and said, "They'll be here in ten minutes."
Sammie said, "Fred, why don't you take him out front, somewhere near the landing, and find a good spot."
Boyette said, "I can leave if I want to, right? I don't have to stay here?"
"You're a free man as far as I'm concerned," Sammie said. "Do whatever you want. I really don't care."
Boyette and Pryor left the conference room and waited outside the train station.
Carlos took the call from Cicely Avis. She explained that they arrived at the court at 5:07, the doors were locked, the offices closed. She called the clerk's cell phone. The clerk said he was not there, he was in fact driving home.
Donte's final petition would not be filed.
According to club records, Chief Justice Milton Prudlowe and his guest played tennis on court 8 for an hour, beginning at 5:00 p.m.
收听单词发音 |
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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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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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pamper
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| v.纵容，过分关怀 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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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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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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neutralized
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| v.使失效( neutralize的过去式和过去分词 )；抵消；中和；使（一个国家）中立化 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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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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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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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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investigator
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| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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convened
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| 召开( convene的过去式 )； 召集； （为正式会议而）聚集； 集合 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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detours
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| 绕行的路( detour的名词复数 )； 绕道，兜圈子 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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affidavit
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| n.宣誓书 | |
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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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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defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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outlaws
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| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
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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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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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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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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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wardens
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| n.看守人( warden的名词复数 )；管理员；监察员；监察官 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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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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54
stickler
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| n.坚持细节之人 | |
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55
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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56
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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57
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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58
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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59
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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60
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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61
eyewitness
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| n.目击者，见证人 | |
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62
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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63
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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64
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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65
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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66
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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67
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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68
flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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